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bumblesimagines · 3 days ago

Text

For Life

Request: Yes or No

Summary: The Wolverine was unmatched in the fighting ring, until a new face arrived and turned his life upside down.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical X-Men Warnings, lots of blood mentions, violence/fighting, both fluff and angst, Logan being as whipped as he was for Jean with (Y/N), age gap cause Logan is super fucking old lmao, more so snippets/a concept over a full fledged fic.

divider by cafekitsune!

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Wolverines generally avoid humans in the wild but are known to be particularly aggressive and even dangerous when cornered or provoked, prompting them to put those sharp canines and claws to work. Wolverines are known for their incredible strength and stamina, but mostly for their infamous ferocity. Despite their reputation as ill-tempered loners, wolverines are known to be social with others and will form lifelong relationships with their mates.

It'd been a cold evening in Laughlin City and most of the bar's patrons had shuffled into the establishment with their faces nearly hidden behind hoods and scarves as they scrambled to get out of the snow and chilling winds. The occasional gust of wind blowing in whenever the door opened left patrons simultaneously groaning in complaint but the heater emitting warm air kept their grumbling and huffing to a minimum. The nipping cold had soured many moods, and Logan could see many men itching to forget about the cold with an adrenaline-pumping fight. He was just eager to make an easy buck.

He braced an arm against one of the cage's support beams and watched with a hint of a smirk as his latest opponent staggered out of the cage, his buddies narrowly catching him before he could plummet onto the hardwood floor and further batter his face. The locals eyed him with a certain disdain, certain suspicion, but he put up good enough entertainment for them to tolerate him. He sniffed, hardly phased by the punches he'd taken during the fight, and nodded to the referee.

"Does anyone else dare-"

"I'll have a go."

Logan immediately craned his head to eye the voice's owner, foreign and new to Laughlin City. He'd been participating in cage fights long enough to begin memorizing the locals, and the fresh face staring back at him was an utter stranger. Passing by Laughlin City, Logan assumed, but he lacked the particular smell of gas, car air freshener, and look of exhaustion to be a trucker like most of the patrons taking up seats around them. He observed him, taking in every inch of his new opponent as he rounded the cage. He seemed young, but then again, so did Logan.

"Name's (Y/N)." He said, staring Logan in the eyes as he shed his jacket and shirt. Someone nearby took both articles of clothing for him, likely eager to see what he'd do, or how he'd go down. Logan had managed to break two noses and chip a few teeth already, one could only wonder what he'd do next. "Nice to meet you, Wolverine."

Logan simply grunted and pushed himself off the support beam, rolling his neck and curling his fingers into tight fists. (Y/N) grinned at him, almost arrogantly, but not with the usual cockiness of a man who thought himself the toughest guy in Alberta. He appeared... too calm for Logan's liking, but once the referee stepped out of the cage and closed the door, he decided to focus on beating his face in instead.

They circled each other first, eyes raking over the other from head to toe in search of a weakness to exploit, of a twitch that'd give away their next move. Logan could hear the muttering of the crowd, the impatient tap of fingers and boots, and the intensity in their stares. His eyes flickered away briefly, and he immediately cursed his mistake when (Y/N) lunged. Despite a part of him urging him to dodge or block, he remained still, expecting (Y/N)'s knuckles to break upon impact but instead, his fist connected effectively with Logan's jaw and he nearly stumbled onto the floor.

Managing to catch himself as scattered gasps echoed from the crowd, Logan grazed his fingers over his aching jaw and raised his head to look at the man. Mutant. No human had ever taken a swing at him without immediately spraining or breaking something, let alone been able to make his head turn with a punch. The corner of his lips twitched up into a smirk and the crowd erupted into cheers, primarily egging (Y/N) on to beat him to a pulp; Logan wanted to see him try.

The ache in his jaw faded swiftly, just in time for Logan to take a swing at (Y/N) and see how much he could tank. (Y/N) dodged his quick swings efficiently, taking steps back each time before he caught Logan's forearm and swiftly spun, his back pressing to Logan's chest before Logan was promptly hauled over his body. He collided with the floor, the cage trembling as if an earthquake had struck, and Logan doubted it'd be able to take the weight of his body a second time without damage. (Y/N) flashed another little grin down at him but instead of taking advantage of his momentary shock, he took a step back and allowed him to get up.

A professionally trained mutant, Logan deduced when he got to his feet, intriguing. And worrisome. He hardly needed a group of mutants on his ass begging him to join them.

"You ready to give up your title of champion, big guy?" (Y/N) questioned with a hint of a mocking coo, his words rowdying up the same crowd who'd turn on him if they learned of his mutant abilities, although Logan guessed they likely already suspected and merely wanted to see him hurt for a change. Challenging in his tone but his eyes studied Logan with a degree of curiosity he typically never saw in others.

"We're just gettin' started, bud."

"Even better."

Everything afterward felt like a whirlwind of punching, kicking, dodging, and blocking; Logan's favorite sort of dance, and one that'd hopefully end with some cash in his pocket and a well-deserved cigar. He managed to maneuver (Y/N) around, his arm coiling around his neck to put him in a headlock most wouldn't survive. (Y/N) pressed back against him, forcing them to stumble backward until Logan's back collided with the cage's wall that miraculously managed to stay put without giving out on them both. Logan released a guttural groan when (Y/N)'s short blunt nails dug into his skin, leaving bright red marks behind with specks of blood that only made him tighten his hold.

"Anything goes, right?" (Y/N) wheezed, his palm pressing against Logan's arm, a chill shooting down Logan's spine when it slowly moved on its own and gave him enough space to catch his breath without the pressure on his throat.

"The hell-"

Straightening his knees and tossing his head back into Logan's face, Logan cursed and released him fully to bring a hand to his nose. He covered it, waiting for it to heal without catching the eye of the people around but (Y/N) gave him no time to recover. He spun on his heel and took another swing at him, bringing his knee up into Logan's stomach when he doubled over and then slamming the bottom of his boot into the side of his face. His head slammed against a support beam and he groaned, the aches and pains healing rapidly but before he could stand up, he realized his body refused to follow his wishes.

"Giving up yet, big guy?" (Y/N) asked with a tilt of his head, eyes glinting with newfound warning. "We'll be here all night at this rate."

Logan swallowed, a hint of panic surging forward at his inability to move and the mystery surrounding the powers being used against him. Some sort of mental ability, he guessed, but whatever it was he disliked it tenfold. Logan grinded his teeth in frustration and begrudgingly nodded. "Fine," He grunted and sighed in relief when (Y/N) released whatever hold he had on him, allowing his body to relax and slump.

While, yes, losing a fight was a bruise to his pride, Logan found himself more intrigued by the fellow mutant, if not more cautious. With the sky darkening outside, Logan retreated from the cage to collect his belongings and ordered some beer while he watched (Y/N) at the other end of the bar. Once the bartender placed the beer down, he scooped it up in his hand and rounded the bar toward him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the men who clapped (Y/N) on the shoulder as if he'd done everyone a service. He waited, though, for everyone to be out of earshot.

"How'd you do it?" Logan questioned quietly, chugging back some beer and smacking his lips as it flowed down his throat. (Y/N) fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, sparing him an amused glance and an arched brow. "The whole- the whole body thing. What is it? Some sort of telekinesis?"

"How about you walk me to my motel and I'll tell you all about it?" (Y/N) grinned again, eyes crinkling despite the way they'd been going at each other moments prior, and he turned toward the exit with a beckoning nod. Reaching into his pocket, Logan jingled the keys to his old, busted RV and watched his grin widen.

Out in the cold night, semi-trucks passed them by on the icy roads beside the snow-tipped bar. (Y/N) tugged his hoodie over his head, keeping it on when he sat in the passenger seat and relished the light heat that filled the RV once Logan turned it on. Logan glanced at him, eyeing his light attire once more but keeping his questions to himself despite curiosity knawing at him insistently. He kept his eyes on the road, careful to avoid going at a speed that'd have them sliding into the forest around them.

"It's not telekinesis." (Y/N) muttered, reaching out and fiddling with the radio dials until he found a decent station. "I.. I controlled your blood. It's not as, uh, clean and pretty as telepathy or telekinesis but it's pretty useful in most cases. I can sense when someone's sick, too, or even help with cuts and infections. I'd make a pretty decent surgeon, honestly." He gave a small chuckle.

Logan snorted, though some unease settled in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah? How'd you figure out you had it?" Logan glanced at him again and immediately noticed the way his features fell.

"It's not a pretty story." He sighed softly, his head tilting to watch the trees and snow pass them by in a mixed blur. "Let's just say, some of my blood got out of my body and I panicked.. and it started levitating... anyways, enough about me, big guy. What's your thing? It can't just be that super-healing thing, right?"

Pursing his lips, Logan clutched the wheel with one hand and curled the other one into a fist. From the corner of his eye, he watched his claws slide out and then swallowed when (Y/N)'s features brightened. Gentle fingers wrapped around his hand and Logan retracted the claws, an unfamiliar feeling swirling in his stomach as he felt (Y/N) run his fingertips over his skin, tracing his knuckles and then the veins along the back of his hand. It'd been a while since he last left a gentle touch, and a quiet part in the back of his mind almost considered him unworthy of it.

"My name's Logan." He grunted softly, the typical tension he always carried fading with each delicate caress.

"Well, Logan," (Y/N) lifted his head with a cheeky smile on his face, his thumb pressing into one of the veins and drawing Logan's eyes toward him. "You mind keeping me company tonight? Or do you have someone you have to get back to?"

"No," Logan's lips tugged upward. "I've got time."

The motel was as rundown as Logan expected, dimly lit hallways occasionally plunging into darkness when the light flickered above them, and the curiosity surged forward again, prodding him to question where the mutant had come from or why he'd chosen Laughlin City of all places to stay in. But (Y/N) gave him no time to dwell further on it, the back of his foot kicking the door shut behind them before his hands grasped the collar of Logan's coat and pulled him in.

There was a dangerous addictiveness and allure to (Y/N), from the way he effortlessly danced the line between sweet and rough: a kiss full of tongues and teeth and nips but smoothed over by gentle fingers massaging the muscle of his biceps when Logan slid his coat off, only for those same fingers to slip through his brown strands and tug. It triggered something within Logan, a growl emitting from his throat as broad hands grasped at the other's hips and drew a breathless laugh from (Y/N).

As much as he enjoyed considering himself a lone wolf, the brief connection with others during one-night stands always reminded him he was still partly human, even when others considered him a savage brute. He savored it, savored when he had (Y/N) on his lap, his chest rising and falling with heaves and lips parted to release low grunts and groans. He savored the feeling of (Y/N)'s arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely, his breath fanning against his ear and allowing Logan to hear every noise he exhaled. He savored the ability to dig his fingers into soft flesh without worry, or sink his teeth into (Y/N)'s collarbone and feel the mark heal beneath his lips. He mostly savored the addictive warmth encircling him and the pleasure that made his thighs tremble.

His arms tightened around (Y/N), pressing him close to his chest, and captured his lips to swallow another whine. For the first time in who knows how long, he found himself hoping he'd see more of (Y/N) around.

But after a few days, the mutant disappeared from Alberta, and a week later Logan took a girl by the name of Rogue under his wing.

"You may see another familiar face here."

Logan turned his attention away from the mutant children, trying to ignore the way his heart warmed at the sight of them living happy lives without the threat of danger from those who despised them for simply existing. He searched the outer yard for any sign of Marie, but he assumed she was likely still getting acclimated to her new home at the school, and finally peered down at Charles questioningly. Charles smiled knowingly and motioned off to the side.

"While I prefer having (Y/N) here for his safety, he enjoys venturing out to help others. I hear you two became acquainted while he was away." Charles spoke, and without thinking twice, Logan's head snapped in the direction he'd pointed in, his heart leaping into his throat at the sight of (Y/N) walking toward him with that godforsaken grin that'd plagued Logan's thoughts and dreams for weeks. "(Y/N) has called this school home for many years, and he often helps with the more severe injuries. I'll allow you two a moment to... catch up."

(Y/N) nodded to Charles as they walked past each other before stopping in front of Logan and crossing his arms over his chest, his head tilting playfully to the side and eyes drinking him in. "It's nice seeing you again, Logan." He stepped closer, eyes lifting to meet his once more. "Here I was thinking about taking a drive back to Alberta. Guess you must've read my mind."

"Pretty sure that's Charles's thing," Logan replied, pressing this thumb into (Y/N)'s chin and curling the rest of his fingers under it. He had to, otherwise he would've convinced himself he was imagining things, that the mutant who'd managed to make him laugh and smile was still miles away someplace else. "What were you doin' in Alberta?"

"I heard rumors and whispers about a man down in Laughlin City and thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. I would've asked you to come back with me but.. that didn't seem like the type of pillow talk you'd appreciate." He explained softly, leaning into Logan's touch and closing his eyes briefly when Logan pressed his palm fully against his cheek, still caught in the fleeting worry he'd wake up and find himself on the side of the icy road with Marie nowhere in sight. "You're here now, though." His eyes opened. "Are you staying?"

"I don't-"

"Oh, come on," (Y/N) scoffed lightly, warmly, and moved in even closer. "It's nice here, Logan. I can finish showing you around and we'll find something for you to do. The food's good, the rooms are nice, and it's... freshening to hear the laughter of kids finally being happy. You'd make a helluva teacher, I bet. Everyone's favorite." His genuine tone shifted into a teasing one, laughing softly when Logan rolled his eyes.

Lifting his brows, Logan smirked and brought him close, itching to close the distance despite a heated voice in his head telling him he didn't deserve the warmth and acceptance. "We can start and end the tour in the dorms-"

"Only if you promise to stay." (Y/N) cooed, tilting his head away to dodge a kiss but he allowed himself to be tugged into an embrace. His arms curled around Logan's shoulders, lips drawing back into a wide smile before he planted a kiss on the corner of Logan's lips. "If you stay, we can finish what we started... and see where it goes."

Logan leaned back, his brows twitching down into a furrow but (Y/N)'s grip around his shoulders tightened, forcing him to stay and not flee from his words. He swallowed, conflicted in the way his brain and heart battled. Half of him screamed at him to leave, to go before he could mess everything up but another part desperately clung to the idea of staying and finally having a place to call home, finally having a person to call home.

He noted the flicker of uncertainty in (Y/N)'s features following his silence, felt him beginning to draw back from the embrace. Logan secured his arms around him and allowed a ghost of a smile to slip. "Yeah," He murmured, weakly at first. "I'd like that."

Truthfully, Logan hadn't been fully listening to what Scott- or well, what Cyclops had spoken about in the briefing about their latest mission. He'd heard the usual 'group of anti-mutants' and promptly tuned out afterward in favor of soaking in how (Y/N) looked in the dark suit, though noted somewhat glumly how it didn't allow him to wear the engagement ring. His staring hadn't gone unnoticed given the amused glances Jean stole and the exasperated exhale from Cyclops before they were dropped near the location of the warehouse.

"Good luck, Lo." (Y/N) whispered to him, planting a kiss on his cheek and dragging his fingers over Logan's beard with a mischievous glint in his pretty (E/C) eyes.

They'd separated pretty soon after, splitting up to cover more ground given the amount of people working with the group. It hadn't taken long at all for the fighting to begin, and despite Cyclops pushing for them to use as little force as possible, Logan couldn't help bruising and cutting a few people up. He managed to knock out a gunman when he heard the distinctive clap of thunder. Amusement had him cracking a grin followed by pity toward whichever fool dared face against Storm, but then he heard her shriek:

"(Y/N)!"

Too high-pitched, loud, and full of horror for Logan to brush aside as a warning call. His footsteps thundered throughout the halls as he moved, shoving and swinging his claws at anyone who stood in his way until he stumbled upon the sight, eyes immediately finding (Y/N) on his knees with Storm beside him. Logan beelined toward them, dropping into a crouch and promptly feeling a wave of nausea pass over him at the sight of (Y/N) blood-stained hands grasping desperately at his throat.

"They-" Storm swallowed thickly, her chest rising and falling with panic. "They shot him. He- He can't heal with the bullet-"

"Darlin'," Logan exhaled shakily, pulling him swiftly into his arms and attempting to keep his composure despite the wheezy exhales and gurgles filling his ears. Blood spread across his throat, blobs of it levitating only to lose their perfectly round form and fall onto the floor with splatters each time (Y/N) grimaced. "I know it hurts but you have to focus on gettin' the bullet out. Baby, hey, focus."

(Y/N) stared up at him, wide eyes filling with tears and shoulders shaking with his hiccups and trembles. The red tint of blood on his lips filled Logan with a familiar sense of dread, his arms holding him tighter so (Y/N) wouldn't feel him trembling as well. He watched the blood oozing out of the wound rise, oddly shaped and raised while he worked on shoving the lodged bullet out of his throat before he choked to death on the very thing he could control. He wheezed and coughed occasionally, droplets of blood flinging onto Logan's cheek and coloring his beard but he paid it no mind.

Storm fiddled with her earpiece, stuttering out explanations to Jean and Cyclops and urging them to move quicker. Logan thumbed away the tears that slipped down his (S/C) skin, forcing himself to give encouraging nods and smiles despite the hurricane threatening to break within his chest.

(Y/N) tilted his chin up toward him and Logan swooped in eagerly, kissing him despite the blood that danced on his tongue afterward. He heard the familiar clatter of metal falling onto the floor and leaned back, eyes flickering around frantically until he spotted the bloody bullet rolling around beside them.

"Hey, hey, you did it. You-"

Storm exhaled shakily. "Logan."

Logan's head snapped back toward (Y/N)'s face, first noticing the dullness in his eyes and then the way blood continued freely oozing from the wound. He stared at him, his mind struggling to comprehend the limpness in (Y/N)'s body and the stillness of his chest, the world around him slowly coming to a standstill. Storm's sniffling cries and the frantic questions from Jean and Cyclops as they finally arrived became distant, unable to focus on anything but (Y/N).

"Hey..." Logan exhaled, cupping his cheek as his brows furrowed into a tight-knit. "Hey, hey, hey, you- you can't do this." He furiously blinked away the tears that glazed over his vision, rubbing his thumb into (Y/N)'s cheek and waiting for him to nuzzle into his touch as he always did, but it never came. "You can't do this. You can't-" Logan cradled his body against his chest, burying his face into his collarbone as he'd done dozens of times before. (Y/N) remained unresponsive, his arms falling limply at his sides from Logan's movements.

"You can't do this to me. You promised you'd never leave."

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mind-intheclouds342 · 3 days ago

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Do it for them - Co-Captain x Reader (Mouthwash)

Part 1 - Part 2

Anya: "I'm sorry (T/n), he can't eat any of that."

You had gone with Anya to deliver her rations and Curly's, but you received those words that only left you more worried.

Anya: "Nothing solid, barely liquids... He can't even swallow unless it's with help..."

"Well... That changes my plans... I'll try to bring him something he can consume."

You mentioned squeezing the packages you had brought tightly, almost making them break.

Before Anya returned to the nursery, you stopped her, holding her shirt, like a child tugging at their mother's clothes wanting her attention.

"You can tell him that I hope that... I hope he gets better soon so I can see him?"

Anya: "Sure..."

She nodded, giving you a small smile, and you let her go carefully so she could continue on her way.

You ran your hand through your hair and looked at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from falling from your eyes.

You continued your route to give the rations to the others.

"I want all of you to be smart, I will give you daily rations, you can eat them as you wish, but I will not give you more than what you receive in a day, you can accumulate and store them if you wish, but I don't want anyone touching other people's food, I have rationed them fairly."

Jimmy: "So some will have more than others, shouldn't it be equal?"

"Swansea does maintenance work, he needs his body strong, Daisuke is on his first trip, he's just getting used to the mediocre food we have, Anya barely eats, and I just found out that my hus-... that Captain Curly can't even swallow. If I gave everyone equal parts, it wouldn't be fair. Do you have any other complaints?"

You extended his rations, Jimmy just huffed at your response and took his food without saying anything else.

Daisuke: "So, does that mean Swansea and I are the ones who are going to get more food?"

"Just one more pack than usual, I need everyone to stay sane. But as I said, you can do whatever you want, you can store it, you can share it, but once I hand it over to you, it's completely your decision what you want to do with it."

Swansea: "Can I ask how you rationed it? What are you basing that on?"

"Well... Considering that we have eight months of travel left, if Pony Express notices that we haven't returned on time, they will have to send rescue teams. I have divided the rations to last at least nine months... But it's the last plan I intend to resort to, waiting won't work for me."

Daisuke: "Will they be able to find us??"

"Since the failed missions they had while testing, they couldn't afford to lose more material, because usually theirs ships got lost. So they installed tracking chips, but they only activate after the delivery time."

Jimmy: "So we'll just be stuck here until that happens."

"Jim. Stop, I refuse to wait so long for them to come for us, there must be a way and I'm going to find it."

Jimmy: "If there were any kind of emergency button, we would have found it by now, there's nothing to do but wait."

You looked at him seriously when he took a few steps towards you, standing in front of you, towering you, he was relatively taller than you, and you disliked the idea that he wanted to intimidate you.

Swansea: "Hey Jimmy, stop that, we need to-"

"No, no, it's fine Swansea" you kept looking that man in the eyes "He must still be shaken up from the crash, I'm not going to give into his rudes words and start insulting him or arguing with him. At least my conscience will be clear that at least I tried to help and didn't just wait."

You raised your chin when you said that, before turning around to leave, muttering under your breath, unable to believe the insolence of that man.

What bothered you the most was the fact that you had known him for a long time, Curly and he are good friends, but his attitude towards you makes you feel like you never got along with him.

You saved the rations that were supposed to be for Curly, and decided to reorganize everything again to distract yourself.

"Even without being present... you help a bit..."

You murmured while separating the portions, which became a bit larger due to Curly's inability to eat anything solid.

Daisuke: "Captain (T/n)..."

You looked up upon hearing that, quickly left the storage room, closing the door behind you.

"Daisuke? Do you need something?"

Daisuke: "I believe that if we are going to get out of here, I trust you!"

You couldn't help but smile at his words; you knew you had to inspire confidence in others during these difficult times, but hearing it directly from one of the crew members really made you happy, and even made you trust yourself.

Daisuke: "I will help with whatever is necessary! Maybe I can even go into space this time!"

"Uh-hu, no way, you don't have the proper training, you're going to float out there and get devoured by intern-eating aliens."

Daisuke: "Eh-?! You don't have to be so mean about it!"

You put your hands on his shoulders, smiling at him.

"You are going to help me much more in here than out there, I assure you, you have already done a lot for me."

Daisuke: "Really?"

You nodded, making the boy feel proud.

You wanted to protect them all.

#anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #captain curly

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drivestraight · 1 day ago

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wildcard!!! I know that you are more focused on writing works centering max, lando and oscar. I wonder if there is any chance you will write about lestappen again in near future. I just love your lestappen works so much and I'm sorry if this question makes you feel uncomfortable 🥺🥺

from here

near future no, but here’s about 5k of my abandoned (little brother of the) prince of monaco charles x driver max wip ❤️ as a gift

The Guardian is first in the round of interviews. A woman named Marie sits across from the sofa, beside cameras, light panels, and mics.

“To start,” Marie says, donning a sympathetic smile. Max struggles to take her at face value. “I want to acknowledge that I’m sure this isn’t how either of you would have liked your relationship to come out. How are you two doing?”

Max tries his hardest to keep a neutral expression. He scowled his way through the hours of media prep yesterday and got scolded each time.

He shifts on the sofa. For a couch made for royalty, it is not very comfortable.

Of course, it comes much easier to Charles, who returns a warm smile. He keeps his eyes on Marie, but places a hand on Max’s thigh, to comfort him. God, everyone’s going to love this, aren’t they?

Horribly, the physicality does help. Max takes a deep breath.

“You’re right,” Charles responds. “It is not at all ideal, but we are thankful for all of the grace that has been extended to us these past few days.”

Max purses his mouth.

Marie glances at him, waiting for agreement. Instead, Max busies himself with studying the details of the room they’re in. The Salle Des Gardes: cobalt walls, beautiful flower bouquets, and centuries-old portraits framed with gold. It’s so beautiful it makes Max uncomfortable.

At his silence, Marie moves on, smiles, and says, “Well, it’s great to have you both here.”

“Yes,” Charles says, “it is. Right Max?” he probes, squeezing Max’s thigh.

Somehow, Max manages not to glare. He clears his throat and manages to hum in concurrence.

“So,” Marie says, “I guess we can start from the beginning. I’m sure everyone would like to know how you two met.”

Max is grateful at how quickly Charles jumps to respond, “I have been a big fan of F1 ever since I was a child,” he replies, “but I did not meet Max personally until the Monaco Grand Prix in 2021.”

“On the podium?”

It was collateral damage, really, Max’s champagne spray getting all over Charles during the celebration. Max hadn’t even known, until Charles told him many months later.

Charles nods. “Yes, on the podium. A little after the race, he was invited to dine with my family, as the winners always are, and we… liked each other. We got on very well that night.”

Yes, Max thinks. We talked, we ate, we drank, we got into a huge fight about Ferrari, we got kicked out of the venue hall, then we hooked up in the toilets upstairs.

Sure, they got on well that night.

“We started seeing each other quite a bit, after,” Charles finishes.

They saved each other’s numbers, and every now and then, between Max’s races and between Charles’ royal obligations, they’d meet up in Monaco.

“Who asked who out?”

Charles turns his head and looks at Max, expectantly.

Max glares, but Charles only lifts a brow, unwavering. “I did, I guess,” Max concedes, trying not to roll his eyes at the way Charles glows, dimples pressed deep into his cheeks.

In a way it’s true. Max had been the one to shove Charles up against a wall and kiss him, drunkenly and furiously.

For the next two years, it was easy, despite who they were, perhaps because of who they were. They were on the same page about what it was they had: purely an arrangement of convenience. Entirely physical, no-strings attached. They’d meet in Max’s flat, maybe have a drink and talk about the most recent race, and get to it. After, Max would let Charles use his shower, then Charles would leave. Not once would Charles ever sleep over.

Still, they were exclusive, in a way. Max found something good, something safe, something easy, with someone who was on the same page as him. They were physically compatible. They wanted the same things from each other. Max didn’t see a need to look elsewhere, and neither did Charles.

Max had no interest in making it any more than it was. Neither did Charles.

For two years, it was simple like that. Max bribed his doorman, and Charles swore his security detail to secrecy. Charles hadn’t told anyone about Max. Max hadn’t told anyone about Charles. No one needed to know. What was there to tell? The F1 world champion and the Prince of Monaco’s little brother were friends with benefits? They were barely friends.

“Yeah?” Marie asks, looking surprised. “What was it about Charles that interested you?”

Charles’ expression is rapt and curious, his focus singularly on Max now.

Well, Max thinks. If they want him to speak from his heart, that’s what he’ll do.

“Of course,” Max says, smiling for the first time since the news broke, “it was not his personality.”

Marie laughs, amused. Charles makes an unbecoming noise, his entire face scrunching up.

“Max!” he squawks, outraged.

“What?” Max asks innocently, tipping his head to the side. He is starting to have a little fun. He finds Charles’ hand on his thigh, lays his over his knuckles, his thumb brushing at his wrist. “I thought we were of course wanting to be honest today. Your personality is not the first thing people notice about you.”

Annoyed, Charles purses his lips. “And what is?”

Max hums in faux contemplation. “Your face, of course.”

Charles’ brows knit together. Max relishes in the fact that Charles is the one on his toes this time. “You only like me for my face?”

Rolling his eyes, Max says, “It is the only good part about you.”

Charles squints, licks his lips, and levels Max with a look. Max knows that look: he is thinking, planning.

It is pin-drop silent for a short moment. Suddenly, the room feels very small.

Charles leans in closer, marginally, but enough that Max’s breath hitches, and slides his hand higher up, his fingers firm against the inside of Max’s thigh. “Really? None of the other parts you like?”

Max lets his eyes wander: from the mole on Charles’ cheek to the one on his neck, from the dip of his Cupid’s bow to the stubble on his chin. It is distracting and it is unfair, how beautiful Charles is.

“Really,” Max says, gaze returning to Charles’ eyes. He will hold his ground, even if he doesn’t mean it. “None of it.”

Thirty minutes later, Marie and all the cameramen leave. They are given half an hour in private to rest before their next interview. Le Parisien this time. At least then, he thinks, they’ll be more significantly more interested in Charles than they will be for him.

Even though they’re technically free now, the palace made it clear that they are not to leave this room until they’ve finished the last interview.

Once the doors shut and they are alone, Charles turns and glares at him.

Since the news broke yesterday morning, this is the first time they’ve truly been alone.

“Your team will not be happy with that. You saying you like me only for my face.”

Of course that’s what Charles will take from the interview. After Marie asked all her questions about the genesis of their relationship, her questions pivoted to Max, about what it means for him to be the first openly gay Formula 1 driver in decades.

Each time he was asked a question, Charles squeezed his knee, running circles with his thumb.

Max hadn’t met with his PR team beforehand—Monaco’s royalty took priority, monopolized him and all of yesterday. He had no idea what Red Bull wanted him to say, what the optics were, so he spoke from the heart.

His answers were simple: it means nothing to him. It means nothing to what he has achieved. He never wanted to be an inspiration. An icon. An idol. If he is, then he is, but that was never his intention, that was never his goal.

Nothing changes.

“Obviously, I was joking,” Max mumbles, standing up and pacing around in front of the sofa. There’s a whole table filled with refreshments, and Max is hungry—he’s always hungry—but the season is in full swing, and he needs to keep his weight down. He wishes they had Red Bull or something, but they only have tea and coffee. He settles for shoving his hands into the dress slacks he was forced into, pressing the tip of his Oxford shoe against the border of the carpet. “And I do not think your team will be very happy with you feeling me up on camera.”

Charles huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. “I had to make it seem like we like each other, after what you said.”

Max scoffs and sits back down on the couch, toying with the seam of the green plush pillow beside him. “I think everyone is pretty convinced that we like each other,” he mutters, and then, mortifyingly, his stomach growls. Loudly. It’s the afternoon now, and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

And Charles stands all of a sudden. Max watches, confused, as Charles makes a beeline to the table of refreshments, shoes clacking against the hardwood until he reaches carpet. There is a way about how Charles moves, magnetic to the eyes. He grabs a small scone, then heads back to Max.

Closer and closer, until he’s settled between Max’s spread thighs, towering over him.

Bossily, he shoves the scone in front of Max’s face. “Eat. We have a long day.”

Max sighs. He’s explained this to Charles before, his diet. “Charles,” he says, hoping that’s enough, not wanting to give the whole spiel again.

“It is a royal order,” Charles says seriously. He presses the scone against Max’s mouth.

Max angles his head away. “I am Dutch, if you didn’t know.”

“You live in Monaco,” Charles insists, “and I am the Prince.”

Max snorts. “You are the little brother of the Prince.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Charles sighs and places his hand on Max’s cheek, leveling Max with a look, that same one from before. His palm is soft, smooth, but his thumb is firm where it presses against the seam of Max’s lips, coaxing his mouth open. The ball drops; the rally ends. At the end of the day, Max is starving. He cuts his losses and bites, gaze fixed on Charles as he chews on the stupid scone. Once he’s swallowed, he expects Charles to let up, but Charles raises a brow, pressing the scone against Max’s lips again. Max groans, understanding, and takes another bite, and another, and just as he’s about to finish the scone, Charles quickly pulls it back, and eats the last bite himself.

Max rolls his eyes. Of course. Charles giggles, and wipes off a crumb from the corner of Max’s lip. Even when Max’s face is clean, Charles keeps his hand on Max’s cheek, smoothing out his frown.

They linger like this for a few moments, and Max feels the anxiety leftover from the interview start to dissipate, his shoulders laxing.

“I know you did not want this,” Charles says quietly. “I did not want it either.” Max swallows, his chest feeling tight. “But it’s like this, and we have to do it together. If it is to work, we have to make it look real.”

“I know,” Max says, starting to feel bad. Charles got fucked over with all of this too. Today, Charles is more calm, more—present, than he was yesterday, a quiet wreck in the briefing. His mental resiliance really is something. He places a hand on Charles’ waist, pulling him in closer. “I was of course there in the briefings.”

Charles pokes harshly at Max’s cheek, like he is trying to sculpt an artificial dimple. “I do not think you were listening.”

Max closes his thighs around Charles’ legs. He is very warm, and they have half an hour before the next interview. Hm. They might as well spend it wisely.

“Can you read my mind now? Is that another one of Prince Charles’ royal powers?”

Before Charles can respond, Max tightens his grip on his waist, before sliding his hand lower, to grab at Charles’ ass. Charles’ eyes widen, his mouth parts in surprise, and he sucks in a gasp.

“Max,” he whispers, blushing a soft pink. His hand drops to Max’s shoulder to steady himself.

“We of course have time,” Max points out, bringing his other hand to Charles’ other cheek, tugging him closer through the fabric of his slacks. “And we have a long day.”

It’s been months since the last time they did this. Not since before winter testing.

Max only now realizes how much he’s missed it.

“Not here,” Charles mumbles shyly, looking around, as if there’s anyone else here. Despite his protests, he doesn’t make any effort to fight Max’s hold.

Maybe, Max thinks, Charles misses it too.

“Why not?” Max asks. “Do you not like being watched by the portraits? They are your ancestors, right? I don’t think they’d mind.”

Charles sighs, but Max catches a small smile on his face. Regardless, Charles shakes his head, stubborn. “It is not the portraits I am worried about. What if someone comes in?”

“It will be their fault for not knocking,” Max snorts. At Charles’ withering glare, he sighs and says, “No one��s going to come in. There are guards outside.”

“Still,” Charles argues, pink all the way up to his ears now. His eyes drop to Max’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “We will be… messy for our interview.”

“But it will seem like we really like each other a lot,” Max jokes, grinning.

Charles doesn’t take the joke well. He pouts and pinches Max’s ear with his fingernails. Max laughs and releases Charles’ ass. “Fine, fine,” he concedes. “At least come here?”

Charles pulls his mouth to the side. “Will you behave?”

Max shows Charles his palms, hands positioned before his chest. “I will behave,” he assures.

Charles shoots him one last look, before sighing and climbing up onto the sofa, knees on either side of Max’s lap, and sitting. Immediately, he buries his face in the side of Max’s neck, his hair tickling Max’s ear, and lets out a contented noise.

Max barely got any sleep last night, all wired up, and from how exhausted Charles looks—feels, melting into him, breathing softly, maybe the first moment of silence he’s had all day—he can tell it must have been the same for him.

For a few minutes, they stay like that. Max closes his eyes, stroking Charles’ back. There are too many layers between them. Max kind of wishes he took his suit jacket off, or at least his tie, before he asked Charles to sit on his lap. Too late now, Max thinks, nosing at the spot below Charles’ ear. He notices, in this time, that Charles must be wearing a new cologne. It is nice; he smells nice. Charles always smells nice.

Max presses a harmless kiss on the side of Charles’ neck. Then another and another, until no space is left unkissed. He moves to the center of Charles’ throat, and Charles lets it happen, lets Max pepper small kisses along the ridges, his mouth closing, softly, over his carotid, Charles’ heart pulsing like a rabbit between Max’s lips. Charles likes that: the little kisses. When Max reaches the cut of his jaw, he starts to be a bit more bold with it—licking and biting gently, Charles’ stubble rough against his tongue, tracing the contours of him.

Charles starts to let out little pants, his hips starting to roll ever-so-slightly. Max slides a hand between their chests, what little space is left between them, and finds Charles’ crotch, gently palming over the bulge. He’s half-hard already. Max hums, pleased.

Finally, he makes the move and makes it stick: firmly, he kisses Charles, right on the lips. It is a tender kiss, but deep and filled with intent. No more pretense.

Breathily, Charles mumbles against his mouth, “This is not behaving.” He sounds annoyed, but he keeps kissing Max back, keeps grinding his ass on top of Max’s crotch.

Max pulls away, laughing when Charles immediately chases his mouth and makes an unhappy, surprised noise, laughing when he opens his eyes and sees Charles’ eyes: dark, pupils wide and wanting.

“Okay,” he says, voice a little raspy, even to his own ears. “We can stop.”

Charles’ jaw drops. Outrage is a cute look on him. “Oh,” he says, brows furrowing, exhaling through his nose, “you are—”

He doesn’t finish. He only shakes his head, grabs Max’s face with both his hands, firmly, and kisses him, furiously.

Charles’ mouth is soft and plush, but his kiss has a fire to them, an intensity; this part has always been the easiest, with him. The physicality. Everything else, that’s the difficulty.

Their noses brush, and Max pivots away, only slightly, to kiss at the corner of Charles’ mouth, light and teasing. “Yeah? What am I?”

Charles finds his lips again, positions Max’s head right back where it was, and plants a kiss square on his mouth. “Horrible,” Charles says, and kisses Max again. “Annoying,” he says, and kisses Max again. “The worst,” he says, and kisses Max again.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that, of course,” Max says, helping Charles take his suit jacket off. “We have to seem like we like each other.”

Charles doesn’t deign him with a response, merely rolls his eyes and tosses the jacket to the side. He is gorgeous like this: eyes blown and glossy, his mouth parted, wet, begging to be kissed.

So Max kisses him again, his hands rucking Charles’ button-up from his slacks, until he can slip his hands under the fabric, finding his waist. He uses this newfound leverage to flip their positions, to maneuver Charles so that he’s on his back and horizontal on the ugly, uncomfortable sofa. Charles yelps; his chest heaves, and his throat bobs. He is so pretty like this: in the painfully bright light of this room, it is even more vivid, and for the first time since the news broke yesterday, Max thinks, maybe this will be worth it.

Max takes the moment to burn the sight of him into his retinas: his mousy hair messy around his head like a halo, his kiss-swollen lips parted and wanting, his clothes, even, rumpled and wrinkled in a way that Max knows he hates, in a way that he never lets anyone see.

Half an hour. Half of that is probably gone by now, Max reckons. They’ll have to hurry. He can take his time, another time.

He forces himself to focus. He takes off his own jacket before he forgets, shoves Charles’ thighs apart so that one leg is splayed off the couch, then he drives his knee between them. He swoops down once again, and Charles sighs dreamily into his mouth. Max slides his hands down Charles’ chest until he’s found the buttons of Charles’ slacks, undoing them with deft fingers.

“This is—” Charles starts, lifting his hips, helping Max pull his bottoms to his thighs. Multi-tasking, Max kisses down his throat, skips down to his stomach, and kisses at the happy trail leading from below his belly-button. Distracted, Charles moans and writhes beneath him, throwing his forearm over his eyes. Cute.

“What was that?” Max asks, amused. He kisses Charles’ hip bone lightly, and wraps his fingers around the base of Charles’ length, adoring the way Charles’ hips buck at the touch. He traces a vein with his thumb, his precum making the slide easy, then spits into his hand—not like they need it—and starts to jerk him off. Brows knitted together, Charles squirms, so Max keeps his body steady with a hand on his stomach, feeling the flutter of muscle there.

Charles tries again, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can meet Max’s eyes. His face is pink, and his breaths come squeaky. He scrunches his nose, prissy and aristocratic, and says, “This is a very old couch. And my suit is very expensive.”

Max sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’ll keep you clean,” he promises, and takes Charles into his mouth, hollows his cheeks, and sinks as far down as he can go.

Against all odds, they have some time to spare. They spend it fixing each other’s clothes and sex hair, making each other look at least somewhat presentable. Unfortunately, while Max had kept his promise and kept Charles clean, Charles hadn’t returned the favor; now there’s a probably irreparable stain on the antique couch. Oops, Max thinks, and he makes Charles sit on it for their next round of interviews.

It isn’t so bad.

Thankfully, F1 was the only one they’d been on video for. Charles, for the rest of the day, is hazy-eyed and loose-limbed. Max capitalizes on his distraction, teases Charles as much as he can and knows how to—Charles lets it all happen.

And he seems, almost, as if to enjoy it.

But maybe Max is projecting.

By dinnertime, Max is finally released. Charles is whisked away by his brother before Max even tries to get a word in, so he doesn’t try. He gets driven home, orders Brad-approved takeout, and calls his dad. Lets him know how the day went. After, he calls his mum, then his sister, and then Raymond. At 8 PM, Brad comes over for training. They talk about things that don’t matter. At 10 PM, Max showers, brushes his teeth, turns off the lights, and crawls into bed. He checks his messages. He frowns when he notices that Charles hasn’t texted. Max isn’t sure why he was expecting him to.

He checks his other texts. He sees that Gemma has texted him his media schedule for the weekend. He doesn’t bother reading it, leaves it for tomorrow. He puts his phone down on the table, closes his eyes, and thinks.

In all this time, the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Even now, it doesn’t stop spinning. Media day is in three days. Infinitely worse: it’s Monaco. Charles will be there; for all of it, he will be there. Normally, WAGs and—now, Max guesses—BAHs are off-limit topics, but there’s no guarantee his sexuality will be. They will want to prep him. Make sure he doesn’t say anything stupid. Charles will be there, and they will have to act in love. Max will have to dodge cameras and avoid journalists the entire weekend. He will have to make statements. He will have to respond. Charles will be there.

On Sunday, Charles will be on the podium.

On Sunday, Max wants to win.

Too much to think about. Too much to worry about.

One day at a time, Max thinks. One day at a time.

Voici got a hold of the story first. Apparently, evidence had been slowly building up for months—quotes from Max’s building neighbors and a now-fired member of Charles’ security detail.

The most incriminating evidence, however, were the pap photos taken of them kissing in Max’s car.

They’d been so careful—but maybe, over the last few months, they’d grown complacent.

The story broke the day of the cancelled race in Imola, first thing in the morning. Four hours later, Le Parisien got a hold of it, and that’s when shit started to really hit the fan.

Red Bull was blindsided.

So was the Crown.

Max had been blissfully unaware until around noon when he woke up. For many hours, quieted by Do Not Disturb, his phone had been blowing up with calls from Raymond, from Christian, from his father. Everyone important in his life. Before he got a chance to call any of them back, he spotted the ESPN notification at the top of his screen:

Max Verstappen: Formula 1’s reigning world champion and first gay driver in decades?

Below that, an Apple News notification:

Monaco’s Sweetheart breaks hearts worldwide? The inside scoop of Prince Charles of Monaco and Max Verstappen’s 2-year long affair.

In a way, nothing in any of the reports had exactly been false.

Max was driven to the palace, silently escorted to a meeting room, and he was seated next to Charles, who was quiet and playing with his hands in his lap and looked like he might throw up. In that moment, Charles looked—small. Charles looked—afraid. Max had never seen him like that before. Max wanted to say something, wanted to ask him if he was okay, but the meeting was in full swing; they hadn’t even paused for Max’s entrance. He settled with placing a hand on Charles’ thigh, his heart rabbiting in his chest. Charles laid his hand over Max’s. It was all Max could do. Max was afraid too.

Once he arrived, however, they switched to English, and explained the plan they came up with while he was sleeping: to confirm the status of their relationship, and run a full press tour. Immediately, without coordinating with Red Bull. That the Prince’s little brother was not only dating a man, but dating the F1 world champion, needed an immediate response, and Charles’ image takes priority over Max’s.

They needed to take control of the narrative, spin it in the right way: They’re in love.

Max didn’t understand. He interrupted halfway, “But we’re—” He glanced at Charles, silent beside him. “We’re not actually—”

Finally, Charles spoke up. He lifted his head, turned to Max, and said, “It does not matter.”

“But—”

“Max,” Charles said, with finality. His eyes were shaking. He looked more upset than Max had ever seen him. “It does not matter.”

And that was that.

Tuesday morning, Red Bull post official statements on all their social media platforms, and Max’s social media manager posts a statement from him that he didn’t write. He doesn’t see any of it himself. He stays offline.

That afternoon, he’s in a few virtual meetings with marketing, and they confirm with him the schedule Gemma sent, that they’ve canceled the shootings he had with Checo, and that they want him to focus on keeping a low profile.

He has done more than they needed him to, thanks to the insistence of the Crown.

The interview with Marie won’t be released until Thursday, but Red Bull had received an early preview from the Guardian. To his surprise, the team is satisfied with it. They of course aren’t exactly pleased with some of his responses, and they request that he answer differently and less abrasively next time, but Max is guessing that their expectations were so low that he managed to exceed them, somehow.

They hadn’t even wanted him to speak to any press in the first place. Neither had Max, obviously, but Charles—it would have been silly if Charles had done the interviews alone. Charles needed him there. So.

Wednesday, he streams on Twitch with RedLine. It wasn’t exactly news to them or anyone close to him, the gay thing, but the Charles thing, well—it was a surprise to everyone. Even Max. The boys ask him if he wants them to steer clear from making any jokes about it, and Max says he doesn’t care either way. The last thing Max wants is for his friends to walk on eggshells around him; the last thing Max wants is for things to change any more than they already have. So Crane jokes about it, Bennett jokes about it, and Max also jokes about it. They permaban anyone in chat who jokes about it.

And that’s Wednesday.

Thursday isn’t the hell he was expecting it to be.

Red Bull managed to pull strings and get Max out of the press conference and TV pen appearances, and Checo’s been left to handle the fanzone all on his own, so Max stays inside the Red Bull Energy Station, keeps his head down as much as possible, ignoring the roars of reporters outside, only speaking with his engineers and mechanics.

Tomorrow, though, he won’t be able to get around media.

Don’t worry about the press, GP tells him in the paddock, clasping a hand on his shoulder. It’s all noise. Just focus on driving. Nothing changes, at least from our end.

Max tries his hardest to believe it.

#lestappen #my writing #i’ve posted this before but it’s fine #ask game

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theereina · 1 day ago

Text

Big Mama Pt. 5

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +7.4K 🤦🏽‍♀️

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), angst, P in V, oral (female receiving), Dom!Terry, CNC (roleplay fantasy "r-word")

A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

6 months later ~ Halloween night

“Girl, why the fuck does this man have y'all stayin’ way the fuck out here?” Monica asked while driving. “That's the point. He knows I love the country. Plus, it so fuckin’ peaceful out here,” I said laughing. “’Vana, this is a serial killer's dream. Two black people in the middle of nowhere!” she blurted.

Tonight, we all went to a Halloween party as a group— Monica, Jordan, Terry, and I. The party was thrown at a warehouse downtown. It was fuckin' amazing. I had never had that much fun before. Terry even seemed to really enjoy himself, but he got sick at some point. He let me know that he was leaving early. I offered to go with him, but he declined. After he left, I tried my best to have fun but couldn't stop worrying about him. He wasn't answering my calls or texts which was strange.

I leaned over while sitting in the car. I unstrapped my heels and pulled them off. I was wearing a sexy schoolgirl costume that left nothing to the imagination. We agreed to dress up as a couple with Terry being a nerdy school professor. Our costumes made much more sense when we stood near each other, so I spent most of the night by his side.

Monica drove down the gravel driveway of the large farmhouse. Pulling to the front porch, I realized all the lights were off. It was eerily quiet— almost too quiet. Terry must have actually been sick if he had gone to bed this early. Monica's car came to a stop. She looked out into the field and stared at the barn. “This really is some serial killer type shit!” she said shaking her head. “Shut up!” I said laughing at her remarks. Monica was definitely on edge.

“I'm so done with you,” I said grabbing my heels before getting out of the car. “Just call me or text me. I wanna make sure you're safe. This shit so creepy,” she said scrunching up her nose and looking around. “Okay, scaredy cat,” I said leaning back into the window tickling her neck. “Terry is big and all, but not Texas Chainsaw Massacre big. Be safe!” she said. “Goodnight, whore!” I yelled as I turned and started walking towards the porch. I walked up the steps with the heels swinging in my hand. The front door was left unlocked because Terry had the only key. I opened the door and walked in.

I looked around the open living room in search of Terry. “Terry, baby? Where are you?” I yelled as I turned towards the hallway. Before I could move, I saw something flash across the large floor-to-ceiling window in the living room. I couldn't tell if it was a light or a reflection. I stood there for a second to see if it would happen again. Nothing. I shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to walk up the stairs. I was approaching the master bedroom door when I noticed a stain on the floor. It was a puddle of dark liquid. I couldn't tell what it was, but it smelled metallic. I leaned over in front of the door and hovered over the puddle. It looked like— blood.

I leaned up and quickly backed away from the door. I dropped the heels and held my chest. I turned back towards the stairs. I instantly wanted to flee but realized I didn't know where Terry was. “Terry, please. If this is a joke, this a fuckin' sick one!” I yelled from the top of the stairs. I turned back to look at the bedroom door. What if he was in there hurt? Shit!

I slowly walked back up to the door. I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. I opened the door slightly peeking around. “Terry,” I said whispering into the room, “I don't like this.” I walked into the room, staying close to the door. I walked towards the center of the room facing the bed. The master bathroom door was cracked open with the light on. There was a smaller puddle at the bottom of this door. I wasn't liking this at all. My anxiety was pushing my heart through my chest. Every breath was feeling like swallowing razor blades. I inched closer to the door as panic was setting in. What if Terry was on the other side of this door? What if he was hurt, what if he was dead?

As I approached the door, I noticed faint marks leading from the puddle and into the bathroom— drag marks. No! I tried my hardest to level my breathing. I placed my hand on the door and pushed it open slowly. I opened the door to find blood splatter all over the bathroom and the tub covered in it. I almost screamed but covered my mouth. I started to back out of the bathroom. My foot stepped into the puddle by the bathroom door, soaking the bottom of my stockings. Tears were starting now.

As I lifted my foot to remove the stockings, there was a loud thud at the bedroom window. I didn't want to look out, but I had to know if it was Terry. I slowly crossed the room. The window had no blinds just a sheer white curtain. I pushed the curtain open lightly to peek but hopefully not be seen. I looked out towards the field at the rear of the house. That's when I saw him— a man. He was holding an axe over his shoulder. He looked like a lumberjack. THIS WASN'T TERRY! I stumbled away from the window unsure of what I just saw. There was no way this was happening. We didn't come way out here for this shit! I slowly leaned back towards the window to look again. This time I didn't touch the curtains.

He was still there, but his head was tilted up facing the window this time. The axe was resting by his side. He slowly raised the axe and slung it onto his shoulder. I could see there was something in his other hand. Before I could investigate further, he pointed towards the window. He could see me! He raised his hand above his hand and slung whatever was in his hand at the window. I ducked behind the wall. The object hit the window with a splat.

I eased away from the window to see blood splatter dripping down. I backed up towards the bed while still facing the window. Holding my chest, I tried to sort out what was going on. Then, I heard the sound of heavy boots thumping on the back porch. He was closer now. That's when I remembered the backdoor couldn't be locked from the inside. Terry had told me this earlier that day. But if the door couldn't be locked, he could just—. Before I could finish my thoughts, I heard the backdoor open and slam against the wall. The last place I wanted to be was in the room he last saw me in because this would be the first place he searched.

So, I slipped out of the bedroom door and hid in the guest room. I could hear his footsteps hitting the stairs as I closed the door. The closer he got; the louder it became. He paused at the top of the stairs. I heard his footsteps lead towards the room I left. While holding my breath, I heard him slowly open and close the door. I instantly began weighing out all my options. I could hide here like the typical dumbass— under the bed, in the closet, or behind a door. Or, I could sneak and hide somewhere else before he sees me.

Fuck it! I was trying my luck with the second option.

I stood near the door and slowly opened it. Peeking out into the empty hallway towards the other room, I turned around and tried to close the door slowly so it didn't creak. I turned back around and began tip-toeing towards the top of the stairs. Before I could get far, I noticed the bathroom door in the hallway open. I had this odd feeling that I was being watched. I didn't want to look, but I was too afraid to make any sudden movements. I pressed my back against the railing while closely watching the opening and the bedroom door of the room I left.

As soon as I reached the banister, I felt a presence behind me. I was right! He had never gone into the bedroom. He rushed from the open bathroom, coming straight towards me. He tossed the axe to the opposite hand with ease. The mask he wore covered his head entirely, so I couldn't see his hair, face, or eyes. I tried to run away from him, but he managed to grab the back of my top. I yanked away from him, causing it to rip. I stumbled down the stairs with him close behind me.

I knew better than to run out the backdoor. There was nothing but acres of open fields. The kitchen wasn't an option either as it was in the back of the home. I ran towards the front door, leaping off the porch. I sprinted for the barn across from the house. It was far, but I had a better chance of finding a weapon to use. The barn door was open. There wasn't an ounce of light inside. Fuck it! It was too late to turn back now. I ran into the barn and hid behind a mountain of hay.

He was cocky. He didn't even run after me; he casually walked. He treated this like it was an everyday encounter. There wasn't an ounce of worry in his demeanor. His shoulders were squared, and his stance was wide. He stood at the barn entrance, searching for any signs of where I went. He knew I was in here.

He rolled his shoulders and neck. He swung the axe back and forth at his side. He turned around, facing the barn door. He walked to the side and pulled the handle for the door. He slid it across the entrance. He was sealing me inside. There was nowhere to run, but the other door. It was closed, but I only needed an opportunity to run and enough gap to squeeze through.

Walking to the corner, he pulled a metal chain across the bar on the door and locked it. Now, I was LOCKED in. I had to get to that back door. I looked around me, but there was nothing. Had I really gotten locked in here with nothing to defend myself?

I eased along the slide of the bales, trying not to make a sound. I was short enough to stay concealed as I moved. I made it to the other end of the barn before he made another move. He was at one end and I was at the other. I realized that I could go for the door. It didn't look too heavy for me to pull.

All I had to do was get to the door, push it open enough to slip through and run. That's it.

I stood as close as I could to the wall. I took a silent deep breath. I peeked around to make sure he was still on the opposite side. I slipped past the hay and ran for the door. I could see him turn to face me. I grabbed the handle and pulled it as hard as I could. It wouldn't budge. I tried to push it again and again. Nothing.

I turned around to see him walking towards me. Oh no! That's when I heard it— the sound of a chain. This door was locked from the outside. There was no way I had just done this. I kept pulling at the door. I flattened my back against it, turning to face him. He wasn't moving any closer. He stood in the middle of the barn with the axe over his shoulder. I knew for a fact that I couldn't outrun him. So, what do I do?

“Please, just leave me alone. My boyfriend's here somewhere!” I yelled holding my arms in front of my stomach. He barked out the most sinister laugh I had ever heard, before stopping abruptly and going silent. “He's dead, you dumb bitch! You didn't get that from the mess upstairs!” he yelled. The world around me began to spin. He had said the quiet part out loud. Terry was dead, and I just didn't want to believe it. “What? I gotta show you his body for you to believe me?” he said walking closer. “No!” I yelled. “No!” he yelled mocking me, “You sound fuckin' pathetic.” I was crying even harder now. No amount of breathwork or grounding would save me from this. I was about to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “So, is this the part where you run again, huh? Save yourself the trouble, pretty girl. Just come here!” he said pointing in front of him using the axe. “Fuck… fuck you!” I said crying.

His body stiffened immediately. His hand gripped the handle of the axe tighter. “I said to c’mere. Right the fuck now!” he barked. I stood where I was frozen in fear. “If I gotta come getchu or you make me chase you, so help me God!” he spat. I pushed away from the door while slowly walking towards him. I had to try something.

As I moved closer to him, I shifted my path to the side of him. I didn't want to get close to him, but did I have a choice? I stopped a few feet from him so I was out of reach. “You do know that if I swing this fuckin' axe I can still hit you?” he said frankly. I looked between us. He was telling the truth. I wasn't stopping shit. If he wanted to get me, he still could. “Come on, pretty girl. Help me, help you. Stand right here,” he said in a calmer tone.

I still didn't move— I couldn't. No matter what I did right now? I was going to die anyway.

I looked down at my feet. “Is it the axe, baby girl? Tell me,” he said tilting his head. I looked up at the axe and trailed my eyes up to his face. I could sense that he was staring at me. “Look at me, lil’ mama!” he snapped. He seemed agitated with my antics, but I didn't know what to do. He was tall and appeared muscular. My short thick ass couldn't outrun him or fight him.

He waved the axe around wildly, slinging it away. It soared through the air and landed on the barn’s upper level. “See. I'm nice,” he said raising his hands. They were empty, but I wasn't stupid. I knew a man like this didn't need weapons when his hands could do damage and kill.

I wasn't any less scared, but oh well. I walked towards him slowly, holding my breath. Once I was in arm's reach, he grabbed my shirt by the knot in the front. It tore in half. He yanked it from my body, exposing my black push-up bra. I threw my hands up to cover my chest. He smacked my hand down. “Move your fuckin' hands!” he yelled, raising his hand as if he were about to hit me again. “I fuckin' dare you!” he grunted through gritted teeth. I dropped my hands by my side, waiting for whatever was coming. Why wasn't he doing anything?

“What do you really want?” I asked. I was tired of this sicko's games. “Does it fuckin' matter? It's not like you got anywhere to go,” he said laughing. He was faking his composure. He wasn't calm at all. His hands were flexing and his shoulders were tensing up by the second. Why did I let Terry talk me into coming out here?

“Arghhh… If you don't fuckin' move!” he yelled. Fear took over, causing me to take a step back. “You know what fuck that?” he said pulling out a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket. He pulled them over his hands and wiggled his fingers. His hands filled the gloves perfectly. He closed the gap between us in two quick steps. His chest was right in front of my face.

I dropped my head. There was no point in running. “Just do it already!” I yelled hitting him in the chest repeatedly. He stood there and took every hit. His body didn't move an inch. Nothing I was doing was even affecting this man. Angered because I was tired of being toyed with, I pushed him in his chest. He shifted a little. I pushed him again. He shifted back a little more. Before I could push him a third time, he grabbed my hands. He held my hands above my head. “Stupid girl. Was that fun for you? Aww, you're fighting the big bad man. How cute?” he said mocking me.

He released my arms. I looked down and rubbed my wrists. I was caught off guard by his hand wrapping around my throat. He lifted my body from the ground and pushed me against one of the posts on the barn. “If you ever put your fuckin' hands on me again, I'll snap your fuckin' neck! Understand?” he grumbled. His teeth were grinding, and his grip was tightening. “Yes!” I managed to squeal out. “That's what the fuck I thought!” he yelled, releasing his grip.

My body hit the ground with a thud. I held my neck. I was sure there was a mark or a bruise. I was leaning over on one side. He squatted down so that he was right in front of me. Reaching to touch my face, he stroked my cheek and wiped my tears. “You're too pretty to be cryin’, girl,” he said tilting his head to one side. He was just hovering over me stroking my cheek. It was as if he was in a trance. I took in a deep breath. He let his hand roam my body. First, he groped my breast. Then, he caressed my stomach. This didn't feel right. Why was he all of a sudden being so gentle— too gentle?

His hand went lower and stopped at the top of my skirt. He looked back up at me while his hand moved down to my thighs. He pushed my skirt up and began dragging his hand along my thighs. “Damn, I know he’ll miss this,” he said moving his hand up towards my pussy. I clamped my thighs shut. No way was he about to touch me there. His face shot up in my direction. One of his hands shot up and slapped me across the face. “Don’t fuckin’ try me!” he said grabbing my chin. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could tell his gaze was locked on my face.

While still gripping my chin and focusing on my face, his hand began moving again. His hand stalled and rested on top of my pussy. He hooked his pointer and index fingers around the crotch of my panties, tugging them a little. He tore them off my body, and I screamed as the fabric scratched against my skin.

I kicked him in the chest as hard as I could. He grabbed my ankle and yanked me towards him. I tried to find something to grab onto, failing miserably. My palms burned from being pulled through the dirt. “Stop, or else!” he screamed, holding my legs down. “Fuck you! If you're going to do it, do it! Bitch!” I yelled slapping him across the face.

I turned over onto my stomach and began attempting to crawl away. He grabbed the back of my legs, pulling me back towards him. I managed to snatch one leg away. He leaned forward and jumped onto my back. His hands flew to the back of my head, pulling my hair so my back was flush to his chest. “Yell! Scream! Go ahead! Nobody can hear you, dumbass!” he said in my ear, yanking my head up. “Let me go!” I screamed.

I couldn't keep fighting him. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew only one of us would walk away from this, and it wouldn't be me. “You don't like living do you?” he said pushing me to the ground. My face hit the dirt. A metallic taste flooded my mouth— blood. I lifted my hand and wiped my mouth. I turned over, sitting on my butt. I pushed on my hands to get up. “Sit!” he screamed, knocking me back. I was tired of this shit. I wanted no part of this stupid ass game he was playing.

I pulled my knees into my chest and began crying. “Hell, nah! Shut the fuck up! The fuck is cryin’ gonna do?” he asked while grabbing the back of my head. He used his grip on my hair to pull me down before straddling me. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. I like the way you look when you cry. Soft. Sweet. Defenseless. Scared. Yeah, I think I like this,” he said cupping my left breast. His hand wandered to my left bra strap. He pushed it down slowly before doing the same to the other side. “Take it off slowly. No need to rush. We got all night,” he said low. I didn't move. What was the point of doing what he said? Prolonging my ending life seemed futile.

He reached behind him and pulled out a hunter's knife. I stared at the blade, tensing up. I placed my hands on his chest, trying to push him away. He grabbed my hands in one of his and held them above my head. He twirled the knife in his hand before pressing it into the front of my neck. The adrenaline in my body was pumping, and my ears were ringing. “Just do it!” I yelled, sobbing. His focus shifted back to my face. I could almost see his features spread into a smile through the mask. “Okay!” he said laughing. I felt the knife leave my skin. The presence of the blade still lingering behind.

With a heavy heart, I closed my eyes. I waited and waited. Every breath seemed to bring me closer to my last. I felt his grip on my hands tighten but still nothing. What was he doing? I wanted to close my eyes but was too afraid of what I might see.

I felt the knife glide across my stomach. I felt the blade rest on the fabric between my bra cups.

rip

He sliced through the front of my bra and began making quick work of the straps as well. I opened my eyes to see him peeling the pieces from my body. My exposed nipples hardened from the crispness of the Autumn air. He raised the knife to my chest, sliding it across my nipples. The cold blade stimulated the sensitive buds. I squirmed underneath him. This was feeling— I don't know. Was I enjoying this, or was my fear driving me insane?

I moved my hands and twisted my wrists. “No,” I whimpered. “No? You sure, pretty girl? I bet if I rubbed my hand through that pussy of yours, she'd be sayin' something else! Wouldn't she?” he said putting the knife back behind him. “Just…,” I said trying to tug away again. It must have annoyed him because it earned me another slap to the face. “Quit the bullshit, baby! Let's see!” he said, placing his hands on the button of my skirt. He unbuttoned and unzipped it quickly. While grabbing both sides of the zipper, he easily tore the mini skirt in half. “Clean! I like that. You came prepared for me, huh?” he said rubbing the mound of my pussy. The fabric of his leather gloves was like ice against my skin. He scooted back on his knees a little so that he was straddling my thighs more than my waist. He stuffed his hand between my legs, palming my pussy. He cupped his hand, trailing it through my folds. He dragged his hand up and down my slit, grazing my clt each time.

I was shocked by what I saw when he pulled his hand out. Cum! What the hell was going on? “Oh! That's lovely,” he said bringing the wet glove closer to his face mask. He drew in a deep breath. “Now, I might not be the smartest man but that looks like arousal to me. Don't it?” he said bringing the glove to my face. “ Yes… no… I don't fuckin' know!” I yelled. “You might wanna admit it, baby. You like this, huh? You dirty slut!” he said stuffing his fingers into my mouth. I gagged at the force.

“Don't say shit! Just suck!” he said, leaning over me. His face was right in front of mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath through the mask. I opened my mouth wider, telling myself to just do it. I sucked on the glove lightly. “You can do better than that! Come on! The better you perform; the longer you may live. Make me proud,” he said, leaning up.

I sucked on the glove again— a little harder this time. He let his finger roam inside my mouth. I let my tongue slither around each finger, causing his dick to jump. I felt it move against my thigh. I looked down to see a tent growing in his jeans. Shit, it was big! Oh, no. I couldn't be thinking like this. What would Terry think of me?

“Don't worry you'll see it soon!” he said drawing my attention back to him. I realized that I had been unconsciously sucking on his fingers. He pulled the glove from my mouth and smeared my saliva all over my face and lips. “Sloppy. I like it!” he said, lightly tapping my cheek. “Imma let yo’ hands go. Don't do no stupid shit, okay?” he said. I nodded my head yes. What the fuck could I possibly do in this situation?

He released my hands. I instantly pulled them to my chest and began rubbing my wrists. “I'm sowwy. I shouldn't have been so rough when you're so soft and…” he said trailing his hands down my chest to cup both of my breasts. The material of the gloves felt smooth against my nipples, causing me to let out a soft moan. He broke from his trance and focused on my face again. I know he heard it. Why was I moaning from this? What the hell was going on with my body?

“Listen to me. If you promise to be nice, I'll let you live. Who knows maybe you can be my sex slave or something!” he chuckled deeply. “As if I have a choice,” I whispered turning my head. “Well, you're right about that. Shall we begin?” he asked clapping his hands. “Begin?” I asked confused. All I could see was his facial features shift under his mask. He was smiling— no he was grinning. A big sinister grin was spread across his face. He was about to enjoy whatever came next.

He lifted his hips and repositioned himself between my legs. He grabbed the back of my knees and pushed them up to my chest using one hand. With the other, he undid his belt buckle and pants. He didn't even care to pull them down completely. I watched as he grabbed his dick at the base. I immediately knew where this was going. I tried to push my legs back down, but even when using one hand he was stronger than me. He leaned over me and slapped his dick on my clit. It was heavy and hard as a brick. “Remember what I said. The better you perform…,” he said letting his thoughts trail off.

In one quick thrust, he was inside me— deep. My arms flew up trying to push his chest. “Don't do that!” he cooed. “Behave. I promise to make it worth your while,” he lulled, dodging my hands. It was like he didn't give a fuck about me fighting back. He was too focused on—. “Fine. Have it your way!” he barked.

He grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head. With his teeth, he snatched the glove from his other hand. He threw it behind him. I could feel his dick twitching inside me. He grabbed my neck and began pounding into me. I gasped for air. How was he switching back and forth like that? He was nice one second, then aggressive the next. This man was a fuckin’ psychopath.

His hips snapped into my ass. “If you want me to stop, stop me!” he laughed. I knew I couldn't. I had tried and tried again. “Come on! Do something!” he yelled in my face. I was done. My blood boiled and fear went out the window for a second. “Fuck you! Kiss my fat black ass!” I yelled pushing my thighs down as hard as I could. He falls back onto his hands. I used this as an opportunity to scramble away. “Arghhh, you stupid bitch! Tell me what’re you gonna do? Huh? You can't run. You can't hide. No one can hear you!” he yelled waving his arms around. Again, he was right. What the fuck could I do?

I sat there for a minute with my back turned away from him. I was on my knees crying into my hands. Each sob racked through my body. An idea jumped into my head— this would either kill me or save me. I didn't know what to do, but I did know what I had to do. ONE FINAL TRY.

I turned on my knees to face him. “So, you're saying that… if I… if I let you do it, you'll let me live?” I asked gasping for air in between sobs. “I'm a man of my word, love,” he said sweetly. I covered my body, waiting for his next move. “Fine! Just do it,” I said getting on my hands and knees and slowly crawling toward him. I was a few feet from him when he told me to stop. I looked up to see him twirling his finger. “Turn around. You're pretty and all, but I'm sick of your face,” he spat with disgust. I turned around and sat on my knees.

He climbed behind me. His presence alone swallowed my frame. I was a big girl, but that meant nothing right now. He pushed me forward. “Ass up, face down. Don't make me repeat myself!” he yelled smacking my ass. He was sitting between my knees with his hands by his side. I got on all fours in front of him. I heard him scoff and grunt. “Fix ya’ arch. If I gotta fix it, you're not gonna like it. Let's go!” he yelled.

I arched my back and pushed my ass into the air. Without realizing how close I was, my ass grazed his dick. He growled in response. I looked over my shoulder at him. “What the fuck did I say? I don't wanna see ya’ face. Turn around!” he yelled popping my ass again. I screamed out in pain.

“Oh, shut up! It didn't hurt!” he said laughing at me. I started to sit up, but he pushed me back down. “What you movin’ for? I'm just kiddin’,” he said playfully. This man was confusing the hell out of me. How did he expect me to react? There was nothing funny about this. I moved away from his hand before he could react. “Alright, damn! I'm sorry. You know what? No, I'm not. I'm sick of your shit, you disrespectful bitch! I’ve tried being nice to you, but you don't seem to give a fuck. Why should I?” he snapped while grabbing my hair. His other hand forced my ass to meet his hips. “We're gonna learn that attitudes don't work around here!” he said thrusting back inside of me. I could feel the thickness of his dick inside me. It was clear that this was turning him on.

I felt his hand slide up my back to my shoulder. He was pulling me back on him now. He was pounding into me like I was a sex doll. I could feel my pussy beginning to ache already. As if he could sense my discomfort, he paused. Letting go over my hair and shoulder, he placed both hands beside me. He was on top of me now. Fuck! I needed to get on my back.

He began to grind his hips into me slowly. What was he doing? He leaned over so that his mouth was near my ear. The mask was warm from his breath. “Better?” he asked seductively while fucking into me. It was as if his voice had changed, and lust had taken over. It wasn't raspy anymore. It was deep and soft— smooth like velvet. “Answer me. Is this better?” he asked, pulling his dick out to the tip. “Yes,” I moaned out. It was like I couldn't control it. It was starting to feel good. “Yeah, that's what I wanna hear,” he said, pushing his dick back in. He was kissing my cervix and bottoming out with every stroke. He was honestly fucking so well. I hated this. I wasn't supposed to enjoy this, but I couldn't help it. His dick felt amazing inside me. Every stroke felt like— love. How?

“That's right. Take it. You got it,” he said. My eyes started to roll in the back of my head as I could feel his dick swelling inside me. He leaned back up and grabbed my hips. The movement of his hips was slow and—. “Ahh, shit! Wait!” I said putting my arms out to the side. I flattened my body against the ground. I was yearning for something to grab. My hands dug into the dirt of the barn floor.

“Come on. I'm so close, baby. Fuck!” he said quickening his pace. His hips were snapping into me at this point. I could feel the gentle caress of his balls slapping my clit. “This pussy is mine!” he groaned, fisting the hair at the back of my head. He pressed my head into the floor.

As his hips shifted to pound down into me, he brought one leg up so that he was kneeling. My pussy began to clench around his dick. I could feel my climax approaching. The wetness of my pussy was working against me. He was sliding in and out of me with ease. My pussy was begging for a release. I needed to cum so that I could come to my senses.

His dick was throbbing inside of me. Oh, he was close, and I wanted him to c—. No, I didn't want that. I didn't want him to do that— not inside me, but it was TOO LATE! His hips snapped into my ass with force. He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him. He held me there, releasing every ounce of his nut inside of me.

“Ahhh, fuck! That pussy was nice. Can I keep you?” he asked letting go of me. I let my body collapse onto the ground. “One more,” I said turning to face him. “What?” he asked confused. “I didn't finish. I wanna cum,” I said pouting. I needed him to trust me because I needed this plan to work. “Can't get enough, huh?” he said, pushing me on my back. I let my legs fall open so that he could see just how wet my pussy was. I needed him to lose focus.

“Oh, you nasty slut. You like this shit! Don't you?” he asked, slapping his dick on my clit. He rubbed his dick through the mixture of our cum that was spilling out of me. He sat his dick at my entrance. “Beg, bitch! You want it so bad. Beg for this dick!” he growled, holding his dick at the base. Pride was out the door at this point. There was no turning back. “Please, I need it. Make me cum. That's all I want. Just make me cum. You..,” I said but before I could finish he forced his dick inside of me. “Ahhh!” I said moaning out.

As much as I wanted to hate this, it felt so good. His dick was hitting every spot and scratching every itch. My pussy was creaming around him, and I was leaking like a faucet. He leaned over me, placing his hands on both sides of my head. I could hear our hips slamming into each other. I rubbed my hand up his chest. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. I could feel every breath he took on my face.

He threw his head back in bliss. I was chasing two dragons at once— an orgasm and the key to my freedom. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. I could feel my orgasm approaching. “I'm about to nut!” I yelled, gripping the back of his head. I placed my head on his shoulder. I could see it. IT WAS RIGHT THERE! I let my orgasm take over and began clenching and unclenching my walls to push him into his. His strokes got sloppy, and his hips stiffened. He dropped his head on my shoulder, letting his weight fall onto me. This was it— my only chance.

I slid one of my hands down his back while keeping the other pressed to the back of his head. “Stay in me, please,” I begged. I didn't need him to move. As my hand got closer to his waistband, I felt it— the knife! I gripped the handle and pulled it from his waistband. I pulled my legs under me so that they were pressed against his chest and kicked him as hard as I could. Knife in hand, I jumped on him before he could react. Pressing the knife against his throat, I began to speak. “Tell me why I shouldn't?” I yelled. “Because…,” he said, struggling to find an answer. “Take off the mask!” I demanded. “What?” he asked. “You heard me! Bitch!” I yelled back, pressing the knife deeper into his neck. I could feel his heart racing. Wasn't shit funny to him now. “Aight, damn!” he yelled while slowly removing the mask. His hands tossed the mask away from us.

What a sight?! I leaned in closer, turning the blade on its side. “Any last words?!” I snarled. He lay there quietly. “None. Fine with me!” I said, fisting the knife. “I just hope you know how special you are, Mama. Oh, and my girlfriend gone kick yo’ ass!” he screamed.

“Terry!” I said pouting. He grabbed my face and pulled me in for a kiss. “All you had to do was keep acting scared. Dammit!” I said pushing away from him. I was straddling his waist with my arms folded across my chest going into full brat mode. “I'm sorry! You said the code word for ending the scene, Mama. How was I supposed to know you wanted to keep going?” he asked grabbing my chin. “You ruined the fun,” I said dropping my arms. “Did I though?” he asked taking one of my nipples into his mouth. “You still got one more in you?” he asked, releasing my nipple from his mouth. “How the fuck am I supposed to say no?” I asked leaning in to kiss him and dropping the knife.

He placed his arm around my waist and lifted my hips. He reached his hand between us, guiding his dick inside me. “Ouu, shit!” I moaned into his mouth. “Come on, Mama. You got it. Make Daddy proud!” he said smiling. I pushed him back onto the ground. “Here comes, Big Mama!” I yelled, giggling. I hopped onto my feet and started bouncing on his dick. My hips smashed down into his. I leaned over and began kissing his neck. “Let me have it, Mama. Let's go!” he yelled, smacking my ass. Terry let out the sweetest moan as his head dropped back. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Fuck, I couldn't help myself. Look at him. Eyes rolling. Toes curling. Moaning to the gods. Yeah, I did that! Me!

“You like that? Huh?” I asked, placing my hand on Terry's neck. I pressed down on the front of his throat. Terry's eyes shot open and his hand reached for mine. “Don't you fuckin' dare!” I said, slowing down my hips and gripping his dick with every grind. “Fuck!” Terry said letting his hands fall. “Nah, look at me. Ain't that what you said?” I taunted while gripping his neck even tighter. “Ahh, fuck. I love you!” he screamed out. “Yeah, I wanna hear that shit. Eyes on me!” I said, mocking him. His eyes opened slowly as his breathing became ragged. I could feel his heart racing under the palm of my hand. I held the grip on his neck with the other.

The sound of my ass colliding with his hips echoed through the barn. “Give me it, Daddy!” I said, releasing his neck. I sat up straight and began to ride Terry like the stallion he is. “Ahh, that's… oh, fuck! Here it comes!” Terry said, grabbing my hips and holding me in place. His hips froze as he squeezed my waist. I felt every drop of his cum paint the inside of my walls. I giggled into my hand and said, “Oh, I'm not done!”

Terry's face was overcome with shock. “You heard me,” I said, rocking my hips. “Fuck it. It's all you, Mama,” he said, collapsing backward. “Oh, I know!” I said cockily. That's when I noticed Terry was smirking. “You just don't know when to stop, huh?” he said grabbing my hips and lifting me off of him. He pushed my body over his chest so that my pussy was directly over his mouth. His tongue immediately found my clit. I was definitely about to cum from this. His mouth covered the sensitive bud as he sucked.

I felt his hands rubbing and squeezing my ass. I fell forward and began grinding against his face. I felt Terry's lips curl into a smile. “I'm about to cum,” I announced loudly. Terry popped my ass and held me down, encouraging me. His tongue slithered along my entrance. He was missing it on purpose, teasing me. I whined like a bitch. Moans were leaving my mouth repeatedly. His tongue finally found its way into my pussy. I clenched as I felt my orgasm approaching. “Ah, fuck!” I yelled, leaning up and straddling Terry's face. He removed his tongue and began sucking on my clit again. That's what did it. I came all over Terry. “Ugh… mmm. Fuck, Daddy!” I moaned through my orgasm. I could hear him laugh from underneath me. “Damn you!” I yelled, climbing off of Terry's face. “I love you, too. Mean ass!” he said. “I guess I love you,” I said, laughing while leaning over to kiss Terry’s lips.

Taglist: @brattyfics @avoidthings @cocooned-butterfly @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaxwrites @jimmybutlrr @lovey-3 @curvyambitions @deja-r @hoouno06 @insidefeelingofanadult @slutsareteacherstoo @ariiijestertheklown

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nohva · 1 day ago

Text

Zoro drunkenly (or while tipsy) confesses his love to Sanji one night but, in the same breath, tells him it’s okay—he knows Sanji is straight and is fine with them remaining "only" crewmates, he just had to get these feelings out of his system. And Sanji is overwhelmed because ???? Where is this even coming from? Why is the mosshead suddenly saying these things? This isn’t how their relationship is supposed to work. They don’t do the whole talking thing, especially not about serious topics?? When they have emotions to work through they fight each other, maybe throw in an insult or two. But this? This is unfamiliar territory for Sanji, so he’s really not sure how to react, much less respond.

So he doesn’t; he just stares at Zoro, his mouth opening and closing. Zoro takes that as his sign, gets up from the stairs he’d been sitting on, and leaves for the sleeping quarters. It is quite late, after all.

The next morning while preparing breakfast Sanji is oh so tense. He’s still mostly confused because there’s just no way the green-haired brute could harbor any such feelings toward another human being—least of all him—could he? And what if this does change things? Zoro said it wouldn’t, but who's to say?

And Zoro acts like nothing ever happened, he's just the same old moss ball that drinks too much Sake and takes way too many naps during the day and Sanji is so confused and he's getting angry now, because how can he act so nonchalant while the cook is over here losing his god damn mind over this? Does Zoro maybe not remember confessing? Had he been that drunk?

And obviously Zoro DOES remember, and he's NOT calm at all. He's freaking out internally every time he and Sanji are in the same room, but he'd rather lose his remaining eye than have anyone notice. So he does his best to play it cool. And yeah, maybe he takes a nap or two more than usual, and maybe he spends even more time working out in the crow's nest than is strictly necessary, but that is nobody’s business but his own, isn’t it?

Bla bla bla cue Sanji questioning the universe and his existence, freaking out over his sexuality, sloooowly coming to terms with it and then freaking out again about telling Zoro and what it means for the crew dynamic etc etc.

Also Robin being somewhere in the background of the story, smiling to herself, sipping on her tea, because of course she knows something is up, and she has a pretty good idea of what it is about, even if she doesn’t know the whole story, because she knows pretty much everything that’s going on on the sunny, cause she’s the responsible older sister™️.

————————————————————-

I have never attempted to write anything before, not even a rough draft like this, but Zosan has been living in my head rent free for the past few months now, and once the idea for a possible plot popped up in my mind I absolutely needed to note it down. Oh well, I hope I am not embarrassing myself too much by posting this.

Anyways, this is the most I can offer due to a lack of actual literary skills, but I still hope you enjoyed!

The obligatory English isn’t my first language speech: please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes, I tried my best, I swear!

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spiicii · 3 days ago

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jey uso / nsfw alphabet

x fem!reader word count → 2.2k summary → my first shot at writing (i can't believe this man has driven me to write), lots of smut and dirty talk beneath the cut, read at your own risk, not beta read

A = Aftercare

Jey is always so sweet to you. No matter how rough the sex was, he’s always quick to take care of you. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, murmuring soft praises and soothing words. After he’s sure you’re good, he crawls into bed beside you, pulling you close. He’s a cuddler and will keep you close to his chest all night.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s worked hard for his body and is especially proud of his shoulders and arms. He loves it when you rub your fingers across his tattoos, admiring the artwork and marveling at the strong muscles that can lift you with ease.

He loves every inch of you, but he's obsessed with your thighs. It doesn’t matter where you are, he’s going to find a way to grab them, smack them, or even place his hand over them possessively when he’s sitting next to you. He especially loves the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his head as he eats you out.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As much as he loves cumming inside you, he loves it more when you let him cum on your face. There’s just something about you on your knees, your pink tongue outstretched as he marks you up that drives him crazy. Once he’s finished, he’ll run his fingers through your hair and praise you for how good you’ve been for him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wasn’t going to see you for weeks and he would miss you. At least, that’s the excuse he gave when he stole a pair of used panties from your dirty clothes to take with him on the road. He’d never done anything like that before and he blamed the intoxicating smell of your pussy as the only thing that could have driven him to do something so filthy. He didn’t get many chances to jerk off while on the road, but when he did, he was sure to sneak the panties from his suitcase and press his nose into the lace to remind himself of you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s always been an attractive man and has plenty of experience. Most of his partners have been pretty vanilla, so he’s not super experienced in the kinkier side of things, but he’s pretty open-minded. If you bring up something he’s never heard of before, he’d be willing to do some research and learn more about it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves doggy-style (better access to your thighs and ass), but he really can’t get enough of fucking you in missionary. He wants to see your pretty face and loves watching your eyes glaze over as he drills in and out of you. He’ll kiss you as he grinds deep into you, his mouth a hot brand against yours, the kiss deep and possessive. He wants you to feel all of him and take everything he has to give you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Look, Jey’s a goofy guy. One of the reasons you fell for him was because he knows how to make you laugh. Still, he’s not silly all the time. Some nights he’s sweet and romantic, making sure to take his time and treat you right. Other times he’ll get that dark, possessive look in his eyes and you know that you're in for a long night.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s not completely clean-shaven, but he likes to keep everything neat and tidy. He treats it like his beard: he likes it a certain way and doesn’t like to change it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It all depends on his mood. Some nights he’ll pepper your body with sweet kisses, nothing but honeyed praise on his lips as he takes care of you.

Fuck, you’re perfect. I could spend all night tasting you, mamas. Let me spoil you, baby.

Then there are other nights. Nights where something will have him feeling frustrated or pent-up. Whatever the reason, you usually end up on all fours, his large hand fisted in your hair as he pistons in and out of you from behind, spitting filthy praise as he uses you.

Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Gonna make you cum on this dick, pretty girl. So fucking tight. You like being used by your daddy?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Whenever he’s away from you for weeks at a time, he takes whatever opportunity he can to call you. He wants to hear how much you miss him, how badly you need him. This is the only time he’ll do phone sex, when he misses you so fucking bad and only has your voice to get him going.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Loves pulling your hair. Doesn’t matter if he’s hitting it from the back and grabbing you by the hair so you can’t hide your face in the pillow or tightening a fistful of your hair in his hand as he fucks the back of your throat. He loves the way your eyes flutter as he tugs at your scalp, how your mouth falls open and the sweetest little groans spill out of you.

Usually prefers to take control and loves how much you trust him to take care of you. That being said, there are some (very rare) nights where he wants you to take care of him. On those nights, he’s content letting you call the shots and sub for you. If you praise him and tell him about how good he’s being he might spontaneously combust.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Isn’t a huge exhibitionist and prefers to fuck you in the comfort and privacy of his room. He likes to take his time with you, so a large bed and soundproof walls are preferred.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you in any outfit that highlights your ass and thighs will immediately get him going. He’ll even get a little possessive if he knows you’re going out in an outfit that shows off your body.

Whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going, baby? Nobody should get to see this perfect body but me.

He’s easily riled up, so it doesn’t take much to get him going. Literally anything you could do to him could get him in the mood.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Isn’t a fan of exhibitionism (privacy is important to his career) so he doesn’t take risks like that.

He doesn’t mind you dishing out some punishment to him (he takes beatings for a living), but he would never do anything to hurt you. To him, there’s a difference between being rough and actually hurting you. He’s a lot stronger than you and sometimes he might leave the accidental bruise or mark. He’s always so sweet and apologetic, no matter how small the mark is or how much you reassure him. You’re his perfect angel and he would never want to hurt you, even if you wanted it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I don’t care what anyone says, this man is a MUNCH. He’s obsessed with the way you taste and could spend hours between your legs, his mouth latched to your clit, his arms slung across your hips to keep you pinned to the bed. He would wring orgasm after orgasm from your shaking body, lapping at the sweet nectar dripping out of you like it’s his last meal on earth.

He loves it when you give him head, mostly so he can keep his hands in your hair and watch as you worship his cock. He’s usually sweet when he praises you, urging you to take what you want, allowing you to control the pace. He’s only fucking your throat when he’s in a mood.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His default pace is usually slow and sensual. He likes to take his time with you and enjoy the ride, spending hours taking you apart and putting you back together again.

BUT

Jey’s an emotional guy. He’s known as a hothead and has a bit of a temper. When he comes home from a rough day at work or someone says the wrong thing to him, he might prefer to come to you to get some pent-up energy out. On days like that, he’s fucking you so fast and rough that you probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not a huge fan of quickies, especially if it means he won’t be somewhere where you’ll be comfortable like a bed. He wants to spoil you and make you feel good, not fuck in a supply closet where you’ll be cramped and uncomfortable. He doesn’t mind sneaking away for a little make out session, but he usually won’t go any further than that.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He would never risk his career or do anything in public, but anything else he’d be willing to try for you. He’s a pretty open-minded guy and would be willing to experiment with something new if you wanted it. He probably wouldn’t be the one to introduce anything new into your sex life, but he’ll try (almost) anything once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man is an athlete in peak condition. He has a high stamina and sex drive, more than happy to go multiple rounds with a short refractory period. He’d never push you further than you’re able to go and always wants to put your comfort first.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any toys but wouldn’t be opposed to you bringing them into the bedroom. He might be a bit skeptical of them at first (might even tease you about a few) but if you wanted to use them, he wouldn’t be against it.

The very first time you brought in toys, it was a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs. He thought they were for you at first and was shocked when you said they were for him instead. After some jokes (this man ALWAYS has jokes) he finally agreed to let you handcuff him to the headboard. He would never tell anyone, but he’d never finished so quickly in his life. Needless to say, you certainly use this knowledge to your advantage whenever he let you take control.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s soooo cocky, even when he’s being sweet, and will tease you for hours on end. Loves to see you fall apart under his tongue or listen to you beg him for more more more.

Yeah, yeah, need your daddy, huh? So fucking spoiled, aren’t you, little girl?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not over the top loud, but he can get vocal. When he’s deep inside you and grinding into your gummy walls, you’ll hear his rough grunts in your ear, a low creaky groan ripping from his throat as he spills into you.

He’s got a filthy mouth, whether he’s being sweet or rough with you.

You can be louder for me, can’t you? You gon’ be my good girl? Just needed this dick, didn’t you mamas?

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Can we talk about subby Jey some more? Sure, he’s an amazing dom and takes such good care of you, but when he finally lets go and lets you call the shots? He really is the sweetest boy in the world. So anxious and eager to please you. You rarely have to punish him and even when you do, he somehow manages to get out of it by using his adorable puppy eyes. He loves it when you tie him down and ride him until he’s begging you for release, letting out the cutest little whimpers and moans. He’s always so embarrassed that you can coax those sounds from him, his ears and cheeks burning as he hears how pathetic he sounds, but he can’t deny how good he feels as you praise him and pet his hair.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Long and curved, his dick is well-acquainted with your cervix. It’s so pretty, genuinely one of the prettiest dicks you’d ever seen. You once asked if he’d want to get it pierced, just to add to its beauty, but he’d only laughed and made a joke. Well, he didn’t say no…

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man can fuck like the energizer bunny, always ready for you whenever you want him. He’s horny as hell but he does a good job of hiding it when he’s at work or on the road. He thinks about you constantly and is pretty much always down to fuck.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he’s sure that you’re comfortable and taken care of, he’s usually asleep pretty quickly. He’s more tired than he’d like to admit but he doesn’t like falling asleep before you.

#jey uso x reader #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso smut #jey uso fic #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe imagine #wwe smut #jey uso x you #jey uso imagine #jey uso x y/n #jey uso #main event jey uso #wwe

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 2 days ago

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On Galadriel’s Whitewashing by the Fandom

Allow me to rant. Because at this point I really have to ask this: what show have you all been watching? Many say that Sauron deceives the audience, but it was actually Galadriel who deceived you all, really.

In Season 1 and Season 2, we saw Galadriel using others left and right, for her own ends (including Halbrand, Míriel, Adar, etc.). Her character introduction in Season 1, was her beating the sh*t out of some kids over a paper boat. Then, we saw her treating her companions’ lives as if they meant nothing to her. This alone should tell you something, but no, you wanted to see the “feminist hero” that never was. She was acting like... Sauron, when he ditched the humans on the raft.

Nah, you think?

Throughout Season 1, she was arrogant, high on herself and downright offensive to pretty much every character she came across. She was constantly acting as if she was better than everyone else, and others were beneath her, because of her delusions of grandeur. She disobeys Gil-galad over and over again because she doesn’t truly recognize his authority. He’s younger than her, and in her mind she’s the one who should be High Queen of the Noldor, because she’s the only surviving child of High King Finarfin. She lied and manipulated others to her own ends... like Sauron.

When your ways of manipulation are more radical than Sauron’s.

Allow me to say this once more: “Rings of Power” has Tolkien experts to assist with the writings of the scripts. Christian doctrine and preaching is a huge deal on Tolkien’s work, and even if the show producers don’t see it or don’t recognize it, it’s still there because it’s inevitable, you can't work Tolkien without it.

What does this mean? Galadriel is not a hero. Pride and greed are not good traits in Tolkien lore. She’s not one of the “good guys”. Not yet, and she’ll only get worse before she gets better. She’s not a villain, either; she’s an anti-hero like Adar. Why do you all think Satan’s little helper Sauron got so interested in her, in the first place?

When Sauron of all characters gives you the side-eye and tells you to chill and tone down your antagonistic behavior.

And was she deceived by Sauron or did she deceive herself? Because Elrond, as usual, is right, and that’s why he calls her out on her bullsh*t in Season 2: Galadriel wanted the lost king who could ride her to victory, to destroy Sauron and cover herself in glory, being worshipped by everyone on Middle-earth as its savior. She wanted to use Halbrand as a pawn in her big plan, and it’s mind blowing she actually fell in love with him. Does this ring any bells? It’s because it’s Sauron’s plan, too. They are alike. Everyone agrees, but doesn’t realize just how much.

You think they showed us these glorious shots of them for “good” reasons? This is the first of Mairon’s deceptions on Season 1, another step closer to evil and his old ways. This is them high on power and on themselves.

Gil-galad foresaw that Galadriel would bring back Sauron if her pursuit for him would to continue. That’s why he sent her back to Valinor, in the first place. Guess what? He was right. It was Galadriel’s actions that condemned Middle-earth to Sauron’s tyranny. In the legendarium, the Elves are also the ones to blame. And what consequences did she faced for this? Enduring Elrond in charge for two episodes until she went rogue? Or perhaps the Valar have already banished her, and the show failed to mention this.

Preach it, brother!

Elrond was also the only character who could see through Sauron’s “rings of power” masterplan (must be that Melian’s Maia blood kicking in), until he was deceived himself, as well, and now he also thinks the rings are a good thing. Because these rings allowed the Elves to “cheat death” and stay where they don’t belong. “Rings of Power” made this point very clear in Season 1: the Southlanders don’t want the Elves on their lands, they are invaders.

In truth, all of these characters are not only Sauron’s accomplices, but are feeding off his power, but they are acting as if they are the “good guys” here, and they need to save Middle-earth from the new Dark Lord. No wonder the Valar told them to f*ck off, and only sent a few helpers who didn’t even dealt with Sauron directly, even though they (being Maiar themselves) had the power to do that.

Long story, short: for the love of Eru, stop whitewashing Galadriel’s character, or believing her to be some sort of “Virgin Mary” nonsense type of character. Or if you actually think her behavior is somehow heroic I don’t even know what to tell you, honestly. Because it’s not suppose to be. And if you were upset with her “toning down” in Season 2, oh boy, I might have bad news for you.

We should appreciate Galadriel’s character for what it is; an anti-hero seeking redemption. She f*cks up a lot, is flawed, and makes huge mistakes, and that’s what will make her character arc feel earned and compelling. In that way, she’s the opposite of Sauron; as he falls into evil, she raises up to good; the Lady of Light and the Dark Lord. This is actually refreshing in the midst of so many boring-ass one-dimensional female characters we see nowadays, an ideal of perfection no one can relate to.

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand #rop galadriel #galadriel rop

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talesofesther · 3 days ago

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the witch and the vampire

modern au! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: A vampire saves a witch from a monster. Yet the witch doesn't believe she belongs by the vampire's side. Little does she know, his cold heart only ever beats for her.

A/N: A small idea (that ended up not so small lmao) that I had on a whim and decided to write down, with a dash of Halloween spirit. ;)

Word count: 3,8k

Masterlist

Late afternoons at the Targaryen estate were one of the things you counted yourself lucky to have. The mansion itself, faded red and white in color, and built in the early 1900s, was a marvel that caused envy to many onlookers—it stood atop of a hill, with a massive yard at front and back, overlooking King's Landing. It was only fitting, you'd always thought, since the Targaryen's business empire funded most of what the city is today.

Through the large wood and glass doors that led to the kitchen's balcony, you were perched on the balustrade, watching as the golden light of the sun reflected against the ripples of the small artificial lake in the backyard. The air was crisp and fresh, the leaves on the trees were all brown and yellow, fall had officially arrived.

"You know what we need? Ghosts!" Aegon stepped through the doors, his eager voice catching your attention. He held a mug of hot chocolate and had the hood of his hoodie over his head. It wasn't that cold out, but Aegon had always preferred summer. "And bats, we should get bats too."

"I know a store that sells this stuff." Helaena soon followed, holding a mug of her own with one hand whilst the other tugged her cardigan closer to herself. "But we could always craft our own as well," she shrugged, breathing in and allowing the golden sunlight to warm her skin.

They sat at the round table of the balcony, and you turned around, leaning back against the balustrade to tune into their conversation, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Aemond was the last to come outside, and with a warmth to your cheeks, you couldn't help but stare. He had his long silver hair up in a loose bun, snuggled with a light brown sweater, and holding two mugs in his hands.

He didn't say anything as he walked up to lean beside you. Keeping you on his good eye's side, Aemond's shoulder was warm as it touched yours. He gave one of the mugs to you and took a sip of his own, closing his eye when the steam of the hot chocolate hit his nose.

You took the mug from him, biting the inside of your cheek when your fingers brushed his. "You made me one," both your hands closed around the warm ceramic, and you fought a smile. "Even if I said I didn't want it," you mumbled then, more to yourself than to him but Aemond heard anyway.

He hummed. "Even after all these years, you still refuse to take us seriously when we say 'make yourself at home'." Aemond glanced at you, he bumped his shoulder against yours. "I knew you wanted one."

You pursed your lips, bashful eyes shifting to the floor lest he saw the evident blush on your cheeks. Yet you leaned closer to him, whispering a 'thank you'.

"But it could be fun." Helaena's voice cut through your moment. You hadn't even noticed that she and Aegon had yet again fallen into a halfhearted discussion.

"Why would I go through the work of making something myself if there's a store that already sells it?" Aegon countered, shaking his head as if his point was the most obvious one.

"It's not about the work, it's about the fun process of it," Helaena rolled her eyes, slapping Aegon's hand away when he tried to reach for her half-filled mug after he finished his. "Plus it's not even that hard," she huffed, "you're just lazy."

"I'm not lazy," Aegon pouted.

"You're whining about making ghosts out of white cloth and styrofoam," Helaena raised a teasing brow, "And you say you aren't lazy?"

You shared a confused look with Aemond, who simply shrugged, despite having a smirk on his lips. "Guys," you called the two siblings, "What are you talking about?"

Helaena turned to you then, leaning back on her chair and taking her mug to her lips. "We are organizing a Halloween party," she spoke, before taking a sip.

"Next weekend, since mother will be out of town with Criston, we'll have the house all to ourselves," Aegon added in, with a pleased edge to his tone.

"And you will be attending," Helaena gestured a finger towards you, "No questions asked."

You blinked at her words, subconsciously leaning yourself closer to Aemond. "Oh, you know I'm not big on parties, Hel." A nervous chuckle fell past your lips. Ever since you became friends with Helaena back in middle school, she'd tried dragging you to all sorts of parties and events her family hosted. You'd think by now you should be used to high society events, even the ones organized by the siblings themselves, but really, you were not. "Besides, I uh- I don't even have a costume to wear."

"That's the least of your worries," Helaena waved you off with an easy smile, "We'll get you something, we can go shopping together this week." She then turned back to Aegon and continued discussing the decorations, as if the matter had been all resolved.

Your mouth remained agape, fingers tapping the warm edge of your mug. "It won't be anything big." You heard Aemond say from beside you, he leaned closer to your ear, feeling your anxiety coming off you in waves.

It wouldn't be farfetched to say you've spent more time at the Targaryen estate than in your own home these past years. Helaena loved you like a sister, Aegon adored making you laugh, their mother Alicent treated you almost as if you were a child of hers as well, and even Daeron who was pretty much never home always greeted you with a warm smile; and Aemond… Aemond was special and complicated and heartwarming all in one. They were family to you, but that doesn't mean anyone besides them would believe that. Others who held the same social status as them would often throw curious and judgemental glares your way when Helaena dragged you to events. You didn't belong in the upper-class crowd.

"It's just for close friends," Aemond continued, waiting for you to look up at him. "And some buddies Aegon is calling over."

Birds sang in the distance, announcing another day's end as the evening's cold breeze settled in. Aemond looked at you all soft and sweet, features shaped by the dusk glow, you sometimes liked to believe he kept that softness just for you. You held his gaze for a moment longer before raising one hand, worrying your nail between your teeth.

In the same beat, Aemond's hand came to close around yours, his fingertips tracing the bumps and ridges of your palm—all gentle and staggering as if he couldn't touch you enough. His touch would always give you goosebumps.

"It's your call." He pulled your hand down, but didn't let go. "But I'll… miss you, if you don't show up."

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice and in how he closed his eye when he spoke. It called you in, as if he truly meant it. And it's not like you've ever been able to tell him no.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Helaena and Aegon had gone all-in for the decorations. String lights with small plastic pumpkins attached to them illuminated the stone pathway that led to the mansion's entrance; along the same path, there were bats and ghosts attached to the trees, and real candles on the ground. The deep warmth of the orange lights was strangely comforting. From outside, the music was muffled by the walls, and even so, it sounded considerably loud. The thin curtains did little to hide the colorful lights illuminating the dim insides of the spacious living room and kitchen. The silhouettes of people dancing, talking, and making out could be seen as well.

And you stood a couple of steps away from the small stairs that led to the main double wooden doors. The moon remained high in the sky, barely covered by a few dark clouds.

Your hands clutched a pointy, black witch's hat. It was the best you were able to find at such short notice. A witch's hat, a black vintage dress, a long and dark cloak draped over your shoulders, and black boots. All paired with some ominously made makeup around your eyes and burgundy lipstick.

Securing the hat back over your head, you quit stalling. With a deep breath in, you walked up to the door and knocked.

Helaena was the one to open it for you—dressed up as a faerie, with fake wings and everything—she had a big smile on her face and a flush to her cheeks, undoubtedly from the expensive wine being served in solo cups that you could already catch a glimpse of. Alicent wouldn't be happy about it.

"You came!" She exclaimed.

"Trick or treats?" You greeted her with a grin of your own, opening your arms to show her the fantasy that you and she had picked out.

Helaena didn't hesitate to take hold of your hand and tugged you inside, "Come on in, we just raided the wine cellar," she spoke the last words closer and quieter as if it was any kind of secret.

You chuckled under your breath, blinking as your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" The music was now loud and clear against your ears, as were the few colorful lights that danced around. Much like the outside, the estate's interior was beautifully decorated with all things Halloween; ghosts hanging from the ceiling, glowing pumpkins scattered around, candles warming up the rooms, and even a human-sized skeleton standing beside the doors that led to the balcony.

Helaena waved off your worry, "Mom won't even notice that a bottle or two are missing." She then took a moment to look you up and down, narrowing her eyes with a teasing smirk, "You look great, by the way. See? I knew it would suit you."

"I suppose it's not so bad," you acquiesced, smoothing down the fabric of your dress and cloak. There were eyes on you—the mansion was filled with people, all around your age yet you didn't know any of them. They all sneaked curious glances, wondering why you were there and how you could be amidst the most influential family in the city. A simple girl like you.

Your palms grew clammy at the unwanted attention, and you tried to push aside the twisting of your stomach when Helaena gave you a sympathetic smile you knew too well.

"Okay, I have to close up the wine cellar, or else then we'll certainly have a problem," she grimaced, squeezing your hand once, "Have fun, will you?"

"When do I not?" You teased, to which she simply raised a brow before turning away, leaving you all too alone in the middle of the crowd. You felt exposed, truly. Suddenly out of place as if you were invading. But at the same time, small, so very small. Each of the people around you—drinking and dancing and laughing—held a weight to their presence, to the expensive costumes they wore, and to the poorly concealed scoffs falling from their lips as they walked by you.

You tried killing some time by eating one of the cupcakes on the kitchen counter, some were shaped like pumpkins, others like skulls. You chose the pumpkin one, fidgeting with the edge of your cloak as the sweet taste of the chocolate filling invaded your tastebuds.

It was hard finding anyone with the poor lighting of the room, and even harder with everyone wearing some kind of costume for the night. Your eyes skimmed over the small crowds of guests, looking for Aegon or Aemond, anyone to make you feel less like an outsider—you'd spotted Helaena again, but she was enthralled in conversation with a group of girls you didn't know and you didn't feel like intruding.

Eventually, you gave up and made a beeline to the balcony, squeezing your way past bodies and clutching your pointy hat to your head so you wouldn't have it knocked off. Already craving some fresh air. As soon as you crossed the threshold and felt the crisp air of the night hit your cheeks, someone managed to step on your cloak.

A yelp escaped you when you felt yourself being tugged backward, your back hitting someone's shoulder. You turned around fast, apology ready on your lips even if you weren't the one at fault.

"Hey," the tall man you'd bumped into didn't give you a chance to talk, he was dressed up as Frankenstein and had a half-filled solo cup in hand. "Watch where you're going," he spat, with something akin to repulse dripping from his tone.

"I'm sorr-"

"Aren't you a little far from home, girl?" He pushed into your personal space, forcing you to take a step backward.

Only for your back to brush against another someone. You closed your eyes, biting at the inside of your cheek as you cursed out every possible entity for giving you such tremendously awful luck. Perhaps coming to this party was a mistake. But then, warm and familiar hands slowly closed around your shoulders, thumbs pressing into your flesh in something comforting.

"She is exactly where she is supposed to be." Aemond's calm and even voice felt like the breath of fresh air you were so desperately seeking. You kept your eyes closed still, relishing in the feeling of his hands holding you, pulling you closer to him.

Aemond hummed, and his tone dropped to something more dangerous; "You, however," he addressed the man who had stepped on your cloak, but you felt shivers going up and down your back all the same, "Better be walking out those doors within the next five seconds or else I'll put you out myself." Aemond merely leaned his head towards the main doors of his house, and it didn't take long for you to feel the other man's nauseating presence vanish.

Only then did Aemond let go of you, stepping around you so he could look you in the eyes. And your breath stumbled the same way your heartbeat did when you finally looked up at him. Thanks to a thin layer of makeup, his face was paler than what you were used to. There was a steady trail of fake blood coming from the edges of his smirk. His hair fell completely loose and framed his angular face between the long silver strands. The prosthetic sapphire eye you so rarely saw on his scarred eye certainly completed and gave its own flare to the look. He dressed in a loose frilly shirt, with a long black cape over his shoulders that had red satin on the inside of its fabric. Aemond was a vampire. A very charming and alluring one at that.

"You uh-" The word fell like a breath past your lips, completely muffled by the music. You cleared your throat, glancing away from his piercing gaze. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" Aemond shrugged, his lips pressed together in a playful pout. "Am I not allowed to take out the trash in my own house?"

Fighting a smile and losing, you shook your head at him. For once you were thankful for the dim light of the room, as it hid the warmth that spread to your cheeks.

"Let me grab you a drink, witch." Aemond reached a hand to the small of your back, pulling you towards the kitchen before you could protest. He kept close to you at all times, There was an almost predatory sharpness to his eye anytime someone so much as thought about looking at you the wrong way—even if with him by your side, no one dared to. It blossomed a heat in your chest that was difficult to deny, the valves of your heart working overtime to keep up with its frantic beating.

Aemond only let go of you so he could fill up two red cups with what you could only assume was a bottle of wine that cost more than your monthly salary. His cape swayed behind him as he walked, as did his hair, soft silver strands contrasting against the black fabric of his cape's raised collar.

"I'm glad you came," Aemond spoke just loud enough for you to catch it over the music. He handed you one of the cups.

You granted him a small smile, observing as the candles from the kitchen counter cast a pleasant warm glow to one side of his face, and the distant colorful lights of the adjacent living room cast a myriad of colors on the other. His prosthetic eye shone under the light. You had only seen him this bare a few handful of times. Helaena told you it had taken years for him to ever allow anyone to see him without the eyepatch he wears most of the time.

"I'm still deciding if it was a wise decision or not," you confessed, trying to lighten the mood with an awkward chuckle.

Before Aemond could answer, a heavy hand patted your shoulder and nearly made you spill your drink on yourself. "I knew you wouldn't miss it," Aegon's enthusiastic voice appeared beside you, he laughed, greeting you with a quick but sloppy kiss to your cheek, "My parties are always irresistible."

"Hey Aegon," your smile grew wider as you turned to him. The older Targaryen was dressed as a king, with a huge golden crown on his head, a red regal outfit, and a mantle of white fur over his back. "I love what you've done with the place," you praised loudly as a new song began, "The decorations are awesome."

He refilled his cup, stealing a glance at his own house. "Eh, turns out making some of these yourself does pay off," he shrugged, gesturing to the many ghosts and bats hanging from the ceiling and the carved pumpkins lying around.

It stole another chuckle from you. Aegon held his cup with one hand and gave you an exaggerated curtsy with the other, before going back to disappear between the crowd of costumes.

You and Aemond remained quiet for several beats then. You leaned back against one of the counters, taking small sips of your drink as you quietly observed everyone around you. The wine burned a little down your throat, but you found yourself enjoying the taste of it. A soft breeze came in through the open doors of the balcony, it carried the smoke of the candles and the smell of incense and wine.

Aemond had already finished his drink, his thumb traced the rim of his cup. "You do belong here," his voice was so soft it almost got lost with the music. You averted your eyes to him only to see him already watching you. He let go of his cup, placing it beside one of the carved pumpkins—yours, now you noticed, the one you had carved with Aemond at the start of the month.

You pursed your lips when Aemond walked closer to you, holding onto your breath. "More than any of them ever have," he whispered then, but he stood close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body on yours. You didn't have to try hard to hear him.

There was electricity in the air as one of Aemond's shoes stepped in between your boots. His eye cast over every speck of your cosmetic makeup, resting longer on your lips, as if wondering how many times he'd have to kiss you until your dark lipstick would fade.

With your heart in your mouth, any and all words you could think of were gone. Because Aemond was close, too close. He'd only been this close to you once before, on a late summer afternoon, when you both sat by the pool and his chapped lips brushed yours; he'd tasted of strawberries then, the ones you'd been eating by the water together; it was a fleeting moment, gone so fast that none of you dared to speak of it after.

But now, his soul intertwined with yours again, and you felt as one of his hands sneaked to your waist. His fingers traced your curves with purpose, as if he'd missed how the shape of your body felt in his hands. Maybe he did.

Aemond's nose was short of brushing yours when you sucked in a sharp breath. Your eyes caught the other guests of the party; stealing glances at you and him, whispering with near scandalous looks. Your hand clutched tight at Aemond's loose shirt. "Aemond stop."

He pulled back in the same breath, but didn't go far, your hold on him didn't allow him to. "They're-" You gulped heavily, feeling inebriated in his closeness, "They're all watching." It was nothing but a breath past your lips, because your hand was on his chest, and even through the thin shirt, you could feel the heavy beating of his heart trying to escape its confines.

Aemond's lips parted with a smirk, he had his tongue between his teeth. He shook his head, hair falling over his scarred eye, whilst the other one glinted with something akin to deep adoration.

With the boldness of a man who had surrendered himself to a heart that wept for another, Aemond leaned in. His lips pecked the corner of yours, it was a quick kiss, but it lingered with the way his other hand had come up to cup the corner of your jaw and press you into him.

You could melt. Turning your head toward him and chasing his lips when he pulled away.

"Let them see," Aemond hushed, his thumb came over your bottom lip, brushing away a stain of the fake blood that came with his kiss. "Let them see how much I-" He grew breathless before he could finish, his lips hovering. But the look in his eye begged you for something. Longed for something. "Let them see."

The music suddenly became muffled to your ears, and the eyes of anyone else disappeared in a blurred background. There was only him, and a gravity pulling at your heartstrings with a desperation you couldn't keep to yourself any longer.

Biting back the hesitation, you raised a hand to Aemond's face, your fingers buried between strands of his hair as you pushed it behind his ear. He closed his eye with your touch, falling forward until his nose touched yours. You met in the middle, and this kiss held more hunger to it. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, something harmless, yet you couldn't help but soothe with your tongue afterward.

Aemond pressed his body to yours, if he could be closer, he would be. Both his hands had sneaked beneath your cloak, needing to feel the warmth of your body the most he was able to. Your nails mapped the edge of his jaw, digging softly into the skin there. It gave beneath your fingertips as though his skin had been molded for your touch, and Aemond's mouth parted on an exhalation of your name.

You smiled, dodging his lips when he leaned forward yet again, going for his scarred cheek to lay a kiss there. "You were right, I do belong here."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #aemond targaryen x reader #my story #aemond one eye x reader

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innerfare · 7 hours ago

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Pet Names

Summary: What pet names do they like to be called, and which ones do they typically call you

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Luffy:

He’s a babe kind of guy. He calls you babe, likes it when you call him babe, very simple and sweet. He might also have a silly nickname for you, probably an animal name and something that could be misconstrued as offensive, maybe weasel or shrew (in his mind, they’re small and cute, just like you; hopefully you find this endearing because he will not be stopping).

Zoro:

If it applies to you, then woman is a term of endearment in your relationship. He’s also a babe kind of guy, just like Luffy. He doesn’t shy away from using it in public. The only other nickname he uses beyond that is princess, but he never uses it seriously, only ever to make fun of you. You can call him just about whatever you want, but babe is a safe bet, and teasing him with swordsman always works.

Sanji:

You’re his babygirl, his sweetheart, his perfect darling, his princess. He sticks to the classics and uses them generously, though babygirl is the most common because he doesn’t call anyone else that. And he’s happy to hear any name from your lips, though his heart explodes anytime you call him baby.

Ace:

Loves the way his name sounds when you say it. If not his name, then he really likes to be called tiger. Saying, “easy there, tiger,” is a really good way to ensure he does not take it easy. He calls you sweetheart a lot, sometimes even sweetie. It started before you were dating and certainly hasn’t let up.

Sabo:

Ugh, he loves to be called big boy. Referring to him as your man does the trick, too. But he doesn’t give you any nicknames at all. In fact, he makes a point of always calling you by your name and never getting it wrong (Mr. Can Barely Remember Koala’s Name). From the moment he first met you, he just had to know what your name was, and he’s never grown tired of using it.

Law:

Will begrudgingly submit to any nickname you give him with a pout, but it really gets to him when you call him Doctor or Captain, to the point he starts to get a little awkward when other members of the crew call him Captain because he’s come to associate it with you. Calls you baby, occasionally honey, but only in private.

Kid:

Loves using nicknames, but never uses the traditional ones. Calls you things like spider (neither of you know why, he just thinks it sounds right/cute), rice ball (again, makes no sense, but he likes it and that’s that), tulip (when he’s feeling especially soft on you). His favorite thing to call you, though? His. He claims he prefers it when you call him babe, but he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding that sweetie is his true preference.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#I had to work really hard to keep this sfw #one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #sabo x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #captain kid x reader #eustass kid x reader

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seeingivy · 1 day ago

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bad blood

actor!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

songs mentioned: bad blood by taylor swift and obsessed by olivia rodrigo

“are you of the opinion that all PR is good PR?”

sukuna can tell that it’s not the time for jokes. that much is obvious to him from the exasperated looks on everyone’s faces at his ill-timed comment – at nanami pinching the bridge of nose, yuuji shooting him an irritated look (with a whisper of a smile on his face), and his manager shoyo’s eyes pinched shut in frustration.

“i would be inclined to think that, but sukuna is over party trending for the past three hours is giving me a run for my money here.” shoyo responds.

sukuna diverts his eyes back to the television, shoyo’s computer projecting the trending hashtag onto the screen, and his fingers darting to refresh every few seconds with another set of irritating tweet about him. sukuna’s gotten the hint from the first three, but he has a sneaking inkling that shoyo’s doing this part just to rub it in his face – that it’s his way of saying i told you so without explicitly doing so.

shoyo was interesting in that way. managers were interesting in that way.

sukuna wondered to himself how many other careers had these types of dynamics, with “mentors” who served as stand-in parents. telling someone what to do, what not to do – in attempts to guide them from right or wrong – that almost never worked in his case.

his gut instinct tells him that almost every single profession does. but it also tells him that the other managers can’t be half as annoying as the special spot that entertainment managers take up.

at the very least, he can appreciate the take that shoyo has on his position. like a firm, strict father figure. he spares no warmth for him – just the way sukuna likes it.

“so what are we going to do? can we just ignore it?” sukuna asks.

it’s a loaded question.

what can you do when you might have possibly tanked every attempt at an entertainment career before it even starts?

sukuna’s first manager, starla, taught him three simple facts about the entertainment industry. among other things.

in particular, that the warmth was something that sukuna needed to run far, far away from.

first – attention is hard to attain. anyone can audition to act in a show, but only one person gets picked. you can be the best in the game but it doesn’t matter unless someone looks at you.

second – once you have it, attention is hard to maintain. if someone takes the time to watch, who’s to say that they’re ever going to watch you again? anyone can be a one hit wonder, but it takes greater skill to stay relevant, to keep people interested in what you’re putting out.

and third. reputation is everything. it’s best practice to avoid becoming a contrarian. it’s social suicide to your career.

it seems that sukuna might have nipped the first two in the bud, by accidentally becoming a contrarian. again. after so narrowly missing it the first time.

that’s the thing that’s the most frustrating in his opinion. that sukuna did almost nothing out of the sorts, that he had followed every single prim and proper rule he could have after his first few tumbles – and that this time, he very simply became a contrarian for dumping the wrong girl at the wrong time.

sukuna had made his own additions to the facts as time went on. especially after he was dropped by his old manager, promptly when he turned twenty-three.

lessons that he learned on his own. this situation alone added three to his list.

first – do not date the daughter of an industry titan. who has a loving fanbase that will attack you if the two of you break up.

second – do not crack jokes about good and bad PR when you’ve inadvertently created a mess for almost everyone around you.

and third – tread lightly the week before the biggest break of your career. things move so fast that they’re in absolute shambles before you know it.

“there’s nothing you can do besides follow the script that the PR team gave you. keep questions about aimee to a minimum at the event tonight. deflect to the show and only the show.”

sukuna gives shoyo a mock salute. he still doesn’t find it funny.

in fact, sukuna can tell that he’s had exactly enough for this meeting, marked by the almost immediate exodus he makes from the room, with nanami following in tow. nanami shoots him an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he exits and it’s one that sukuna can appreciate.

“you know, i really do question your taste in women.” yuuji states.

sukuna rolls his eyes.

“you question everyone’s taste in women.” sukuna deadpans.

yuuji gives him a laugh – the one that he had been holding in from earlier – and smacks him hard against the shoulder. sukuna can feel the pressure that he was trying to ignore compounding in his head, as he sinks down into the couch.

“i’m being serious though. i just don’t understand what you see in these girls. none of these relationships really have a fighting chance, which at this point, you almost have to be doing on purpose. i know you’re not that dumb.”

sukuna shrugs. he can tell that he’s being baited into having a conversation, a conversation that he doesn’t want to have, and makes a mental note to yuuji later that he shouldn’t lay it on so thick.

“your point is?” sukuna mutters.

“i’m not trying to make a point. i’m trying to understand why you’re so…so keen on pursing things you know won’t work out. it’s almost like you don’t want it to work out for you.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. you sound like an idiot.”

yuuji shakes his head, almost like he’s giving him a sentencing. trying to tell him, making it a point that he’s been caught red handed, that he has to give into the conversation.

“don’t tell me you’re really not trying in earnest because of what happened?”

sukuna can feel his frustration coming to a head, right in the center of his forehead. it always felt like feelings were concentrated there, right in that sensitive part of his head that made him rush to anger.

“it’s not about that.”

yuuji takes the hint. he jumps over the line as often as he can, but won’t push any farther.

“i just think that you should give things a real, earnest try. i know that none of us can really understand what happened, but…but that doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen every time. you…you shouldn’t be happy that you’re not trying to find love for real.”

sukuna clicks his tongue in his cheek.

“and who said i was doing that?”

yuuji sighs.

“you’re always the same you know. you never try for real because you’re scared you’re going to strike out. you….you still…you’re still afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think…”

yuuji doesn’t finish the sentence. but sukuna knows the answer, because he’s said it before.

you’re afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think they’ll realize there’s nothing to like about you.

“do you ever think about pushing yourself creatively?”

you wonder how many times someone can ask the same question, worded differently.

in mimi’s case, you’ve reached a whopping count of six. categorically organized – three times while you were out doing your morning coffee, twice over dinner, and today marked a new first, while writing music at the piano.

each question exactly the same, every response exactly the same.

“no. i want to stay exactly the same for the rest of my life.” you deadpan.

your dry humor earns you a laugh from mimi. in all fairness, it almost always does, because it’s very easy to make her laugh. because she’s a person who is easily pleased, very outgoing, who very simply put, enjoys most things.

“i wouldn’t even be shocked if you said that to me. your google calendar is my very worst nightmare, you know that?”

“my google calendar is perfectly organized. just as it should be.”

“i mean. very organized. i am very appreciative that you’re on time to all of our meetings, which is very rare with your generation.”

“you’re in the same generation as us. you’re not even that much older than me.” you deadpan.

“okay, but being a mother has aged me like ten years. all of my friends do pilates in their free time, make brunch plans for fun.”

“i’m your friend. i don’t do pilates in my free time. and i eat at five in the morning on the dot everyday.”

“yeah. you’ve just take up different odd hobbies, but it’s basically the same thing.”

you scoff, as you flip the page on the stand of the piano.

you wonder how often mimi thinks about that type of thing. the life that she used to live. the fact that you could be doing all the things that she couldn’t necessarily do anymore. it makes you wonder if that’s why she’s so adamant.

“i could be doing drugs you know.”

“you should be doing drugs!”

well, that answers your question.

“i can’t wait to see what your child does in the future. you’ve set such high expectations!”

mimi rolls her eyes. she’s very easily pleased, very outgoing, and filled with an overwhelming well of patience to counteract your stubbornness.

it’s granted that she almost never wins, that your firmness in your decision always stands at the end of the day, but it doesn’t mitigate her efforts to try. you’re betting that she’s going to give her very stubborn daughter a run for her money in a few years when she’s older.

“i don’t mean that you should actually do drugs. or maybe i do. some of my other writers love to drink or smoke weed to get through writer’s block. it just a little shift to push you to some new limits.”

“perfect. i’ll just try to do some ketamine before my next song so that it sounds better.”

mimi sighs.

“i’m not telling you to go do horse tranquilizers. i’m stating a very simple fact, that you tend to gravitate towards what is comfortable for you. in your personal life, in your friends, in your songwriting. you’ve found a sound that you work great with, themes that resonate with people. but you’ve been stuck there, right where you know people want you. it wouldn’t hurt to try pushing the limits here and there.”

you scoff.

“you sound like a shitty inspirational quote.”

mimi shakes her head.

“i often find that stubbornness to approach new things at the end of the day creates a sort of resentment towards anything that stimulates new growth. and keeps you stuck exactly where you are currently. stagnant.”

you don’t like the evaluation. the sentencing that she’s given you, that she’s been giving you for the past few months.

that you aren’t going anywhere.

you not liking it doesn’t make it any less true. but her saying it over and over again doesn’t propel you into doing anything about it either.

“and what if i fail to do this whole moving thing you’re talking about?” you jest.

mimi pinches her lips in a line.

“then it proves to me that you’re just approaching this entire thing wrong. you’re not winning an award, you’re writing a song. it’s not an examination that you’re completing, it’s just something you’re trying to say.”

you give her a dry smile.

“and what if no one wants to hear what i have to say?”

“that’s where you and i will disagree. i fear people are on the edge of their seats waiting for it.”

you snort.

“are you not a fan of me sticking it to idiots like jake nicholson and aimee lynch?”

mimi gives you a smug grin.

“a huge fan. but i can tell that you’ve got something else under the surface that’s dying to be let out.”

“i suppose that’ll just have to wait for today.” you respond.

mimi shrugs.

“i’ll try again tomorrow.” she affirms.

you’re not sure why she tries. you’re still going to say no.

sukuna’s manager’s strategy was very simple. all he had to do was save face for a week – a week until the show came out. tell people to watch the premiere on the red carpet, throw in an anecdote about filming here and there, and that was that.

granted, his job wasn’t exactly hard. the ensemble cast did most of the work, satoru’s loud voice combined with how energetic yuuji is, allowed him to slip through the cracks and make it inside the venue without any unsavory questions about aimee.

sukuna looks across the room to where the two of them are standing near the bar, glasses of ice in their hand, satoru no doubt flicking his charm and stupid pickup lines at everyone. he understood the strategy – that sukuna having the opportunity to talk created a greater risk for him to say something he shouldn’t – but it just made the event boring for him.

sukuna hated being on the sidelines.

quite literally the sidelines, because the table he was currently occupying was pushed against the wall. he would retreat back to the main table in the center when the two of them returned, but judging by how loud they were laughing, it didn’t seem like it was going to be any time soon.

“excuse me.”

sukuna’s thrown out of his train of thought by the voice, only to find he’s accompanied by two girls at his side. sukuna inches his glass of soda closer to him, noting the sparky stars gleaming on their eyelids, accompanied with layers of beaded bracelets on their wrists.

fans. sukuna’s found his in.

“can i help you?” sukuna asks.

the two girls look at each other, a nervous laugh escaping their lips, as they squeeze their intertwined hands together. he prays to god they’re not here for aimee.

“are you ryomen sukuna?”

sukuna smiles, looping his elbow across the back of the chair, and smiling. there’s no distaste in their voice – so they most likely aren’t. he’s won.

“sure am. who might you be?” sukuna asks.

“we’re addison and abigail.” they respond.

sukuna uses his free hand, gesturing for them to take the free chairs across from him. he watches as they both widen their eyes, stumbling knees hitting the bottom of the table as he readjusts and leans back.

interviews and networking he wasn’t allowed to do. that much was clear. but talking to fans caused no trouble, and it wasn’t explicitly off limits.

it gave him time to do what he did best. charm people.

“addison and abigail. to what do i owe the pleasure?” sukuna asks.

“we don’t want to take up any of your time.” abigail starts.

“really, we’re sure you’re quite busy. this is a big event and all and you probably have to do interviews and all that.” addison adds.

sukuna grins.

“i’ll always make time for you.”

he watches as their eyes widen, abigail’s lips pinched shut together by the bluntness in his statement, as he lifts his glass and presses it to his lips.

“i have a question.” sukuna states.

“anything!” addison replies.

her response is too fast. so fast that sukuna can almost clock that she’s realized that it’s too fast – that she’s embarrassed at how eager she was to respond. he shoots her a kind smile in response, before leaning forward and bracing his forearms against the table.

“how did the two of you sneak in here? secret boyfriend let you in?” sukuna asks.

the two of them offer him an awkward laugh, slightly releasing their shoulders, as they lift their hands and very adamantly gesture the opposite.

“not at all. we got selected to attend the event through the fan program.” abigail responds.

sukuna smirks.

“here for me?” sukuna asks.

the two of them widen their eyes, almost like they’ve been caught in an awkward situation. because they’re very obviously not here for him.

the fan invites were given for the singers and affiliated studios. and he’d be caught dead before singing live in front of an audience.

“i’m so sorry. i don’t mean to…”

sukuna immediately retreats.

“you do realize that i’m not a singer, right?” sukuna asks.

“what?” abigail asks.

“i don’t sing. there’s no way that you could be here for me.” sukuna clarifies.

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief, abigail giving him a jokingly irritated glare as he shoots the two of them a smile.

“relax. i’m just pulling your leg. it’s all in good fun. we can take a picture and everything, whatever you want.” sukuna responds.

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief.

“really?” she asks.

sukuna nods.

“that’s so sweet, thank you so much. we have a friend who’s a really big fan, so we were trying to get her a signed shirt.”

“a signed shirt it is.” sukuna responds, noting that they reach into their bag with the shirt and marker prepared.

“oh my god. i thought you were….you were going to be a diva or something.” abigail responds.

“me? a diva?” sukuna jokes.

“you wouldn’t believe it. god, some people can be so rude. one time, aimee lynch got us…”

addison’s quick to respond, shoving her elbow into her side to gesture for her to be quiet. sukuna narrow their eyes at the two of them, before rolling her eyes.

sukuna, in the split second, debates if he should respond. if it would go against the deal he made – to be quiet, to not cause any noise – because they could go running and post about it on twitter.

he decides against his better judgment, only because it’s potently clear they’ve been terrorized by aimee before.

“got you kicked out of an event?” sukuna asks.

“yeah…” addison mumbles.

“she does that often. it’s a whole load of shit. i’m glad you’re here.” sukuna responds.

“yeah. we were just really upset because we were actually supposed to meet y/n that day. we had tweeted to her that we got kicked out before we made it to the meet and greet and her team organized a whole like facetime call and sent us merch, but it was super annoying.” abigail responds.

sukuna nods, only because he knows all too well, that it’s exactly in her character to kick fans out of events. their “desperation” always got on her nerves.

“well, i hope you get to meet her tonight. she is here, right?” sukuna asks.

“yeah. she invited us personally since we missed out last time.”

sukuna smiles.

“that’s sweet. i hope you get to meet her later.” sukuna responds.

there’s a patterned knock on the door of your dressing room. two fast, two slow, two fast. it’s accompanied by the door swinging open and the reflection of megumi standing in the mirror with a cup of iced coffee in his hand.

you shoot him an excited smile, apologetically shooing away your hair and makeup team from the chair, to get up and greet him.

“coffee? for moi?” you ask, exaggerating every syllable.

megumi rolls his eyes, placing the cold cup into the palm of your hand, as you shoot him a smile.

megumi hates when you exaggerate the syllables – which is precisely the reason that you do it. you have an inkling that he secretly loves it, because he’s a secret fan of your antics.

“figured you needed it. you look like a hag.” megumi responses.

you snort down a laugh, as you take a sip from the overly sweet coffee.

“hag is a new one. you’ve always had such a way with words, my love.” you joke.

you return back to your chair, gesturing for him to take the free one at your side, as you reach for your phone and read through the last texts you got from mimi. all confirmations – that your guitar and band have arrived, that you’re all good to go at the end of the hour.

“is romeo here?” you ask.

you can see megumi’s irritated expression out of the corner of your eye, accompanied with a pink flush that creeps up his neck.

“what’s his name again? yuki?” you joke.

“yuuji.” megumi corrects, his voice almost stern.

“okay, relax. pipe it down three notches, juliet.”

megumi lifts his hand, awkwardly rubbing it against the back of his neck, as you drop your phone in your lap and narrow your eyes at him.

“what did he do today?”

“you don’t care.” megumi mumbles.

“and that hasn’t stopped you from telling me in the past.”

everyday, for the past eight months, you received a barrage of texts from megumi. ranging across every emotion in the human bandwidth, but always about the same thing.

his new co-star. how great his hair look, what text he sent him that morning, how his skin looked perfect in the light. you would nip that type of dialogue from anyone else in the bud. but megumi wasn’t anyone else.

“but you’re asking. which means you can’t complain, because you basically warranted it out of me.”

you roll your eyes.

“yeah, yeah.”

“he got us matching pins for press this week. they’re like little cartoon versions of us. but he also got one for our other co-star nobara, so it doesn’t really count.”

you shrug.

“but he still got you one. so it does count. that’s cute.” you respond.

“but she has one too.”

“but did he give it to you as a group or individually?” you ask.

“individually.” megumi responds.

you smile.

“exactly. it means something different when it’s individually.” you respond.

“you’re delusional.” megumi responds.

you roll your eyes.

“you could benefit from being a little delusional, drama queen.”

“and then when we were coming here, i was telling him that you were going to be here and he got super excited. he remembered that i always used to get you coffee before your first show so he actually stopped our car and made sure that i was able to get some from you since you’re performing tonight.”

you grin.

“not technically my first show, but i appreciate the effort. I love him already. especially if he’s so passionate about my caffeine addiction.”

“it’s from his coffee shop that he works at with his brother. they used to work there together when they were younger and like…he was telling me all about it. how the two of them used to work there after school and that the owners were like their second parents. they almost went down under a few years ago but they both had enough acting money so they invested. he was even introducing me to them and shit. like fully introducing me to people he views as family.”

you nod.

“wow, juliet. when’s the wedding?” you ask.

“shut up.” megumi responds.

“but really, that’s actually very sweet. he seems like a great guy.”

“he is a great guy. he wants to meet you too, you know?” megumi responds.

“that would be against your better judgment. i’m going to tell him all about your little crush. and propose marriage on your behalf like you’re my property in the 18th century or something.” you respond.

“your jokes never get funnier.” megumi deadpans.

“and yet you’re still here.”

“his brother is here too. the one who used to date aimee.”

you widen your eyes.

“poor guy. it’s probably a blood bath out there for him.”

“he made it through press unscathed, but they’re telling him to keep a low profile. but yuuji’s all worried because he tends to get erratic and take things into his own hands sometimes.”

“what are they saying again?” you ask.

“fans are mad because the report that went out said sukuna dumped her or something.”

you snort.

“is that even bad when she was like basically cheating on him the whole time?” you ask.

“don’t think he knows that.”

you shake your head.

“really?”

megumi shrugs.

“i get the impression he didn’t care about the relationship too much.”

you nod.

“well, then my song won’t hurt his feelings too bad when he finds out they used to date.”

you push up out of the chair, gesturing to your outfit as megumi gives you an approving nod. you link your arms together, pushing out of the door onto the floor of the venue, and continue your conversation in lowered voices.

“do you want me to punch jake?” megumi asks.

“and ruin your pretty little baby hands? i would never.”

megumi rolls his eyes, as the lights dim, and the two of you direct your eyes to the stage. it’s a long introduction, all of the producers and affiliates taking the time to thank everyone for attending. you’re performing at the end of the hour, which gives you enough time to zone this out and focus on the song.

“our very first performance is from one of our affiliates at dancing lady studios – aimee lynch with guest star jake nicholson.”

you and megumi widen your eyes as you turn to look at each other, as you all but crush megumi’s arm in your grasp. the two of them walk out onto the stage – and you note that her sparkly silver is almost identical to the outfit you had been wearing on tour for the past few months.

and that jake’s using the guitar that you gifted him on his birthday.

you know she’s doing it on purpose. that she knows that about you – that you’ll connect dots and draw conclusions – to exactly what she’s trying to do.

piss you off.

Did you think we'd be fine? Still got scars on my back from your knife So don't think it's in the past These kind of wounds they last and they last Now did you think it all through? All these things will catch up to you And time can heal, but this won't So if you come in my way, just don't

Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times You and I

megumi leans down, voice quiet as he whispers in your ear.

“this is going to do rounds on kids bop.”

you snort.

“they would be so lucky.” you respond back.

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood You know it used to be mad love So take a look what you've done 'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!) Now we got problems And I don't think we can solve 'em You made a really deep cut And baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)

“did you know they were going to do this?” megumi asks.

you shake your head.

“there’s no need to worry. i’m always prepared.”

“unless i’m not mistaken, you didn’t catch any strays tonight. how can one be so lucky?” shoko jokes.

“we can’t all be the chosen ones.” sukuna responds back.

“the night is still young. a girl can only dream.” shoko responds.

sukuna rolls his eyes before smiling at her and trying to shake shoko’s grasp off of him, as he turns his attention back to the stage. with the event in full swing, he was allowed to return to the central table, only because the group of them around him to keep track of him.

shoyo’s doing, he was sure.

but he’s sure that shoyo was somewhere fast asleep in his bed right now, having the most restful nap he’s taken in months. sukuna’s inclined that he’ll feel the same way tonight when he goes to bed, with the promise of no scolding from his team since he did, in fact, not catch aimee’s wrath tonight.

it was attributed to someone else tonight. he’s not exactly sure who, but at this point, all he can do is be thankful that it wasn't him.

“who were you talking to earlier?” shoko asks.

“fans who got invited to the event.” sukuna responds.

“poor girls. they got assaulted by the smell of your cologne and had to lose brain cells by talking to you?” shoko jokes.

sukuna scoffs.

“that already happened when you walked into the room. don’t kid yourself, ieiri.”

“you should learn some manners. is that any way to talk to a woman?” shoko asks.

“can you guys shut the fuck up?”

shoko and sukuna turn their heads to the left to find satoru standing there, eyes razor focused and glued to the stage.

“what stick is up your ass?” shoko asks.

“it’s y/n’s turn to perform.” satoru seethes.

shoko snorts.

“don’t tell me that your dream girl is in attendance? how are you even standing straight right now?” shoko asks.

“pure adrenaline, bitch.” satoru responds.

sukuna and shoko widen their eyes as they share a look – a quiet communication that satoru’s being more erratic than normal and to leave him be – as they turn their attention back to the stage.

the bright lights shine red on the stage as the visuals go up, a twisting and turning illusion against the back screen. there’s a rising platform in the center and all he gets a glimpse of are sparkly star tights.

La-da-da-da, da-da-da, la-da-da-da-da La-da-da-da, da-da-da

If I told you how much I think about her You'd think I was in love And if you knew how much I looked at her pictures You would think we're best friends

'Cause I know her star sign, I know her blood type I've seen every movie she's been in and, oh god, she's beautiful And I know you loved her, and I know I'm butthurt But I can't help it, no, I can't help it

I'm so obsessed with your ex (uh-huh) I know she's been asleep on my side of your bed And I can feel it I'm starin' at her like I wanna get hurt And I remember every detail you have ever told me So be careful, baby

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) Yeah, I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) La-da-da-da, da-da-da

sukuna can feel his heart pounding in his throat. he grabs yuuji by the shoulder, yanking him close from the fabric of his shirt, and whispers.

“who is that?”

“were you born under a rock? that’s y/n.”

sukuna watches as you skip around the stage, bathed in the dark red lights surrounding the stage and the visuals with you in the background.

maybe sukuna was born under a rock. he was one thousand percent sure that he would remember something like this.

“the guy that was up with aimee earlier. she’s jake’s ex-girlfriend. they were singing about her.” yuuji whispers.

“is she singing about aimee?” sukuna asks.

yuuji nods.

“they have some weird twisted history. especially with jake, i think. him and aimee have had eyes for each other since like…forever.”

he watches as you walk over to the left side of the stage, crouching down into the view of the camera and right across from where jake and aimee are sitting, irritated looks painted on their faces.

sukuna notes that you're looking right at them. full blown, direct eye contact.

Is she friends with your friends? Does she give great head? Do you think about her? No, I'm fine, it doesn't matter, tell me Is she easy-going? Never controlling? Well-traveled? Well-read? Oh god, she makes me so upset

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) She's been asleep on my side in your bed (ah, whoa) I'm so obsessed with your ex (god, she makes me so upset, ah) I'm so obsessed with your, with your ex

sukuna’s frustration compounds again.

because he can’t simply understand how he’s the one getting publicly punished, when aimee’s been in love with some other guy the entire time. and that knowing her, she most definitely leaked the news about how she was blindsided on purpose, just to ruin his career.

“if i was y/n, i’d just punch them both in the face. then start dating one of her boyfriends or something.” shoko states.

the idea comes to sukuna almost instantly. and he makes a mental note to apologize to shoyo later.

when you get off the stage and retreat back to your table near the wall, you quickly scan through your texts from mimi.

[mimi]: Three versions slated for release. Could potentially block you getting the #1 spot.

[mimi]: Fingers crossed, but things are faring over well. People love the song.

[mimi]: Obviously.

you set the phone face down at the table and sink down into your chair. you don’t even get a second to think because before you know it, someone’s slid into the chair right across from you, hunched forward into your space over the small chair.

pink hair, arms littered with tattoos. there was something oddly familiar about him.

“you’re just the girl i wanted to see.” he states.

you narrow your eyes at him. you’re unsure which one he is. producers trying to poach for their studio, people looking to network, or the perverts that somehow get let into events like this.

“is that right?” you ask, tone dry.

the guy offers you an over-eager nod, accompanied with a glimmering smirk.

he’s attractive and you can tell from the look on his face that he knows it. for some reason, you’re almost positive that he makes sure of it. toned muscles, hair so perfect that it has to be styled. to the point where it feels calculated.

you lean forward, placing your cheek in the palm of your hand as you smile right back at him. he leans forward almost immediately. it was almost too easy.

“i don’t think we’ve ever met before. i’d think i’d remember that.” you respond.

“only in my dreams.”

you fight the urge to scoff. you’re sure that one worked out well for him in the past. It's the only reason someone would say something so corny and mean it.

you hold your hand out to him, noting that he extends the handshake for far too long.

“y/n.”

“ryomen sukuna.”

that’s where you knew him from. this was megumi’s co-star. romeo’s brother.

“from jujutsu kaisen, right?” you ask.

sukuna gives you a glimmering grin. you note that he has a dimple on the left side.

“know everything about me, don’t you?”

you snort.

“sure do. you’ve got me all figured out, sweetheart.” you deadpan.

sukuna leans back, narrowing his eyes at the comment. you can tell that he’s rethinking what to say next.

“i know about the show because of megumi.” you clarify.

“we go way back.” sukuna responds.

you lean back against the chair and cross your arms over your chest. you've got him right where you want him.

“really?” you ask.

sukuna nods.

“when did you meet him?”

“elementary school. he was always the quiet type.”

sukuna pauses.

“speaking of types, what’s yours?”

you fight the urge to laugh. there was no way he could truly be this forward. but then again, you figure his deep urge to get back at aimee right now was probably inhibiting his good judgement at the current moment.

“why do you ask?”

“you’re a smart girl. i know you can figure it out.”

you take the bait.

“i’ll give it a shot.” you respond.

“that’s my girl.”

you smile before leaning forward to make sure that he hears you properly.

“your name is ryomen sukuna. indie actor for the most part, but you recently got signed on as part of the lead ensemble for mappa’s new show, jujutsu kaisen. you’ve gotten pretty far considering all things, which i’m sure comes as a byproduct of the whole charm bit that you do and from what i’ve heard, some pretty decent acting. and while you’ve done mostly well, you made the brutal mistake of becoming a social pariah by dancing with the tabloid devil, aimee lynch. you’ve ended up on their bad side and now, in some weird type of way – i’ll admit, i’m not exactly sure how – are trying to elicit my help to get you back in people’s good graces. by lying, of course.”

you watch as sukuna’s eyes widen, before he leans back, his cheeks the slightest shade of pink as he swallows hard. and you give him your sincerest smile before pulling out your phone and digging for the photo in your favorites.

of you and megumi in grade school, standing hand in hand.

“i think i’d remember if the human version of pinkie pie from my little pony was running around my elementary school, sukuna.” you state.

and shockingly enough, he only gives you a smile in response – like he’s almost delighted by the fact that what you've just read caught him in a lie– as he sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek and makes a clicking sound.

“got me all figured out, don’t you dollface?”

“you’re painfully obvious, like most men. i’ll see you around, sukuna.” you respond, as you turn on your heel to walk away.

but he’s almost too fast with it, slithering his hand down from your elbow to your wrist, pulling slightly to beckon you to turn back. and he gives you an…a more earnest smile this time as he raises your knuckles to his lips, and leaves a kiss in between the pointer in the middle.

“that’s a promise, sweetheart.”

an: hi!!!! welcome back to the dream girl universe - I thank you for your patience <3 i'll be using the old dream girl taglist, but let me know if you would like to be taken off!!!

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