#i am sorry for the inconveniences that send you my way

[heartpascal]

me pulling up to your account whenever the slightest inconvenience happens to read every single joel fic

HELP. i cannot tell you how much of a laugh and giggle i had at this image. and you have got me kicking my feet rn you are so kind. i am glad the fics can be of use to you!!! i am truly honoured 🫶

hoping to have something out in the near future for you guys (but mostly you bc of this ask specifically). sending you sm love.

[cass-cc]

it's been a hot minute since I've been this physically uncomfortable somewhere I pay rent

[cloudystevie]

omg I used to be such a Steve girly when I first followed u and now I’m more a Bucky gal so I’m glad to hear u like him too🥹 any crumbs of the jealous/protective Bucky trope would be sufficient 🙏🏼

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆.

warnings: sleazy stupid pervy man(not bucky obvi), petname (baby), asyphxiation, reader is more horned up for bucky than she cares about stupid sleazy man sorry, manhandling, pinv, semi-public sex (in a locked club bathroom)

author’s note: clearly idk what drabble means cuz this is 1500 words. trying to figure out the flow of writing drabbles (and just writing in general this is not my best work) ! the steve girlie to bucky girlie pipeline needs to be studied tbh!!! thank you so much for sending in this little thought baby hope you enjoy!!!🩷🩷🩷

18+ only minors dni.

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆.

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆.

“I’ll be back in a second baby, just need to use the restroom real quick.”

You attempt to shuffle off Bucky’s lap, surrounded by all your closest friends at a circular booth at one of the newest clubs in the city. But before you can completely wriggle yourself free of his grip, his hands flex on your waist halting your movements. “I’ll come with you sweetheart.”

You giggle and playfully roll your eyes, “I’m not going to die in the 20 steps it takes to get to the washroom Bucky, I’ll be back in a sec.” You place a quick kiss on his bearded cheek and squirm out of his lap before making your way to the washroom, looking at him over your shoulder and giggling as he glares at you.

Currently, you were in the midst of working up your brooding boyfriend so he would take out all of his frustration on you in the most delicious way possible. Being a little bratty was just a little investment for the incredibly rewarding return you’d get later on.

Surprisingly the washrooms were unoccupied so you were in and out in just a few minutes, powdering your face and touching up your lips while you were at it. Giving yourself a once over in the extravagant mirror you head out of the washroom, swinging the door open and attempting to put your lip liner and lip oil back into your purse. You accidentally bump into someone, causing you to shoot your neck up and let out a flurry of apologies as you see their drink now splattered on their shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you coming. I’m so so so sorry I should’ve been paying more attention. I’m so sorry about your shirt.” Furrowing your eyebrows in concern you take in the man before you. He was a bit taller than you, dirty blonde hair all ruffled up with green eyes just scanning your body with an appreciative smirk. You couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable despite your apologetic gaze as you subconsciously search for Bucky, glancing around the suddenly very packed VIP section.

“It’s alright sugar, wasn’t planning on stripping naked so early into the night but if that’s what you want, who am I to deny you huh?” His voice attempts to be sultry but it just comes across as sleazy, making you grimace and chuckle curtly.

“That really wasn’t my intention, I’m really sorry once again. You can ask the bartender to put a drink on my boyfriend's tab. Just for the inconvenience of course.” A smile that doesn’t meet your eyes is on your face, as you continue looking around for your table of friends, for anybody you may know to save you from this slimy piece of shit.

“Boyfriend huh? Does your boyfriend know you bump into other guys dressed like a little slut?” He steps closer to you making you take a step back. It’s too crowded for anyone to take notice of you specifically and the music is too loud for you to scream and cause a scene.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out as strong as you had hoped.

“You heard me, now, what are we gonna do about making this up to me huh? Why don’t you follow me.” He roughly grabs your arm and you attempt to jerk it out of his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spit out, yanking your arm out of his sweaty grip and shoving him back, causing him to stumble backwards and almost land flat on his ass. This causes a commotion as the people around you stare at the scene unfolding in front of them.

One second you’re trying to shove past the man to get to your table and the next he’s forcing himself onto you again with much more force this time. Before you can even react he’s being ripped off of you and shoved to the floor by your boyfriend who seemingly appeared right when you needed him most.

Bucky pushes his forearm into the man’s throat, making him struggle for breath and weakly fight back, but he is no match for your super-soldier boyfriend. “You wanna go around putting your fucking hands on women is that right? On my girl?” Bucky seethes, eyes wide with anger as the man struggles to shake his head to deny his words.

Everyone has their eyes on you as your group of friends quickly cut through the crowd to get to both of you, Steve and Sam trying to gently pull Bucky off the guy as Natasha and Wanda come to your aid, standing by you and asking what happened, trying to soothe your thumping heart.

You can’t focus on anything except the way Bucky is holding this man down for you. “Don’t let me catch you even breathing in her direction again you piece of shit. Tryna put your fuckin’ hands on my girl, I’ll fuckin’ k-”

You breathe out his name once. Bucky snaps his head away from the man whose colour is draining out of his face to take in your expression. Bucky can read you even better than you can read yourself sometimes. He can see you are obviously upset but even more than that, your eyes are scanning over his shoulders and biceps, his beefy frame easily overpowering the frail man.

Bucky can read you better than anyone else, and right now, you’re not scared or uncomfortable. You’re turned on. The quick rise and fall of your chest, the twinkle in your eyes, and the way you tug at your bottom lip. He even knows you’re ashamed that you’re turned on. But that doesn’t stop you. It never has.

Bucky smirks, and grabs the man by his neck, standing up with him as his legs weakly kick in the air, wheezing out unintelligible apologies and Bucky just looks at you over his shoulder, ignoring the way Steve and Sam are struggling to get him to put the man down. The veins in his arms make you practically drool as you make eye contact with Bucky, and the next moment the man is crumpled on the ground. The man scurries away, clutching at his throat where bruises are already starting to appear. Calling Bucky crazy and how you weren’t even worth it. Bucky pays him no mind because now his attention is all on you.

“You okay baby?” Bucky asks as he walks towards you, pulling you into his broad frame as he scans you with a worried expression. You nod mindlessly and before you know it you’re being ushered into the restroom you just came out of. Bucky locks the door behind him and before you can breathe you’re on him. Your lips clash against his, your tongues and teeth and spit mixing as your hands grip onto his shoulders as he picks you up and places you on the counter in one fluid motion. The display of strength makes you mewl into the kiss as you rut against his growing bulge making him hiss.

“Bucky- Bucky please I need you right now.” You beg, reluctantly pulling away from the heated kiss to look at him with your wide eyes. He looks at you through his hooded eyes, taking in your desperation before smirking. “What does my baby need hmm?”

His teasing makes you whine as you messily grind your crotch against his, looking for any friction. “Need you Bucky, need you only you need you to fuck me.” You blabber mindlessly, begging for him to claim you. Your words make Bucky groan and his hands wrap around your throat to hold you in place against him.

“Need me to remind you who you belong to? Is that it? You’re my girl aren’t you?” He growls against your mouth, biting your bottom lip and nipping at your sensitive skin.

You whine and nod as his hands wrap around you the same way they were wrapped around the man earlier. You moan as he sucks into the sweet spot behind your ear. “Yea- Yes need you to fuck me so good so that everyone can hear us please Bucky. Please, need everyone to know I’m yours and you're mine.” You’re not even sure if your words make sense.

But Bucky understands. He always does.

So he squeezes his hands around your neck just once, watching the hazy smile take over your feature, before quickly manhandling you so you’re bent over the counter, your eyes meeting his through the mirror. You push your hips back against his once and he wraps his forearm around your neck to pull you up, fiddling with his pants and shoving your panties to the side before filling you up in one thrust. He slides in easily due to how wet you were but his girth always creates a delicious stretch and you cry out at the feeling of being full. Your head lulls back to fall onto his sturdy shoulder and he tuts, tapping your cheek with his free hand before squishing your cheeks together and forcing you to look at the two of you.

He leans into your ear, feeling the shiver that wracks your body and he presses his open mouth against your cheek, his breath more prominent than your own. “Don’t you fucking dare look away from the mirror. You’re gonna watch yourself while I fuck you so you’ll always remember what you look like where you belong. Going dumb on my dick.”

[sapphire-writes]

Doomsday

Part 5 (finale) of The Campaign

modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: The polls have closed! Time to see the results of the election– and those saucy little photos that someone leaked.

word count: 4.6k

rating: explicit/18+/MDNI

warnings: language, kissing, yelling, dom!reader (we're topping tonight baby!!), crawling, begging, humiliation, degradation, praise, face sitting, oral (fem receiving), dom!Aemond (the top didn't last long), primal play if you squint, Counter® shenanigans, riding, teasing, overstim, hair pulling, mentions of infidelity

The waiting was going to kill you. 

Rhaenyra had told you to arrive at nine. Sharp. Nothing else was in the email. Nothing else needed to be.

You knew why she wanted to see you.

The pictures of you and Aemond had been plastered everywhere. The Daily Lion, The Sunspear Herald, and even Beyond The Wall Times. Everywhere.

Not right away of course, oh no. Aemond was much too clever for that to have them leak at an inconvenient time. No, he’d waited and held onto that ticking time bomb until the proper moment.

A week before the election.

That’s when the world came crashing down. 

You hadn’t seen him since the Hamptons. Months ago. He’d tried calling, texting, and sending emails. It was better to ignore him. You had nothing to say anyway.

You glance at the clock that ticks outside of Rhaenyra’s office in Dragonstone Tower. 

9:17

Rhaenyra is nothing if not punctual. She’s probably coming up with the proper way to let you go. It's not an easy feat– you’re easily one of her best. 

Were. You were one of her best. 

Your eyes squeeze shut. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. You take out your phone, mindlessly scrolling to pass the time. Polls close at eight. You get off the news and go to your messages. Still nothing from Jace. You hadn’t heard from him since the drop. It was easy to assume things were over between you two.

“Ms. Targaryen will see you now,” the assistant at the front desk tells you and you slip your phone into your pocket.

Rising on shaky legs, you take a breath to steady yourself before straightening your shoulders and heading into the office. 

Rhaenyra sits behind a large desk, one hand incessantly clicking her computer mouse, the other playing with a crystal sphere. She rolls it under her palm, the sound echoing off the wood. You’ve been here a few times before; the office is open and inviting, with large windows bathing the room in golden afternoon light. 

She still doesn’t speak, and you nervously wet your lips, preparing to verbally flagellate yourself before her. 

“Rhaenyra–” you begin, but she silences you with a hand, not looking away from the computer screen in front of her.

“Do you see what they’re saying now?” she murmurs, hand under her chin, “Rhaenyra the Cruel… did you know what they called me when my father was alive?” 

You’re not sure if the question is rhetorical or not so you remain silent. Rhaenyra glances at you then and you shake your head. 

“The Realm’s Delight. Quite the fall from grace if you ask me,” she clicks her tongue and closes a tab, leaning back into her chair, “Take a seat.”

You do as you’re told, sinking into the leather armchair positioned in front of her.

“So,” she begins, bringing her hand under her chin, “Quite the predicament you’re in.”

Your chest tightens as you meet her lilac eyes. 

“Rhaenyra I am so sorry,” the words spill from your lips, “I never meant for any of this to happen. The embarrassment I’ve caused you– to Jace. I completely understand asking for my resignation or dismissal. I deserve to be dismissed I–”

“Sweet girl, I’m not dismissing you,” Rhaenyra says, her brow furrowing, a soft expression on her face. 

Your heart hammers in your chest, face flooding with warmth. 

“You’re not….” your voice trails off, sounding smaller than you’d like, “you’re not firing me?”

The corner of Rhaenyra’s lip tugs upwards in a small smile.

“That would be quite hypocritical of me, now wouldn’t it?” she says softly, leaning her elbow on her desk, “You haven’t done anything that warrants that.”

“But Jace—”

“—knew exactly what he was doing when he hired the photographers in the first place,” she finished, cutting you off. 

Your heart nearly stops beating altogether.

Jace.

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Rhaenyra tells you, absorbing your flustered expression.

“But…why—”

“You were a loose end,” she tells you, “And you were getting sloppy. There’s enough scandal my family deals with. Jace is my son. My first child. You’ve got a smart head on your shoulders, invaluable to our campaign….but you don’t love him.”

The truth of her words cuts through you like a knife. A dull ache forms between your ribs, and that horrible thought appears in your head, the one you’ve been trying to push away for months now.

I’m a bad person.

No, that’s not true. It just wasn’t Jace. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been him.

“I could have,” you insist, “Maybe.”

Liar.

“Don’t,” Rhaenrya says with a small shake of her head, “Don’t do that. Don’t settle for duty’s sake. Don’t dismiss your desires for that.” Her voice is rough and thick with emotion. 

She did, you think to yourself. She still does. 

“You’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement of course,” she says, rolling her eyes, “It’s being drafted as we speak. Necessary, of course, not a slight against your trustworthiness.”

“I understand.”

“I had no doubt you would. There is greatness in you, raw talent,” she continues, “With or without him.”

You can tell from the look she gives you it’s not Jace whom she refers to. Your lips part, but no words come out. Rhaenyra presses her lips together, nodding to herself.

“I’ll expect you here tomorrow, regardless of the results,” she says, going back to her computer. Her eyes flicker across the screen for a moment before looking back to you. She waves a hand, dismissing you, “That’s all.”

Jace is waiting when you leave Rhaenyra’s office. His head hangs low as you approach, brown curls longer since the last time you’d seen him. He offers a forced smile, avoiding your gaze. 

“Why?” 

You know it's unfair of you to ask. The scorned lover selling pictures of his scandalous cheating girlfriend. Revenge served cold on a silver platter. Everyone was siding with Jace, as they should. You knew you were in the wrong. Jace opens his mouth to speak, then closes it once more.

“You could have–,” you struggle to find the words, “You could have talked to me–”

“I just can’t end up like my dad,” Jace admits, “Married to someone who doesn’t….who isn’t..” his cheeks turn pink, “I care about you, Y/N, I do…..and I want you to be happy. And being with me won’t bring you that.” Jace lets out a deep sigh, “And as much as I care about you, I’m not in love with you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and your blinking rapidly increases, “I didn’t–”

“What?” Jace asks with a small smile, “I’m not completely clueless.”

It’s your turn to blush as he reaches for your hand, gently squeezing it. 

“It’s alright to be selfish,” he says softly, his brown eyes warm and kind as they hold your gaze, “You deserve to be.”

You inhale a shaky breath and return his smile with one of your own. He gives your hand a final squeeze before letting go–letting you go. 

As he turns down the hall you call out to him.

“Jace!”

He turns on his heel, walking backward.

“Thank you.”

He shrugs, “Don’t thank me yet,” he warns and you don’t have time to ask him why before he rounds the corner, disappearing from your sight. 

“You lucky bitch.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” you chuckle at Sara’s reaction to your news, propping your phone on the counter.

Sara shakes her head in disbelief before the Facetime cuts, a small warning signal replacing her smiling face. 

“Where are you?” you ask, tapping the screen.

“Can you see me?” she asks.

“No.”

“Goddammit,” she groans, “I’m at Kingsroad Station. Mr. Stark paged me– he’s working late to watch the election results at the office.”

“You’re a dutiful assistant, trudging to Direwolf at this hour,” you tease, glancing at the clock. Election results should be out within the hour.

“Oh you know it,” she barks out a laugh, “I had to go downtown and pick up his dinner.”

“You wanna rain check our evening?”

“Fuck no!” she insists, and you can practically hear her pout, “I’ll Uber from Direwolf, and be there by midnight.”

“If you don’t get caught up,” you continue to tease your best friend.

“For the last time, I am not sleeping with him.”

You frown. Something was definitely up with them. 

“You know you can tell me,” you press, “I’d never judge you.”

Sara sighs, “Yeah you better not, you tart. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Love you,” you tell her, and she returns the sentiment before the Facetime ends. 

You place your phone face down on the counter, glancing at the TV in your living room. You’ve had the news on all evening, on mute of course. There’s no need for commentary. You just want to see how Rhaenyra is fairing in the polls. 

The green and black bar at the bottom of the screen looks about equal.

Wandering around your kitchen you open the fridge pulling out a half-empty bottle of wine. Pouring yourself a generous glass you take a long sip, letting the alcohol warm you.

It’s been a waiting game all evening. All year, truly. 

A knock startles you, and you put your glass on the counter and towards the door. It’s so like Sarah Snow to show up early when she says she’ll be running late. 

“I thought you got caught up–” Your words die in your throat as you open the door revealing Aemond. 

If you weren’t so surprised you would have slammed it shut in his face, but the pause gives him the leverage he needs. You’re a moment too slow and he presses his foot between the door frame as you try to shut it, his hand slamming against the wood keeping it open.

“Go away,” you tell him, continuing to push.

“Just listen to me–”

“I have nothing to say to you–” 

“I’m not asking you to talk. Just listen,” Aemond insists, his voice breaking with desperation, “Five minutes. Please.”

Reluctantly, you remove your hand from the door. With a frustrated sigh, you turn on your heel, walking down the hall. Aemond follows close behind, shutting the door behind him. 

“Three,” you call over your shoulder, grabbing your wine glass. You take a sip for courage, beginning to turn to face him, “And if you so much as–” you nearly drop your glass as you face him.

Aemond’s hand is held out before him, Jace’s necklace dangling from his slender fingers. The diamond J catches the light, sparkling. Your mouth goes dry, cheeks warming at the sight. Eyes lifting to meet his, you can’t find the words to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “Look….I never…this wasn’t…” Aemond takes a deep breath, steadying himself, “I’m not good at this.”

The J swings from the chain, a pendulum on a string.

“I knew it,” you whisper, hand reaching up to your throat, feeling where it should lay.

“It was just a game,” he insists, “Until it wasn’t.” Your eyes lift from the necklace, meeting his gaze. “That night on the beach….” He lowers his arm. The pendulum swings. “Look if you don’t feel the same–”

Your stomach turns.

“Go,” you breathe, barely audible.

Aemond tilts his head to the side and murmurs your name causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

“I want you out.”

“What can I do?” he begs, “Please.”

“Go grovel to someone who cares,” you snap, eyes opening, “Storm’s End, perhaps? Seems like you have some making up to do with Floris.” 

You step forward, snatching the necklace from him, and throwing it against the wall. It bounces off with a small noise before dropping to the floor. Aemond’s tongue pokes his cheek, his eyes flashing with anger.

“I don’t fucking want Floris!” he snaps, “I want you.”

You freeze, watching his chest rise and fall with anger. 

“You didn’t want her?” you ask and he shakes his head, “Did you fuck her?”

Aemond’s eye widens, a fraction of an inch but it's noticeable. A bitter laugh leaves your lips.

“It was before we–”

“You men are all the same,” you seethe, glaring at him, “Pretty words and no action. Of course, you fucked her.”

“Y/N, it was before us, before we ever–look I haven’t so much as touched her since we–”

“Well then here’s your chance!” you interrupt, “I’m sure she’s a wreck. Wallowing on her yacht just waiting for you to jump her bones.”

Aemond flinches as though you’d slapped him.

“Stop it.”

“You’re so talented with that tongue, useless apologies included. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste–”

“Seven hells enough!”

His yell silences you. You stand before each other, chests heaving with anger. 

“You want forgiveness?” you ask, cocking a brow at him, “Get on your knees.”

Aemond’s eyes widen at your words.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you snap, cheeks warm with rage, “On your knees.”

There’s a moment where you think he’ll leave. Where he’ll say to hells with you and storm out of the apartment, go to Floris, and leave whatever happened between you in the past. 

Instead, he drops to his knees with a soft thud. Your lips part, admittedly surprised by his sudden submission. He doesn’t put up a fight and doesn’t give a tongue-in-cheek retort. He simply raises his gaze looking up at you between silver lashes. 

You take a few steps back just as his hands begin to reach for you. You revel in his confusion, as his eyebrows knit together, and a smirk appears on your face.

“Crawl.”

His Adam’s apple bobs and you hold his gaze, violet and blue eye watching you closely. It takes a moment, but Aemond slowly lowers his torso until it is parallel with the floor; his palms splayed across the wood floor. 

Aemond releases a shuddering breath, glancing up at you between silvery lashes, long hair cascading in front of his face shielding the redness that blooms on the apples of his pale cheeks. Blood roars in your ears as he begins to move, crawling towards you. His movements are slow and purposeful and you grin triumphantly as he reaches you. 

“Satisfied?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

The corner of your lip twitches. Aemond meets your eye at your continued silence. 

“Beg.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” you tell him, surprised at the dominating tone in your voice, “You’re sorry? Beg me. Beg my forgiveness.”

Aemond pushes himself onto his knees, leaning back on his haunches. He swallows, eyes watery.

“Please,” he says softly.

You reach for him and brush the hair from his face. He closes his eyes at your touch. 

“Please, what?”

“Please forgive me,” he says through gritted teeth.

You hum, letting your fingers trace the scar that mars his face.

“I don’t know if I’m convinced.”

Aemond groans as you trace his jawline, letting your fingers press against the pout of his lips. He parts them as you push forward, pressing down on his tongue.

“Please,” he says, though he struggles to around your fingers.

You huff out a laugh, removing the digits. 

“Pathetic.”

“Please! Let me prove how sorry I am,” he insists, hands gripping the back of your thighs as you attempt to step away, “Please…please let me.”

You raise an eyebrow at his desperate plea.

“Let you what?” you ask innocently.

“Let me eat your pussy–baby, please–”

“You think you deserve to?” you cut him off, placing two fingers under his chin.

“No, no I don’t,” he says, shaking his head, fingers digging into your thighs, “But I want to make you feel good, please–”

You tilt your head to the side, taking in the man beneath you. 

“Lay down then,” you tell him, “On your back.”

Aemond eagerly obliges as you remove your sweats. Nothing remains underneath. You choose to leave your oversized t-shirt on. It’s your turn to kneel, sinking to the hardwood floor. 

“Don’t move,” you tell him, crawling over him until your pussy rests above his face, “You touch me with anything besides that tongue of yours, and I’m getting off, and you’re getting out. Got it?”

“Yes,” he says softly, warm breath fanning across your soaked center. 

“Good,” you praise him, lowering your cunt to his eager mouth. 

Aemond moans against you as he spreads your wet folds with his tongue. He greedily laps at your pussy as you grind against him, pleasure crawling up your spine and warming your belly with every stroke of his tongue. 

Your hands reach up to play with your tits, pinching and tugging your sensitive nipples as he works his magic. His tongue stiffens below you, dipping into your clenching center and you can’t stop the whine that claws its way out of your throat. Head thrown back, you lift your hips, ignoring the burn in your hamstrings as you ride his face as his tongue explores deeper inside of you.

You’ve never had him like this, completely at your mercy, lying stiff and compliant below you with his hands curled into fists at his sides. The veins on the back of his hands are bulging, as though his control might snap at any minute. 

You simply can’t help but taunt him a bit. 

“So good,” you moan with another roll of your hips, “Feels so good Aem–”

A muffled broken whimper sounds from below you and he picks up the pace, tongue eagerly fucking up into you, meeting the movements of your hips. His nose cascades against your clit so pleasantly stoking the fire building in your belly, the tightening of your release soon to follow. Your knees ache pressed against the hardwood. 

“Fuck–fuck!” your legs shake around his head as you fall apart, fingers tangling in his hair as his lips suction around your clit. Pleasure crackles through your veins like fireworks exploding in the night sky.

You wait a moment, Aemond not moving, before swinging a leg over him and crawling off his face. You scoot backward, tugging your oversized t-shirt down over your ass as your back meets the wall. You try to even your breathing, wiping some sweat from your brow as he sits up, the bottom half of his face shiny with your arousal. 

“Better?” he asks, pushing himself into a standing position, and offering you his hand.

You chuckle breathlessly, but accept all the same, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Fantastic,” you answer. Aemond nods, wiping his mouth with his middle and index finger before sucking them into his mouth.

“Had your fun?” he murmurs, watching you.

“For now,” you tell him, smirking again.

He reaches for you and you dip out of reach. A dangerous glint appears in his eyes as he reaches for you again. You avoid his reach, dipping under his arm and hurrying into the kitchen. Aemond follows, a wolf stalking its prey. You’re sure he’s allowing you this chase, he could catch you if he wanted to. 

You press your back against the island as he rounds the corner, fingers dragging across the marble countertop. You don’t move, don’t breathe as he slowly walks closer.

“You done?” he asks, his mouth hovering over yours.

“I’m never done,” you whisper, leaning forward and nipping his lower lip, “You better get used to it.”

Aemond groans, his hand cupping the back of your head and molding his lips to yours. 

Everything that follows is shrouded in a desperate lust-filled haze. His hands cup the globes of your ass, lifting you onto the island. You tear his shirt from his chiseled frame, and he does the same with yours, leaving you bare on the counter. 

“Should I?” he asks, dipping to kiss the spot between your shoulder and neck. You bite your lip, raking your nails against his scalp, “Shall I assume you’ve forgiven me?”

“Just fuck me Targaryen,” you tell him breathlessly, “Then we’ll see.”

He needs no more convincing. 

You pull at his belt, shove his pants down releasing his thick cock, reveling in the way his jaw slacks as you squeeze him in your hand.

“Fuck,” he murmurs as you guide him towards your dripping center, “Gods you’re so beautiful.”

You bite your lip, humming happily at his praise as he slowly sinks inside of you. Your eyebrows concave, tears welling in your eyes at the generous stretch. It’s been a while since you’d had him–since you felt this deliciously full. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed him, how hungry you’d been for this feeling until now.

Aemond bottoms out, not moving for a moment, simply resting his forehead against yours. His blue and violet eyes meet yours as you steady your breath.

“You alright?” he asks, his lips brushing against yours.

“Yes,” you breathe, “Feels..” You lose your train of thought as he moves his hips, dragging his cock along the sensitive walls of your cunt. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he slowly rolls his hips against you. “So good.”

“You know how much I missed this pussy?” Aemond murmurs, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, “It’s all I fucking think about. This pretty. Little. Pussy of yours.” He punctuates his confession with several hard thrusts. 

One of your hands falls to the counter, holding yourself up, the other thrown around his neck, a fistful of his silver hair trapped in your grasp. Aemond’s hands hold your hips, hard enough to bruise as he continues his hard, even strokes. 

“Fuck,” you mewl arching your back, pressing your chest closer to him. Anything to get closer.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he admits, a muscle in his jaw twitching, “Since the benefit. The hotel. The fucking Hamptons.” His head dips to your neck and he bites down causing you to cry out, “You like that? Driving me crazy?” You clench around him, walls fluttering.

You’ve never heard Aemond so emotional, so raw. Almost vulnerable. 

“Then you don’t speak to me,” Aemond says, placing a kiss on your collarbone, “Fucking brat.”

“Fuck you,” you snap, tugging his hair and forcing him to look at you, “You hurt me.”

Aemond stills, holding your gaze.

“You hurt me,” you repeat, feeling him throbbing inside of you as you keep him warm, “What you said, on the beach….” Your eyes water, “I believed you–”

“I meant it,” he says suddenly, “Every word. Every word, and more.”

“More?” you ask.

Aemond tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, as though it should be obvious. As if your world hasn’t just completely tilted on its axis. “I’ve been in love with you. And I don’t plan on stopping.”

Your lips part.

“I’ve tried. Tried to ignore it, to do what is expected of me,” he admits, “It’s no use. There’s no getting over you. It’s you.”

“I love you too,” you tell him, and his lips crash against yours. 

Aemond lifts you from the counter then, still nestled inside of you before bringing you to the couch. He sits and you push yourself up, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you begin to ride him. All the while he doesn’t stop kissing you, smiling as he does so.

“That’s it,” he praises as you roll your hips against him, “Just like that baby, that’s my girl.”

You whine at his words and grind down against him, taking him as deep as you can. Aemond breaks your kiss momentarily to wet his fingers, dipping them between you to massage your sensitive clit. Your body tightens, your jaw slacking at the additional stimulation as your thighs begin to shake.

“I can’t–” you insist, legs tiring. Aemond flips you over immediately, laying your back on the couch and slinging your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Poor baby,” he teases, his tone boarding on condescending, “She just wants to get fucked, doesn’t she?” He quickly sets a brutal pace, the head of his cock rubbing against your G-spot with each thrust.  

Stars appear behind your eyes and you can’t help the sob-like moan that leaves your mouth. Aemond’s open-mouthed grin is answer enough to how fucked out you must look and sound. 

“This all you need?” he taunts, “Just need me to fuck you real good?”

“Yes!” you cry out, nearly choking on the word. 

“I got you, baby, I got you,” he murmurs, “Let me do all the work. You just lay there and look pretty.” 

“Oh gods–” you cry, “Fuck!” Your pussy spasms around him as you come, clenching around his thick cock with a vice-like grip. Aemond’s jaw slacks and he moans, finishing inside of you. The warmth of his release fills you.

He pulls out slowly, letting your legs fall gently to the couch. Aemond leans back, dropping to the floor in front of the couch, his large hands holding your thighs open. Your head feels like it’s full of cotton and you watch him as a fucked out smile appears on your face. Aemond’s fingers gently spread through your outer lips, watching as his spend drips out of you.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, leaning forward and kissing your pussy. You squeal in surprise as he holds your thighs open, lewd slurping noises filling the room.

“Aemond! Seven hells–” you whimper as your head lolls on the couch. Your hand finds his hair once more, holding onto it for dear life as he slips two eager fingers inside of you.

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your clit, “You’re too pretty when you come.” He curls his fingers against your g-spot, a man on a mission, “Show me, pretty girl. Come on, come for me again.”

His mouth latches onto your clit and he hums as he suctions it between his pouty lips. Pressure builds quickly in your stomach and it's all too much, your third release barely through you knocking the wind from your lungs. 

“There it is,” he murmurs as he feels you tighten around his fingers, “There’s my pretty, pretty girl.” 

You finish with a cry, tears spilling down your cheeks at the overwhelming ecstasy. Aemond presses soft kisses against your thighs as you come down from your high. He removes his fingers carefully before helping you. He wanders around your apartment before finding the bathroom, returning a moment later with a damp washcloth.

“You have a nice tub,” he says softly, “Would you like a bath?” 

The thought is so enticing that you nearly melt into the couch.

“Later,” you murmur, “I want to see the results.”

“Later then,” he agrees, watching you closely.

You don’t want to speak, don’t want to ruin the moment between you, but you can’t help it. Anxiety pools in your belly as he kneels between your legs, dragging the washcloth against you gently.

“What now?” you ask softly, avoiding his gaze.

“Now….” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, “I’m not sure.” He reaches toward your face, forcing you to look at him. “But whatever is next, we’re in it together. If that’s alright with you.”

You lean into his hand, pressing your lips against his palm.

“That’s alright with me.”

After several minutes of Aemond cleaning you up, you return to the couch dressed back in your sweatpants and t-shirt. Aemond has retrieved his pants from the kitchen as you glance at the television. 

“Holy shit,” you say sitting up, eyes glued on the television, “Holy fuck.”

Aemond turns following your gaze and looking at the screen. His eyebrows raise.

“Well fuck,” he says suddenly, and you hear your phone begin to buzz from the kitchen. Aemond’s as well; the vibrations buzzing against the floor where it must have slipped out of his pant pocket. “Son of bitch did it.”

You meet his eyes before staring at the screen once more. At the blond man popping champagne at his victory party. At the green letters across the bottom of the television. 

Aegon Targaryen wins!

note: thank you for the love with this series that wasn't supposed to become a series- I appreciate you all sticking it out for this one and hope you enjoyed it! lots of love MWAH 💋 Jo

if you'd like to be notified when I post please follow and turn on notifications for @sapphire-writes-updates in lieu of a taglist!

like this story? check out more of my work HERE 🖤

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated but never expected. appreciate you reading no matter what!

[sandwhitches]

request: "can i have an orange and cherry popsicle (hurt/comfort) w suna where he accidentally snaps at reader ??? u can decide how it ends exactly but id like it to be fluffy :3"

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 (𝐟𝐭. 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨)

a/n: u already know i’m going the fluffy route :3 had to repost bc im stupid and forgot tags the first time whoopsies!! also i was like not gonna put a banner on all of these but i don’t think i can physically make a post without one they’re so cute eeughhhh

genre: angst w/ a fluffy ending (hurt/comfort)

warnings: language, gn. reader, teeny argument, mentions of accidentally missing a meal

wc: 779

this is a part of my summer writing event!!! please feel free to send some requests my way :3

In theory, bad days happen just as much as good days, but every once in a while there is a particularly bad day that will fall onto your lap when you least expect it. That’s what today was for Suna. Particularly bad. 

This morning he’d rolled out of bed thirty minutes late, nothing too out of the ordinary for him, which is why he’s well versed in rushing a shower and scarfing down enough sustenance to last him until the afternoon. Traffic on the way to early morning practice? Been there, done that. Hours worth of conditioning? A little bit annoying, but it's not the first time that’s happened. Losing track of time and forgetting to eat lunch? Kinda sucky. Walking to his car to find a terribly noticeable door ding on the passenger’s side? Really sucky. 

Suna happened to have compiled an impressive list of minor inconveniences to combine with the other stack of shit, and it all adds up to the very worst part, taking it out on you. 

It was just an innocent question on your behalf about the dent in his car, “And you’re gonna have to pay?” You frowned sympathetically, watching in confusion as his expression turned completely to a sour contortion of a scowl, “Obviously, I am, the other car was gone by the time I came out.” He huffed in agitation with a superfluous roll of his eyes to seal the deal. 

You sputtered, brow tensed, “You don’t have to get so defensive.” Rintaro had groaned in response, tilting his chin, “Well what kind of a stupid question is that when I already told you what happened?” His breath caught in his throat with instant regret as you set your jaw tight with frustration, there was no doubt you were holding back a return that would only escalate what’s already been blown out of proportion. You stormed off, leaving Suna with the feeling that he quite possibly might be the biggest idiot in the world. 

As of now, you’ve only had the chance to be alone for a few minutes, taking your anger out by completing your most aggressive attempt at folding laundry to date. Suna knocks on the doorframe of your bedroom to announce his presence, you turn around to find him nervously thumbing at the meat of his palm, a guilty expression. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, looking up at the shift in your expression to gauge whether or not he was about to have a t-shirt thrown in his face. Who was he kidding? You’re the most understanding person he knows and he was stupid enough to snap at you. Suna thinks, in that moment, that there will never be anything big enough for him to get mad at you for again. Nothing feels worse than being like this, not even waking up late, nor conditioning, nor missing lunch, and especially not getting door dinged. 

“I just-...” he blows out a breath that makes his cheeks puff up while he sorts through countless words, trying to find the right ones to fix things, “I had a really bad day, and I’m sorry it made me snap at you…I'm an idiot.”  

“…You kinda are, huh?” Suna looks up to find that the echo of a grin has replaced the deep frown you had before, making the knot in his chest begin to loosen gradually. Rintaro huffs out a quiet laugh, “Yeah…” 

For a moment, you thought there might still be something else in his mind with the way his eyes dropped, head swimming in thoughts. The question sitting on your lips was quickly replaced by a yelp as Suna steps forward, wrapping you in his big arms and collapsing onto the bed.

“I love you, you know that?” He declares loudly, taking every playful kick you really don’t mean as you giggle uncontrollably, “Get off of me, Rin!” 

Suna snickers, kissing the crown of your head, “I can’t let go of you! Not until I make things right!” Your stomach already hurts from laughing as you writhe against him, feeling the lovely placements of tender kisses peppered across your face. 

“Let go before I put another dent in your car!” You shout, earning a bout of laughter from your boyfriend, “Low blow! I’m still recovering!” Suna knows that today was supposed to be bad, and for the most part it really was. But right now he has you pressed up against him like this, he can feel the rise and fall of laughter in your ribs, he smells the powdery scent of your shampoo, and presses his face into yours as close as physically possible. Yeah, he thinks, bad days don’t really exist if they all end like this.

[amandav09]

COD-Sut up challenge

hello everyone! Yes I’m still alive

Summary : For this post I had the idea to use the challenge in which a child says "shut up" to his mother (with the accod of the parent) to see the reaction of the father

Warming : Very slight sexual incinuation, implied violence

Word count :8,5k

Gif not mine - I speak bad English and I am dislexyque, so sorry for the inconvenience

Ghost

Simon sat quietly in front of his computer. Her son ran into the living room, while you drop your husband a tea, you kiss his forehead and send a quick look at your son, the signal.

«(N/B) Stop running please» you hide somehow the phone that filmed the reaction of Ghost.

«Shut up mom»

The reaction is immediate, Simon grabs the arm of (N/B) to stop him in his race and gives him the most severe look.

"What did you just say?"

“Simon…” You step in and tell him it was a joke. But he cuts you before you continue.

“No one in this fucking house disrespects you. Even outside, no one has the right”

Simon’s grip was not strong, his cold tone was enough to bring anyone to attention.

«Luv, darling, it’s a joke» I smile gently to him showing my phone

He frowns and lets go of your son’s arm. His gaze fixed in your eyes «Run»

You wasted no time and ran fast, your husband on your heels while your son laughed in the background.

Konig

Konig dried the dishes while you sat on the couch. Your daughter sat in the seat in front of you. She was smiling and waiting for you to start. Your phone hiding behind a cushion and turned towards the kitchen door

«Honey, did you clean your room today?» You say loud enough for Konig to hear

Your daughter does not answer and puts her hand on her mouth to prevent herself from laughing.

«Mom asked you a question, luv» Gently said Konig while continuing his task. From the kitchen, he had no visibility on your daughter waiting for the right moment.

"So (N/G)? Did you make your room?" I repeat my question with an thumbs up.

«Shut up mom» Can she say, the most serious voice possible

You’ve never seen Konig turn so quickly towards you

«kleines Herz (little heart) comes here» Your daughter gets up and goes to see her father. Konig lowers himself to his height and takes his little hand «You must not speak like that, your mother and I love you with all our heart, but respect goes both ways...» He would continue to gently correct your daughter, but frowned as he saw her try to stop laughing. Slightly bewildered, he looked at you. His only response was your loving gaze, and when he looked down, he saw the phone half hiding behind a cushion.

“Oh. So you gang up against me?” He quickly got up and grabbed your daughter and put her under his arm. She struggles laughing while her father quickly approaches you. He grabbed you before you could do anything and put you on his shoulder «meine beiden Töchter (my two daughters) enjoys teasing me? I’m going to have to take revenge!" He says happily as he heads to the bathroom.

“You won’t dare?” You try to get off his shoulder and understand what he was going to do.

“You really want to test me meine Liebe (my love)?” He put you both in the bathtub and took the shower head «Last words to say?»

Your daughter tried to echo her father between two laughs, but he lit the water on you two «We will see if you will still want to make jokes next time» He says in a proud tone

Price

He was in his office filling out paperwork, his door was open.

You enter by straightening your coat, your phone hide in the outer pocket of your coat.

“(N/G) Come kiss your dad before I take you to school” I tell my daughter when she walks by the door.

«Shut up mom» She says without stopping to walk

You look at your husband who continued to write quietly, as if he had heard nothing

“You don’t say anything?” You ask.

Without even looking up from his papers, John answers: «One, we educated our daughter well, she would never say that. Two, I heard you laughing and whispering in his room, not even 10 minutes ago. And three...” He finally looks up at you, with a smile on his lips «You have hidden your phone very badly» He nods to your pocket where the phone was on the verge of falling «Well tried anyway, my love»

Makarov (I know, I know. Already the idea that he has a wife is impossible, so to have a child... But let me dream!)

He was on the phone with Yuri, a paper in his hand and pacing in the living room. You were putting wood in the fire because of the cool Russian

«(N/G) you can give me this log please?» you made an expres to put a log quite far from you. Your daughter was right next door and was reading a book, waiting for the right moment.

«Shut up mom» You often found that your daughter resembled her father, and while she said this sentence with the most neutral look possible, it confirmed the thing.

Your gaze turned to your husband who had a cold face and eyes turned to his daughter

«I’ll call you back later Yuri» He didn’t wait for an answer and hung up «What did you say to my wife?» He asked, the cold tone "As far as I know, you were not educated like that. Apologize quickly."

“Why would I do it?” (N/G)

“Because before it was your mother, it was my wife, and it still is. No one disrespects her. No one disrespects you either.” He said to her, “You must respect the people who deserve it. And your mother is the person who most deserves your respect.”

"My love." Step in. His head turns to you, his gaze slightly less cold, "It’s a joke."

He takes a slight breath and closes his daughter’s ears

“I’m going to make you regret this when she goes to bed.”

A shiver of excitement runs through you. You’ll probably have to find an excuse to explain why you’ll have trouble walking the next day.

Graves

Phillip was doing push-ups in the living room, you were sitting on his back, the strength he always amazed you.

Your son entered the living room.

“Cheri, can you grab my book, please?” I wink at him. Your son nods and takes an innocent face.

Shut up mom

Graves stop while he was going to chain another pump

“I should have put on a condom.”

You give him a little blow to the head for his comment. He laughs at that, then continues his push-ups. You thought he wasn’t gonna say anything else, but he called your son

«Apologize quickly before I ask Mom to get off my back»

«Pardon» said your son in you a little smile

«Well, now give him his book, and I don’t hear you talking like that anymore»

I run my hand through Phillip’s wet hair

«It’s a joke, my love»

He stops again, his body a few centimeters from the ground. He leaned slightly to his right to make you fall on your back, the soft carpet receiving your body. And before you can straighten up, Phillip is on top of you, "So you’re trying to get our son to prank me?" He smiles.

"No?" His smile grows even more when he sees your weak attempt.

"I will find revenge, darling, and ohhh, believe me, you will regret it."

Rudy

That poor baby just woke up when he heard your son say that.

You and your son had waited machiavelly for him to enter the kitchen

Hearing this quickly woke him up. He put his hand on his son’s shoulder

"Did Uncle Alejandro teach you to talk like that?" He had to yell at his best friend several times for the words he used while your son was nearby

He favors discussion when there is a conflict (except with Alejandro), in addition, it is with a child, and the child in question is his. He wants to resolve this quickly and efficiently.

«Yes» Your son decides to involve his uncle in the joke, and you must restrain yourself so as not to laugh and to pray for this poor man who has nothing to do with it.

«Apologize to mom» He caresses the boy’s head «And don’t talk to him like that anymore, mom is the woman of our life, we shouldn’t speak badly to him» He says softly. Then he takes out his phone

"What are you doing?" You’re frowning.

«I must speak to Alejandro» You could feel the anger emanating from him little by little

Before you could tell him it was a joke. He was already out in the garden

You quickly pick up your phone and send a message to Alejandro: «Sorry»

A few minutes later. Rudy comes back sighing, he takes you in his arms and puts his head on your shoulder

"Why do I feel like we have two children and not one?" You gently run your hand through her hair

Your phone vibrated and when you read the message, you took note to offer a box of chocolate to Alejandro

“I hate you ರ╭╮ರ”

Alejandro

Your husband held you in his arms while you were making breakfast. Your 7-year-old son enters the kitchen while your 5-year-old daughter was already sitting at the table.

“(N/A), did you pack for school?”

Your son, with whom you prepared this farce, slowly walked to the table.

Shut up mom

Alejandro did not even have time to react that your daughter got up and shook her big brother by the t-shirt.

“Never talk like that to Mom!” Your husband quickly grabbed your daughter to keep her away.

«My baby is a joke» I say quickly. (N/B) Laugh at his sister’s reaction while Alejandro always held your sulky daughter in his arms

«She has your character» You smiled at your husband who made a grimace in agreement.

[yopossum]

My first of two fics for @burntheedges and her Roll-a-Trope Writing Challenge! For this I picked Javi G and rolled the “stuck in an elevator” trope. Wheeeee!!!

To Make a Day for You

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javi G x female reader

Rating: M

Warnings: 18+ only! Language, fluids, capitalism, working in service positions and hospitality

———————————————————————————

God, this shift was never ending.

You trudged to the elevators and punched the up arrow, dreading the nightmare that awaited you on the fourth floor.

We need a preliminary check-out hazard assessment prior to clean on the Bacchus Suite. Guests noted the presence of “some various fluids” on multiple surfaces and potential smoke damage.

Always the fucking Bacchus Suite. Why they named it that, added a full bar, and then carpeted the room, you’d never know. And now it was your job to see what the most recent rockstar oozed where.

You stepped into the first elevator that opened, nobody else waiting to join, and you were feeling grateful to have at least a few private moments of calm before the storm when a large bronzed hand bearing an expensive-looking watch reached into the gap between the closing doors.

“Excuse me, thank you so much,” exhaled a voice with a smooth Spanish accent. The voice was followed by a man, broad and tanned, looking harried and apologetic and extremely wealthy in a powder blue suit. He went to press the fourth floor button, and upon seeing it already lit, ran that large hand through the waves of glossy brown hair on his head and winced out a smile. His eyes were soft and warm, a rich deep cocoa, and they crinkled at the corners.

You were annoyed at his presence, but such was life. Especially in service positions.

“Of course, sir!” you chimed, feigning cheer the way all good hospitality workers must.

“I am sorry I have intruded on your ride. I am sure you must tire of interacting with guests. I will not insist on your attention...” The man glanced at your name tag, added your name to his apology. He smiled again, more easy, and bowed slightly, before stepping back against the wall and clasping his hands at his waist.

Ah, well. That was nice, at least. Usually riding the elevator with hotel guests resulted in a barrage of complaints and requests, generally almost none of which you were capable of addressing or responsible for, which was no concern of the guests or of management. Smile, nod, apologize, agree, lather, rinse, repeat.

This guest also smelled incredible, you noted as his scent drifted in the enclosed space. Citrus, vanilla, fresh and warm and masculine. Maybe you could cling to the sense memory in your nostrils as you faced down whatever horrors existed in the Bacchus Suite. Of course you’d forgotten your Vicks at home today. Swipe of it under the nose, a trick you’d learned from a mortician, one that had, unfortunately, proved very useful in luxury hotel housekeeping. You tried to will the guest’s cologne to somehow weave itself into your nose hairs.

———

As the elevator moved past floor 3, the lights flickered.

Huh.

As the digital display panel flashed, the elevator suddenly lurched to a stop, sending you toppling into the handrail. The guest’s hand flew to your upper arm to steady you, then quickly retreated.

“Are you okay? Were you hurt?” the man asked, eyes quickly scanning you for any obvious injuries.

Were you? No, you determined after a quick mental inventory. “I’m fine, thank you. Are you alright, sir?” You straightened up, brushed your uniform shirt down into place, slipping back into your customer service mask.

“I, too, am fine. I was simply startled.” He pursed his full lips thoughtfully. “I do not believe this is how elevators are meant to work, however.” He frowned up at the lights, now dimmer than before.

“Uh, no, not… not typically, no. I am sure it will be resolved soon. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir.” You leaned over to press the service button, which did nothing.

He waved his palm dismissively. “Please, no ‘sir.’ I am Javi. And I do not think elevator maintenance falls within your purview, no?” He grinned, turning to you. He had a dimple.

You chuckled. “It does not, sir. Javi. Still, on behalf of the hotel…”

“You do not need to speak on behalf of the hotel to me. No pasa nada - do not worry, please.” He placed his hand back on your arm, gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing. “I do not hold you accountable, my new friend, for the failures of either man or machine.”

“I appreciate that, very much,” you said softly. “Sorry, it’s unusual for guests to be so… understanding. They’re generally—,”

“—terrible assholes?” he finished, eyebrows raised and eyes glinting with a spark of mischief.

You laughed. “Technically I’m on the clock, so no comment.” He chuckled and winked knowingly. The two of you resumed your wordless standing for some time.

Eventually, the guest, Javi, slid his back down the elevator wall until he sat on the floor, luxurious fabric of his suit rumpled without a care, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. “You will join me, perhaps? While we wait for our knight in a shining toolbelt?”

You glanced down at him. “Join you on the ground, you mean?”

“Where else is there to go?” He had a point. You sat down.

“So, Javi. What brings you to the hotel? Business or pleasure?” You pulled your legs to your body to sit criss-cross, bracing your elbows on your knees and resting your chin on a fist.

Javi grinned. “Both, I hope, or perhaps neither. I wish to make a new film — that is what I do, I make movies — and if the studio will agree, then I will celebrate. If the studio does not agree, I suppose I will not be working or playing.”

He tilted his head back and folded his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and smiling in the direction of the ceiling. “Either way, it has been a worthwhile trip, I think.”

“Wow! So, you like to travel then?” you asked.

“Sí, but more than that, I enjoy meeting new people. Making friends. And I have done that today, and so, I consider my visit to be a success. Would you agree?” He looked over and cocked his head, eyes wide and bright, like a charming puppy.

Your face warmed. “I guess I would. I’d much rather make a friend than clean up another disgusting hotel room.” You shook your head, then remembered yourself. “Sorry. That’s my job, I know. I don’t want to be rude.” Thank god you’d forgotten your walkie in the break room. You could’ve called for help by this point, sure, but you also could’ve gotten yourself fired with the accidental press of a button.

Javi shushed you affectionately. “I will not hear these sorries. We are simply having a conversation, as friends do, are we not? You may be true to yourself with me. I would prefer it if you do.” He slid a thumb over his lower lip, then scratched at his stubbled jaw before sighing.

“When you are a man such as me, one who is associated with riches and fame and power, people do not speak to you plainly. They tell you, instead, what they think you would like to hear. What they believe may win them your favor. It is… rather difficult.” He hummed. “The more I am known, the less I am known. Does this make sense to you, what I am saying?”

“Yeah, it does.” You bit your lip and nodded. “It really does. That sounds really isolating. Lonely.”

“It can be, yes,” he confirmed quietly. “I love movies. Making films was my greatest dream, and I am very grateful for the chance to do it, and for the privileges I have had, though they did not come without their own challenges.”

He laced his fingers together and sat his hands on his thighs. “But part of what I love about movies is how they can connect people together. It is ironic, maybe, that making movies has resulted in fewer connections for me.”

“In that case, I’m glad the elevator got stuck, then. I’m enjoying the chance to connect with you, Javi,” you said declaratively.

With impeccable cosmic timing, all the lights of the elevator went dark, save for a thin emergency strip, glowing red along the edge of the floor.

———

Well. You thought for a moment. “Javi?”

His voice swam easily through the darkness. “Sí, I am here.” You focused on the red glow to try and make out the shape where he sat.

“I think this is the best day of work I’ve had in years,” you shrugged with a snort.

Javi barked a loud laugh along with you, then slid a few feet closer along the floor to sit immediately beside you in the darkness.

“May I ask you something, my friend?” His voice was softer, husking around the edges a bit.

“Of course,” you replied, feeling something small and fuzzy and wriggly in your chest. The smell of his cologne washed over you, more concentrated with his proximity, almost as if it was your skin that bore it and not his.

“Will you tell me about your favorite movie?”

You were surprised at his question for a fraction of a second, but he asked so earnestly, you knew that, for your new friend Javi, the topic that others would probably regard as small talk was instead a precious, intimate thing.

“Yes, but don’t laugh.”

“I would never, you must know this. I will tell you one of mine first — it is Paddington 2.” You could only see the vague shapes of his face in the low light but it was clear that he was serious, and it filled you with adoration for your gentle and unpredictable new friend.

“I haven’t actually seen it,” you admitted.

“Oh, we will change this. We will watch it together someday,” Javi said with an authoritative clap of his hands. “If we are not entombed inside this elevator, of course,” he added.

“It’s a big if,” you acknowledged. “But yeah, I’d like that.”

“So.” You felt Javi’s shoulder press against your own, flush together. “I am dying to hear. Which is your favorite?” He was practically buzzing with anticipation.

“Babe,” you muttered, tucking your face into your hands with embarrassment.

Vision having adjusted somewhat, Javi clocked the movement and turned his broad shoulders to face you, grabbing both your hands in his and pulling them down.

“Why would you feel shame for this?! It is an incredible story of defying expectations and overcoming oppressive structures. The pig is a marvel, is he not?” He shook your hands with emphasis and continued breathlessly. “He teaches the other animals and humans of the farm to love, to respect one another, to see the inherent value in each other. It is a tribute to empathy! An ode to the triumph of the spirit! Oh, you have chosen well, querida.” The white of his teeth gleamed in the shadows when Javi beamed at you.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Okay, THANK YOU. It’s so wonderful, right?! I’m so used to being teased about it, but I love it. Ugh, Farmer Hoggett is so…”

“Fuuuuuck. The song! Oh, I can feel my heart seize when I think of it. It is what I would want the next time I fall ill, somebody to sing that song for me. I suppose I could pay somebody to do so,” Javi mused, “but I think it would not have quite the same sentiment.”

“Javi, I promise that if we don’t die in this elevator, I will sing the song from Babe to you over the phone whenever you’re sick.” You turned his hands in yours, running your thumbs over his knuckles.

“And I will do the same for you. We must pinky swear it. Then our vow will be unbreakable.”

He hooked one pinky in the air between your bodies and waited for yours to join. You lifted your own and looped it with his, and Javi flexed his strong hand to squeeze the promise in extra tight.

“Good. It is agreed. Now, I am curious to know how a spirit that burns for such a piglet finds herself in such an establishment as this, cleaning up after unruly excess. Surely, it does not feed your soul.” Javi returned his hands to his own lap but tilted his head so it rested on your shoulder, his soft hair tickling against your cheek.

“Doesn’t feed my soul, no. Doesn’t feed my body very well, either. Pay is garbage, bills are always tight. My fridge has seen better days, for sure.” You huffed. “But, the hours are flexible. Sometimes I get tips. It’s whatever.”

“I wish for you to have more than ‘whatever’, querida,” intoned Javi, warm concern in his voice.

“Yeah, me too. Someday, hopefully.”

“Hmm.” Javi nuzzled slightly into your neck, and you wondered if he could feel your pulse pick up. “And if you were not working in this hotel, not burdened by your responsibilities, what would you like to be?”

“Besides a sheep-pig?” you smirked.

Javi patted your back with a giggle.

“I want to be a museum archivist,” you sighed. “I, uh, actually have two Masters degrees? History and Library & Information Science.”

“No! That is amazing!” Javi gasped at your side, lifting his head to gape at you.

“Thanks. It is… a lot of debt. And most archival positions require you to do a bunch of internships for experience just to get a foot in the door. Degree is a necessity but it doesn’t really mean anything in terms of getting a job. I couldn’t afford to pay back my loans and pay my bills while volunteering my time, and no paying jobs were willing to take a chance on me fresh out of school.” You laughed humorlessly. “Probably should’ve thought of that before I got the degree. But, I needed to do something, and this job was something. I’m able to volunteer at the Natural History Museum a few days a week with my schedule doing whatever they’ll let me.”

Javi was nodding along with your words as he listened. “I see, I see. And how long have you been doing this job instead of what you love?”

“Ah,” you hemmed. “Six, no, seven years?”

“And you have made progress on your loan payments?”

“Not really. If I work for a nonprofit or public employer, I could have my loans forgiven after 10 years of employment, but I’d have to be able to get the job first, and prospects are bleak. I don’t have savings either. Paying $1800 a month for a shoebox doesn’t leave much left over.” You allowed yourself to lean into Javi, your head slanting on top of his shoulder.

“Shit.” Tentatively, he reached his arm around your body. “This is okay, querida? For me to offer you this comfort?”

“It is, Javi. Thank you.” You snuggled into him, let his warmth seep into you, and sat in silence for a while. Time stretched lazily around you both, like a comfortable cat.

“You know what’s crazy? And sad, now that I think about it,” you said eventually. “In the seven years I’ve worked here, nobody has ever asked me about anything besides hotel shit or housekeeping. Not my bosses, not my coworkers. Definitely not any of the guests.”

“Then that is an injustice to you and a loss for them. Thank you for sharing yourself in this way with me. I feel very fortunate to have met and learned more of you.” You smiled against Javi’s torso and he cupped his palm around the base of your neck, thumbing the space behind your ear.

Suddenly, the elevator jerked, the lights blaring back on. You and Javi shielded your eyes from the blinding change. You exchanged glances as the display lit up once again, and Javi clambered to his knees, reaching out to give a testing press to the round 4 button.

———

The elevator rumbled and began to ascend.

“Oh, wow,” you said. “I kind of forgot this might eventually happen. Lost track of time, I’m not allowed to have my phone on me during shifts and I don’t wear a watch.” You stood up and shook out your tingling limbs.

Javi stood as well, straightening his suit and fixing his cuffs. “It has been…” He looked at his watch and squinted at the face. “It has been three hours.”

“Oh my god! Shit, I’m going to get reamed for not having that room cleared.” Panic and frustration started to gnaw at the corners of your and Javi’s peaceful vignette.

“But it is the fault of their elevator that you are delayed,” he reasoned.

“They won’t care, trust me. God, I wish I didn’t need this job as bad as I do.” You closed your eyes and took a breath, steeling yourself as the elevator stopped at the fourth floor and the doors slid open. For a moment, Javi hesitated, then exited before you and reached a hand back. You took it and let him lead you out of your shared could-have-been sarcophagus.

Wary of the hallway’s security cameras and what additional trouble you might find yourself in if your supervisors spotted you bothering the guests, you stepped further away from Javi’s body than you would’ve liked to be.

“I have to go to the Bacchus Suite, like, immediately,” you groaned, toeing at the carpet.

Javi tutted. “I am staying in the Fortuna Suite. If I leave a message for you at reception, will you receive it?” His face was drawn, but hopeful.

“Yeah, I definitely will. I… I really would like it if you did, Jav.” Your cheeks felt hot and you glanced down at your feet, looking up when you heard a shuffling to find Javi now standing inches from you.

“Nothing could keep me from leaving you a message, then. I think, probably, I will take the stairs this time,” he huffed a quiet laugh, his brow scrunching, his breath warm on your face. He moved closer, letting the strong curve of his aquiline nose nestle against your own, and you felt his long dark lashes flutter against your cheekbone.

“I would like to kiss you, before we part, if you would agree to it.” His voice was low, reserved, but run through with a gentle current of hunger. His hand slid around the back of your neck once more, as in the dark elevator, and he let his thumb stroke along the hinge of your jaw as he looked at you deeply, rich vanilla eyes heady with longing.

Fuck the security cameras.

You answered Javi by pressing your mouth firmly to his, lips slotting together effortlessly. He brought his other hand to hold your face, and you gripped around his biceps, fingers barely circling them, as you breathed in tandem. He opened his mouth against you, and you slipped your tongue to his, kissing deeply and languidly, losing yourselves in each other’s taste.

The other elevator dinged and you pulled apart as the doors opened, a bellboy with a luggage cart rolling his eyes at you both before turning down the hall.

“I have to go, Jav.”

“Okay. I will leave a message.”

Javi stepped back to you and kissed you once more, chaste and quick, and you waved your fingers at him and turned to hurry towards the room you were meant to be cleaning. He watched you go, his face flushed and his heart swelling, and when you’d disappeared around the corner, he walked to the stairwell and opened the door.

———

You stopped at the supply closet for a cart, gloves, trash bags, cleaning supplies, and a UV light (shudder), taking a few seconds to steady yourself, remind yourself you were about to go clean up possible biohazards for minimum wage after you’d spent the past few hours shut in a dark elevator with the most remarkable man you’d ever met, who kissed you like he needed you as much as he needed air.

Locking the closet behind you, you approached the suite. You steeled your nerves, puffed up your chest, and held the keycard up to the door latch.

Bink. The light flashed green and you pushed down the handle, ready for the worst.

It was worse than the worst.

After the wall of stench, the first thing you noticed was what appeared to be blue paint trailing from the door to the lounge, where a pool of cerulean was soaked into the cushions of the sofa. The curtains had been ripped from the wall, massive holes in the drywall where the rod had been, a fine layer of white dust settled over the drapes, which were crumbled on the floor. Every mirror was shattered, some bearing signs of lipstick and/or blood on their jagged edges. The stocked bar was trashed, cracked bottles dripping across the counter, glasses full of cigarette butts and unidentified liquids, sticky liquor puddled and syrupy on every available surface. The one bed you could see from where you stood had no mattress on it. You did not see the mattress. You were afraid to look at the bathroom.

The phone was ringing.

You sidestepped the paint splotches and tiptoed around broken glass to lift the receiver. “Housekeeping,” you said, peppy as was possible amid the destruction.

“We’ve had a guest request immediate assistance.”

“Okayyy,” you paused, curious why they were interrupting you about it. “I can do it after I finish assessing here.”

“The guest asked for you by name, and he does not wish to wait. He is a very valuable client of the chain, so we’ll reassign another housekeeper to the Bacchus. You can go straight to the other suite.”

“Oh! Which, uh, suite is that?” you asked, hoping for a particular answer.

“Fortuna.” You grinned.

“Okay, I’ll go right now.”

They hung up without saying another word, and you left the cart in the room and left as quickly as you could, trying not to skip as you rounded the corner and headed to the Fortuna, which sat on the other side of the elevator bank.

———

When you arrived, a little short of breath, you knocked twice and waited, bouncing slightly on your toes. There was no response.

You knocked again, louder this time, realizing you didn’t know Javi’s last name to call out to him and have it sound vaguely professional.

“Javi,” you said against the door, knocking once more and pressing your ear against it to listen for footsteps. Nothing. You pulled the master keycard from your pocket and passed it in front of the lock.

Bink. The green lights flashed, and you opened the door cautiously.

“Javi?” you called, stepping inside, but the room appeared to be empty. You walked through the lounge and peered into the bedroom, into the en suite, out on the balcony. Nothing. The bed was messily made, as if it had been straightened after being slept in, and the shower stall was damp, but otherwise you saw no evidence of Javi or anybody else, save for the faint ghost of his cologne lingering in the air.

What the fuck?

Your heart was sinking when you glanced at the console table and saw an envelope bearing your name in an even script. Before you could feel confused or angry or worried or any other emotion, you grabbed for it, then plunked yourself in an overstuffed armchair and opened. A folded piece of paper from the hotel’s branded memo pad fell out.

Inside the folded paper was a check. Your check. Or, rather, a check for you. Filled out in the same handwriting as the envelope. Made out for $50,000. From the personal account of Mr. Javier Gutierrez.

You thought you might faint, or cry, or puke, or drop dead. Activities better suited for the Bacchus Suite.

You turned your attention, somehow, from the check to the paper, seeing your name across the top of the paper below the hotel logo.

Querida,

Quit.

Your Friend,

Javi

P.S. I am outside. I am driving a silver Porsche convertible. No pressure. But I will wait here. - Javi

P.P.S. This is my phone number. It is okay if you do not call. Or come out to meet me. I just want you to have it. - Javi

P.P.P.S. In case you have received this letter later than I expected and you have been delayed by your cleaning duties, I have written this twenty-seven minutes past the moment you left me at the elevators. I do not want you to rush or to worry. If you have not appeared or called by evening I will wait in the parking lot overnight, just in case. The attendants are very easily distracted, it will not be difficult to hide. - Javi

P.P.P.P.S. I did not write you this check in the hope that you will want to pursue a romance with me. I wish for you to follow your dreams, even if they do not include me in them. We are practically strangers, after all, and I would understand. The money is yours, whatever you choose. My hope that you will also choose me is an entirely separate thing. Most of all, I desire for you to be happy, archiving all sorts of things that must be archived. I am certain you’ll do it very well. - Javi

P.P.P.P.P.S. I would like to kiss you again. - Javi

———

Ten minutes after reading Javi’s note, you were strolling out of the employee lockers, sunglasses and cell phone in hand and uniform abandoned on a bench. You paused at the schedule posted on the wall, used the Sharpie tied to a nail in the wall to drag a thick black line through your name on the calendar. Without fanfare, you waltzed out the front doors and climbed into the vehicle waiting for you in the valet loop.

“Did you drive?”

“Nope. No car - I take the bus.”

“Ah, just as well. I have many. I am happy to share.”

You turned to face the man in the driver's seat, his handsome face haloed by the sun as he looked fondly at you.

“That’s lot of money, Javier Gutierrez” you tsked.

“It is no hardship. You.. you will accept it, though? And, if I am lucky, you will accept… me?”

You laughed. “Yes. Both. I accept both. Happily.”

His eyebrows curled upwards and his lips pouted in an expression of blissful disbelief. “This is fantastic news, querida. And you quit?”

“And I quit,” you confirmed, and leaned across the console to continue the kiss that had been interrupted at the elevators, savoring this moment at the cusp of something beautiful.

Javi shifted his head, sat up slightly, and you tugged gently on his plump lower lip with your teeth as he pulled back just enough to lock his eyes with yours. Tears glistened at his waterline and you felt your own begin to well. He pressed his forehead to yours, nudged his nose against yours, and rubbed his hands down your arms before giving you a solid pat on the back and whispering against your skin:

“That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”

———

Tagging the sprintos who cheered me on!!

@whocaresstillthelouvre @jennaispunk @goodwithcheese @ace-turned-confused @timelordfreya @maggiemayhemnj @beefrobeefcal @tinytinymenace

[fire-lizard-ro]

Fem!reader being nonconned by Mr. Sunday and birthing babies with tiny wing who looks like their daddy

Thank you for the ask!

This one is a shorter, more simple response because I'm not sure how comfortable I am with writing noncon despite the other dark things I write. If I decide to in the future, I'll circle back around to this to write some more!

Hope you still like it fsiegji- OTL

CW: discussion of noncon, manipulation, babytrapping, other dark topics, etc.

Reader gender: female

Hmmmm- If I'm being honest, I'm not sure he would. That would be his ultimate last resort in order to tie you to him with something beyond just your feelings. A yandere Sunday is very manipulative and either waits until you suggest it yourself out of your want to have a child with the love of your life, or he'll subtly get you to think that way while making you think that it was your idea all along.

Once you're pregnant, he'll know for sure that he has you. It's a way of marking you as his more visibly. After all, he's the one who put a baby in you. Even better is when your children are born and they look like him and have those telling wings of theirs, sprouting from their heads. You've never looked more beautiful- More his.

His beautiful girl with his child in her arms.

It's so wonderful he cries real tears, not the ones he fakes to keep up his facade of a strong, yet tender hearted leader occasionally in certain situations.

But if he did have to resort to such an act... There's no way he wouldn't go to lengths to manipulate your possibly broken mind into thinking this was a good thing for you and he was just helping you see what you really wanted. After all, look at the beautiful children you have together, now! Aren't they lovely? You don't hate them, do you? No? That's good. <333

See? Everything is fine and we have a family, now.

Don't worry your pretty little head about anything. I'll take care of you, my love.

Such tender words. Spoken with a smile that hides a beast who knows the taste of blood.

Thank you again for requesting and sorry for the inconvenience. Again- If I decide I am comfortable writing noncon, I might come back to this to add to it. Feel free to send another ask in if you want!

[chouxsardine]

Permission to Fall -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Don't be afraid of falling, because he will catch you everytime" --Where things became too much at your company's Christmas party and Jake comes to the rescue as the most thoughtful boyfriend that he is.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3211

Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, feet (nothing gross or super detailed), a drop of superstition (let me know if I've missed any)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort

Author's note: This is originally an idea inspired by @jakesguitarsolo and written for her. I hope you feel better now, dear. One idea spins into me pulling an all nighter...And here it is. This also goes to whoever feels stressed around this time of the year. Yes, things are tough, but you are stronger. I am so proud of you. If you want to talk, feel free to send me an ask or message. This is my first gvf fic and my first time writing anything for threes years. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it too.

🎧: I am listening to I Need You Most of All by Stephen Sanchez while writing this (you can tell the title is taken from the lyrics)

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

Suddenly everything is too much.

But you know damn well that it doesn’t just happen “suddenly”. In fact, shit has been building up for days, or even weeks. You don’t know if it’s the end-of-year frenzy getting into everyone’s head, Mercury is in retrograde, or the depleted Vitamin D levels due to shortened daylight, you’ve had it particularly rough recently, from small inconveniences like your favourite snack being out of stock at the local grocery store for three consecutive weeks to mishaps like you taking the blame for your impotent coworker. You are exhausted, to say the least; you couldn’t wait for the holidays. Not entirely for its cheer, but for the few precious days off. You just need a break from everything.

Now you are stuck in your company’s holiday party. The annual event that you dreaded the most. It involves too many fake smiles, false-hearted small talk, and tooth-rotting-sweet cupcakes that clearly have too much food colouring. All the mental preparing goes south as you stand in the room, the stabbing pain from your high-heels growing more and more unbearable by the second. Too many people.

“Just another thirty minutes, you can do it. Just another thirty minutes”. You hopelessly glance at the clock on the wall, flashbacking to your childhood self squirming in the seats waiting for math class to end.

But of course, something has to make matters worse. The real straw that breaks the camel’s back is your clumsy coworker accidentally bumping into you and spilling her drink on your shoes.

“Oh my god, I am so so sorry, y/n!” She hastily apologizes in a high-pitched squeal. A few people turn their heads toward your direction.

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Embarrassment. Embarrassment. Panic. Trouble. You try to wave her off. The shoes aren’t even your top concerns right now; you just want her to stop talking and stop attracting more unwanted attention.

“Really? Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! It’s just—”

“Please.” You take the handful of tissues from her, look her in the eyes, almost pleading, “It’s fine. Please excuse me, I’ll just go to the washroom real quick.”

Once the washroom door is closed behind you, you feel like collapsing right there on the floor. You wobble your way to the sink, arms propped up on the cold marble surface. You don’t dare to look at yourself in the mirror. Your ears are buzzing and the twisted feeling in your lungs tightens. As if a cold hand is wringing a wet towel inside your stomach, as if someone is shoving your head into cold water, you can't breath properly. You try to draw a breath, but end up sounding like a stranded whale. Before it develops into a full-blown panic attack that you can’t handle, you managed to muster the last bit of your sanity and dial that number with trembling fingers.

Jake picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, love. What’s up? ”

Upon hearing his voice, your tears break free. You are sobbing so hard that you have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the volume down. God forbid any busybody out there overhearing sobbing coming out of the washroom. “Ja—Jake—-”You struggled to form a coherent syllable.

“What’s wrong, y/n? Are you hurt?” His voice immediately grows sterner, stripped of of the previous languidness.

To talk under this state feels like squeezing words out of your veins. “Ca—can—you..come p—pick me up? Company—p-party.” You stutter through gritted teeth.

There is some shuffled noise over the phone, a loud bang sounding like he had bumped into something, a silent “fuck” under his breath, then his voice reaches your ears again: “Coming right now, baby, take a deep breath for me.”

You hear the faint beeping of car keys. More shuffled noise. More beeping. That means he has started the car, right? That means he will be here soon, right? You mind is racing and spinning and your lungs are still acting up, only allow silvers of oxygen into your body. You feel like you are watching the world through a distorted filter. A scarier thought jumps into your brain: you whiny puny thing, continue crying and your panic will affect Jake. The roads are slippery now, and it will be all your fault if he ends up in a car accident.

As if being slapped in the face, you manage to suck in a deep breath like a scuba diver resurfacing to the water: “Drive safe please, please Jake, please—I will wait for you.”

Jake makes a sound that is somewhat between a relieved laugh and a resigned sigh. He knows instantly what’s going on in your overthinking brain; you are worried about him. The thoughtfulness must be engraved in y/n’s brain, he thought, always, always putting others in front of herself, even when she’s having a panic attack. And Jake knows you are correct. It is only upon hearing your words that he realizes how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He recomposes himself, relaxing his shoulder, “Don’t you worry about me, love. I will stay on the phone if that makes you feel better, yeah? Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me.”

“Knock on wood!” You hiss between sobbing, frantically searching for any wooden material around you. Damn it, why is everything so shiny and glassy?

Jake is amazed that he even lets out a short laugh under the circumstances. Yes, his heart aches hearing his girl being a mess over the phone, and he wishes he could grow wings and fly to her side. But meanwhile, he can't help but find you cute like this. He knocks three times on the mini wooden tissue box that he keeps in the middle console.

“Yes, knock on wood. You hear that, doll?”

“Hmm.” You would honestly believe anything now. Hearing Jake’s voice and imagining him coming to you is like brown noise for babies. Your lungs finally decide to have mercy on you, and you can now somehow draw in shallow breaths albeit the pain in your chest.

Jake is relieved as he sees the green lights shining at the last intersection before turning left onto the side road where your company is located. “I’m here. Can you come down by yourself, love? Or do you want me to get you?”

“I can come down.” You say. The thought of him finding you in a messy pile on the bathroom floor makes you wince, even though he’d probably seen worse.

“Okay baby, see you in a second.”

You don’t remember how you collected your coat and pushed your way through the crowded room without many people noticing. The next moment, your sensations are restored, and you find yourself already in Jake’s arms. He's waiting for you in the area between the automatic glass door and the revolving door outside, a place that is warm with air conditioning but won’t attract nosy people. He wraps you in a hug with his wool jacket. His comforting scent fills your nostrils, a powerful pacifier for your naughty lungs. For the first time this evening, you can finally breathe properly like a normal human being. The rush of fresh air makes you release a loud sob like a newborn baby. The relief of seeing him safely standing in front of you and the release of finally being free from the stressful and stuffy environment ushers more tears to stream down your face.

“Shhhh…..you’re okay now, y/n, safe now. I’m here.” His hand wraps protectively around the back of your head as he plants kisses into your hair. “Poor girl, let’s get to the car and go home.”

Home. Home sounds heavenly to your right now. You couldn’t think of a better combination of these four letters in the whole of human history.

On the way back, you curl into a ball on the passenger seat like a battered puppy. Jake holds your hand whenever he gets the chance, his strong calloused fingers gently massaging yours, tracing the patterns on your palm, his thumb brushing the back of your hand, providing warmth. No longer crying, your shoulders occasionally shudder with involuntary sobs that escape you. But other than that, you are falling into a trance. Your gaze concentrated on Jake’s perfect side profile through hooded eyes, watching in awe as the passing streetlights formed patterns of shadow on his graceful nose and cheeks; your mind numb without a single thought.

It is only when Jake wakes you up that you realize you have fallen asleep. The car is already parked in the garage, the familiar and comforting damp smell seeping in.

“We are home now, sleepyhead.” Jake smiles at you, tapping on your wrist to signal you to wait as he gets out of the car and opens your side of the door. Just as you were about to step off, Jake reaches to cradle you by the shoulders and knees, carrying you bridle-style into the house. You hide your face shyly in the crook of his neck, secretly grateful because your feet are indeed sore in those heels.

Jake puts you down by the shoe rack, motioning you to put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he squats down in front you, holding your ankles and taking off your shoes. If he did see the stains, he didn’t ask any questions, only cooed when he saw the blisters on your heels.

“Let’s go upstairs and get your makeup off, then we’ll cuddle and go to bed, yeah?” Jake stands up, hanging up your coat before cupping your cheeks and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You never hated makeup more than now, regretting to put it on in the first place, now that it has become the annoying barrier lying in your way to bedtime. But Jake says “let’s,” that means he’s going to do it together with you, right?

“Jake?” You whine bashfully.

“Yes, love?”

You tilt up your chin and close your eyes, “One more kissy, please?”

Jake swears he feels a part of his heart melt right there. Who is he to deny you?

“Of course, as many as my princess would like.”

Stepping into the bathroom, Jake sits you on the closed toilet seat. He opens the drawer, grabs your makeup remover and some cotton pads. He applies some liquid onto the wipes and lifts up your chin.

“Close your eyes for me, love.” The cool liquid on your eyelids makes your eyebrows twitch, causing Jake to chuckle, “I know, I know. Just a little longer.”

You sit quietly, mesmerized and hypnotized under his touch. His movements are almost rhythmic. Is this how cats feel when their owners scratches behind their ears? You fear that if you make a sound, you will actually let out a purr.

Jake continues until most of your makeup is gone. “Hold out your hands,” you hear him say and complied. Two dollops of foamy liquid landed in the centre of your palm, and you opened your eyes to recognize they are your face wash. Jake tugs on your wrist, leading you to stand in front of the sink.

“Can you wash your pretty face now, darling? Wash up, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded, feeling lighter and more relaxed now without your makeup and even more content when you turn on the tap and find out that Jake has already tuned it to a lukewarm temperature for you.

When Jake returned, he was calling you from the bedroom. You have already brushed your teeth and let down your hair.

You walked into the bedroom and are welcomed by the scent of bergamot and sandalwood from your favourite candle glowing on the night stand. Jake was pulling an old T-shirt out from the closet. It was the vintage Joan Jett and The Blackhearts shirt, the patterns half faded, and materials worn-out soft. You saw him laying out one of his boxers for you too. He knows you always prefer them to your own underwear as pyjamas.

“Come sit, angel.” He patted the bench at the foot of the bed, him sitting across from it on a small stool.

It is only when you walked close that you saw the wooden foot spa basin, with clouds of steam rising from it. As you sat down, he gently took your ankle and balanced your feet on the edge of the basin, so that the hot water is steaming your sole.

“It’s still a bit hot.” He looks up to you. “I put Epsom salt and eucalyptus oil in it.”

“Where did you get this?” You feel like the heat from the bottom of the feet is slowly being absorbed into your veins and rising up to your cheeks. You wiggle your toes nervously.

Jake lets out a giggle, “Well, mum suggested once to Josh about the foot spa thing, said it helps with stress and tense muscles. You know, with him running barefoot on stage and all.” He reaches down to sprinkle some water onto your feet, letting you adjust to the temperature. “But Josh got the fancy electric ones. I thought this is better. More authentic, don’t you think?”

“Uh-hmm.”

“Your nails are all chipped,” Jake looks down, “maybe tomorrow we can repaint them? I saw you bought a new colour the other day.”

Tender. So tender. From his tone to his caramel brown eyes. The light from the lamp illuminates the left side of his face, giving it a solemn, smooth glow like a wax statue. Your heart swells; love makes it rise like Soufflé in the oven. The soft surface rises up until it touches your ribcage, threatening to spill those tears again.

“Thank you, Jake.” You dare not raise your voice, fearing that it will break, “I just got a bit overwhelmed at the party, is all.”

Jake eases your feet slowly into the water now that it’s the perfect temperature. The slight sling of your blisters is soon overwhelmed by the all-encompassing warmth that rises all the way to your ankle.

After a few heart beats, he speaks again. “You’ll always have me, y/n. You are allowed to fall, to break. I will be here to catch you, to piece you together. Whatever you need.”

Finally you were snuggled together in bed. You, a human koala, cling to Jake with your face pressed against his chest. His arm snakes around your shoulder, fingers mindlessly tracing your collarbone, strumming some unknown patterns. His heartbeat thumping in your ear, the perfect lullaby. The steady rise and fall of his chest is like waves, rocking you into a sweet slumber. Your eyelids feel heavy like velvet drapes. There’s still a stubborn voice in your brain keeping you from falling asleep. There’s still one more thing you need to do, even though you understood each other perfectly.

“Jake?” Your voice low like a murmur. Jake almost didn’t hear you at first.

“What is it, babe?”

“I love you.” Those words come out as a slur, and like a magic spell, you fall into the deep embrace of sleep as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips. Now clear of any stress and worries in the arms of your lover, the strained string in you brain that has been holding on for dear life the whole evening finally snaps. You’re out like a light.

“I love you back, y/n, through and through.” He whispers into your dream.

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheet on his side still has the human-shaped imprint. Jake is a night owl; it is pretty common that he just gets up in the middle of the night and ends up doing some random things around the house. Most often it’s him strumming the guitar and experimenting with his ideas for new tunes in the home studio downstairs. But you have also caught him fixing chipped paint on the walls, repotting the succulents in the garage, and pouring broth into the crockpot with chicken thighs and smoked ham hock (“so we could have warm chicken chili in the morning!”; to be honest, it’s indeed delicious; you had two bowls and had to skip lunch that day). Just to name a few, so the possibilities are endless.

You get out of bed, creep cross the corridor and tiptoe your way down the stairs. The lights at the doorway are on; you thought Jake forgot to turn them off. However, as you approach, you see Jake squatting down next to the shoe rack, his back towards you, and a brush and some spray bottles laying nearby.

You move closer and see him holding the clothes steamer near your wine-stained shoes. The heels you wore have a suede tip in the front, and unfortunately, that’s where the wine was mostly spilt on. After a few moments, Jake uses the wire brush to clean the surface. He stops from time to time, holding it further to inspect the result.

You waited until he stops again to make some sounds, announcing your presence. Jake immediately turns around. His eyes softens upon seeing you.

“What are you doing up?”

You go to squat down next to him, kissing his temple before resting your head on his shoulder.

“You just bought these not so long ago, yeah? It’d be a shame to leave them stained.” Jake lets more steam soak into the fabric before brushing them again. “I’m almost done. I saw this trick online, and it looks pretty legit.” It’s only then that you noticed his phone on the side, the screen showing the replies from some Reddit post.

“Thank you, baby.” You rub your cheeks slightly on his T-shirt; the feeling of warm pastry once again fills your heart.

“No worries, doll. I think it’s good for now. Let’s leave them here and check in the morning.” Jake starts putting away his tools before pulling you up and wrapping his arm around your waist, leading you back upstairs.

On your way, something familiar catches your eye. You must’ve missed it earlier.

“Wait, where did you get that?” You stop, pointing at what happens to be a whole case of your favourite snack lying on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, I saw the stores are out of them, so I ordered them online. They just arrived today.” Jake scratches his head, his tone tainted with slight disappointment.“I thought they’d be a nice surprise as stocking stuffers, but…”

You stopped him mid-sentence with a kiss.

“I love you.” This time you said it clear against his lips.

“Oh doll, I love you back,” he smiles, showing the cutest wrinkle on his nose. His hands brush your shoulder as you resume your steps upstairs. “Let’s get a few more hours of sleep now. And when you wake up, you will wake up to some yummy pancakes and a pair of stain-free shoes, huh? How does that sound?”

Oh Lord, that sounds heavenly. That sounds just like home.

“I’d like that, Jake. I’d like that very, very much.”

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

Thank you for reading :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated

(The stain-removing tips comes from malccy72 on reddit :D

If you also feel like reading a smutty (but also fluffy?) piece🤭: Mariner's Complex || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

or some Christmas fluff: Ticked (all my boxes)

[denial-permanente]

Hi there,

I’ve been a follower of your for quite a while and have to say I admire the dynamic you and Tom share, and the strength and closeness that your base relationship reflects.

I send this seeking your opinion, and I apologize if you’ve already answered this before.

I find myself in a precarious situation where I have, slowly, yet steadily and surely, become interested in chastity. For me, and I say this with as much honesty as one can, my interest in this isn’t fetishized as is more Domme focused. As in, I do not find myself interested in the idea because it gets me all hot and bothered (despite the fact that it does), but is more my desire to offer my Domme something I know I have not fully internalized and am fully comfortable with. Its beyond my comfort zone but that is where growth and magic take place. I will want yo say that my apprehension or anxiety are not because I don’t want to be thrown/throw myself into the deep end, but a nervousness about the realities and challenges of how it will play out if that makes sense? It’s sort of a ‘careful what you wish for’ kind of situation.

I am currently seeing a very special woman who is very much on the dominant side of things and we’ve talked about some aspects that our dynamic would involve. We have discussed orgasm control, and she has made it clear to me that this is an expectation she has of me, but chastity is yet to be discussed.

We have been nurturing a very beautiful connection in our relationship, but the thought of her potentially wanting me in chastity and wanting to wear my key on her neck for the world to see (even if fee pick up on it) makes me a little nervous. I feel like that would break me as a submissive, it would make me realize my place infinitely more deeply and would bring me into a state of submission that is beyond what Im used to or know what to expect from.

So I guess my question is: why do you think Im feeling this way and do you think I should override this nervous and just surrender to that desire of hers (as it comes up) fully? I know these are questions only I could answer but I appreciate your experience and take on this greatly.

Thank you in advance :)

Like a lot of men, you may be way overthinking all this. You're seeing a domme, you have chemistry, and things are going well. And instead of just enjoying all this you are worried that things will go... too well? 🙄

First of all, she may not even want to wear one of those ugly keys. I'm sorry... I know a lot of you men get all hot and bothered but we are not 14 years old here. Those keys are ugly and no woman wants to wear one especially if they are dressed up.

Second, she wants to control your orgasms. That is perfectly acceptable with or without a cage. By asking... demanding that she take control of your orgasms she makes sure that your desire is focused on her and not on your penis. I told my husband many years ago that I wanted all of the control over that and even in times when he was not caged he took that very seriously. To me it represented a huge commitment... and women love to see commitment from men.

I guess what I'm saying is to forget about the cage. That is... the cage is not to prevent orgasms, it is to prevent accidents and temptation... both yours and hers.

🔒Tom here. This is a point that gets overlooked a lot: cages do not prevent orgasms, they simply make them inconvenient. Long before my permanently locked status, I considered it a personal challenge to refrain from unauthorized orgasms. Once, my wife had me going for over 15 very difficult months, no cage. And it's true - women love their men to show commitment.

I also think that you're overthinking this. Orgasm control is a step, wearing a cage for her is another step. I understand that guys can have mixed emotions of love/hate/fear over orgasm control/denial, but instead of approaching it as something taken away from you, try looking at it as a sacrifice you are making for her.

[mj-iza-writer]

"It started with yelling", Caretaker recalled as they spoke to the doctor privately while a nurse helped Whumpee into a sling.

"Whumpee had been asleep for a few hours already. I myself was getting ready to get into bed when I heard frantic movements coming from their room", Caretaker sighed, "I was on my way to check on them when I heard their yelling for help, I heard them fall. By then, I rushed to open the door. I saw them crash into the door frame and fall to the ground."

The doctor sighed, "they've definitely broken their collarbone. It could have been from falling or running into the doorframe. We're not sure, and they won't tell us. They seem to be shaken up still. They've also sprained their wrist. I can assume that happened when they fell."

Caretaker nodded, "I'll talk to them as I have to document all of this and file it to my board supervisors. I'll let you know what I find out."

Caretaker waited a few more minutes while the nurse finished helping Whumpee.

"Hey Whumpee, you gave us all a little scare", Caretaker came in and sat, "they're working on your discharge summary right now, so we have some time to talk."

"I-I'm sorry, I... I", Whumpee started to sob.

"Hey, shh. It's okay, Whumpee, you didn't do anything bad", Caretaker quickly got up to hug Whumpee, "you sounded very scared when I heard you, what happened?", Caretaker rested his hand on Whumpee's good shoulder.

"I had a nightmare, but when I woke up, I thought I saw them in my room still. Th-there was a shadow", Whumpee looked down, "I tried to get out of bed. Um, my foot was caught under the blankets, so I fell to the floor. I think that's when I hurt my wrist, and I called for help", Whumpee sniffled some snot up their nose and wiped some tears with their pajama sleeves, "I was rushing to the door when I saw it open, I tried to stop or move out of the way, but I hit the door and fell back, that's when my shoulder started to hurt."

"My my, I'm sorry you had quite the nightmare", Caretaker sighed.

Caretaker pulled the chair a little closer, and sat back down.

"I was getting into bed when I heard you moving around. I went to check on you, and when I heard you fall I sprinted to the door", Caretaker pulled out his phone, "and of course I saw you hit the door frame", Caretaker sighed, "so what will happen now is I'm going to document all of this here on my phone. A copy goes to your doctor, a copy goes to my supervisors, and a copy gets save to your care file, and as you know, you can access that at any time."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry again, I know you haven't had any sleep yet. Now you have this to worry about."

Caretaker sighed and looked at Whumpee, "you have nothing to apologize for. Your care comes first, as for your injuries, I'm sorry to you that that happened. Don't worry about my sleep schedule", Caretaker gave a comforting smile, "I am perfectly fine."

Whumpee nodded and used their pajamas to wipe another tear.

Caretaker reached for a nearby tissue box and offered it to Whumpee.

Once home Caretaker got Whumpee into bed.

"Do you feel uncomfortable anywhere", Caretaker looked them over, "try to keep your arms elevated. The ice packs and elevation will help with swelling for your wrist and collarbone."

Whumpee nodded, "besides that, I feel okay."

"I'm going to let your nurse know what happened so they come in prepared", Caretaker pulled up a blanket, "I'm going to send in the report and discharge notes to my supervisors, then I'm going to lay down for a nap until your nurse is here."

Whumpee whimpered a little.

"Are you okay?", Caretaker looked at them with concern, "I forgot about my nurse, do you think they'll be upset with me. I'm going to be an inconvenience to both of you."

"You're not an inconvenience Whumpee", Caretaker sighed, "never think you are an inconvenience to us. We are here to take care of you. We are happy to do that for you."

"I'll go out to the pharmacy later to pick up your pain medication the doctor gave you. Are you in any pain right now?", Caretaker looked over Whumpee again.

"No sir", Whumpee sighed.

"Okay, call me if you need anything at all", Caretaker started to leave, they looked around the room, "I bet that was the shadow you saw", they pointed at a pile of clothes Whumpee had neglected, "I'll clean that up later, and see about a night light in here."

Whumpee sighed as they looked at the pile of clothing. Knowing that was their fault, and they neglected to do their one chore of the day.

"I'm sorry", Whumpee looked back at Caretaker.

"I'm not upset about it Whumpee, but I will say this as a reminder. You have a few chores to take care of. I do that so you regain some independence, I hope we learned a lesson from this", Caretaker sighed.

Whumpee nodded.

"Alright go ahead and get some rest", Caretaker smiled, "and Whumpee?"

"Y-yes sir", Whumpee looked toward Caretaker.

"I'm not mad at you. Please remember that", Caretaker promised, "you are not an inconvenience at all."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou Caretaker, that means a lot."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots

[wardenparker]

Summer Rose

Professor!Santiago Garcia x female OC Co-written with @julesonrecord

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 6k Warnings: OC is named (Daphne Antonelli) but has minimal physical description. Age gap 10+ years. Both parties are consenting adults. Alcohol consumption, mutual pining, professor/student, oral sex (f and m receiving), 69, sexy mythology references, vaginal sex, protected sex, fingernails/scratching, a bit of biting. Summary: Daphne is having an absolutely terrible day and has missed office hours to turn in her final paper to Professor Garcia. When she turns up on his doorstep to turn in her assignment, the professor she's been crushing on for ages offers her a supportive ear -- and help relaxing. Notes: A little collaboration between myself and my beloved Jules featuring a character we've working on (Daphne) and today's wet daydream of college professor!Santiago. Honestly this is just a bit of porn with the barest thread of a plot, and we're not sorry. Also, just a disclaimer that I have no clue how one finishes a masters degree, but it doesn't matter. We're here for the porn, not the threadbare plot.

Twilight is beautiful on campus. Santiago has always thought so, even before he had the letters after his last name that demarcate him as faculty. He enjoys the blush of the sun fading, the purple of the dusky sky fading to blue-black, indigo, then glitter with starlight.

He likes walking home after class this way; a quiet moment to ease his mind after lectures and before grading. This late in the semester, it will be one of the last walks before the summer term. As he passes through the quiet neighborhood and climbs his front doors, he glances up, spies Orion's Belt in the heavens. He thinks about introducing the story next time he holds his Mythology and Myth-Making class. Did he include it this year? He can't remember. He'd been... distracted.

His phone pings with a text as he sets his messenger bag on the dining room table and undoes his cuff buttons, rolling them up. Too damn hot for this, damn dress code rules... He peers down at the message, and notes it's from an unknown number. His students know to text him if they have an emergency, so he opens it straight away.

Hi, Professor Garcia. I know that it's after office hours, but the fact is...I missed office hours altogether. Would it be an inconvenience to call you and explain? Otherwise I'm not sure how to get my final paper to you. Thanks, Daphne Antonelli (Mythology and Myth-Making)

Santiago lifts an eyebrow. He recognizes the name. Oh yes, he recognizes it. In fact, he's called it to mind more often than is probably appropriate, along with the image of a very beautiful graduate student with a focused stare and drop-dead gorgeous eyes. She was an attentive student, responsive, ready to answer questions but never one to hog the spotlight, making insightful, empathetic, and razor-sharp questions. It was unlike her to miss anything, never mind not visit office hours. They'd spent many such visits over the semester. Short. Professional. Of course.

So why does his heart rate increase, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thoughtfully taps the phone screen, spelling out a careful, professional text?

Hi Daphne. As this is your final paper, I would really like to have it ASAP as I am required to submit grades on Monday. Why don't you swing by my home to drop it off?

Feel free to call, he types, then deletes before sending. He wanted to hear her voice. He did need that paper. No reason why he couldn't do both in person. No reason at all.

He had had his graduate students over for a spring dinner after midterms so they know how and where to find him. The bonfire that night had lasted for ages, as tipsy grad students who were feeling feisty with a full meal in their bellies debated the cultural implications of different myth origins and the similarities of some creation myths that they had just been discussing in class. Daphne had been amongst the students that night, animatedly defending her points with unmatched ferocity that was impossible to ignore.

The text that comes through a few moments later takes a while for her to decide on, judging from the continuously undulating bubbles indicating how long she was typing compared to the brevity of the eventual message.

Thank you for understanding. I'll be over shortly so the rest of your night isn't interrupted.

Satisfaction. He tosses the phone down and leans over the table with a slow sigh, taking a look around the room. The same old familiar wall-to-wall bookshelves line the tidy bungalow. The same pendant lamps up, tacky, that he'd meant to change when he bought this place... four years ago. His degrees might be hung in his office upstairs, his clothes are here, he shaves here, but who does he have here, really? Nobody. Warm sheets for a night and then no one. Nothing. There was no reason to bother, really—

And then Daphne. Daphne with her slowly blossoming smile that melted from shy to beaming when he said hello to her on campus. Daphne with her neat notes in the margins, Daphne with the legs that had so often been tucked primly next to his as they leaned over a book or paper together, never touching but so close, close enough so that he could smell her perfume: cinnamon, orchid, incense.

"Fuck," he mutters to the table. There's no way of hiding from himself, not really. He pushes off the wood and stalks to the kitchen for a beer. He cracks it open efficiently and takes a long swallow, Adam's apple bobbing. He wants her. That much is clear. How could he not? She was intelligent, fierce, gorgeous. He could fool himself all he wanted, her coming here was a bad idea. It's been a long semester, keeping her close but not too close.

But, he realizes with a jolt, she's about to graduate. This is her final, his course is over. He is... well, technically by Monday, no longer her professor.

"Fuck," he mutters again, this time to a magnet of a catfish, his only catch from a weekend out fishing with the guys.

It's twenty minutes later precisely when his doorbell rings. There was no sound of a car outside on the street or dramatic slam of a door, but when he opens the door there is a bicycle leaning against his front gate and a frazzled looking student on his front step.

"Hi, Professor." Daphne stands on his step with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment on her face and she digs into her bag right away to pull out a manila folder with his class name and number written on it alongside her name. "I'm so sorry about this. I know it's technically late and that you'll have to dock points for that. It's completely my fault."

"Hey, hey, easy." He lifts a palm and lowers it soothingly, taking the manila folder gently. "There's no need to be sorry, accidents happen." Then, as he knew he would, he asked, "Would you like to come in? It's the end of semester, though. Maybe you have a party you'd rather get to?" He smiles fondly, bumping his shoulder against the doorframe and folding his arms to show off his tanned forearms, shirt sleeves straining slightly.

Yeah, he's still got moves. And he wants to show them off. To Daphne. Who is no longer his student. Who's staring up at him with the anguish slowly sliding from her face. He wants to remove it, stroke her stress away with his thumb, ease it out of her slowly—

Fuck, he's screwed.

"I'm not really – I mean, I haven't –" She doesn't get invited to parties, is what she's trying to say. Not that she doesn't enjoy parties, because she does. She absolutely does. The night they spent here at his house just sitting around the fire talking and sharing a meal was one of her favorite graduate school memories. But she isn't great at socializing with the other students in her program, she's found. There is something a little odd about Daphne, and it has reverberated through her life to keep her just a little on the outside of normal.

Maybe that's why she nods, accepting the invitation with swallowed thanks, and steps inside her professor's house. Her professor who has more than a decade on her in terms of age but has never held his years of experience or knowledge over her head. If they were colleagues, she might have even considered him a friend. As it is, being his student, she's stuck in a sort of limbo with a useless crush and fond memories. "I've had kind of a crazy day," she admits sheepishly. "Even if I had been invited to any of the parties on campus, I don't think I would be going."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Daph," he says, with real sympathy. "Is everything all right? I just opened a beer, would you like anything?"

"A pipe burst at my place and my landlord is claiming I'm liable, then my computer crashed in the middle of doing one last edit on your term paper and the tech office gave me grief, it's just...it's been a long day." She barely even nodded in agreement that a drink would be a huge relief, but he is immediately retreating to his refrigerator to grab her a beer. "Oh, and my summer plans fell through today." Her shoulders sag, the stress of the day dragging her down and determined to keep her there. "I'm just lucky I got up to take a shower first thing this morning or else the day would've been even worse."

"Oh, Daph, that's a rotten one," he says, placing the opened beer on the coffee table and settling his hands on her shoulders. "What happened to your summer? Surely you're going off to some incredible internship, you're more than qualified." And she is. He'd have recommended her to any program she wanted, and had, in fact, written her a letter of recommendation earlier in the year. "You know I'm not going to dock points, right?" he asks more quietly. "None of today was your fault, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. That shouldn't burrow into her chest and bloom into warmth like it does, and Daphne's eyes drop to the floor immediately to carefully focus on the toes of her boots instead of looking him in the face. That's your professor. Don't be creepy. "I had that internship lined up in London with the publishing company but they pulled the rug out from under me." She shrugs, feeling more vulnerable in the moment than she wants to admit. "Apparently the CFO's kid decided all of a sudden that he wants to be an author, so they rescinded my offer. He's going to get it instead."

His chest pangs. He hates that there is nothing he can do to fix this for her -- because she's right. That's the cherry on top of an extremely long day, and all he can do then is what feels most natural, which is to lift her chin up with the crook of his finger, his voice soft, gentle. "Hey."

When she meets his gaze, he watches them flicker slightly, scanning his face as he drinks in hers. Her eyes are so pretty. Like fresh honey dripped from a spoon.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he says again, and means it. "You deserve that spot, but you'll find something better, okay? Hey, look at me." She had turned away slightly, embarrassed or perhaps made shy by his praise, but her eyes fix on him again, golden and fringed with thick lashes. "I promise, you will. There's lots of ways into this world, and you're too talented not to break in. Okay? You want to sit down, tell me about it?" His fingers clasp around her delicate elbow, ready to guide her to the couch.

"There's not a lot more to tell, to be honest." Two people with two beers steer almost mechanically toward the couch, and Daphne finds herself being seated on his plush leather sectional just before he sits down beside her. This spring has been chilly and he still has a throw blanket out, which he pulls close to them as if to have it at the ready. "No summer in London means I'm going to have to either go back home and figure out my next step there, or find a new place here and do the same. Because I'm sure as hell not staying in the place I'm in now. As if the landlord weren't bad enough, now the plumbing is going."

"Huh." He trails his arm over the back of the sofa, sipping his beer thoughtfully. "What kinda guy is this-" Asshole, he wants to say, but quells it, "Fellow? Any chance he'll back off? Perhaps once he... calms down, he can be reasoned with." He's approaching the boundary of reason himself. He can see it, taste it, the drip of something sweet down his throat. "Beautiful woman like you? You could convince a man of anything."

The pffft sound that comes out of her mouth goes with a wave of her hand, but she does accept a sip of the beer that he's brought her with a grateful sigh. "The apartment is a piece of shit anyway, if I'm honest. I hate it there. It's just that it's affordable." There's a moment's pause where Daphne's eyes widen in panic and she deflates again with a groan. "I already put in my notice at my job, oh my god."

"Hey, hey, Daphne." He puts his beer down and reaches for her, wrapping one arm around her waist, cupping her flushed cheek with the other hand. "C'mon, it's going to be okay, I promise, but for right now, I need you to relax, okay? Can you do that for me, bebita?" They're so close now, almost nose to nose. He's lost in her eyes again, but he can feel the burning heat of her little cheek in his palm.

She had been so sure she was going to start crying instantly with that realization, but two searing hot hands on her skin steady her. His touch is grounding, pulling her away from the edge of panic and drawing her into his aura so effortlessly that she didn't even realize how close he was until she felt his breath on her skin. "O—okay—" He can't know that the thing keeping her from having a complete panic attack on his couch right now is the fact that all the blood in her body has rushed to her aching clit, but damned if it isn't working. Daphne nods vaguely, trying to keep her head from swimming, but all she feels is his hands on her and the way his coffee brown eyes have turned to oceans in front of her. "Okay," she repeats softly.

"Okay?" Santiago nods, his breath coming a little fast. "I'll help you. I'll help you relax, sweetheart. You tell me to stop any time, okay?" He leans closer so slowly, their breaths mingling. He can almost count her eyelashes. Her nose is sweet and soft as it brushes his, but it's nothing compared to her plush lips. They seal against his and he feels the world fall out from under him. Something deep and ravenous unlocks and spills out all over his inside. He barely chokes down a groan.

There is no doubt that this is the most surreal moment of Daphne's life, and it isn't as though she hasn't been in some weird situations before. It's a miracle that she managed to get her beer bottle onto the nearby coffee table without spilling or knocking anything over, but she needs her hands for this. For a year and a half she's been working on a master's degree and avoiding too much contact with the one professor who makes her mind fog up and her daydreams wander, until finally she had landed in his classroom.

And now on his couch.

Kissing him.

If it were anything besides the most surreal moment of her life, she might have jumped backward or at the very least, pulled away. But Daphne has imagined kissing Santiago Garcia far too many times to do anything but sigh in response and open up for him like a summer rose.

"It's okay," he repeats soothingly between kisses: to himself, to her, to the waiting tension in the room. "I've got you, cariño. I've got you now, there you go, so sweet for me. So pretty. Beautiful, smart girl." He deepens the kiss, tasting her lips slowly, reverently, one hand sliding slowly down her soft sweater to rest on her waist and squeeze gently. He brushes his thumb over the soft material and then flicks it open, wanting closeness, to drag his palm up her thin blouse, wide and slow across her back.

The sound that bubbles out of her is a plaintive moan, unsure but wanting, and one of her hands grasps for steadiness on his arm even as the other instinctively sinks into his curls to keep him close. The battle is want versus wisdom, and it takes longer than she's proud of for Daphne to drag her lips from his and pant for a breath that still has no prayer of clearing her head.

"But." The fog in her mind has settled thick and heavy like the arousal in her core, and even as she's trying to straighten herself out she's still clinging to him with digging fingers and sharp nails. "You'll get fired," she manages to breathe out a few seconds later. Her only real protest being that she doesn't want him to get in trouble over a whim – which is surely all this is to him.

"Baby, no, no," he shakes his head, almost laughing with relief that that is her only concern. "No, you're graduating. I'm not your teacher any more. You handed in your paper. We can finally do what I – what I've been—" Shit. This is going to sound so bad. "What I've been thinking about since I met you," he admits.

Santi leans his forehead against hers, sighing. "I'm sorry. It's so inappropriate, but it's true. I've been waiting so long to kiss you, baby girl. Let me kiss you." He brushes his fingers over her knee, lifting her skirt just a little. "Let me make you feel so good, my little nymph. Do you even know how long you've been haunting me?" His mouth brushes her again, gently, over the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the flutter of her pulse, which smells delicious, deep and floral, her scent.

His cock aches against his zipper.

"Fuck." This time Daphne groans, sinking further into the couch, and feels herself giggle softly in disbelief more than she's actually aware of making the sound herself. "You've been haunted?" She challenges, eyes burning with courage now that she's heard his confession. Heard him beg. Did he really just beg for her? "Do you know how long I put off taking your class because I didn't know if I could even concentrate around you?"

Using the opportunity of her gently reclining body, Santiago leans in for the catch. "I never could," he murmurs into the hollow of her throat, his hands sweeping her skirt up, revealing her pretty legs, and god her thighs, so plush and luscious in his hands. He takes a moment to stroke there, brush the hem of her panties with his thumbs. "Never. You came in with Eros and made me Apollo." One thumb slips gently under the gusset of her panties. "Are you running, little nymph, hm?"

"Fuck—I—no, I—I don't even think my legs work now," she huffs, all at once tense as a bowstring with desire and measurably more relaxed as the reality of the man she's wanted forever finally touching her exactly where she wants him.

Well, not exactly. But it's not going to take long to get there at the rate they're going.

"What should I..." Daphne's head falls back on the sofa cushion as his thumb strokes her slit and she moans. "Santiago is a lot of syllables to moan."

"Santi. You can call me Santi from now on," he murmurs, removing his thumb from her panties only to twist the thin white cotton things, Jesus, so fucking wet, around his fingers and slide them down, down. He tosses them to the side and shucks off her high heeled boots while he's there, his eyes locked on where she glistens for him, needs him. "But you can call out any god you want to, bonita." He flicks his gaze to hers and smirks. "Show me how much you were paying attention, yeah?"

If she can even remember a single name from his class at this point she'll be shocked, and the cool air of his house on her overheated cunt is enough to have her squirming instinctively underneath him. Her brain has pretty much given up the ghost already, overstimulated in the very best way possible far before the rest of her body feels the same. Although she has a feeling that it will get there. "Santi..." Trying it out, there is a sweetness on her tongue and heaviness in her core that really is just a whine waiting to break free. Daphne's hands have found their way to his shirt front, fumbling to free the buttons even while she's nearly shaking with desire. "If you get to touch me, I want to touch you, too."

His lips find hers again, almost impatient to taste her again. "You can touch me, I want you to," he mutters against her lips, lifting her blouse hem from her skirt as she takes care of his buttons. Santiago doesn't pause, doesn't make it easy for her or for himself, drowning himself in the touch of her, the sweet little noises emanating from her throat, the ones taking a running leap on the way to begging for everything he's ready to give. He lifts her shirt over her head and begins tugging down her skirt an inch at a time, his fingers dragging slowly over her hips, her now bare legs.

Nothing is exactly torn away, not specifically, but the pile of clothing that collects beside his living room sofa accumulates quickly and haphazardly — shirts and sweaters and everything else discarded blindly as they drown in kissing each other and swallowing those moans that make their way to the surface over and over again. With that building freedom Daphne finds a buried courage — not that she is a timid lover by any means, but there is an eagerness below the surface here that she hasn’t felt in so long. When the only thing left between them is the flimsy pair of boxers that do nothing to disguise how achingly hard he is, Daph bites down on his bottom lip to pull a groan out of him and soothes it away by sucking on the same spot as her fingers slip under the waistband of his last remaining piece of clothing.

"Fuck," he hisses, hips jumping forward so that the weeping tip of his cock brushes against her hand and he groans. He sits up straighter, caught in a web, aching to touch her – at least take his boxers off, fuck – but loathe to move away from her curious little hand. He settles for sitting up on his knees, staring at the place she's touching him, watching her explore him as though in a trance.

Taking advantage of the momentary shift, Daphne sits up along with him and nudges Santi backward so that he is on his back now instead of her. His curls are mussed and his eyes are so black with lust that he looks positively debauched before she’s even had a chance to touch him very much. Once he’s on his back, though, Daphne hooks her thumbs in his boxers and peels them away, groaning at the sight of him. Harder than diamonds and leaking precum like an eager teenager, a sly smirk rides across her face knowing she did that to him. “I want to suck your cock,” she admits, gaze flickering between his length and his blackened eyes. “You have no idea how many hours I’ve spent imagining sucking your cock under that desk in your office.”

Santiago closes his eyes a moment. Is he fucking dreaming? Or is his most fucked fantasy coming true before his eyes?

"Probably almost as many as what I've spent imagining what that wet little pussy tastes like." His voice is a low rasp, but he pulls himself together enough to halt her hand on his throbbing dick. His fingers squeeze around hers, gliding over the rigid shaft slowly, with control. His breath fans over her forehead. "You want this, baby? Hm? Gonna have to give me something in return. Come here," he urges, a low purr, her very own siren. "Come here and give me a little taste, cariño."

“Even Kama had to worship a lover in order to find his release,” Daph breathes, having spent an entire semester doodling images of the Hindu love god’s sugarcane bow and bird companions in her notes while thinking of all the various ways her professor could be worshipped.

"Kama was burnt alive by Shiva, sweetheart, and I don't plan on doing any different to you. Come here, that's it." Santi helps Daphne turn in his lap, both of them facing the wall. He guides her hips over his face as he lies back on the couch. Thank fuck it was big enough, for this and more, and then her perfect pussy is hovering over his face, tantalizing him. At heart? Santiago likes torturing himself, loves the thrill of giving into pleasure. Perhaps that too, is why he waited so long to take this girl into his bed. Perhaps that's why he's slow and sure as he spreads her lips, flattens his tongue, and tastes her indulgently, from clit to hole.

Daphne's momentary flash of composure is gone again as soon as he tastes her. Her legs shake on either side of his head, thighs pressed to his ears so her moans are muffled but it isn't on purpose. It's just been so long since she had a man between her legs who knew what the fuck he was doing that just having her clit noticed is a vast improvement. Daphne's body sags momentarily before she is shifting all her weight to one hand and wrapping the other around the base of his cock to stroke his base with the pressure that he showed her – the pressure he likes – while she takes as much of him as she can into her mouth.

When he moans it's with a growl into her pussy she can feel vibrate all the way up through her lungs.

She's not fucking sitting, and he knows it's because she's still, however minutely now that her moans are ringing sweet and clear across his living room, in her head instead of fully in her perfect body the way he wants. Licking up her slick almost lazily, he drags his nails lightly up the outsides of her thighs before firmly catching her hips in hand and pressing her into his waiting mouth, his evening stubble scraping across her folds. Only then does he give her a real reason to moan, encouraging her to grind while his laps at her clit with his tongue, filling his hands with all the gorgeous skin he can reach.

"Sit," he grunts, "Fuck, baby, I wanna to go to the field of fucking reeds with this pussy on my face, come on, you can do it, give it to me."

Come on, carińo, I know you can come for me, such a good fucking girl, he thinks, his brain a hazy lightning storm at the sensation of her hot throat squeezing around him as she swallows. Fuck, he could let her do this all night, but he's hungry for her pleasure and he's so close, he can taste it. Santiago lifts her hips with a final loud suck and trails a finger around her slit, teasing, almost pressing, but only just, his thumb running circles around her clit. With a deep breath he lifts his mouth, slips his tongue and a single finger inside, fucking into her with slow, measured movements.

The overwhelming pleasure of having more than just the tip of his tongue inside her pussy has Daphne moaning so earnestly that she pulls off of him cock with a lurid pop. "Dammit—I—fuck, I'm going to cum—Santi, baby, oh my f—" The shaking of her legs and the coil in her core twist down on each other so her thighs tighten and he breathes into her like he's going to devour her whole as she falls apart at the seams.

Oh yes. He really likes hearing her moaning that, but not more than the way she gives in as her orgasm rocks through her, grinding her hips down, into his waiting, eager mouth, helping her ride him through it until the aftershocks ease. His voice is barely a scrape when he lifts her up, his aching cock swinging between his legs as he presses forward, eager for her mouth. "Did so good, baby, such a good girl for me. I need to fuck you. Need to fuck you, baby. How do you want it?"

"Any way." Daphne gasps, trying to wrap her head around any kind of how that's more artful than just sinking down on him right here and now. When she does wrap her head around it, though, she groans in a less ethereal tone. "Let me grab a condom." Like any sensible, sexually active college girl, she carries one in her regular purse. Emergency cock wrap, if you will. She just never thought she'd actually need it.

"Wait, I got it." He scoots up a moment, digging into the small table beside the couch. From the drawer Santi draws out the foil pouch and rips it open, quickly rolling it on before turning his attention back on Daphne, who's watching him with drowned eyes, eyes deep and longing and still so lovely.

"Lie back, sweetheart. You ready for me?" He slowly glides the head over her silky wet folds, smearing her slick across his tip.

Deciding she absolutely does not need to know how many other girls have been fucked on this couch -- possibly at the end of their own courses -- Daph pushed herself up on her elbows to kiss him fiercely. Tonight is not to be wasted. Tonight is to be a fantastic memory. "I'm ready." Her nails drag down the base of his scalp, having caught a near purr from him earlier when she did the same. "I want you to fuck me, Santi."

Almost before his name is out of her mouth, he's pushing inside her with a low rumble, his head falling back slightly into her hands. Her nails scrape sensation over his scalp and down his spine, and her cunt is licking flames over him, so warm and perfect he almost comes right fucking there, but halts, breathing damp against her lips, his teeth nipping her lip possessively.

They hold like that, frozen together in the heat of the moment as he regains his composure and she adjusts to the stretch and fill and thickness of his cock inside her. The only movement, in this long moment of coming together, is the languid slide and tangle of their tongues together as they drown in the intimacy of feverish kisses.

Gradually, Santi comes down enough to get restless, eager again. He nips and bites down over her jaw and descends on her throat, sucking a mark low on her collarbone as his hands pay some long overdue attention to her pretty, heaving tits. Mine.

When the mark on her neck is soothed with his tongue, he sits up slowly, his eyes a glittering black, his lips parted. He looks like he's about to devour her. He takes one of her calves in his hand, eyes never leaving hers, tipping her knee up towards her head and then out, spread wide for him. He grips her ankle in a warm hand. Then, with a grunt, he's pulling back and pitching forward hard enough for their skin to clap obscenely, fast enough to make them both soon begin to tremble.

The position that he's in has him almost entirely out of her reach, just close even to graze her nails over his chest as he thrusts into her at a pace frantic enough to make them both pant and heave. Her back arches off the couch with a keen and her hands grapple with the couch cushions for purchase to hold on tight as Santi fucks her so deeply and insistently that she can practically feel him all the way up in her throat.

"Gripping me so fuckin' tight, baby, Jesus," he says through his teeth, his jaw tight, streaks of pleasure raking down his chest with her sharp, clinging nails. Keeping his relentless pace, he bends forward, pushing her thigh up, testing her limit. When he's low enough he seizes her mouth with his, grinding deep.

"One more for me, pretty girl, one more," he whispers huskily, his other hand skimming down her body to rub at her clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, so good baby, oh my fucking god—" Something in Daphne's mind short circuits, and the rambling begins in earnest the higher and higher she climbs toward a second orgasm. Tripping over her own tongue and throwing her hands up over her head as he slams into her so hard that either they are moving up the length of the sofa or the entire sofa is moving, Daph is completely lost in her pleasure. That volcano of pleasure building in her core is damn near ready to explode and the only thing she wants more than to erupt is to take him with her.

The second her expression breaks and she cries out for him, he's gone. He thinks he's done even before she clamps down on his cock like a goddamned vice, ripping his orgasm from him in a half dozen hard but increasingly languid strokes.

His upper body grows heavy, and with a groan he grinds in deeply just once more – never mind why – and leans his forehead on her soft breast, pulling out of her with a sigh. His entire body is basking, floating. If she puts her hands in his hair again he might even fall asleep.

There's a moment of quiet as he ties off and disposes of the condom, and for a split-second Santi disappears around a corner but he comes back with a warm, damp kitchen cloth to clean them both up with before curling back around her on the couch. "Goddamn," she huffs, giggling softly to herself as his arms come around her.

"Tell me about it," he says sleepily, flipping the throw blanket over the two of them as they settle, kiss, explore lazily what before had been greedily consumed. "Still not sure I'm not dreaming," he says, only half-joking, tracing her lips with a smile. "Did I really get so lucky?"

"I'm not sure how you're the starstruck one out of the two of us," Daphne teases, even though it's through a thin veil of honesty.

"Bonita, I've been increasingly starstruck all semester," he chuckles. "You have so much to look forward to. Shit, you're definitely going farther places than I am. I'm just happy to be here," he presses a kiss to her left tit, "To enjoy-" to her right nipple- "The satisfaction of being right." He kisses her forehead and studies her, his lids heavy. "Do you need anything before you fall asleep, baby girl? You wanna sleep here or in bed? I can't let you bike home this late, querida, so don't even try. Besides, you can shower here, my plumbing is fine." He smirks here, as if anticipating the swat he's earned himself.

"It's not that late." Daphne wrinkles her nose at herself. The protest was just good manners. She doesn't actually want to leave. She wants to wrap up in him and breathe in this comfort for as long as humanly possible. When he levels her with a disapproving look, Daph just ends up grinning. "Let's go to bed," she suggests, catching his lips as he drags them along her jaw. "And when I wake you up in the morning with my lips wrapped around your cock again, you'll be glad your back isn't sore."

The laugh bursts out of his chest with delight, easy and real. "All right, baby, all right, and what makes you think I won't beat you to it?" Santi pulls her to her feet, wrapping the soft blanket securely around her shoulders before guiding her upstairs with a hand at the small of her back.

No matter which one of them beats the other two it, they both know they aren't done. Whether it's a weekend, a week, a month, or even more. This night is just the beginning.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[rippersz]

𝖰𝗎𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺, 𝖲𝖾𝗋𝖺

───※ ·❆· ※───

───※ ·❆· ※───

(An OC/Named Reader x Larissa Weems one-shot) (Bittersweet/angsty. Possible part 2 depending on feedback.)

Summary: Odette sends a letter and it ends up in the wrong hands.

───※ ·❆· ※───

‘January 11th, 2023

Odette,

I am terribly sorry to inform you that the letter you sent to a woman named Mirabelle did not end up in her hands. I believe the mail carriers fell short along the way and got it mixed up within my pile of documents; thus my wayward response to you. Considering the nature of your words (I must admit I read them - my actions were caused by split curiosity and confusion), I suggest you re-envelope and reseal your letter before sending it again. I have slipped it in with this one. And if you choose to listen to me, then we shall both hope your sentiments arrive to Mirabelle in a timely fashion with no surprise stops along the way. Until then, someone must tell her that she is a very lucky woman.

And that I am very sorry she broke your heart.

Happy New Year Odette. Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 18th, 2023

Larissa,

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness. I am far sorrier than you are. Obviously if I knew that was going to happen, I would not have let it. Okay that doesn’t make much sense, but I’m sure you know what I mean. I think. Hopefully? Anyway, thank you very much for sending the letter back. I gave myself some time to think it over and did as you suggested. New envelope, new seal, new everything. Except the perfume on the letter was different. Are you wearing Jean Paul Gaultier? It’s very nice. Mirabelle may appreciate the mix of scents (I’m wearing Marc Jacobs - Daisy), so at least she’ll get something out of it. The words, on the other hand, I’m not so sure. That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily. That’s a big flaw, I think. Oh well. I guess rambling’s a flaw too. And here I am. Forgive me?

Thank you again. Happy New Year. Odette’

‘January 23rd, 2023

Dear Odette,

Please don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault, as you know. And if I knew the letter did not concern me at all, I would not have read it. But, I’m sort of glad that I did. It was perhaps one of the best letters I’ve ever read in my entire life. Are you a writer, by any chance? If not, you should consider becoming one. The rambling could add a nice personal touch - it’s not as big a flaw as you think it is. It certainly introduced me to your keen sense of smell. Speaking of which, Daisy is wonderful. I may have a roll-on tube of that somewhere. Otherwise, you’re correct. La Belle was released in 2019, it has become my new personal favorite. Are you a perfume collector? Or perhaps a bloodhound? I jest, I jest. Though I do appreciate the follow-up. If Mirabelle doesn’t appreciate your love, I may have to send her a letter myself. That being said, please let me know what she says? If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience.

Be well, Larissa W.’

‘January 29th, 2023

To Larissa,

You are far too kind. I write in my free time, yes, but I’m not sure I’m good enough to become a writer. However, your support still means a lot - even from all the way in California. Quite a long way, right? Crazy how paths cross. Anyway, I’m not a perfume collector, no. But my friend, Cassie, wears the same kind. I know for certain that she’d say you have good taste. And I’d agree. That bloodhound comment was funny. I know you can’t hear my giggling, but trust me when I say I am. I wish I could be as witty, but I don’t know what to say. My humor is typically made up of making fun of people. Do you have a guilty pleasure I can harp on? An embarrassing secret? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. And as soon as I get something back, I’ll let you know. Don’t start writing just yet.

Best, Odette’

‘February 5th, 2023,

Odette,

Telling you my secrets already? My, I believe we’ve skipped a few steps. What happened to a favorite color? A favorite memory? An age or profession, perhaps? If you couldn’t tell by now, I am still jesting. One of my guiltiest pleasures, though you may find it juvenile and silly, is the fact that I am a huge chocolate fiend. Many of my coworkers are aware that the best drink to buy me is a hot chocolate - hold the whipped cream. I am watching my figure after all. And because I pity your lack of matched wit, I’ll tell you that my biggest secret is the fact that I quite enjoy Taylor Swift’s music. Don’t ask me about my favorite song, I don’t think I could choose just one. Oh is that- is that the sound of your giggling? Maybe I can hear it from here, Ms. California. Now it’s your turn to hear mine. In the meantime, enlighten me on what you write about. I’m thinking poetry and free-form, with a focus on romance. I do a bit of writing myself from time to time, but it’s always in a diary. Never further. Perhaps you can do both of us justice and contemplate publishing? I’ll be the first to run to the shelves.

I hope you are well, Larissa W.’

‘February 13th, 2023

Dear chocolate fiend,

White. My first trip to New York City after Mirabelle. I arrived in the afternoon, went to see a movie, grabbed dinner and headache pills on the way back to my hotel room, and couldn’t sleep for the entire night. So I went out at 3 AM to see Times Square. It was only a block away and let me tell you, Larissa, it was beautiful. It was unlike anything. I felt safe for the first time in a while - beneath all of those lights. I was invincible. Not even loneliness could touch me. 27 and counting. Secretary. And potential writer. Someone I met recently has been trying to push me further into my hobby- to really adopt the lifestyle. You wouldn’t know them, though. Them? They/them? Please correct me if I’m wrong, Larissa. These letters wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable if I was calling you something you weren’t. As for me, I go by she/her. Mirabelle did as well. Does? Did? I’m not sure - I haven’t heard anything back yet. But that may be for the best. Horrid segue here (shame on little writer Odette), but Taylor Swift? Wow, I must be giggling quite loudly. HA HA HA HA HA!! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!! I swear that one day I’ll get a laugh out of you as well. In the meantime, as you say, I’ll happily inform you that you’re a psychic of some sort. Yes, I write poetry and free-form romance. Novels have never been my thing though. But if I did write any, I’d have to say psychological horror is a favorite. I may give it a crack if you’d edit for me? Unless you’re terribly busy, Ms. Vermont. Then please don’t worry your pretty little head.

I hope you’re ‘weller’ than I am, Odette

(P.S. Happy Valentines Day)’

‘February 19th, 2023

Dear sweet poet,

Do forgive the late response. Work has been keeping me busy; but if you’re serious about editing, I’m sure I can set some time apart for you. That memory of yours does sound quite glorious - nearly heavenly. Such freedom is a dream for many people, myself somewhat included, so I admit I’m the tiniest bit jealous. However, I could always visit the city in the summer. Times Square is already calling my name… maybe I’ll even see a certain 27 year old stranger there. Maybe we could even grab hot chocolate. But I suppose you’d rather enjoy your independence. That being said, you are quite correct - they/them is one of my preferred pronouns. Much like yourself and the mysterious Mirabelle, she/her is another. And I’m glad we both agree that these letters are quite a treat. I have not had a pen-pal in quite a long time. My old roommate and I used to talk after we graduated, but times change. Much like they did for you and Mirabelle. I believe I may have loved my roommate in that way, too… but it’s as I said. Then again, she was always more of a psychic than me. I just got lucky. As for the answers to my questions, I’m quite sure none of those were secrets. Unless, of course, your favorite color is known only by myself. In which case, I’d consider myself lucky again. But either way, come to the table please Odette. Tell me yours - but only if you wish to.

Weller is not a word, Best, Larissa W.’

‘February 23rd, 2023

Dear Larissa,

Weller is a word if I want it to be. That is my secret. No, but in all seriousness, you’re correct. Fair is fair. So I’ll grant you this: I’m a redhead. Ugh I know! I know! It’s terrible. Horrible. I’m sorry. If you find that you can’t stand me anymore, I understand. A writer, secretary, AND a redhead? What’s next? An FBI agent? I can’t disclose that information. Speaking of which, you have yet to answer your own questions. All is fair in love and pen-paling, am I right or am I right Larissa? It’s okay. You can admit it. I’m right. Just like I’m right in saying that your roommate made a big mistake if she’s not with you now. Speaking from experience, love like that is not something one finds often. I’d say I’m glad you experienced it, for it has its good moments, but I know that the ache can be bad. Quite bad. Not to worry, though! If you figure you want to send her a letter, you may get a pen-pal out of it. Kind of neat, huh?

I’m sorry she broke your heart, too. What a foolish woman. Tsk tsk.

Best, Odette’

‘February 28th, 2023

To the resident redhead,

How could you betray me like this? A redhead? On the other side of these pages? I feel scorned. Scorned and touched. Very much like a writer to offer comfort for an offhand comment. I appreciate the sentiment more than you know. And just for your information, Ms. I’m-Always-Right: Silver. Getting my teachers certification and celebrating with a few friends before life pulled us in different directions. It was a wonderful night. I haven’t laughed so much since - and that was quite a while ago. 32 next year. Principal. I do hope that was enough to sate your burning curiosity; I’m sure you can be at ease now. And since I do so enjoy meeting you halfway, I’ll tell you that I’m very fair-haired. Very. Perhaps one day you’ll see. Until then, don’t let the curiosity kill you little cat.

Best, Larissa W.’

‘March 5th, 2023’

‘March 12th, 2023’

‘March 16th, 2023’

‘April 14th, 2023’

‘May 21st, 2023’

‘June 9th, 2023’

...

And the months went on.

And on.

And on.

And every few days, another letter came. Another letter went. Another letter was written. Another letter was sealed. Another letter was received. Another letter was cherished. Kept. Forever a lovely memory. Larissa and Odette went and went and went- on and on and on- exchanging and smiling as each paragraph grew in length. From this to that and whatever else they could find to think about; they formed a banter and connection like no other. Poking fun, making jokes, referencing previous letters, gossiping until their hearts were content. Purring within their chests, eagerly awaiting another letter. It kept their days moving. It kept their souls dancing. From miles away, they cheered each time they saw the thin familiar scrawl of Larissa’s writing and the loopy tilted words of Odette’s penmanship. At one point, they even tried copying each other’s style. It was hilarious. It had both of them laughing at the same time - and later doing it purely to mock. Such things, little but large, were frequent and lovely. One time, Odette mailed a perfume scent strip of her new favorite; and Larissa, never one to be outdone, sent a roll-on tube of La Belle. Odette got so ticked off she made her promise that they stick to letters and paper only. Larissa, usually a stubborn soul, agreed. That was their dynamic. Their push and pull. Their agree to disagree. Never did they fight; rarely did they not see eye to eye; and constantly did they playfully argue. It was small things- small insignificant little things- but they moved the conversation along. And it made them smile. It made them laugh. And during the hardest parts, the parts in which life pinched at their skin and dragged at their souls, it made them cry. It made them weep. It made them open up. It led to Odette confessing that Mirabelle had left her and it led to Larissa confessing that Morticia had left her as well. Two women, two ships in the night, both of which got away. And not gently, not two slow drifts into the night, but a harsh yank. Morticia left school with a man on her arm and Mirabelle returned to California one day from a business trip in France with a ring on her finger. The two of them agreed that it was funny how life likes to slap lovers in the face. That it was funny how life likes to get in the way. And enjoys ending good things and ruining them. Taking them away too quickly. With no warning at all. Without a single goodbye.

The last letter Odette sent was on October 28th, 2024.

Larissa hadn’t responded to her previous one. Or the one before that. And eventually, after much contemplation, she gave up. It wasn’t healthy- worrying so much. Odette figured that perhaps, finally, her worst fear came true and that Larissa realized their little arrangement was more odd than she thought. That she knew virtually nothing about Odette, not even her last name. And that she didn’t find her amusing anymore and didn’t want to associate with her anymore and didn’t want to even say hello. Or goodbye. Or anything in between.

It broke her heart a little bit.

Okay it broke her heart a lot a bit.

The radio silence left Odette living on autopilot for weeks. Months. Nearly half a year. She’d get up, check her mailbox, and go to work - only to come home, check her mailbox, and go to bed - just to do the same thing over and over and over again. Day and night. Night and day. It was worse than Mirabelle. It was worse than anything. No amount of teenage angst or familial grief could get over the deep void left within her soul once those letters stopped coming. Once the friend she found by accident, the kindred spirit she stumbled upon, the woman she lov-…. well. Once that one person decided never to write again.

Though like most difficult things that left her raw, Odette’s heart began scabbing over. She cleared her desk, packed away the special pens she used, put the paper neatly into a box, and tucked the leftover Larissa letters away right along with those sweet memories. Then she put them into the back of a closet she rarely rifled through… and tried to forget it was all there. The La Belle, which she rarely touched, was hidden in her pajama drawer at the very back- wrapped up in old T-shirts she no longer wore. And every other thing that existed around her, that reminded her of Larissa, was pushed out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight… out of mind.

The company was celebrating her 5 year anniversary. They wanted to fly her out to Vermont. Jericho, Vermont. To have a little vacation there. To enjoy life. To fucking torture her.

She almost didn’t go. She almost canceled entirely. She almost quit her goddamn job because that was the same job she had when she first met Lar-…..

But she went anyway. Vermont was large enough. She’d be fine.

And she was, much to her surprise. She was entirely fine. It was a beautiful change of season; the air was crisp, the trees were changing color- morphing back into sunny greens. The world enjoyed its rain as April introduced May to Jericho and as the year of 2025 blossomed into being. Odette spent her days reading, taking walks, basking in the beauty of the log cabin the company rented for her. It was truly lovely. Truly a dream come true. And she didn’t even think- didn’t even wonder- about the other ship that got away from her. That barely even brushed past her, or lingered, before parting the water and skating away into the night all those months ago.

It was blissful. It reminded her of New York. Of that freedom- that independence- that song within her soul, dredged up from the depths.

But there was one thing.

One tiny little thing.

One little reminder that never left her. That she didn’t let go of.

“Hot chocolate, no whip, for Odette?”

A small smile grew on her lips as she slid out of the booth and made her way up to the counter. The young man met her eyes, returned the smile, and gestured to the warm cup on the counter with a nod of his head.

“Thank you lots.” And with that, she retreated to her booth.

Hot chocolate.

She wasn’t going to give up hot chocolate, let alone any chocolate at all, just because a distant soul enjoyed it. The whipped cream was something she wanted, but… old habits did always die hard, didn’t they? Oh most definitely. And as Odette reclined against the comfortable seat, eyes tracking the screen of her work laptop, hot chocolate firmly placed on the coaster to her right, she lived up to that sentiment with no room to spare. Leaving work at home was hard. She dove into it some time ago; dedicating more time, thinking, and hours into the well-oiled machine of her job just to distract her from everything outside of it. When she was there, responding, taking calls, managing dates and meetings and this, that, and the other, the world fell silent. Into a distant buzzy din. Into a land of muffled sounds and unimportant chatter - like her head was dunked under water as soon as she opened her emails. To a certain extent, it was calming. Repetitive and not at all that difficult after she figured out a proper routine; the worst part was dealing with those who couldn’t write properly. And in the professional world, that was rare. Well- if a person wanted to keep their job of course. And she definitely wanted to keep hers. It was fulfilling. Enriching. She made some friends, she shook some hands, she reassured her bosses. They knew she was reliable. Friendly. Odette never faltered. And they counted on that. Counted on her. Gave her the time of day. Responded when they could. Cherished her like a human. Like a friend. Unlike-

“Larissa? Hot chocolate, no whip?”

Odette blinked.

The muffled bubble popped. The world flooded back. She looked up from her screen.

Was she going mad? Crazy? Bonkers, finally? After all that time? Had she misheard? Maybe the young man said Patricia. Or Melissa. Or-

“Larissa! Hey, long time no see!”

Larissa.

Odette turned around in her seat so fast, she nearly broke her neck. She shuffled to the end of the booth, peered around the side, eyes wide and hands gripping the edge of the table… only to feel her excitement die as soon as it existed.

Of course. Foolish her. She didn’t know what Larissa looked like. She never got a proper description. Never got a photograph. Or a phone number. Or anything at all. Just a P.O. Box and a state. Just… nothing.

“Hello Jerry, it has been a while, hasn’t it? How are you?”

No, she- well she did get something. She got little things. Details. Odette’s brow furrowed as her eyes, hazel and starry and glazed over with apprehension and fear and admiration and horror, ran up and down the woman’s body. She was tall. Larissa never mentioned tall. She was curvy. Larissa never mentioned curvy.

‘I am watching my figure after all.’

…She was stylish. Larissa never mentioned style and fashion.

“Oh I’m good, I’m good. What about you? How’s the semester going?”

“I’m well, thank you. It’s… well it’s definitely going, Jerry.” They shared a laugh.

She was English. Larissa never mentioned being English. She wore gloves. Larissa never mentioned gloves. She-

Wait. Semester?

‘Getting my teachers certification…’ ‘Principal.’

Odette felt her heart drop.

But-

“I’m sure it is! I- oh shoot. More customers. Sorry, Larissa. Can we catch up later?”

“Of course Jerry. You know where to find me. Until next time.”

Hazel eyes watched the stranger wave. Then turn around.

Oh.

Dear lord…

She didn’t recognize her- not really- but the fair hair, which only registered then… and the silver jewelry. And the… the…

Odette watched as the woman walked past. She watched and she felt her heart in her ears- pounding, clawing, dancing- as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. So deeply. So deeply it made her lungs ache. So deeply it made her soul tear in two.

La Belle.

Odette had never packed up her things so quickly. She never slammed her laptop closed so fast, never slid it into her bag so messily, never threw the bag over her shoulder or shoved her wallet into her pocket or grabbed the hot chocolate with such vigor ever before. Not once in her life. And rarely did she act so impulsively- not after Larissa. But seeing her then, somehow knowing deep within her soul that it was her… it broke- snapped- the thin resolve of Odette’s sanity and sent her flying out of the Weathervane like a bat out of Hell. She was burning up inside. Electric. Her eyes held fire and ice and so much warmth, so much desperation, that she nearly toppled over herself in her hurry.

The woman- Larissa- was a fast walker. Her long legs took her far as she distractedly typed on her phone with one hand and held the cup of hot chocolate in the other. Odette, being short and clumsy, was red and out of breath by the time she got close enough to call out her name. And call, she did. Call, cry, silently plead, she did.

“LARISSA!”

It was loud. Like a roar. Like a harrowing yell. Like something that held months and months and months of pain and sorrow and grief behind it. It instantly made her throat hurt, running it raw in only a second, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care at all. Not when her voice got Larissa to stop in her tracks and turn around, eyes searching and confused.

Of course, as to be expected, she had no clue who she was. Not even an inkling. Larissa got no description either - not even a photo. All she knew was that Odette had red hair. And that a woman with red hair was storming toward her, all fucks thrown to the wind, sneakers smacking the pavement hard as she stomped down the sidewalk. Larissa looked utterly puzzled, slightly mortified, entirely put off by the sight of such a determined stranger. Like she wasn’t sure if she had done something wrong and if she had, she wasn’t sure how to fix it. But Odette would tell her. Odette would make it known.

“What the fuck?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

A rather harsh introduction, but necessary nonetheless. She didn’t even really mean to say it, but the surprised widening of Larissa’s eyes had a twisted spark of satisfaction spiraling up within her soul.

And her outburst, naturally, meant many things. Not just ‘What the fuck?’ but ‘What the fuck? Why did you disappear? What did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I say something? Did something happen to you? Do you feel sorry? Do you miss me? Do you wish you responded? Do you hope to never hear from me again? Did you always know this would happen? Did you ever even bother to think that you should tell me you’re that beautiful? What the fuck, why are your eyes so blue? And why are they piercing? Staring at me? Heavenly and deep and never-ending? Like.. oceans… and why are your lips so soft looking and plump and red? Where did that scar come from? Do you hate it? Do you know that I like it even though I’m only seeing it now for the first time ever? Did you always wear your hair like that? How long does it take you to get it like that? How does it feel to take it out after a long day? Did you know your makeup is flawless? And that your jawline is magnificent? And that you’re so tall… and you look so strong… inside and out… and why the fuck did you not mention you were British? English? What does it matter? Just what the fuck? Why the fuck? How the fuck? What the fuckity fuck?!’

But overall, it only meant ‘What the fuck? Why didn’t you say goodbye?’

“I beg your pardon?”

Unfortunately, Larissa could never read minds. Or hearts. So the vague pangs of longing, like old rusted blood, only ached harder as the taller woman blinked and frowned.

A blush painted Odette’s cheeks. Right. Somehow, along the way of admiring, she’d forgotten. Larissa had no idea who she was.

“Um.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Suddenly, things were very awkward. Terribly awkward. So horribly bloody awkward. It was a wonder if Larissa could feel the odd lull in conversation, the sudden dousing of Odette’s flames, but it didn’t really matter. If she wanted to, Odette was sure that if she chose to walk away, if she chose to take one last look before turning around and never coming back, then Larissa would never know. Then she’d just be another story. Another odd memory to tell her children one day, if she ever wished to have them. In her letters, the taller woman admitted that she didn’t think she ever would. But Odette always had a feeling that she’d be an amazing mother. Looking at her then, taking in the perfect posture and the crisp seams of her clothing, the feeling became fact. Larissa would be the best mom.

Funny that… there was a time, long ago, where Odette fantasized about making sandwiches for picnics and uprooting her entire life. Just to see the proud smile on her pen-pal’s face as her child grew and grew and grew and flourished. And maybe even ended up calling her ‘mom’ one day too.

But as Larissa wrote once upon a time, things changed. Time went on. And that was how it was.

So she could turn around. She could very well wrench herself from her spot and drag herself back the way she came. She could apologize, tell her she was mistaken, and that she was sorry - and then she could walk off into the sunset and pretend nothing ever happened. She could burn the letters. She could burn the very memory of her. She could forget the name ‘Larissa’ entirely and all would be left to rest. And that would be that. Que sera, sera.

But Odette was never the type to give up easily. Mirabelle, wherever she was, could attest.

So instead of abandoning ship, she powered through.

“It’s Odette,” came her firm tone. She straightened her back and tilted her head to look up properly, trying to stand tall in the face of heartache.

But heartache didn’t recognize her.

“Have we… met before?” Larissa blinked, turning to present her full attention.

Odette flushed red. Angry. Sad. Liberated.

“Have- have we met before?” She repeated, scoffed, outraged by her old friend’s obliviousness. “Just how many Odettes do you know?!” Her hands ran to her hips, firmly rooting themselves there as she began tapping her foot and glowering.

Such a display had Larissa scanning her from head to toe, desperately scrambling for understanding and recognition. The loose T-shirt, the black leggings, the sneakers, the hazel eyes, the pretty features, the freckles, the plump cheeks and curved body, the bag on her shoulder, the hair on her head. Red. Fiery. Standing out against the blue of the sky like a stain on white fabric. Messy curls and natural red red red.

Red… red…

Odette watched as Larissa froze. Her lips fell open, her eyes widened, she could practically see the way her heart stopped in her chest.

She remembered.

She remembered.

“…Odette?”

The shorter woman nodded, slowly feeling the anger and excitement drain from her body. It was fun being anonymous for just a moment. It was fun being the only one that remembered - having the chance to feel properly scorned and betrayed. But that didn’t last very long. The come down was harsh. Quick. A fall from immense grace. Especially when she saw the tears. They welled up in Larissa’s eyes, glossy and wet, making those sapphires shine. So swift they were. So rapid. As if sparked by Odette’s very existence.

Though maybe Larissa wasn’t the one that was tearing up. Maybe it was just her. Maybe the haze of the world, growing slightly blurry, was caused by the water that threatened to fall over her own lashes.

“Yeah.” It was all she could think to say.

For even with all of her passion, even with her love of words and her many discarded story drafts (all coincidentally started in the year 2023), even with whatever eloquence she was naturally born with, Odette couldn’t come up with a single meaningful thing to say. There was much, of course. But none of it fit. None of it made sense. Everything that lingered on her tongue, finally unlodging itself from the stickiness of her throat, was too heavy. Too heavy for the moment. Too heavy for the sidewalk. Too heavy for the side of the street. Too heavy for Jericho. Out in the open. Vermont. Miles away from home. Too close too close too close. Too much all at once. Maybe running after her was a bad idea. Maybe taking the vacation was even worse. Maybe sending that letter to Mirabelle in the first place was the poignant moment in which she should have changed her mind and threw it away when she considered it.

But she hadn’t.

And so there she was, staring up at Larissa, suddenly helpless. That ship that passed her in the night all those months ago had come back around; except that time she had stumbled upon it herself. And she wasn’t entirely sure if she was grateful- or terrified. Maybe the ship hated her. Maybe the ship would crash into her and ruin her and maybe the ship would begin shooting cannons. Maybe the ship would continue right past her. Maybe the ship would-

-hug her?

Odette blinked, very much unsure of what was happening as soon as she felt the comforting weight of long arms pushing themselves under her biceps and interlocking behind her back. La Belle and the soft clean smell of faded shampoo filled her senses. Her nose. Her lungs. Her eyes. Her heart. And soul. Part of her was so confused it wanted to grasp Larissa’s shoulders and shove her off. And the other part of her, the part of her that had dreams about receiving another letter from the one that broke her heart, wanted to give in.

‘That ship sailed a long time ago - I’m just not the type to give up easily.’

Odette’s arms pressed against Larissa’s waist. Their holds were odd, skewed by the cups of hot chocolate they held and the other items in their grasps. But nonetheless, it was… it was unlike anything. Each breath died on Odette’s tongue. She felt the atoms in her brain disappear. Like they never existed at all.

“I’m sorry.” It was said so softly, she was near certain it wasn’t uttered at all. But then Larissa was pulling back, hands shaking as she brought them to her lips. “I’m sorry.”

There was grief in her eyes. A sadness that not even the most haunted of poets could explore, nor understand, nor emulate. It gleamed. It cut Odette in half. It had her taking steps back, suddenly unsure. Suddenly disoriented.

“What-… what happened?” She was breathless, bewildered at the sight of regret swimming in Larissa’s eyes.

The taller woman opened her mouth… then hesitated. Her gaze burned through her old friend- then twitched away and ran over the world around them. The sidewalk, the street, the shops, the Weathervane, the town itself. They were out in the open. And their… reunion… was too good for that. Too painful for that. Odette watched as Larissa’s lower lip quivered; as the thoughts ran through her mind at the speed of light. And before she even spoke, she knew what she was going to say.

“Please, come with me,” her voice was soft. Silken. Heavy with guilt. Pouring with unspoken words.

It was Odette’s turn to hesitate. Years… nearly. However much time. She didn’t really know. She stopped keeping track once she realized she was losing sleep over it. Hours upon hours of sleep. It affected her work - it affected her body. It slit the throat of her life and dragged it through dirt. ‘It’ being the silence. ‘It’ being the goodbye that never came. ‘It’ being Larissa, Larissa, Larissa.

The same Larissa who held an apology wound up in her lungs. The same Larissa who looked down at her as if she couldn’t quite believe she was real, standing before her, breathing and living. The same Larissa whose shaking hands held a cellphone and a cup of hot chocolate that was swiftly running cold. The same Larissa with the same shining eyes that glistened with tears and crackling memories and affection, warmth, that seemed so out of place. Years without the comfort of that dove-like soul… years without the… the love? Love? Is that what they had? Perhaps it was too little too late to wonder. Perhaps Odette was just dipping into wishful thinking. Giving into the dreams she repeated over the years. With every word, every breath, every letter - she found herself begging. Pleading. ‘Please. Please please please invite me to Vermont. See me. Know me. These pages are killing me.’ All of it secretly scrawled between her slanting lines. Running in circles behind her hazel eyes. Displayed for Larissa, even though Larissa did not exist before her at the time.

Not like she did in that moment. In Jericho. In tears.

“Let me explain, Odette. I meant- I… just- give me a chance.” Larissa blinked her tears away and straightened her shoulders, tone growing desperate, body growing tense.

Never before did she sound like that in their letters. But never before did she leave Odette for so long. Interesting circumstances… Funny how life ended things so quickly. Funny how life brought out the truth in a person when they felt themselves tugged at a loss. Pushed to their knees. Though she said she had an explanation… and her old friend had never been a liar.

“Okay,” Odette breathed, clearing her throat. “Okay.”

“Really?”

‘Yes of course, really,’ Odette thought, looking at her with a mix of surprise and anger and devotion. ‘What are you, mad? I’d never just walk away. I’d never just give up. I can’t help myself. I never could. You know this. You know me.’

───※ ·❆· ※───

I quite enjoyed writing this. Might take a break from writing 'Heat' and 'To People Watch One Person' for a bit- same with requests. For the foreseeable future, whatever comes to mind will be written. I've started watching GOT again... and a certain Ser of Tarth has strummed the strings of my heart {as always} so maybe expect something with her? Dunno. Either way, thank you for staying with me. You mean the moon and stars, believe me. - Ripley x

───※ ·❆· ※───

[chvoswxtch]

hi! i’m not sure if you write for requests?

if you do, would you mind writing frank castle x f!reader with fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue? i’m just exhausted at the moment and every single one of my chronic illnesses are kicking my butt rn. i’m finding great comfort in the punisher series on disney+ and in your writing (the softer side of frank especially!)

thank you!!! 💘

first of all I just wanted to say I am so sorry you are struggling with that. I can't imagine what you're going through right now. i'm sending you so much comfort and so many hugs and I hope you've been feeling a little better lately. it makes me incredibly happy to know that i've helped in some way.

I don't really have any personal experience with chronic illness but I did some research and I hope I got this right for you. thank you so much for your request. I hope this is what you wanted, and I hope it makes you feel better angel. all my love ❤️

this doesn't really have any warnings (unless you wanna count swearing) but if you're on dark mode, you may have trouble viewing this. i'm not sure if the glitch has been fixed, but I apologize for any inconvenience reading in advance! word count: 1.4k

i'd do anything for you.

Frank could tell something was wrong the second he stepped through the front door. If it weren’t for your car in the driveway, he wouldn’t have even been able to tell that you were home. Normally you were quick to greet him with a soft kiss and a beaming smile before he could even get his boots off. On the occasions you were too engrossed in whatever you were doing to hear him come in, he could still hear your faint humming or you shuffling around whatever room you were in. But right now, the entire house was silent and still, and panic began to rise like a looming tide.

Instinctively his hand flew to the handle of the gun that was tucked in the waistband of his jeans, making slow calculated steps around each room of the house as his eyes darted back and forth frantically searching for any sign of a threat or disturbance. The door to the bedroom was creaked open slightly, just enough for Frank to peek inside, and the sight before him sent a crack right through his heart. There you were, curled up tightly in a ball in the middle of the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest. Your brows were knit together in discomfort and your entire face was scrunched up in agony. Frank could see how the skin of your knuckles had gone white from gripping the pillow so hard. It hurt him to see you like this. Every time he did, he wished he could take it all from you and endure it himself. 

He pushed the door open slowly so it wouldn’t make any noise and kept his steps light as he made his way over towards the bed, carefully sitting down behind you. He delicately brushed his fingertips along your arm, cautiously leaning over you to get a better look at your face as he whispered.

“Bad today?”

You nodded your head so faintly, he wouldn’t have even seen it if he hadn’t been watching you closely. Less movement was best when the pain set in and spread through your bones with a vengeance. You had once described it to Frank as your entire body feeling like a searing, open wound. No matter how carefully you moved, it was like ripping it open all over again. The ache throbbed seemingly with every pump of blood through your veins. It made it hard for you to sleep. It was extremely difficult to get comfortable when you were in a constant state of pain, and the fatigue seemed to make the pain even worse. 

“How ‘bout a bath, honey? Hot water will help soothe those muscles, help ya relax a bit. Wanna give it a try?”

Frank did his best to ask yes or no questions when it was really bad like this. The less you had to think, or speak, the better. He kept his voice quiet and low, and tried not to talk too much. Frank had discovered it was helpful to get rid of anything that might overload your senses in your tender state. Too much light or lighting that was too bright bothered your eyes. Too many noises and loud volumes hurt your ears. Anything too bold in smell could implement a migraine. Every little thing was like a tiny pin prick to your nerves.

“Please.”

The way your voice broke nearly brought Frank to his knees. He wasn’t a religious man anymore, but he would’ve prayed to God until his knees bled if he thought it would help, or if he thought God would listen and allow him to trade places with you instead. He gave your shoulder the faintest of squeezes to let you know he heard you before he made his way into the bathroom. He turned the knob all the way over as far as it would go, knowing the sting of the scalding water would help alleviate some of the affliction you felt. He lit the candle on the counter and placed it at the front of the tub so he could keep the lights off. 

Steam hung thickly in the air once the tub was full. Droplets of sweat had already formed at Frank’s hairline, but he didn’t pay any mind to the heat. He peeled your clothes off as slowly and delicately as he could, gently scooping you up into his arms as he carried you into the bathroom. He lowered you down into the water carefully, a soft hiss leaving your lips as you adjusted to the temperature. Frank knelt down beside the tub, keeping a light hold of your hand as he eyed you.

“Feel okay?”

You nodded your head with a little more force this time, giving his large hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Feels really good.”

“Need anything?”

“Just you.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Will you get in with me? Please?”

Frank lightly brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He could see the pleading look in your eyes through the dim amber glow the candle cast over the bathroom. Normally he wouldn’t hesitate to join you, but your condition had him faltering.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, honey. Just want you to try and relax.”

“You won’t hurt me, I promise. I’d relax a lot more with you. Please?”

Frank couldn’t handle the exertion in your voice. He also hated denying you anything. In record time, he was completely undressed and settling into the tub behind you. A soft sigh left your lips when your head fell back against his chest, and he brought his hands up to tenderly rub at your shoulders to try and massage any lingering aches away.

“Is it too hot for you?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart.”

“I want you to be comfortable too.”

“Baby, I spent years in a damn desert in full gear gettin’ shot at and nearly blown up. And I didn’t have a pretty girl to keep me company. Trust me, I’m comfortable.”

A quiet giggle escaped your lips, and that sent a surge of relief through Frank. Laughing was good. Laughing meant you were feeling better. Laughing meant he was actually doing something right. There were so many times Frank felt incredibly helpless when it came to your chronic illnesses, and he hated it. He loathed that feeling. Seeing the person you love in pain, completely exhausted, and not being able to do anything about it. Threats he could handle. He was trained to eliminate those. He’d give his life to protect you. But he couldn’t fight an invisible enemy. He couldn’t eliminate a threat he couldn’t see, or even touch. He couldn’t rescue you from your own body.

“Thank you.”

Frank dropped his head to rest his chin on your shoulder, still being careful with his movements as he pressed his cheek to yours and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Don’t gotta thank me, you know that.”

“I want to. You always help me. You always know how to make me feel better. I know I ask a lot of you, and it isn’t-”

“Hey, don’t do that. I’m here ‘cause I wanna be, you got that? Don’t start that shit about bein’ a handful. If anyone’s the damn handful here, it’s me. You take care of me, and I take care of you. That’s how this works, yeah?”

A defeated sigh left your lips as you sank further into the relief of the water and Frank’s chest.

“Yeah. But I still appreciate everything you do for me that you don’t have to.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

Frank lightly brushed his nose along your cheek, holding you to his chest until quiet snores sounded from you. He smiled to himself when he realized you had fallen asleep. He didn’t want to risk moving you in case this was the only sleep you were gonna get tonight. He stayed there in the tub with you until the water went cold and the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. He would’ve held you there as long as you needed him to if it meant he could offer you a sliver of peace. He’d do anything for you.

[abiiors]

self indulgent because i was sad last night and doing the math on time change it was about 9 hours between where i am and where matty is (lol do i have a problem?) currently being attacked before 10 am with his ripped shirt

but maybe reader had a tough day at work and was not as good with communication as they normally would be with their long distance agreements, and just tries to keep it together when matty can finally get a hold of her and ask what’s up and he’s so sweet telling her she can always complain to him about her crappy days he wants to be the one she can lean on when she needs the extra care

aww babe, i’m so sorry. i hope you’re feeling better now tho <3

just something small and fluffy!

you have not left the bed for a few hours now. 

in fact, you haven’t left the bed at all since coming back from work and throwing yourself onto it; work clothes and all. normally, the thought of being in bed with outside clothes would have made you cringe. today, however, exhaustion dictates everything. 

your phone, plugged into its charger, buzzes on the nightstand for the tenth time. you already know it’s matty, sending a reel or a funny tweet or even just a random message about something silly but the thought of extending your arm to pick up the phone is too much. everything is too much. 

and so, matty and his messages remain unseen. 

you close your eyes again, thinking of all the work piling up in your inbox at this moment. no matter how much you do, it seems unending—something new always getting thrown at you when you’re least expecting it. 

your phone buzzes again. and this time it keeps buzzing. it’s a phone call. 

groaning, you inch your body close to the nightstand like a pathetic worm and tilt the phone to look at the caller id. of course, it’s matty. and of course you can’t ignore him again. it would be cruel to make him worry about you when he’s all the way in america; on another continent, in a time zone hours behind you. 

“hi baby,” you answer with as much cheer as you can muster. it’s a facetime call and there’s no other option but to plaster a saccharine-sweet smile on your face. 

“hi my darling,” he smiles before launching into his story. “so you know how i’ve been making a set list for the next show? well, ross and i thought it’d be hilarious if—what’s wrong?”

it’s like his entire mood shifts between one word and the next, the cheeky smile fading away into a frown and you feel yourself grimace. 

“what?” you sit up, propped up against the pillows and acting like you have no idea what he’s talking about. “what do you mean, what’s wrong.”

matty’s lips press into a straight line. he’s not impressed, and he’s not happy with you either. because his eyes are trained on your soft grey blouse which is certainly not something you wear at home or to bed. 

“you’re playing dumb, love,” he scolds lightly, “what’s wrong?”

“i don’t wanna start, matty. i’ll get over it, i promise.” you feel your lip wobbling halfway through that reassurance. still, a deep, shaky breath composes you a little. “i want to hear about the set list. come on.”

but matty’s having none of it. “you can hear about it when you tell me what’s wrong.”

letting out a loud sigh you wonder if it’s worth getting into. this is going to lead to more frustration and crying and he’s not even here to hug you till every other worry disappears. no, he’s not here to dote on you and let you whine like a baby about every minor (and major) inconvenience. 

internally, you curse america and his stupid band and the stupid shows and probably everything else you can think of in the ten second span before matty speaks again. 

“talk to me, darling,” he urges gently, “you’ve not talked to me all day.”

it’s true. you have been rather shit at communicating today. sighing, you give in. 

“it’s work,” a dry laugh, “it’s always work.”

matty’s eyes soften in sympathy. he knows it’s been a bit hard lately. for him too, being on the road is never easy but he knows it’s worse for you. that being away for too long makes your separation anxiety start acting up. 

“tell me more.”

“i don’t wanna complain to you all the time, babe. it’s always the same thing. it gets too much, i get overwhelmed and come crying to you. the same cycle.”

if he were here right now, he would already be letting you cry into his chest, kissing it all better. but since he is not, you have to resort to smushing your face into his pillow and groaning in frustration. 

“okay you listen to me,” his voice is stern but his eyes remain soft and loving. “you never. ever. have to worry about complaining to me. ever. now tell me more about what’s bothering you at work.”

you swallow past the lump in your throat and sniffle lightly. “it’s just all so much, matty. the thought of logging into my emails tomorrow makes me want to cry. there are so many that i haven’t even opened yet.”

he stays quiet for a second, a pensive expression on his face before he breaks out into another smile. 

“alright, time to bring out the big guns.” he walks around his hotel room in search of something—his laptop, it becomes clear a moment later—before plopping down onto his bed. 

“tell me your login details.”

“what?” there’s confusion written all over your face. 

“i’m not doing anything stupid, love. just give me your login details.”

“not that i don’t trust you,” you reply cautiously, “but what are you doing?”

“offering you my precious personal assistant services,” he beams. “they are in high demand, mind you. now come on. login details. i’m just going to sort your emails for you.”

his words unleash the floodgates. through grateful sobs and quiet sniffles, you rattle off the email id and password—it’s his name and your anniversary date which makes him giggle and reveal that his password is almost identical. your name and birthday. 

once you’ve calmed down a bit and wiped your nose on your shirt sleeve like a child, you take a proper look at him—slightly tired, but happy and smiling. and handsome as ever. 

“thank you,” you whisper, “i mean it, babe. this helps so much.”

“anything for you,” he smiles and then narrows his eyes. “next time,” his finger is right in front of you, occupying the better part of the screen, “if you shut down on me again… i was almost worried, you know?”

“i’m sorry,” you pout, knowing it’s his weakness. he has no chance of keeping his resolve in front of the pout. he breaks; shaking his head while trying to contain his smile.

“now," you return his small smile, "tell me about this set list…”

[timewarpwormhole]

Hi everybody.

This is my first time addressing all my followers. Sorry if it's a very long text.

Firstly, I want to thank everyone for deciding to stop by this blog and interact with me in some way. I created this blog without any expectations just to share and be what, in real life, I only am in my head.

Thank you for the affection. Fortunately, I can say that 90% of interactions are positive and give me encouragement to continue posting and interacting.

You can keep sending me asks. i love them. I will respond to the pertinent ones, the ones are logical and not insulting.

so don't be RUDE.

My DM's are Open

And i just have 3 rules for the interaction..

1. don't ask me for pics of me of any kind. i don't feel safe posting it here, where i cant show and delete... What u can see is what i blog ..

2. don't send sexual content ( dick pics) without asking if i its a good time to send..i don't mind receving ..The place and time may be inconvenient for receiving this type of content

3. I dont dont have telegram, Snapshot, or any kind of other APP neither Will i install One. I dont do calls or video calls .

Beside this rules lets have fun and use Ur imagination.

Thanks again for making this experience amazing...