#let this post die in my masterlist as it should

[doodlboy]

Demon El doodle dump!🩷✨️

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[gimmethatagustd]

morals on sundays | myg

You're still in love with your ex-boyfriend. Yoongi offers some help to get over him.

○ Pairing: BFF!Yoongi x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Friends with benefits, angst, smut, fluff

○ 6 / 100 Drabble Challenge (FWB)

○ Word Count: 2,177

○ Warnings: MC's boyfriend cheated on her, post-breakup blues, questionable decision making, fingering so good you'll try to run away from it, pussy eating, too much tongue sucking probably, Yoongi is a boob guy, they have matching Spongebob and Patrick coffee mugs so why aren't they married?? Idiots

○ Notes: Shout out to @sailoryooons for also writing about a daegu boy eating pussy tonight 😌 And, as usual, I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains and didn't proofread it, so if you see any errors, no you didn't

○ Post Date: January 22, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Imported - Jessie Reyez ft. 6LACK

Lately, you’ve felt like disappearing – not into a crowded city street in another country or down an unlit dirt road into the unknown, but into the warm folds of Yoongi’s hoodie. You’re already halfway there, with your fingers interlaced with his, shoved into the large front pocket, and your face tucked into his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I hate taking the bus,” he curses, his words turning into a cloud that disappears into the cold air. 

“How much time do we have?” 

Yoongi turns his head, and his lips briefly touch the cold curve of your ear. 

“You’re mumbling. What’d you say?”

“How much time until it comes?” You squint up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s too warm here to want to move. 

“Can’t check the app on my phone unless you give me my hands.” 

“No.” 

Yoongi chuckles and jostles your head by bobbing his shoulders. 

“I thought our date would cheer you up.” His complaint is playful, eyes sparkling in the streetlights when he returns his gaze to the empty road. You should have gotten a taxi. 

“I’m gonna die alone. Doesn’t matter how much late-night pizza I eat or how many stupid action movies I watch,” you grumble into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“Even when the action movie lead has a super hot sex scene that’s poorly timed and irrelevant to the plot?” 

“Nope.”

“Even when the coolest guy on the entire planet was the one who took you?” Yoongi smiles cheekily, his gaze back on you. He wiggles his shoulders again, hard enough to bounce your head. 

Annoyed, you straighten up, hands still shoved in his pockets. The movie wasn’t that bad. The pizza was actually great. You’re just depressed. 

“I didn’t think it would take this long…” You whisper into the little space between your body and Yoongi’s. He knows you aren’t talking about the bus. 

Yoongi squeezes your hands inside his hoodie. The rest of you might be freezing in the winter night air, but at least Yoongi keeps your hands warm. He keeps your heart warm, too, with his sincere gaze when he looks at you. 

“You were too good for him.” 

Yoongi’s right. He’s always right. 

You’re sufficiently frozen by the time the bus finally arrives. Yoongi pays for you both because he’s trying to make life easy. No bumps in the road, no unnecessary stress. He lets you sit in a window seat so you can stare out at the blurry night scenery and have your sad main character moment for as long as it takes to get to your apartment. 

Once you arrive, he follows you inside and heads straight to the kitchen while you slump down the hall to your bedroom. The cold seeps so deeply into your bones that the sweatpants and sweater you change into barely help increase your body temperature. 

Maybe it’s because the sweatpants and sweater are your ex-boyfriend’s, and the universe wants to keep your body as cold as his heart was. 

In the kitchen, Yoongi uses a wooden spoon to stir hot chocolate in a small pot, your favorite kind that comes in a block of chocolate that melts with milk. It’s likely been years since Yoongi has made you hot chocolate. Cozy winter nights indoors were once commonplace, the two of you alternating between apartments to make each other snacks and treat cuddles like currency. The appearance of your ex put an end to the comfort you shared with Yoongi. It put an end to most things that brought you comfort. 

As you expect, Yoongi has two mugs out on the counter. You reach for yours, twisting it in your hands as you wait for him to finish. 

“Remember when Spongebob tried to become best friends with Squidward instead of Patrick?” Yoongi asks, turning off the stove. He uses a ladle to pour hot chocolate into his pink mug, then pours some into your yellow one. 

“Yes.” 

“He was Squidward. I’m just mad I didn’t get to blow up his house–” Yoongi laughs and nearly spills his drink when you smack him in the arm, “–with bubbles! With bubbles. I’m not homicidal.” 

Rolling your eyes, you set down your mug next to Yoongi’s, both drinks too hot to drink quickly. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, hooking your finger into his hoodie pocket and tugging lightly, the action absentminded. You keep your eyes cast downward because you don’t want him to see your tears if they run. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood. I know it’s been a while, but, it just… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, and everything fucking hurts…” 

Yoongi slips his fingers under your sleeve and circles your wrist, pulling your hand away from his pocket so he can lace your fingers together. They’re so much warmer now, defrosted by the heat blasting through your apartment and Yoongi’s hot chocolate. 

“Maybe you could start by not wearing his clothes?” Yoongi offers quietly. “Can’t imagine it’s easy to get over someone when you keep them on your body like that.” 

You sniffle and nod. Again, Yoongi is always right. 

“Easier said than done…” you mumble, giving him a weak smile when you finally meet his eyes. There’s something there in his expression, something that seems different. 

You don’t move away when Yoongi steps closer, even when he has you backed against the counter, even when you feel like you’re going to swallow your heart. 

“I could take them off for you,” Yoongi says softly. He lets go of your sleeve to pinch the hem of your sweater, tugging it lightly. “If you can’t do it, I can.” 

“Yeah?” You feel out of breath, maybe because you suck in your stomach when Yoongi’s fingers brush against it. 

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers sliding along your ribs as he pushes your sweater up. “So you can get over him.” 

It’s a terrible idea, but your stomach flutters when he looks at you with sleepy eyes weighed down by the late hour and lust. He bites his bottom lip, and you feel your resolve slip as easily as Yoongi’s fingers do beneath your clothes. 

“I want to.” The declaration is desperate, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare into Yoongi’s eyes with an all-consuming sadness that eats at your insides, gnawing on bones and biting holes into your lungs. “God, Yoongi, I want to.” 

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes because he’s too close and you’re too much of a coward. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. His voice is as gentle as his hands on your bare waist, his thumbs caressing your sensitive skin. 

You raise your arms for Yoongi to pull off your sweater. He’s confident when he squeezes your tits, doesn’t even seem caught off guard when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under the sweater. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you, his tongue tasting sweet from the hot chocolate when he flicks it against yours. 

“Yoongi,” you call out with an airy sigh that harmonizes nicely with the sound of him sucking open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums against the base of your throat, the vibration sending a tingling sensation straight to your clit. He keeps one hand on the counter beside your waist, caging you in, while his other hand cups your pussy over your sweatpants. 

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands immediately finding Yoongi’s firm shoulders when he starts rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers lower to press against your entrance, soaking the fabric. 

“These are his, too, right?” 

“Y-yes,” you moan as Yoongi pulls down your sweatpants, taking your underwear with them. 

You can’t say you never thought about how attractive Yoongi is; it’s hard to ignore. It’s just that Yoongi is your best friend. If anything were to happen between the two of you, you don’t know if you’d be able to survive losing him, too. You love him. 

But you also love your ex. 

It’s hard to think about that, though, with two of Yoongi’s fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. They’re long, reaching deeper than your own can when you finger yourself, always late at night when you’re lonely. It never feels good after. The clarity always seems to hit too quickly, like being dunked in a pool of ice water. 

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since another person touched you, since you found out your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until you’ve got your head thrown back and your thighs quivering as Yoongi fucks you with his fingers. You nearly climb up the counter, both wanting him to touch you more and trying to get away because it’s too good. 

Your ex never searched for the spot that would make your legs shake, but Yoongi does. He curls his fingers against your front wall and keeps up his rhythm, moving with your body when you can’t control where it goes. 

“Fuck, right there.” You’re burning up, veins turned to lava that’s rushing toward your core as Yoongi fucks you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re on the verge of tears because you haven’t been touched in so long and you’re so lonely and you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough. 

“Wanna make you cum,” Yoongi groans, deep and gravelly, between licking a stripe up your tits and sucking your nipples. 

“Please,” you moan, “Please, I’m so close.” 

Your arousal gushes around his fingers, slicking them up and making your pussy squelch when Yoongi flutters them inside you. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, almost too hard. It stops you from bucking your hips, but you can barely stand as it is. 

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours, red from sucking your nipples until it hurt. He whispers against your lips and opens his mouth to let you suck on his tongue with a pathetic whimper. 

“Not yet, though.” 

“Wha– Yoongi, no–” It’s embarrassing how loudly you cry out when Yoongi slips his fingers out of your pussy. You feel the fire in your core simmer until you’re left with a painfully throbbing clit and your juices smeared on your inner thighs. 

“Shhh, you know I always take care of you.” Yoongi shuts you up with a bite to your bottom lip. He leans down slightly to squeeze the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto the counter. “Lean back.” 

The cold marble counter sends shivers across your body, but it can’t keep up with the heat of Yoongi’s mouth on your pussy. He kisses your lips so gently that you think you might actually cry before he pushes your thighs back, opening you up. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan as Yoongi goes straight for your clit, sucking on it as he swirls his tongue around it. You dig your hands into his hair and tug the strands hard enough to make him moan into your pussy. “Use your, use–” 

Yoongi laps at your clit in quick, consistent bursts that fall in line with the tempo he’s fucking you to with two fingers again. His free hand presses against your lower abdomen, keeping your body taunt so you don’t buck into his face or curl inward. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop your legs from shaking when one rests on his shoulder and the other drapes over the crook of his arm. 

It’s messy and loud, Yoongi licking and sucking your pussy like he really is trying to empty your mind of everything but the way the tip of his hot, wet tongue feels swirling your clit and the stretch of his fingers when he slips a third inside you and focuses on massaging the sensitive part of your walls. It’s working. He completely consumes your senses, down to how gorgeous he looks staring at you from between your thighs. 

Your Yoongi, fingerfucking you and sucking your clit like you’re his favorite meal. 

You try not to bang your head against the counter when you finally cum, instead focusing the overwhelming energy into pulling Yoongi’s hair to keep his face in your pussy.

He continues fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, to the point that you can’t lie still any longer. 

“Yoongi, oh my god, Yoongi, it’s too much,” you whimper and gasp, thighs closing around his head until he finally eases his fingers out of you. 

Strings of your arousal connect his lips with your pussy until he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, cutting them off. His bangs are pushed off his forehead and his hair sticks up from you pulling on it, but his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are just as rosy as his pink, slicked-up lips. 

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning over you on the counter to kiss you. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and lets you suck your juices from it. 

You think you taste better on Yoongi’s tongue than on your ex’s. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here. 

@jooniesxbby @seokteoksworld @taegeum @dprmoon @chimmisbae

[shellshocklove]

lover, lover, lover | joel miller

pairing/AU: 70s!pornstar!joel miller x inexperienced!female reader

summary: after blurring the lines with your boss and pornstar joel in pismo beach, what happens when you come back home to LA?

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 23, joel is in his early 30s, accuracies and inaccuracies about the 70s and the porn industry, smoking of cigarettes (it's the 70s alright), misogyny (bc of the times™), swearing, use of pet names, oral (f+m receiving), use of sextoys, handjob, praise kink, soft!dom joel but also a hint of sub!joel, porn, degradation, no use of y/n

a/n: this is the part 2 to this fic. you should read the part 1 first or this will make no sense lmao. i know it's been months since i posted that one and i've gone back and forth a lot on if i was gonna write a second part, but here it is <3 again i wanna give a big thank you to my beloved @dustydaddyyy for encouraging me every step of the way, listening to me when i feel lost, and for reading through everything. i love you babes!!! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

You jolted awake.

With a groan and a confusing squint, you sat up on your elbow. The back of your hand rubbed roughly at your eye as you looked around your darkened bedroom. The fan on your dresser huffed and swirled, blowing cool air in your direction with every pass – blowing away the memories of your dream.

You turned around to lay down again when you heard it. A distant sound of your phone ringing in your hallway. You let out another groan as you scooted out of bed, your nighty falling around your knees as your feet met the carpet floor. Shuffling down the hall you muttered a quiet “I’m coming, calm down,” to the phone.

You lifted the phone of the hook with a quiet, “Hello.”

“Did I wake ya, sweet girl?” the static voice answered.

“Joel, what time is it?” you sighed into the phone, your arm hitting the cool wall as you leaned against it.

“Um…” he started, probably checking his watch, “02.05.”

“Yes, you woke me up…” you told him, eyes tired and falling shut before blinking open in quiet panic, “Wait– did something happen? Why are you calling so late?” Fear squeezed around your heart, wrapping its cold hands around it as flashes of Joel getting arrested, or kidnapped… or something worse, played like a movie in your head.

“No,” he laughed, “No, sweetheart! I just couldn’t sleep.”

“So, you decided to wake me instead? You are aware we have a meeting with VCA tomorrow at 9am? I told you that didn’t I?” Two fingers pinched the bridge of your nose – trying to squeeze the sleep away.

You usually never forgot any of Joel’s meetings or commitments, and you prided yourself in staying on top of his schedule. You could swear you told him about the meeting the other day on the way back from Pismo Beach.

Pismo Beach.

You hadn’t seen him since you dropped him off. Two days had passed. Two days since… Since you’d had sex with Joel. Two days since he told you he wanted you to be his. Was Joel your boyfriend now? You couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, you did, you’re a good assistant,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.

The praise wrapped itself around your heart like a pink cloud of love – it made you smile.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your quiet voice making him chuckle down the other end.

You waited for his chuckle to die before you asked him, “Um… was there anything else?”

“You tired of me already, sweetheart?” he teased.

“No, never,” you shook your head, “it’s just late.”

“I know, I’m sorry baby,” the way he said it, he left the words hanging in the air.

A second passed in silence, and then another. You waited for him to say something else, but when the words never came you spoke, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Can I come over?” he almost cut you off, his words hanging at the end of your own like a teenager on a skateboard gripping tightly to the back of a bus.

“Tonight?” you asked, front teeth digging into your bottom lip.

“Yeah, now,” he clarified, “my car’s fixed– I can be there in probably… thirty minutes?”

“Ehm…” your head bumped against the wall. Thirty minutes? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see Joel – you did – but it was so late, and you had to get up so early tomorrow.

“Maybe twenty if I speed,” he laughed.

“Joel,” you chided, a smiled tugged at your lips.

“Okay, thirty,” he relented.

You pushed off the wall, a finger curling around the phone cord. “If I say yes you have to be sneaky– and quiet. My landlord doesn’t allow boys to visit.”

“Good thing I ain’t a boy then, sweetheart.”

You snorted, teeth digging into your lip to kill a smile from blooming, “I’m serious, Joel! A girl got evicted last month because she got caught having her boyfriend over.”

“How’s that even legal?” his static voice wondered.

“I don’t know Joel, my landlord… she’s this old lady– super religious and she owns the whole complex– I think she inherited it from her late husband who was a developer or something. Anyway, every time I bump into her, she always questions me about if I have a boyfriend and then gives me this speech about how premarital sex is a sin, and how I’ll go to hell–”

“Shit, baby– move out,” Joel cut you off.

“I can’t,” you sighed, “It was the only place I could afford when I moved here.”

“Ain’t I payin’ you enough?” he teased, “I’ll talk to Ronald about a raise f’you want.”

You let out a chuckle, “I’m not sure it’s appropriate– or professional, to talk about this now, Joel.”

“Alright, baby– always so professional,” he playfully chided, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

You let out a hum, though a small knot tied itself in your stomach at the thought. You didn’t want Joel to get the wrong impression; that you wanted a raise now that you’d let him fuck you.

“See ya in 30?” he said, breaking the static silence, “I’ll be real sneaky.”

“Ok,” you said softly.

You told him your address, making him repeat your apartment number back to you before you hung up. You didn’t want him accidently knocking on the wrong door, and getting you evicted.

Padding back into your bedroom, you grabbed your silk robe hanging off the door. You twisted it around yourself while you turned on the lamp over your bedside table. The light bathed your room in a soft glow. You were starting to wake up a little now. Leaving your bedroom door ajar you walked back down your hallway with soft steps. Stepping into the kitchen, you grabbed a mug from your cupboard, busying yourself with making a cup of tea as you waited for Joel.

Thirty minutes later, you heard the buzz of your doorbell. Abandoning your cup on your kitchen table, you quickly hurried to your door, buzzing him in. Your heart hammered in your chest. The risk of getting caught so late on a Sunday night was low, but you could never be too careful. You waited for him in your doorway, your finger picking at your nail bed as you looked out for him to round the corner.

You breathed out a relieved sigh when you saw him, a smile widening across your face as he picked up his pace in a small jog. His grin was wide as well, all teeth and crinkles as he closed the space between you. With a small glance over his shoulder, he made sure he hadn’t been caught as you ushered him inside.

The light in your hallway was low, tinting everything in a warm yellow hue. His hands were on you in an instant, strong hands gliding over your waist from behind as you locked your door. In the next moment you felt his chest press against your back, locking you to his body in an engulfing hug. His nose dragged down the column of your neck, pressing sweet kisses into your skin.

“Hi,” he mumbled.

Leaning into his touch you hummed out a greeting. His grip tightened around you before he turned you around in his hands, your hands automatically wrapping themselves around his neck. God, he was handsome. Soft brown eyes shining under the soft light, you watched as they took you in, traveling down your bare face, down to your silk robe hiding your nighty. A sting of embarrassment panged in your chest under his gaze, maybe you should’ve changed into something else, something a little sexier. Then you realized what kind of sexy he was used to, sheer lingerie, stockings, garter belts and high heels, not whatever underwear you were hiding away in your drawers.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes blown wide in the low light, “let me kiss you properly, sweetheart.”

His big palm cupped your cheek, bringing you closer before he brushed his lips over yours. He tasted like a mix of his last cigarette and beer. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed his touch, his lips against yours. Joel hummed into the kiss, nose bumping into yours as he held you close, thumb ghosting over your skin. The kiss was quick, but still tender, and when you broke apart, the embarrassment from earlier had faded.

“Missed your lips baby,” he whispered against them, emphasizing his words with another peck.

“You did?” your voice was breathless, eyes half lidded from his affection.

He didn’t answer, only catching your lips in another mind-blowing kiss. His hand not on your cheek traveled from your waist to the curve of your ass, where it squeezed. You jumped a little from his touch, breaking his kiss. Immediately Joel removed his hands, catching himself as he took a step back.

“No?” he asked, eyes searching yours.

A flood of warmth filled your chest, “No, it’s okay– it’s just… late.”

His eyes softened at your words, his palm finding your cheek again to softly rub his thumb over your skin, “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, “It’s okay…” you trailed off, your hand grabbing his other hand to intertwine your fingers, “Let’s go to bed?”

With his hand in yours Joel trailed after you down the hallway.

“The bathroom is just in here if you wanna use it?” you stopped at the end of your hallway, pointing to your closed bathroom door. Joel gave you a short nod and a smile, and let go of your hand, but not before giving it a little squeeze.

You stepped backwards to push open your bedroom door while he vanished to your bathroom. The alarm clock on your bedside table showed 3.08 in big red letters when your eyes flickered to it as you pulled at the strings of your silk robe. You twisted out of it and hung it back on the hook on your door, before you climbed back into your bed, waiting for Joel.

He walked into your room a few minutes later. You watched him from under the covers, eyes hooded with tiredness as he shed his clothes. Naked, safe for his briefs, he haphazardly folded his clothes, eyes flitting around your room for a place to put them.

“You can just leave them on the dresser,” you said, all cozy under the covers.

Sending you a small nod he sauntered over to your dresser with his clothes half-folded in his hand, where he placed them down gently. He stood there for a moment longer with his back turned, something catching his eye.

“So,” he spoke up, “what’s the review?”

“Huh?” You were confused.

You watched how his shoulders shook, grabbing something off your dresser before turning around, hiding it behind his back as he closed the space between you. You were still confused, a furrow pulling at your eyebrows.

“What d’ya prefer? This,” he started, revealing what he was hiding behind his back, “Or the real thing?”

In his hand he held the box with the dildo he’d modeled for. You’d forgotten all about it in your back seat while you were in Pismo Beach, only noticing it again as you’d parked outside your apartment. You had been meaning to give it back to Joel, didn’t take his ‘joke’ of you keeping it at face value, but then you’d forgotten all about it, leaving you with no choice other than to bring it inside.

“Joel,” you felt a flash of heat burn your cheeks.

“What? I wanna know,” he grinned, fingers fiddling with the cardboard to open it.

You gave him a chastising kick from under the covers, trying to shut the conversation down, but it only made him huff out a laugh.

“I don’t know, I haven’t tried it,” you said truthfully. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“What? Not even once,” his eyebrows knitted together, he almost looked disappointed.

You shook your head, “I was gonna give it back to you when I dropped you off on Friday, but it slipped my mind.”

“Why? I gave it to you,” he pulled the dildo out, the supposed perfect recreation of his package.

“Joel, you couldn’t have been serious about that?” you breathed out a laugh. It was hard to take him seriously with the toy in his hand.

“Well, now I’m a little disappointed, sweetheart,” he placed the box and the dildo on your bedside table, next to your alarm clock, “I really wanted to know your thoughts.”

He crept up the bed as you shifted over to make space, holding open the duvet for him to slip under.

“I’m sorry, Joel– I just didn’t think you were serious about that… and,” you trailed off when he wrapped his strong arms around your body, twisting around in his arms as he pulled you close against him.

“And, what?” he said, his breath huffing against the shell of your ear.

“I… uh, I haven’t… since,” you didn’t know how to say it.

But Joel knew, pulling you closer to rock his hips against your ass, “Haven’t what, sweetheart? Touched yourself?”

He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t not hard – you could feel the semi he was sporting against your backside. It made you lose your trail of thought, as memories of the last time he held you against his body like this, filled your mind.

You had enough sense to shake your head, not trusting your voice to come out as words and not a strangled moan.

“No?” he teased with another rock of his hips, “Well, I have, sweetheart– touched myself thinkin’ of you.”

“Joel,” you couldn’t fight the whine from escaping as he rocked his hips against you again, his big hand slipping under your nighty.

“Touched myself thinkin’ about this beautiful fuckin’ body of yours,” his hand splayed over your tummy, traveling upwards to grab at your breast. “Thought about these pretty tits,” his voice got lower, whispering in your ear as he flicked a finger over your nipple, making you sigh. He let go of your breast, hand gliding down your body to ghost over the hem of your panties, “And this tight little pussy,” he finished.

“Joel,” you sighed, body reacting automatically to his touch. His breath in your ear sent goosebumps down the whole of your body, and a whine fell from your lips as he palmed your heat over your panties, feeling your arousal starting to soak the cotton.

“Yes, sweetheart, say my name as I touch your pussy. Tell me who’s makin’ you feel good.”

Fuck, it took all your strength to gather your thoughts, “Joel, it’s–” you let out a gasp as his fingers found your clit.

“What, baby?”

“It’s– It’s late,” you managed to breathe out.

And just like that, the spell was broken. His hand slipped from your cunt to rest over your waist. You twisted around to face him, a pang of guilt filling your chest.

“I’m s-sorry, I just–”

He cut you off by pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss. “Don’t you apologize to me,” he said, eyes boring into yours, “If you ain’t feelin’ it, I ain’t feelin’ it, okay?”

You felt yourself nod, your chest filling with gratefulness. You wanted Joel so much, you did, you wanted him to feel good, but you didn’t want it at 3am when you had to wake up in four hours.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully, your forehead falling against his.

He shifted his face, cheek brushing against your forehead until you felt him press a kiss to your skin. “Nothin’ to thank me for, my sweet girl.”

You shifted closer to him, cheek boring into his naked chest, “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you told him, “I’m just so tired.”

Pulling you closer to his body, Joel wrapped his strong arms around you, “’s okay, baby, you just close your pretty eyes, okay?”

You nodded against his head before you whispered, “Good night, Joel.”

“Night, sweet girl.”

“Hey,” you felt a nudge in your side pull you from your dream, “How d’you turn off this thing?”

Then you heard it. Your alarm. The beeping was loud and obnoxious, but it did the job to wake you, usually.

With heavy limbs you sat up on your elbow, goosebumps spreading over the newly exposed skin as you leaned over Joel’s body to press the snooze button. His big hands found your waist when you leaned back, guiding you to straddle his body.

His lips found yours in a soft kiss, then another before he mumbled, “Good mornin’,” against your lips.

He didn’t give you the chance to reply as he pulled you into yet another kiss. It took you by surprise, your hand coming up to press into the pillow next to his head, to hold your weight. Under the duvet you felt his hand travel down your body, slipping under the hem of your nighty and dragging upwards, cupping your ass as he pulled the fabric with him. His touch ignited something in you, making you whimper against his lips.

“There she is,” he whispered, pulling away from your lips with a loud smack to press kisses along your jaw. It made you sigh, your body going lax in his arms as he pulled you closer, mind going blank from his loving. Then he suddenly tightened his arms around your body, his strong hand splaying over your back as he flipped you around to lay on your back beneath him. A small yelp fell from your lips at the sudden movement, the yelp turning into a giggle when he dived into the crook of your neck, his mustache tickling you as he pressed small kisses against your skin.

With a hasty hand he balled the fabric of your nighty in his hands, pushing it up your body to reveal your naked body to him. He sucked a breath through his teeth at the sight, eyes hungry with lust as they raked over your form.

“Need to fuckin’ taste you, sweetheart.” His voice was a low rasp, coated in residual sleep and arousal, “Been thinkin’ about how sweet you taste this whole weekend.”

You couldn’t hold back the whine at the back of your throat at his words, hips bucking by their own accord where he had your legs splayed open over his thighs. Arousal spread like electricity through your body, where it pooled like dripping honey in your tummy.

“Please,” you begged when his fingers found the hem of your panties, his pointer finger dipping beneath the band to run it across your skin.

“Yeah?” he coaxed, “Want me to eat your little pussy, sweet girl?” his finger stretched at the elastic, letting it slap against your skin as he pulled away. Under him you whined, frantic hands finding the back of his neck to pull him closer to you. In your hurry to kiss him, you missed his mouth, clumsily bumping your nose into his instead.

It made him breathe out a shallow chuckle, “Okay, baby, okay. I’ll take care of ya.”

He pulled back from you, your hands around his neck falling to your sides, and softly hitting your mattress. Grabbing at the soft flesh at the back of your thighs, he spread them wider, putting your covered cunt on display for him. His eyes drank in your body, studied how soft and pliant you’d gone from his touch.

You watched his face, his eyes, his lip twitching with a wicked smile when you jumped under his finger, starting to press slow circles down on your covered clit. He dipped his finger lower, caressing your folds over the fabric before he pressed two fingers into your covered hole as far as your panties allowed. You could feel how soaked you already were, your dripping cunt fluttering around nothing when he pulled back.

“Let’s get you out of these, huh?” he said, voice dripping with pity, “My sweet girl’s just beggin’ to be touched, ain’t she?”

To your own surprise you managed to peep out an answer, “Yes.” Your voice came out strangled and begging, your mind clouded over with Joel.

“Yes, that’s right, baby, you’re such a good girl, let me hear you.” He hooked his finger under the elastic, tapping your ass lightly. You lifted up off the mattress, helping him drag your soaked panties down your legs.

Under him you felt your mouth drop open slightly, watching him as he clasped your panties in his hand, his thumb rubbing at the wetness with a cocky smile tugging at the corner of his lips. With his thumb coated in you, he dropped your panties, losing them in the sheets as he brought his attention back on you.

His eyes bored into yours as he lowered himself between your legs pressing soft kisses against your inner thigh. His big hands splayed over the back of your legs, pushing them closer to your chest to putt your naked and dripping cunt back on display. You held your breath as you waited for him to finally touch you where you wanted, but then he hesitated. The air was charged with arousal, his breath fanning over your throbbing clit. A thought of how you might die if he didn’t touch you soon, crossed your mind.

With a desperate whine, your hand tangled in his hair. You didn’t know what to do, so you begged, “Please, Joel?”

His eyes found yours immediately, where he saw how much you needed him, but he needed it in words, “Y’want me to touch you, sweetheart? To eat your pussy?”

“Yes,” the words fell from your lips so fast you almost cut him off, “Please,” you added for good measure.

Your consent was all he wanted. He dipped his head to lick ever so gently at your clit, making you mewl under him, a needy desperate sound, begging for more. When he wrapped his lips around your clit, and sucked, that’s when you turned into a withering moaning mess under him, hips bucking into his mouth, chasing more of the pleasure he was giving you.

Joel hummed against you, the bass of his voice vibrating against your most sensitive spot, pulling you deeper under the blanket of pleasure.

When his hand loosened its grip around the back of your thigh to caress your folds, a moan got caught in your throat. “P-please” you stuttered, dying to have his fingers split you open and coaxing you towards your release.

But Joel removed his fingers, continuing to explore you with his tongue instead. He dipped down, tongue lapping at your folds, tasting your arousal like he told you’d he’d been dying to. With one fat lick up the length of your pussy he took your clit back in his mouth, going back to lapping and circling it just right, coaxing you closer and closer.

“Fuck.”

You were hauling quickly towards your orgasm. Your eyebrows twisted together in a tight frown, fingers gripping and tugging at his hair, your leg close to shaking with the intensity. You were right there on the edge.

Then he abruptly pulled away. The disappointing mewl escaped you on instinct, and Joel laughed. Laughed. Your heart twisted in on itself at the sound.

“W-what?” you muttered, confusion painting your features when he sat up.

Joel grinned down at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leaned down to your face and cupped your chin, his thumb rubbing your skin with tenderness.

“Want you to be good f’me, sweet girl, can you do that?”

Your head moved in his hand, a timid nod as you searched his face. “I–I can be good.”

His grin widened, all teeth and crinkles around his eyes. He squeezed your cheeks together lightly, a small pout forming to kiss away.

“Good girl.”

His mustache tickled your cupid’s bow, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, taste how desperate for him you were.

He left you breathless when he pulled away, your body all loose and pliant from his touch, not registering what he was doing until he was back to sitting between your legs. Your eyes raked over his body, his broad shoulders, trailing his happy trail down his torso to his waist, noticing the shape of his hard cock in his briefs, a wet spot staining them where the head was.

Fuck, you wanted him inside you.

Then you noticed his hands, and what he was in them. The dildo, of him. You shifted up the bed in surprise. Your nighty fell down over your chest as you sat up on your elbows, watching him with wide eyes.

He watched you too, turning the dildo in his hand to nudge at your entrance as he leaned forward to hover over your body, a big hand on your chest pushing you down.

“Are you gonna be good?” 

“Joel,” you gasped, feeling your hole flutter in anticipation.

“Are you?” he pressed, rubbing the silicone head slowly up and down your folds, coating it in your arousal.

“Y-yeah, y-yes,” you nodded, face heating from the obscene slick sounds of your arousal.

With a wicked grin, his eyes flicked back to your aching cunt, before he pushed the head inside slowly, feeding your more and more until the dildo was buried inside you. A broken moan fell from your lips, mouth dropping open from the pleasure of being stretched.

“There you go, sweetheart. ‘s big stretch, isn’t it? Doing so good for me, my good girl, honey, my good fuckin’ girl.”

He pushed the toy in and out in shallow thrusts, working you open around the fake cock. It wasn’t the same, but still the stretch was divine. With his eyes glued to your cunt he pulled the dildo all the way out, only the head notched at your entrance, before slowly thrusting in all the way. You whimpered when you felt him nudge at your spot inside, your hand desperately grabbing for his other arm to anchor you from falling over the edge too soon.

“Joel,” you whimpered, “P-please, t-touch m-my–”

Joel picked up his pace, fucking you faster and deeper with the dildo, the obscene squelching sounds of your cunt filled the air between your moans. His grip tightened in your hand, guiding it to hover over your clit.

“Touch your what, honey?” He teased, pressing your fingers down, guiding them in tight circles.

“Ah– fuck,” you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as you felt the coil in your tummy tighten, and tighten, and tighten.

Then it all became too much. With a broken cry you came, squeezing hard around the fake cock. Joel continued fucking you, a small gush of liquid pouring down over the toy with each thrust, as you pulsed and squirmed around it.

Catching your breath, you came down from your high, while small jolts of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake like a leaf in a storm. It was like your ears were ringing, before you realized they were actually ringing.

“This fuckin’ alarm,” Joel muttered, hovering over you to turn it off.

His voice brought you back to earth, as you turned your head to look at the time. Shit, you were gonna be late!

With shaky hands you glided your hand down your cunt to grab at the base of the toy still inside you, “Joel, we’re gonna be late for your meeting,” you murmured, slipping the dildo from your cunt. Everything was sticky and messy between your legs, a big wet stain growing under your ass.

Joel pushed your hand away, like he was scolding you for touching what was his. “We can be a little late, sweetheart,” he said calmly, before ducking down to press a kiss to your clit.

You shifted up the bed, away from his touch, anxiety an endless spiral in your tummy. “No, we can’t, Joel– They told me it’s a pitch for a new movie, you’ll miss out on a big opportunity if you don’t show.”

Between your legs, Joel’s head dropped to your chest, as a pained sigh left his lungs. He went quiet for a beat as you watched the messy curls at the top of his head, then he lifted his head to look at you, “Okay, then.”

You felt bad leaving him hanging as you both got out of bed, his rock-hard cock strained desperately against the fabric of his briefs – just dying to be touched.

“Joel, I-I’m sorry,” you closed the space between you, snaking your arms around him.

“Sweetheart, ya need to stop apologizin’”, he placed a dry kiss to the top of your head, steady hands finding your waist. Your heart swelled in your chest. He made you feel so safe.

You almost muttered another ‘I’m sorry’, before catching yourself, “Okay,” you nodded against his chest. You basked in his touch for another minute, his strong arms around you, breathing in the comforting scent of him – the intoxicating mix of his faded cologne, cigarettes and sex.

“You were enjoyin’ it though, weren’t you?” Joel asked as he pulled away. You could see the cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked down at you, “So tell me, sweetheart... it better’n the real thing?”

“No,” you said, your own teasing smile tickling your lips as you detangled yourself from him, and turned around to head towards the bathroom, “Real thing’s better.”

Suddenly you felt his hands on your hips, and then Joel was pulling you back against him. He pressed himself against you so you could feel how hard he still was, his aching cock barely contained by his briefs.

“Attagirl,” he half-whispered, half-groaned into your ear, breath fanning over your neck and making you shiver. 

“I need a shower,” you said with a giggle, stepping away from him before turning around again, only for Joel to pull you close once more. He found your eyes, his hands barely loosening their grip on your body. You could still feel him against you, his hard cock now pressed against your stomach. “Do you… maybe,” you bit down on your bottom lip, wide eyes searching his face.

“Wanna shower with you?” he helped you with a grin, and you nodded.

Your shower was cramped, too small to fit two people, and even though you had been the one to ask, you still felt nervous under the streaming water. He looked so good; your eyes couldn’t help but trail the water droplets racing down his thick muscles. He watched you too, but more openly, his eyes not afraid to trail down your body – to glide over your tits, down your back, and over the curve of your ass.

And then there was his cock, still hard and leaking, making its presence known between you like a third person. What made it worse was that he didn’t even acknowledge it, just went about washing his body like nothing, pushing back his wet curls as he rinsed your shampoo from his hair.

Did he want you to say something? The thought fluttered in your stomach.

“Um, Joel?” your voice echoed against the tiles.

You watched as he tipped his head forward from under the showerhead, eyes blinking at you as soapsuds hit his broad shoulders and ran down his chest.

“You know– um… I can–”

Jesus Christ! Could you be less sexy.

When he didn’t say anything, you breathed out a nervous sigh, eyes flitting down to his cock, hoping he would take the hint.

And he did.

“You wanna touch my cock, sweet girl?” His whole demeanor shifted.

“Would that– would that be okay?” you said, your teeth catching on your bottom lip.

“More than okay, sweetheart,” he said, with a devilish grin.

You took a few steps closer, a shaky hand landing on his waist while the other hovered between your bodies, right above where his heavy cock twitched in anticipation.

You didn’t know what to do. Well, you did. You’d seen it enough times at work to know, but you’d never actually done it before. Another reminder of just how inexperienced you were when it came to all of this. You looked at him with uncertainty, for guidance, and without uttering a single word, Joel knew what you were asking.

He curled his fingers around your wrist, bringing it up to his face, and spat. Using that tender grip he guided your hand down between your bodies again – the back of your hand brushed against the rough hair of his happy trail – and down to the base of his aching cock.

“There ya go,” he whispered as your fingers wrapped around him, Joel’s spit smearing over his shaft as you moved upwards in an experimenting stroke, “Good girl, just like that,” he hissed through his teeth.

You tilted your head to watch his face. Watched how his eyes were so fixated on your hand wrapped around him as you began to slowly stroke his cock, familiarizing yourself with the weight and feel of him in your hand. You didn’t miss the way his breathing shifted, releasing a sound you’d never heard come from his lips before. A whimper.

“Am–am I doing okay?” you asked, your eyes following his down to your hand wrapped around him. He was so big in your hand, your fingers struggling to meet around the girth of him.

He hissed out a strained laugh. “Yeah, baby, you’re doing so good– massage the head for me a little,” Joel groaned.

You did as you were told, bringing your hand up to the tip with a tug, squeezing out a pearl of precum. It dripped down over your hand, your thumb skating over the sensitive head, and smearing it all over.

“Shit,” Joel hissed, “keep doin’ that, sweetheart, bein’ so good f’me,” he praised, encouraging you.

You’d never seen Joel like this before. So at your mercy– at anyone’s mercy – always the one to take charge. But now he was falling apart from your touch. He encouraged you further as his breath got heavier. You sped up the strokes over his cock, and his body slumped into yours, face buried in the crook of your neck, as he whispered breathy babblings of praise into your skin. A glowing feeling of pride grew in your chest as you brought him closer and closer to his release.

“I’m close, baby,” he whimpered in your ear, “don’t fuckin’ stop.”

So you didn’t.

With your hand tight around his cock, you quickened your pace, tracing your thumb over his slit just like he’d told you to do earlier. A slick noise of spit and precum echoed against your bathroom tiles. His thighs tensed, his hand grabbed at your waist to pin you to his body, and you knew he was right on the edge.

“Fuck, I’m comin’.”

With a string of praising curses, he came apart in your hand. His thighs clenched, his heavy balls tightening as cum spurted from his tip in ribbons over your hand. The bass of his voice vibrated against your skin, as you continued working him through his high, slicking up your hand and fingers even more.

You squeezed him until there was only a small dribble pearling at his tip. A white stream of cum ran down his cock and down to his balls, dripping down onto the tiles of your shower floor. And then it was too much, and Joel hissed, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to dab your hand away.

He didn’t say anything, only grabbing your face with both hands, crashing his lips against yours in a desperate kiss. With your hand messy from his release, you didn’t know where to touch him, opting to grab at his elbow with your other hand to steady yourself.

Out in the hallway, your phone rang, forcing you to breathlessly pull away. With a sorry smile, you ran your messy hand under the showerhead before quickly pulling at the shower curtain.

The phone rang loudly as you tiptoed down the hallway. Water droplets ran down your skin, leaving a trail of dark spots on the carpet. Your hand clung to the towel you’d wrapped around yourself while the other hurried to answer the phone.

“Hello?” you sang.

“Hi, sweetie, it’s your uncle,” a gruff voice answered.

“Oh, hi,” you said, leaning against the wall.

Down the hall your bathroom door opened, steam framing Joel’s body as he stepped out naked as the day he was born, with a towel resting over his shoulders. His heavy cock soft between his strong thighs– it was like a scene straight out of a porno, one he’d probably starred in. He caught your eye, and smiled, making his way towards you as he brought the towel up to dry his hair, his biceps flexing with the effort.

“What was that?” you stuttered, completely missing what your uncle had said on the other end.

“Almost hung up on ya, I said,” your uncle repeated.

“Sorry, I was just getting out of the shower.”

“I was just calling to say I’m driving a Corvette down to LA in a couple of days for a client. Was thinking I’d take you out to dinner– catch up– make sure you’re not getting up to any trouble down there,” he laughed.

His tone was lighthearted, but you couldn’t help but cringe. The trouble in question reaching his hand out to trace a drop trailing down your exposed collarbone, ducking down to place a teasing kiss to your skin.

“D-dinner sounds nice,” you managed to choke out, “Um, I know a nice Italian place down in Santa Monica.”

“Sounds great, sweetie! I’ll call ya after I’ve dropped off the car Thursday afternoon,” your uncle’s static voice replied.

“Thursday afternoon,” you repeated, “Ok, see you then!”

“So…” Joel started, his arms snaking their way around your form. “I ain’t the only man who wants a piece of ya,” he joked, after you’d hung up the phone,

“That was my uncle, Joel,” you let him know, your body melting against his touch.

“He’s takin’ you to dinner?” he queried.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “he’s driving a car down here for work, so he wanted to see me.”

Joel hummed, dropping his head to brush his lips over yours as his hand splayed over your waist slid down to the curve of your ass.

“Nonono,” you chuckled, pulling away, “Joel, we’re already late as is!”

“So what,” Joel groaned, pulling you back for another kiss, hands tightening their grip on your ass, before trailing soft kisses to the corner of your mouth, “We could stay in ya know... enjoy the real thing.”

Joel’s kisses continued along the line of your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.

“As tempting as that sounds,” you let out through a small groan as you felt his tongue tickle that spot under your jaw, “We can’t cancel this meeting.”

Joel’s lips stopped their descent towards your neck, and he took a breath, the force of it tickling your skin, before he lifted his head, lips grazing across your jaw as he kissed the corner of your mouth again.

“Later,” you promise him, eyes looking into his. Joel’s smile was wistful, another small sigh escaping through his nostrils before he brushed his lips over yours.

“Later.”

“Let’s get started? Or do we want some coffees before we start?” Ronald asked from his seat at the head of the table.

You were seated in a chair in the corner, the cigarette smoke hung low over the room. In your lap your notebook rested, cracked spine opened to a random blank page while your fingers fiddled with your pen.

All the big important men from VCA were here, eager to finally work with the infamous Joel Packer on their new big-budget project. The last couple of years had been big for Joel, multiple magazine photoshoots, longer features and obviously modeling for a sextoy, but this film would be his biggest opportunity. It would bring in a lot of money, and Ronald knew it. He couldn’t hide the dollar signs in his eyes behind his ‘friendly’ grin.

“Ey, sweetheart!” Ronald raised his voice. You lifted your gaze from your notebook, curious as to what he was yelling about.

“Yeah, you!” He looked straight at you, a hand waving you towards him. Did he forget your name? You wouldn’t put it past him.

Leaving your notebook and pen in your chair you walked over to him, hands wringing behind your back as you stood behind Joel where he sat to Ronald’s right. He looked at you with impatience, a crude finger motioning you closer.

“Why don’t you go get us all some coffees, sweetie?” he spat out the order, his sour breath hitting you in your face.

“Um, uh,” you looked to Joel for help. This wasn’t your job; this was a job for an intern. It was important for you to be here, to take notes, to know what arrangements needed to be done, and which people to call.

“Um, uh,” Ronald parroted, “just do it– isn’t it what I’m paying you for?”

It wasn’t, but now everyone was looking at you. Everyone except for Joel. His gaze bored into the teak in front of him, fingers tightly pinched around a cigarette. With no help from Joel, you held your tongue and muttered a “Yes, sir,” to Ronald before you turned on heels.

“Alright! I wanna start by introducing Cheryl here, making her film debut alongside Joel–” you heard Ronald start as you slipped through the door of the meeting room.

Outside the meeting room, you were met with a brown hallway, identical to the left and right. Wood paneling clad the walls, and you couldn’t help your eyes from peeking through the glass partition walls of other meeting rooms as you made your way down the hall. Everything looked the same. You turned a corner, and you swore you’d been there before. After walking for what felt like a small eternity, you made it to a break room with a small kitchenette.

The coffee in the pot looked old and stale, and you poured it out in the sink. As you waited for the fresh pot to brew you searched through the cupboards for a coffee carafe. The cupboards of the kitchenette were pretty empty, only filled with mugs and drinking glasses. With a sigh you kneeled to look through the cabinet below the sink.  You tried your best to be fast, not wanting to miss anything important. Finally, you found what you were looking for. With fresh coffee in one hand, and paper cups in the other, you made your way back down a hallway you hoped would bring you back to the meeting.

A couple of wrong turns later you let out a sigh of relief as you peaked Joel through the glass partition wall of the meeting room. This better be good enough for Ronald, you thought as you opened the door, not bothering to knock.

“And I think that’s about it,” one of the men opposite Joel said as you placed the coffee and paper cups on the table, “We’ll break for lunch and go ahead with the chemistry test later today.”

Did you really just miss the whole meeting?

“Sounds great,” Ronald said, pushing his chair out, and standing to his feet to shake the hands of the men from VCA. Then the rest of the room came alive as people got up from their seats and gathering their things. In front of you a chair bumped into you, pushing you a little off balance.

“Oh! Sorry– didn’t see you there.”

It was Cheryl, Joel’s new co-star. She was young, just turned twenty-one if you remembered correctly, and gorgeous. Her blonde hair, curled to perfection, cascaded down her back. Her light blue dress clung tightly to her body, accentuating her curves while the deep v-neck showed off her cleavage.

You shook your head and put on a smile, muttering an “It’s okay,” as you stepped out of her way, and shifted closer to Joel. He was busy gathering the papers spread out in front of him on the table, tapping them lightly against the teak before gathering them in his hands, turning towards you and Cheryl.

When you didn’t make a move to leave, Cheryl cleared her throat, widening her eyes at Joel as they flickered towards you. Your heart sunk in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to take her hint – you knew when you weren’t wanted.

“I’ll uh… I’ll wait for you down in the reception,” you muttered to Joel, “Let me know what you want for lunch, and I’ll get you something.” Before he could say anything, you turned around to leave, grabbing your notebook and pen.

You knew you shouldn’t have looked back as you made your way out the door, but you did. The cold stone in your chest sank lower as you watched them. Cheryl’s body curled towards Joel as they talked, her hand landing on his bicep as she let out a giggly laugh. It made your heart sting, but maybe not as much as the ache of watching Joel’s bright smile, the one he so often gave you.

Over fifteen minutes later, Joel finally walked into the reception where you waited for him. You were hard to miss where you sat on one of the couches, reading a magazine, the only person occupying the space.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked, slumping down next to you, so close his arm brushed against yours.

You couldn’t watch his bright eyes, and the cheeky smile tugging at his lips. So, you held up one of the porn magazines you’d grabbed off the coffee table, blocking his view of your face, substituting it with the woman adorning the front and posing seductively to the camera, showing off the biggest boobs you’d ever seen.

“Industry news,” you shrugged.

You earned yourself a chuckle, “Anythin’ interestin’?”

“Not really,” you sighed, quickly shutting the magazine, and throwing it haphazardly on the table.

You could feel his warmth beside you, his broad frame, and strong arms. The same arms who’d held you so close this morning. Still, you didn’t look at him, your gaze falling to your fiddling hands in your lap. A piece of skin around your thumb had come loose, and it burned as you pulled at it.

“Um…” you started, still watching your hands, “What’s the plan for lunch? You want me to go down to that deli you like– get you a sandwich?”

Joel’s arm brushed against you as he shifted in his seat, bucking his hips slightly to fish out his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. “Ain’t no need to do that for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cigarette between his lips.

“Well, it’s kinda my job,” you mumbled, your face pulling up into a slight frown as you ripped the loose skin around your thumb.

“Yeah– but,” Joel drew a breath of his cigarette.

Now you looked at him, eyebrows pulled tight in a real frown, “But what?”

He watched you, eyes dancing over your face as he took another drag, releasing the smoke out the corner of his mouth.

“Nothin’.”

You couldn’t interpret his face with the way he was looking at you, almost as he was searching for something. A silence grew between you – it was ugly and festering, like a canyon had grown between you – it was something you’d never felt with Joel before.

“A sandwich sounds nice,” he finally spoke across the silence, and you nodded.

“Um– can I borrow your car?” you asked, clearing your throat of your anxiety.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” It was like your question had woken him.

Joel had driven you both into work today, your car sitting pretty in its parking space outside your apartment complex. He rested his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the table before he fished his car keys from his jeans pocket and handed them to you.

“They have me set up in a trailer out on the lot next door– I’ll wait for ya there, alright?” The hand handing you his keys locked around yours, caging them between your hands.

You squeezed his hand, the familiar weight of it in your hand, the tenderness in which he held you, made you feel a little better. Shrinking the deep canyon between you to a ravine.

“Um, why exactly?” you asked, eyes glued to your intertwined hands.

“Shit– sorry,” Joel shook his head and shifted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours, “they want me and Cheryl to have a chemistry test before they go ahead with signin’ the contracts. It’s nothin’ big or anythin’– just a blowjob.”

Just a blowjob.

You nodded slowly. It was just a blowjob, but it was a blowjob from Cheryl. Cheryl who was younger with the perfect body. Cheryl who made him smile and laugh. Cheryl who could give him a blowjob, and not some sorry excuse of a handjob.

“Oh, okay,” you peeped, loosening your grip around his hand, clasping the keys in your hand.

You got up from the couch before he could say anything more, “I’ll go get you your lunch then.”

His cigarette resting in the ashtray had burned out, like your conversation with Joel. You bent slightly to grab your purse when his hands clasped around your wrist, bringing your attention back on him.

“’s everythin’ alright?” he asked you as he got up from the couch as well, closing the space between you.

Your lips pulled into a smile, one you hoped was convincing, “Yeah! Why wouldn’t it?”

His other hand came up to cup your cheek gently, shifting your face to look at him. “’s just for work, you know,” he told you.

Your head was nodding even before he’d finished talking, your face still pulled tight in a smile, “Yeah, Joel, I know.”

“Okay,” he whispered and leaned closer. You shifted your face in his palm, his lips hitting your other cheek in a short peck before you were pulling away. His fingers like a bracelet around your wrist, fell heavy to his side.

“See you in a little bit,” you told him before pushing the door to the reception open and stepping outside.

Some forty minutes later you were knocking on a trailer door with the sign ‘Joel Packer’ hanging on the front. In your other hand you were balancing two coffees and a bag with two sandwiches. You knocked again when nothing happened, scared you’d shown up to the wrong trailer for a second, even with the sign telling you, you were in the right place.

“Joel? I have your lunch.”

“Come in,” he answered almost immediately.

You opened the trailer door and stepped inside, careful not to spill the coffees all over the carpeted floor of his trailer as you balanced everything. With the door closed you turned around, eyes scanning the cramped room for Joel.

He was laying on the couch, one hand down the front of his pants where he palmed himself over his briefs – a lazy smile resting over his features as he took you in.

“Oh! Sorry,” you quickly looked away, scurrying to place his food on the nearest table.

Behind you Joel got up from the couch, crossing the small space between you to wrap his arms around your body, and press his front against your ass. You jumped in his grasp, your hands finding his where they rested around your waist.

“Stop apologizin’” he whispered in your ear, his teeth catching on your earlobe, “was just gettin’ ready, baby,” his breath was hot against the column of your neck, and you felt his cock grow against your ass. “Ain’t gonna have any trouble gettin’ hard now though,” he chuckled.

“Joel,” you whined, the sound pathetic at the back of your throat.

“Yes, baby, let me hear ya,” you could feel the bass in his voice vibrate against your skin.

His hands spread over your body, drinking you in with his touch, grabbing at your breast while pressing tender kisses to your neck. You melted against him, body soft and pliant. In an instant you were back in your memories from this morning, and you couldn’t fight the whimper from falling from your lips. With closed eyes your memories mixed with your present. Images of how he’d kissed you, touched you, and taken care of you this morning blended with the firm press of his body against yours and his calloused hands exploring you; like how you could still see your reflection in rippling water.

“Joel,” you tried again.

“I know, my sweet girl,” he cooed.

Behind you he bucked his hips against your ass, the bulge of his hard cock splitting your cheeks. You felt your arousal wet your panties, an ache of anticipation settling in your core.

“Fuck, sweetheart– wish it was you getting on your knees for me later.” He whispered his filthy words in your ear with another buck of his hips. “Wanna feel your tight little throat around my cock as you choke on it.”

His confession made a nervousness intertwine itself with your blinding arousal. You turned around in his arms, your face nuzzled into the dip where his neck met his collarbone, “I-I’ve never done that before.” Your confession was barely a whisper, the words muffled into his skin.

His grip tightened around you, and you felt the way his body moved under your cheek, a comforting hand landed carefully at the back of your neck. His jaw and cheek bumped against the top of your head as he dipped down to your face and his breath changed like he was about to say something, but then was interrupted by a hollow knock on the trailer door.

“We’re ready for you on set in fifteen minutes, Mr. Miller,” a voice called.

With the knock the spell was broken. You untangled yourself from his embrace, a shy smile ghosting over your lips as you stepped away.

“You should eat.”

Again, you’d agreed to watch him film. Joel had convinced you on his way out the trailer door, his hand resting at the small of your back as he led you towards the set. It was a small shoot – only Joel and Cheryl, the cameraman, the sound guy, a couple people from VCA, Ronald, and you. In the time you’d worked for Joel, you couldn’t remember a set feeling this intimate (not that you usually stayed to watch– not unless he explicitly asked).

The only goal for the scene was to find out if Joel and Cheryl worked well together on camera – hence no specific storyline or roles they were supposed to act out. Joel was getting his dick sucked, but other than that they were free to take the scene whichever way they wanted.

The room buzzed with quiet conversation as the cameraman got the camera and film ready. Joel was already seated on the couch where the scene would take place. His legs were spread wide, his hard bulge on display as he leisurely smoked a cigarette. Cheryl had taken up the seat beside him, leaning her elbow on the back and resting her head in her hands. They were talking, but you couldn’t hear from where you stood in the corner. Every now and then Joel’s eyes would search for yours, meeting them for a moment as a small smile spread across his lips, before they would flick back to Cheryl, joining their conversation again.

A few minutes later, the cameraman gave the okay to start shooting, making the rest of the set settle down. Joel still smoked his cigarette, so you took it upon yourself to be a good assistant and walk over to him with an ashtray.

A smile spread across Joel’s face when he saw you approach. His arm came up to rest over the back of the couch, his body opening to you with curiosity. You gave him a small smile in return, presenting the ashtray to him with a teasing raise of your eyebrow.

“Just ‘nother drag, sweetheart,” he teased, placing his cigarette back between his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, stealing his cigarette from his mouth with two pinched fingers.

The rest of the smoke in his lungs came out in small chuckles, his hands gathering in his lap as he leaned slightly towards you, moony eyes watching you. He was about to say something before,

“Quiet on set,” the cameraman interrupted with a shout.

You wanted to do something. Cup his cheek, kiss him, anything to just touch him, but you couldn’t. You needed to keep it professional. Instead, you gave him another small smile before you walked back to your previous spot in the corner.

“And… action!”

With the shout of the cameraman, the film was rolling, and the shoot had started.

Leaning against the wall again, you crossed your arms over your chest as you watched Cheryl sink to her knees between Joel’s spread legs. On her lips she wore an innocent pout while her hands caressed his thighs.

“Wanna put my mouth on it,” she said in a sweet voice.

“Yeah, baby? What do you want in your pretty little mouth?” Joel’s voice was deep and coaxing, his hand cupping Cheryl’s chin where his thumb ghosted over her skin.

Cheryl tilted her face down slightly, eyes big and wide as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“Your cock, sir,” she pouted.

You still didn’t know much of the plot to the porno they were shooting, but it was clear that they were going in a specific direction. It wasn’t unusual for Joel to slip into a more dominant character in the pornos he played in, but this new element of innocence from his scene partner wasn’t something he often did.

“You want me to teach you how to suck cock like a proper whore, sweet girl?”

Sweet girl.

You watched how Cheryl’s head nodded in his palm, teeth catching on her bottom lip, and a wicked smile tugged at the corners of Joel’s mouth. It made you shift your weight, arms tightening around your body.

“Alright…” Joel’s thumb ghosted over her bottom lip, “Take my cock out,” he ordered, pulling his hand away.

Cheryl obediently did as he said, her hands messing with the buttons on his jeans. Joel wasn’t wearing anything underneath – it was easier that way, he’d told you earlier in his trailer. Cheryl gasped as Joel’s hard cock sprung free. Her eyes wide as she watched how his cock slapped against his lower stomach.

“’s big isn’t it, sweet girl?”

Again.

Your teeth caught on your bottom lip, pulling at the loose skin with a burning ache.

“So big, sir,” Cheryl agreed, nodding her head.

“Too big for your little mouth, sweetheart?” Joel teased, taking himself in his hand, pulling gentle strokes up and down.

Cheryl shook her head again, “No, sir! I can take it!”

Joel huffed out a laugh at that, his grin growing wider. “Yes, you can, slut.”

His degrading words pulled a moan from Cheryl, and not a second later her mouth was on him. Joel laughed again, another huffing chuckle leaving him as his heavy hand came to rest at the top of her head, guiding her down on him.

“That’s it, slut, suck that big cock– take it all the way down that whore throat,” he encouraged, head tipping back in pleasure. The wet sounds echoing through the room were obscene, pornographic. Sticky strings of spit clung to Cheryl’s chin and dripped down to her breasts where she’d tugged at the V of her neckline to expose them.

“Feels so good, my sweet girl– just like that,” Joel moaned, eyes squeezed shut with a look of pleasure coating his features like he’d ascended to heaven.

My sweet girl.

The room spun, and you pressed your back harder against the wall, like it would fall down over you if you didn’t press up against it. Or maybe it was you who would cave in.

That pet name. That fucking pet name.

You needed to step out if you wanted to breathe, your throat tightening up as your thoughts drifted; to this morning in your bed and then again in the shower, to the two of you in that motel bed, to Joel’s hand on your knee as he’d knelt in front of you by the pool in Pismo Beach. Burning tears pressed behind your eyelids. You couldn’t watch any more, couldn’t hear any more, you couldn’t.

As quietly as you could you stepped out of the set. Your eyes pinched together in a squint as the hot LA afternoon sun blazed down on you. The air hot and stuffy, but not as suffocating as you felt inside.

Why did you feel this way? Jealous of another woman?

Joel wasn’t your boyfriend… at least not in so many words, but after Pismo Beach and his confession, he felt like yours. Someone you can’t help but fall in love with. That’s what he’d told you.

You couldn’t keep your thoughts from spiraling. Fall in love with? How could he be in love with you? You’d only had sex twice, never been on a proper date. You didn’t know who he was outside work. His touch and his kisses felt good, but how could you know if it was more than that – more than just something physical. He’d never called you his girlfriend. Why did you have any right to be upset right now?

This was his job. You knew that before you got involved with him. It wasn’t a problem for you, you’d told him so in the job interview. You’d spoken the truth at the time, but now you weren’t so sure.

Numbed by your realization, you stepped back inside. The scene you were met with only affirmed your thoughts.

You couldn’t give him what he wanted.

They’d moved positions. Cheryl’s head hung off the armrest, perfect boobs bouncing beneath Joel as he fucked her throat. It was lewd, and dirty and plain vulgar. With every thrust of his hips Joel earned himself a quiet gag. Under him, her body was completely at his mercy. He pulled back every once in a while, to let her breath, before plunging his hard cock back down her throat. Ropes of bubbling spit escaped her mouth and ran down her face.

Joel was completely in control, using her throat purely for his own pleasure. Groans and moans spilled from his lips in between filthy praises and ‘good girl’’s. Cheryl’s body squirmed under him, her hand rubbing quickly at her clit under her dress, edging herself towards her orgasm.

This is what Joel wanted. Someone like Cheryl– someone who was confident and skilled, someone who knew what she was doing.

You watched Joel’s thrusts turn sloppy, and that now familiar pinch in his brow let you know he was about to bust his load. With a quick motion he jerked his cock back, taking his throbbing and sensitive cock in hand, fisting himself quickly. Cheryl gasped for air, before she withered with her orgasm.

Joel groaned louder than you’d ever heard him before, his eyes flicking up from Cheryl’s squirming body to find yours. A smile spread across his face then, and then he was spilling over his knuckles and painting Cheryl’s face with his release.

“Shit,” Joel panted, coming down. His hand squeezed the last few drops of his cum out of his cock and onto Cheryl’s tongue.

“Aaaand– cut,” the camera man yelled.

Joel dropped the act immediately, stepping away from a ruined Cheryl as his cock went soft in his hand.

“Shit,” Cheryl groaned, wiping some of the mix of spit and Joel’s cum from her face.

“You okay?” Joel asked, tender hands helping her sit upright.

Cheryl giggled sweetly, big smile blossoming over her features, “Okay? More than okay, Joel– fucking amazing.”

As the gentle lover you knew him to be, Joel helped Cheryl clean up her face after getting handed a towel, but not before assessing the picture he’d painted– which wasn’t much, not compared the cumshots he usually gave out.  

“If I knew I’d be filmin’ today I wouldn’t have jerked of this morning,” he laughed, wiping her face.

It wasn’t funny.

part three -> here

i hope this was okay? and that you liked this! <3 as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Lonely Christmas

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

summary: Lando and Y/N decide that they want to play a prank on their fans and the rest of the grid by hinting at breaking up over X (twitter)

warnings: Cursing & “Cheating”

F1 Masterlist

“hey babe, I have an idea.” I said with a smirk as I plopped myself on the bed next to my Formula 1 race winner boyfriend, Lando Norris.

“Oh no, this doesn’t sound good” Lando says chuckling as he props himself on his elbow to get a better view of me, before leaning down pressing a quick kiss to my lips

“mm, I think we should prank your fans and the grid.” I said with the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled in my life.

“and how do you suppose we do that, hmm?” Lando said, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips.

Sitting up and criss cross apple sauce, I stare into his soul “I think we should stage a twitter breakup,” I searched his face for some type of answer

“What? Is this a way of telling me you want to breakup without telling me you want to breakup?” He looks kinda hurt, which quickly prompts me to swing my legs over his body so i’m sitting on his lower torso.

“Absolutely not baby! i love you beyond the galaxy. I just think this would be funny,” i plead but Lando looks unsure “I’ll tell you what to say and all !”

“fine, but only if you let me eat you out, BUT you have to sit on my face” Lando knows I’m insecure about my weight and crushing him to death.

“oh! fine!!” I say plopping right off his body and landing on the bed with a huff. “so i’m gonna tweet something to indicate that we’re breaking up but not actually saying anything”

“and how are you gonna do that-” I quickly interrupt him

“make me cry” i say nonchalantly

“what?” Lando’s face reads 50 shades of Stunned “no, I promised you and your family that the one thing i’d NEVER do to you is make you cry.”

Hearing Lando admit that means the world to me, but i need him to stop being nice and make me cry. It doesn’t take much for me to cry and since Lando doesn’t want to make me cry, I’ll resort to the next best thing: thinking of my (very much alive) dog die.

Just a few seconds of thinking of my (breed/dog) die, the tears well up in my eyes and I let out a choked sob, before whipping my phone out and taking a picture before posting it on twitter with the caption

"nobody wants a lonely Christmas but I'm about to call it quits with you. Breaking up is at the top of my wishlist and baby you don't have a clue."

I flip my phone to show Lando with a smirk plastered on my face. "So, what'd ya think?" I question as I post it and wait a few seconds before twitter starts going absolutely nuts. " wait wait let me read you some of the comments I'm getting, 'slut4ln' says 'NO MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP FIGHTING' haha look, here's another 'mother/n' said 'mother always knows wtf is up, Lando Norris count your days' !!" the chuckles leaving my lips are loud

"I think that I don't know how to respond to that on twitter," Lando says with a faint chuckle "here, how about you take my phone, type out what you want me to say and then let me read it before posting it." a smirk evident on his face as he hands me his phone, before putting said hand on my thigh, rubbing it up and down.

"What about this...?" I question as I'm typing

"You say our relationships fading and you've been thinking bout leaving and though I know it's the truth I just don't want to believe it. You've gotta be kidding me, are we really breaking up? We just picked out a tree, damn."

"Okay Y/N/N lets give it a second to spread, we have to get juicy comments before we keep going, oh. never mind. George is texting me asking me what the fuck I did and why am I arguing twitter about it"

"fuck it, ignore him. we need to make this believable." I say swiping George's message away. "Opinion on this?"

"wait wait, let me tweet something else before you tweet y/n/n. Here, read this"

"You haven't even left yet and I miss you. I was looking forward to the holidays with you. How could you do this on Christmas, girl that's so malicious? C'mon baby, please don't make me beg cause I can go and date your friend instead. Yeah, I'll put the nut in meg. But If you're thinking about leaving, then I already blew it. screw it, then I guess I'll have to beat you to it, bitch."

"OKAYYYY LANDOOOO LET ME STEP UP MY GAME!!!" I scream as I finished reading his reply after he hit tweet bouncing up and down on the bed in excitement.

"okay, okay what about this for me?" I question as I finish typing, turning my phone so Lando can read what I typed.

"I tell you I love you but I don't really mean it, cause after this Christmas sorry but I'm leaving you."

"I'm starting to feel like you're just soft launching a break up with us right now" Lando says "Why else would you gave suggested a fake twitter break up?"

"Baby, please. This is just for shits and giggles. AHH OH MY GOSH!! OSCAR'S CALLING ME" I screamed in panic as I declined the call. "Lando, I think you need to eat me up in the twitter beef again, put your pretty head to work and think of some insults for me."

"I'm almost done, but first I got a question. Why is it one week before Christmas you feel the need to mention a break up with me is in the process but still pending? Is it depending on your gift and what I'm spending? Or are you fishing for more compliments? Because to my astonishment, you're acting like little kid. Was it something I said?Sometimes my head stops thinking, when I say some stupid shit to you, you know I don't mean it, it's just the season, it's confusing, can we just get along?"

"LANDO MY COMMENTS ARE GOING CRAZYYYY! LOOK" I giggle in excitement as I flip my phone so he can scroll through the comments

slut4ln: MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP! CHRISTMAS IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER AND I CAN'T DEAL WITH A DIVORCE RN

georgeswhore: I wake up from a nap to SEE THESE?!?!?!?!

leclercsgf: What the absolute fuck did they fight about that THEYRE BEEFING ON TWITTER FOR AND AIRING OUT A POTENTIAL BREAKUP???

>y/nforpresident: potential? honey I think they are done

Landoslefttoe: Lando kinda ate mom up though 😭😭

LewisHamilton: Answer your fucking phones now!

CharlesLeclerc: LANDO?? YOU CALL YOUR GIRLFRIEND "BITCH"??

CarlosSainz: Cabron, call me asap and fill me in

LoganSargeant: Does this mean I actually have a chance with Y/n?

"I'm choosing to ignore Logan's comment," Lando said flipping my phone back so I could read it. "When are we gonna go public and say it was a prank?" Lando asks as he readjusts himself on the bed, pulling me down and closer to him so we're cuddling

"We can tell them all tomorrow" I yawn as I cuddle closer to my boyfriend "goodnight handsome"

"Goodnight precious" lando whispers as he kisses my temple

<333333

idk what this is but 🎀😗

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSesvRpKqBaYY-Ow5IgHoD0gSX6OzJ03qGMXOhHUI6Xg1wfKaA/viewform.

[loaksky]

— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I’m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

neng © 2023

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

-

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

-

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

-

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.   

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

-

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: another week...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

When Bucky leaves, you feel less than relief. It’s easier to breathe without him around but your heart continues to race. You don’t move until you see him drive away. You steel yourself with the manufactured lie before you go back inside. 

As you do, you’re surprised to find Roxie beside your mom, both of them close to the front window. You sigh. Were they watching? You guess you can be thankful Bucky hadn’t done more than talk. 

Your mom faces you with a sheepish grin, “so... did you get it?” 

You look between her and your sister. Roxie has her phone in hand and an arch in her eyebrow, “I’d die for a boss like that.” 

“I...” you glance the screen before she can hide it. Oh. She had a picture of him pulled up on Google. So, they both know exactly who he is. 

“He must be really hands on if he came all the way down here to offer you a job,” Roxie tilts her head. 

“That’s the sign of a good boss,” your mom insists.  

“Really, I think his eyes were the kicker. So blue.” 

“Rox,” your mom nudges her. “A man like him, he’s got line ups, I’m sure. Besides, she’s too young for him.” 

“Well, I’m older,” Roxie smirks, “maybe she can get me a job too.” 

“Er, uh,” you wring your hands, “I should start dinner.” 

“You didn’t say if you go the job,” Roxie challenges. 

“Yeah,” you utter softly, “I got a job. Just cleaning.” 

“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” you mom assures as she comes to you. She puts her hands on your shoulders, “I’m so proud of you.” 

“Mom,” you try not to look pained as you return her smile, “it’s nothing. Really. A cleaner.” 

“We all gotta start somewhere.” 

“Yeah,” Roxie scoffs, “most of us a lot sooner.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” your mom lets you go to spin on your sister, “don’t rain on her parade.” 

“Whatever. I’d rather hand out flyers than clean toilets,” she rolls her eyes. 

You purse your lips and shy away. You feel worse that they believe you so easily and why wouldn’t they? No one would think that someone like you would merit such a preposterous offer from a man like Bucky. You still can’t really believe it. 

Maybe it’s just some twisted hallucination. You could wake up tomorrow and be just like you were before. You never thought you would long for that but now, being alone, being the loser, that feels safe. Being noticed, being someone, that’s terrifying. 

🃏

You take your time making dinner, a brief escape from reality. The distraction keeps you busy enough that your chest stops thrumming, yet your nerves are still spastic. You’re not very hungry once it’s done but you make yourself eat. 

Roxie heads off for work shortly after you gather up the dirty dishes and your mom goes to change into her pajamas. She startles you as you scour the pan you used to bake the chicken. You splash yourself and hiss. 

“Sorry, hon, I was just coming to check on you,” she leans against the counter, “you’re nervous, aren’t you?” 

You shrug, to fraught to answer. 

“You get restless, I can tell. You do everything just to keep from fidgeting,” she says, “it’s going to be okay. You’ll be just fine and you’ll see, it’ll be nice to have your own money.” 

“I know, mom,” you murmur, turning your face down to the sink, “it’s not that I don’t want to work, I just... I guess it’s the change that freaks me out.” 

“Change is good, even if it’s scary,” she says. “You’ll see.” 

“Mm,” you hum and try not to shatter, “I just want to help out.” 

“Hon, you worry about yourself. Please--” 

“No, I owe you.” 

“Owe me? I’m your mother. I just wish I could give you more,” she smiles and squeezes your arm. “If you’re not some busy working girl, we’ll celebrate on my day off.” 

“Sure,” you accept grimly. 

She leaves you and you’re silent as you finish up the dishes. You put them away and wipe the counters. When you finish, you shut off the lights. You say good night from the doorway and retreat into your room. Tomorrow. That’s all he said. That’s the only detail you go before he strolled off. 

You grab your phone and fall back on your bed. All you want is to lose yourself in a fic or a discussion board or even just scrolling mindlessly. You can’t. It’s like he’s taking over everything. There it is, that little icon you rarely see, a new message.  

You pull down the menu and stare at the preview. Two hours ago. You’re surprised he didn’t show up to check why you hadn’t answered. Again. You will at least need to send something before the night is over. 

‘Hey doll. I’ll send a car tomorrow morning at nine. Just bring yourself.’ 

You shudder and stare at the blue bubble around the text. Oof. Nine? That’s early for you. You suppose it’s about time you break that bad habit. 

‘Sorry. I was making dinner. Nine is good. Thank you.’ 

You hit send and put your phone down. You slide your laptop across the bed and open it up. You’ll watch something. That old BBC drama you found on the free streaming service has been pretty interesting, but you think you only have one episode left. That’s good, you can’t be up all night. 

Your phone buzzes. Shoot. Alright. You can do this. You have to get to it. You swipe up your phone again, surprised to find it’s still shaking.

Oh no. He’s calling! 

You panic and nearly hit decline before you manage to drag your thumb the other way. You put the phone to your ear, unable to muster even a squeak. What do you say? 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice drawls from the speaker, “hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.” 

“No, er, we’re done.” 

“Ah, and are you alone?” 

You frown, “yes?” 

“Good, good. Isn’t that sweet of you, cooking dinner for your family. That’s what I like about you. You take care of those you love.” 

You gulp. You don’t know what to say. 

“What was for dinner?” He asks as you hear a soft rustle. 

“Um, chicken and potatoes,” you answer bluntly. It’s an easy question. 

“You’re not busy or something?” He wonders. 

“Uh uh,” you shake your head even though he can’t see, “I’m just... in bed.” 

“Early night, huh?” He asks. 

“I guess, I was going to watch a show.” 

“Right, right,” he clicks his tongue as something taps followed by other indiscernible movements, “you in your pajamas? Bet those are cute?” 

“Not... yet,” you croak. 

“Mmm,” he purrs, “I just got out of the shower.” 

“You... did?” 

“Getting ready for tomorrow,” he explains, “gotta admit, I’m a bit impatient. You’ll see that about me, doll. When I want something, it’s hard to wait.” 

“Uh, oh...” you stutter out. 

“For you, I can,” he vows, “doll, do me a favour.” 

“A favour?” You echo thinly. 

“Mmm, yeah, I want you to get in your pajamas and send me a picture. Just to tide me over,” he coaxes. 

“A picture?” You open your eyes wide and gape at the wall. 

“Sure, just a taste. I wanna know what I should imagine next to me when I lay down.” 

“What?” You squeak, shocked by his insinuation. Imagining you?! 

“I can’t help myself. It’s lonely here.” 

“I...” you pick at your lower lip, “one sec. I... I gotta...” 

You put the phone on the bed and push yourself off the mattress. You trip on your own feet and hope he can’t hear you stumbling around. Your pajamas are kind of silly. You don’t really have any sexy ones. Maybe if he sees them, he’ll change his mind. 

The only matching pair you have have snoopy on the top and a large check bottom on the pants. You fish them out and change. It’s okay. He can’t see you at that moment. Still, it feels like he is watching you. Just as his presence has lurked around you all day. 

You go back to your phone and fumble around, “sorry, I... just... figuring out the camera.” 

You hear his timbre but can’t make out his words from the small speaker. You open the camera app and flip the camera. You move around, trying to take the pic, and lean the phone on the top of your dress. You angle it and mutter to yourself as you struggle to set the timer. 

You take several pictures before you’re not entirely discontent. You look awkward in all of them. The pants, like all your pants, are too long and gather around your feet. You don’t know how to pose either. Quite frankly, you look frightened in every single one. 

“Alright, I think...” you babble and find your way into the conversation and choose the least egregious frame. You hesitate and close your eyes as you push your thumb down on the arrow. 

You bring the phone back to your ear, “are you still there?” 

“Always, doll,” he assures and once more, the phone shifts around noisily. “Mm, Snoopy? I like it. More of a Woodstock myself but... Mm mm mm, you look good.” He pauses as you wriggle and your cheeks burn hotly. “Sexy.” 

“No,” you burst out without thinking. 

“No? You don’t think I’m telling the truth?” 

“I didn’t... say so, it’s... just pajamas,” you sniff, “sorry, I didn’t mean to argue.” 

“Doll, relax. Thing about you, you don’t even have to try.” 

You don’t reply. You have no idea what to say or even if you should believe him. You saw the picture, you look in the mirror every day, you know what you are. It still feels like some weird game. 

“Here, gimme a sec,” he says from his end. 

More rustling and the noise of a digital shutter. Your phone vibes shortly and you pull it away from your cheek. You squint at the screen as it lights up and an image buffers in the conversation. 

“Huh, uh, it’s not loading. My phone is--” you nearly swallow your tongue and gasp. 

Oh gosh. It’s a picture of him in almost nothing. Just a towel. His long hair is damp and pushed back and his dark beard contrasts his bright blue eyes as he aims the lens of his phone at himself in the mirror. His stomach is ridged with muscle, his chest trimmed with hair that trails down, and the towel hangs low, giving a generous hint of his pelvis. The vee above the fabric feels overly salacious. 

“Doll?” You hear the low tone of his voice and make yourself look away. You raise the phone again to your ear. “Everything okay? You got really quiet.” 

“I...” 

“You like what you see?” He asks coyly. 

You put your hand to your forehead, your flesh is fiery. It’s so much so fast. Just that morning, you’d convinced yourself you would never see or talk to him again. And now he’s sending you pictures like that and... flirting with you? 

“Yes,” you eke out then cover your mouth. He snickers and you clear your throat before you peel your hand away, “sorry, I mean... you’re... you... you must work out.” 

“Doll, you’re too adorable,” he says. 

You don’t say a word. You’re mortified. He knew you saw that. He knows you’ve seen him like that. He sent it! 

It’s all too much. You’re lightheaded. You rub your chin and shiver. 

“I should... sleep.” 

“Mm, me too,” he says, “hopefully I dream of you.” 

You giggle nervously, “really?” 

“Sure, doll. All I can do is dream. Until tomorrow,” he sighs, “and what about you? You gonna dream about me?” 

You squeak and stammer, “I... I... I...” 

He laughs again, “you really are so cute in those pajamas.” 

“Please,” you blurt out, “delete it.” 

“Now, why would I do that?” He challenges. 

“I don’t... know.” 

“I love it,” he insists, “you’re not deleting mine, are you?” 

“N-no, no, I’ll keep it.” 

“Hm, good,” he intones, “it’s all for you so don’t you go showing me off to all your friends.” 

It’s your turn to laugh. “Promise, I won’t.” If only he knew you don’t have any friends to show. 

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Daisies and Talks

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Hi lovelies! Lia here and I know this pic is a bit misleading but I SWEAR on you that Simon doesn't die in this one, IT'S A HAPPY STORY OKAY. I was debating on making this a part two of Ghostie's parents progressed and though you're free to think that, I thought it would be much cuter to leave this to stay as a story on it's own.

Ghost's mum plays a big role in this one though so if you're not very comfortable with mentions of death or anything then I suggest leaving this one out and skipping. Two posts in one week? Are y'all lucky or am I just emptying my drafts? Y'all will never know.. AHAHAHA.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld

I'd like to think that everyone is familiar with the saying "You never know what you have until you lose it", many of us having it said during childhood but you never truly experience that till your older right? Wrong, that couldn't be more wrong for a man like Simon Riley, the man who lost it all at a young age, no one left to care for him but himself.

He always used to hear that from his mother, over some the toys she used to make for him that he cherished and loved so much as a kid. Simon knew his family wasn't up their with the middle class but he also knew they weren't exactly poor, though his father might prove that wrong with how much he's driving the family into debt.

Due to this, Simon always taught himself never to get attached to another person though he tried working on it, he doesn't know what he'd do if he does. That was before you came along skipping your way into his frail heart, making all the walls her built crumble with just a few words and a soft stare, someone who was patient enough to stay.

Simon can't let you go, he took that saying that his mother used to chant and took it to heart. He didn't need to lose you to know you were so fucking important, like that the man held onto everything that you were.

Cherishing moments with you although sometimes wishing his mother could see you. He wanted his mom to know that he found that person that only is in fairy tales she used to read him to at night. Maybe you were sent by her, that's it right?

Because all Simon could think about staring at your face while you sleep next to him was "how?". How were you able to wiggle your way into his heart so easily? You make him feel so alive and full, sometimes it causes him to be self-destructive, starting fights simply because he doesn't think he deserves you but you were so patient, holding him as if he was the whole world after every fight.

Because of you, that part of Simon slowly disappeared, knowing that he should change his ways because you deserved better. They say there's one moment in someone's life where you know for sure that, that is the person you want to spend your life with. Do you wanna know what that moment was for Simon?

Every death anniversary of Simon's mother, he visits that grave, sometimes a little later than usual. You've been in a relationship with this man for a little over a year now and to say you've grown attached to that man like he did to you was an understatement. He saw you there, leaving flowers.. Daisies in particular, he told you those were her favorite.

You sat next to the grave, absentmindedly staring up at the sky, it was beautiful out that day. You talked to yourself, more like his mother really, greeting her quite casually as if you've talked to her before. Simon at first found it a bit odd, though he did tell you everything regarding where his mom was buried and dates when he'd visit her.

You've been doing this secretly for at least once a month for a couple now, not having the heart to tell Simon but it just so happens that he was a little earlier there than he usually does go. He hid himself behind among other things surrounding the grave, listening to the conversation you've been having with his mother's tomb stone.

"He's been doing better now.. I'm sure you're so proud of him because am I, I know you're watching over him and I promise to do my best to make Simon happy and make sure he's cared for, he deserves all that and so much more"

Simon listened, on and on as you continue telling his mother updates on his life and how he's been doing. He put two and two together slowly realizing that you've been visiting her grave for a while now.

"Thank you, if it weren't for you then I wouldn't have Simon. My Simon.. someday I'll help him create the life you'd want for us, I know he'd just say that you would want what we want and I know that for a fact. I wish you were here, I would've loved for you to see Simon smile again."

You looked back at the grave. "You know Mrs. Riley, I feel safe here, are you the one doing that?" Smiling as you looked up and rested your eyes a little.

You leaned back a bit with a satisfied sigh hum after a deep breath, Simon's deep voice making you jolt up, "You know she'd want you to call her mom right? Or at least Ma Riley is what the other kids who she practically adopted in the neighborhood call her" he walked out from wherever he was hiding himself.

"Simon I-" You were cut off by seeing the tears running down his eyes, you stood up from where you were sitting, not bothering to dust off your backside that probably had grass stuck to your clothes.

You immediately wrap your arms around your boyfriend and gave him a tight squeeze, letting go only to cup his face in your hands and wipe his tears with your thumb, Simon leaned his forehead on yours, looking at your eyes with his teary ones.

"Oh Simon, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done this without asking for your permission. God I'm so stupid, you hate me now, don't you—" Before you could even continue what you were saying, Simon cut you off with his shushing, pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You knew it must've meant a lot to him, he didn't have enough words to describe how grateful he was for you. Unbeknownst to you, whenever Simon did talk to his mother, he'd always find himself worming to you somehow.

One of the reasons he had brought the ring between his fingers at that very moment, coming to ask his mother's grave for guidance on how he's going to do it..

[handsometheo]

The Misadventures of Tiny Sukuna.

Character/s: Plushie! Ryomen Sukuna, Human Reader

Warnings: None just something stupid. Idk sukuna gets a bit pissy I guess.

A/n: This is based around the idea of my mine sukuna plush I bought the other day. I'm thinking of making multiple parts but idk, I think they'll go on Ko-fi if there's more parts to this madness.

Masterlist

Ko-fi

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

He is so cute.

You saw him in a shop and just HAD to get him.

Without much thought, you snatch up the mini King of Curses plush before other people can even try. That kid was eyeing him up, you didn't appreciate that

After purchasing the little plush you notice something strange. It blinked.

Or at least you thought it did.

It's smile changed to a grin as it suddenly seemed a whole lot less plush and a whole lot more real. Well, as real as the messed up proportions of a now ex-plushie can be.

Nothing is said as you rush home, but the tiny Sukuna smiles up at you menacingly.

Placing him on the kitchen counter flat on his back to make sure it's not a hallucination that's lasted longer than it should have. You seriously need to fix that sleep schedule if this is the kind of stuff you see.

He gets up and glares at you, your jaw dropping as you watch his small nubs of hands push him up.

"How are you alive?" You look around the room almost expecting another item to come to life but nothing does and he just stares up at me.

"I am not sure. I'm not too happy about it though. This size is not... Favorable."

"You're so cute and tiny."

"Die."

"Guess you're stuck with me."

"I cannot wait for the day I can kill you."

Isn't he just a sweetheart...

He begins to waddle over the counter observing the large world around him. Clearly not observant enough though.

He let's out a yell as he falls into the sink. He just stays there stunned for a moment before glaring at me, "Pick me up!"

"Why should I?" you smirk at him, "you told me to die and that you want to kill me, so please tell me why I should bother. Asshat."

He looks offended but doesn't reprimand you, "fine, you can be my servant and I won't kill you once I find a way out of this form. How does that sound?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, "better than nothing."

You both know who holds the real power here anyway. Or at least you do, Sukuna is still in shock from the fall I think.

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

I told u it was dumb, but it's also a fun idea. I love just posting sill things like this.

[freelancearsonist]

so scarlet, it was...

➔ post-outbreak Joel Miller x afab!Reader - series masterlist

➔ 1.3k words

➔ “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

➔ Rated MA for dark fic kinda, a/b/o themes (alpha joel, omega reader), established... situationship? i guess, pregnancy/contemplation of termination, contemplation of self harm, reader is not in a good headspace. one instance of vomiting, joel is not very nice, this fic in general is not very nice. takes place three years post outbreak. [please let me know if i missed any warnings so i can add them in :)]

➔ thank you so much to my darling @bitchwitch1981 for the prompt, i'm so sorry this is probably very much not what you wanted 🤣 extra special thank you to @perotovar for making this wonderful joel gif for me, if ur reading this ily <3

You’ve never actually used one of these things before. You’ve only read about them in books or seen them in movies from years ago, and they’ve only ever been an object of abject horror.

You understand why now, looking down at those two little lines on the stick cradled in your hand. You’ve never been quite so terrified in your life.

You never should’ve pocketed this test when you found it in that miraculously untouched drug store. You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. Better yet, you should’ve been more careful. Three years of living like this has been more than enough to make you firm in your decision to never bring life into this broken world. This isn’t a place for a child, this is barely even a place for you. Every day is a fight, every waking moment is a nightmare. But you’ve been so careless with him and now it’s all crashing down, this blissful bubble where you can pretend that everything might be okay because you have the pack and, more importantly, him. 

You won’t have him for much longer when he finds out about this.

You wonder what it’ll take to right this wrong before he finds out about it. It must be pretty early, so maybe it won’t take much to reverse it. Maybe all you’ll have to do is bump into something just right, or trip over the right log.

The thought makes you sick–more stomach bile than anything else coming up because you’ve hardly had more to eat than stale beef jerky and some precarious berries in the past few days. Resources have been so slim; another reason this can’t be happening. You hardly have enough to tide you over, much less a child. And it’ll be even worse once the pack abandons you.

You bury yourself into the haphazard nest of blankets and his worn clothes, letting the heavy, musky scent of him soothe your wracking sobs. 

Maybe you should just accept your fate now, sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack. Everyone is going to die eventually, after all–sooner rather than later in this world. You’ve only been postponing the inevitable. They never have to know why you do it, and it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Two, technically, but they’ll never have to know that. He won’t even really miss you, it’ll be one less burden on his hands. On all of their hands.

You don’t hear them return early from scavenging–maybe because the volume of your own sobs drowns out any other noise. Or maybe because he can sense something is wrong as he enters the run-down little shack you’ve been holed up in for the past few weeks, and he softens his approach because of it.

Joel has never been quite as tender as he is when he takes you into his arms, pulling your face out of the pile of fabric to wipe at your tear-streaked cheeks.

“My omega, shhhh, I’m here. It’s okay,” he murmurs, wrapping you into his big, strong, safe arms. He doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks you had a nightmare, or you just missed him, or a million other things except the truth. But he doesn’t know, and you know he doesn’t know because you feel the moment he connects the dots. His eyes drop to the little white stick clutched tightly in your fist and his entire body stiffens like a board. Suddenly there’s no more warmth or comfort to his touch, nothing soothing about the pheromones drifting from him. He pulls away like you’re infected, and maybe you are. Maybe the thing that’s taken root in you is worse than cordyceps could ever hope to be.

You’ve never been terrified of him before. Joel is dark and brooding and imposing, but he’s only ever fought to protect you. His omega, who wormed their way under his skin despite him fighting it every step of the way. His omega, who’s been the only source of anything remotely close to comfort he’s had since outbreak day. His omega, who’s given him purpose in this dark world.

His omega, who’s betrayed him in such an unforgivable way.

“What the fuck.” There’s nothing but venom in his tone–he looks at you with pure disgust and your resolve crumbles.

Maybe there was a little, tiny, miniscule part of you that hoped it would be different. That he would be excited to be a father, or at least be understanding. But that hope dies so suddenly when you look up into his scowling face. He towers over you, dark eyes flashing with anger, and for the first time since you met him two long years ago you’re scared.

“You were supposed to be careful.” His voice rises further and further with each syllable, as if this isn’t partially his fault too. As if he wasn’t the one in such an uncontrollable rut last month that he kept you in bed all week, losing the willpower required to pull out with each powerful thrust of his hips. As if it isn’t his seed blooming in your womb as you speak.

“What do we do now, huh?” He growls, eyes darkening, fists clenching at his sides. “I’ve fucking marked you, I can’t turn you loose! And we barely make it by as we are! How the fuck are we supposed to handle this?”

He rants for what seems like hours and you flinch with every booming word, curling tighter around yourself in a desperate attempt to simply disappear; to not have to deal with this any more because your heart shatters with each irreversible word he throws at you. You shrink and shrink and shrink in hopes of vanishing because this is undoable. No matter what happens, nothing will ever go back to the way it was and that’s the knowledge that crushes you completely.

Your voice is so small when he finally quiets enough for you to speak. “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

Joel stops in his tracks, white knuckles unclenching for the first time in minutes. He sees the fear and regret in your eyes, and he almost lets it soften him. He loathes himself for this look on your face–for making you scared of him.

His omega. So small and fragile, curled in a pile of his clothes because his scent brings you comfort. He’s dedicated two years of his time and effort to keeping you safe and comfortable, if not happy. He’s supposed to protect you, not hurt you. He’s supposed to give you children and raise them with you, be a family with you. That’s what being your alpha means, and he has so sorely failed you. 

But he knows he can never do that again. That’s never what this was supposed to be. He didn’t mark you out of anything but necessity–if he had let your uncontrolled scent waft every time you went into heat, every alpha in the country would be targeting your little pack of four. You’re his omega out of biological necessity–a warm hole to fill when his rut threatens to tear already strenuous ties with his brother and Tess. That’s what he tells himself because the alternative is so startlingly incomprehensible that he won’t allow himself to even consider the fact that he might care about you; that the urge to care for you and protect you is more than primal, biological instinct; that you mean more to him than anyone ever has.

Not just his omega now, but his mate. His unborn child is growing and growing and growing with each passing second inside your womb and he’s powerless to stop it.

“We’re thirty-seven miles from the Boston QZ,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “We leave at first light.”

You don’t get a chance to argue or plead your case before the door slams shut behind him. 

➔ beta: @beskarandblasters and @fhatbhabie

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics

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[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (14) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n wait wait let him cook (imola)

masterlist | last part | part 14 | next part

INSTAGRAM

oscar piastri just posted to their story

TIKTOK

comments

FOLLOW UP QUESTION, WHICH RACE ????

something about a formula 1 driver and a rockstar having like the most normal story of meeting is hilarious

"took me a while to actually start dating her" i'm deadddd, u pulled her in the end tho bro

best relationship on the grid, i would die for them

didn't win the race but won her number, u have ur priorities straight

y'all gas her up too much it's not like she's that big a deal 💀 ↳ she's at least ten times more famous let's be fr for a sec, most of the world doesn't know what f1 is but they've probably heard one of lina's songs on the radio

REDDIT

r/EmptyBottles · Posted by u/luckyluna9364 1 mo. ago Lina x Oscar Timeline [read new comments]

fantstic013 · 12 hr. ago reviving this post bc of oscar's tiktok; they met at a race, which race??? when did lina attend a race?? whatthekermitdid · 11 hr. ago her f1 race debut (her words, not mine) was literally suzuka last month so i'm just as confused niaphilia283 · 11 hr. ago she might have done it behind the public's back. i think we all know that lina is only seen when she wants to be seen; we basically only saw her at scheduled events for the entirety of 2020-2023 like where was she even? what was she doing?

luckyluna9364 OP · 3 hr. ago ppl out there scrambling wondering which race but it has to at least be from the 2023 season bc i bet my whole life savings that their talking period was like 3 months so the new proposed meeting is like... abu dhabi grand prix (at the very least) which was back in december 2023

TWITTER

emme @flowersforcami · 4h still not over last night's show... the shit was phenomenal, it the cherry on top ↳ amie <3 @mieflrs · 4h i don't think we acknowledge how masochistic t*mmy must be to follow lina around europe and enduring those 2 hour shows where almost every song is the biggest middle finger to your existance; personally, if a song like aconite was written about me, i'd just never show my face again

kayla @luna_apocolypse · 5h oscar's story??? sir are you talking about the actual view or the stunning woman on the balcony?? it's important that i know

president linami @ linaminami · 6h 24 days since lina's posted on any of her socials... i can't believe i miss her unserious ass so much 🥲

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 33m "oscar could do so much better" respectfully how do you get better than selina fucking bui? ↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 33m "he should be with someone like him" she's australian, she's born in 2001, she's got cat energy, she loves sleeping and chocolate, she's slightly unhinged, she's known as a prodigy in her field, she keeps down low and most importantly, she's hot as shit, what more do you want

piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h he called her his lucky charm 🥺 i love them so much 😭 ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h wait lina?? where's this from?? i have terrible signal and no videos are loading ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h it's from a video of them entering the paddock, someone asked him what's its like to have her at a race again and he grinned and said she's his lucky charm ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h WAIT NO THEY'RE SO CUTE I CAN'T

MESSAGES

from the phone of oscar piastri

TWITTER

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 4h WE'RE SO BACKKKKK

↳ piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 4h that lucky charm must be working 👀

pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 34m OSCAR PIASTRI P2 START YES YES YES

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 21m oh he was not kidding when he said she was his lucky charm ↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 20m i'll have whatever he's having bc he was like a cat on steroids

jess @OPIXSTRI · 28m we were so close to a maiden pole why is it always a fucking haas ruining everything

Jonny @EB_jonno · 32m @ OscarPiastri Mega quali mate, way to absolutely send it (don't give Lina too much credit)

INSTAGRAM

oscarpiastri Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari di Imola

liked by cameliazzz and 218,496 others

oscarpiastri Well, it was fun while it lasted 😂

opeightyone Time to have better fun tomorrow then

cameliazzz i bet she found it hilarious ↳ oscarpiastri @ cameliazzz She found the timing hilarious, she was pretty upset it happened

TWITTER

pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 3h oscar piastri is now incredibly familiar with the rear wing of that ferrari it's just a shame it's the hideous hp logo

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 3h LANDO??? LANDO OML U ARE SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYONE

piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h i mourn the mclaren double podium we could've had... ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h what matters most is that oscar finished ahead of sainz, i'm a happy woman

ZG24 future WDC · @zhoupdates · 21m the most iconic cousins are having dinner together in imola after the race

tagged: 周冠宇 | Zhou Guanyu 🇨🇳 and lina !!! ↳ clara @ zgy24 · 5m oscar finally let lina out of his sight this weekend?

INSTAGRAM

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant and 264,586 others

oscarpiastri En route to Florence (got really sidetracked)

amelia_belrose who gave them the right to be so cute?

pi4str1 the anticipated road trip happened 🥺 ↳ linasgirl4 @pi4str1 from a mention in a rolling stones interview to reality, they did it guys 🫶

opeightyone Nice quick break before the double header

siera_mblanc he's never looked so boyfriend before this is insane, the girlfriend effect is slowly kicking in

TWITTER

pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 2h something real funny about oscar driving down to florence with lina to spend a day or two before having to helicopter over to monaco by wednesday for the mclaren senna tribute livery/monaco gp promotions like 😭 OSCAR, BREATHE A LITTLE ↳ pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 2h idk how u think this is lina hate, it's just me pointing out that oscar had found a gap in his schedule and immediately went: i'm spending as much time as physically possible with my girlfriend before they forcibly drag me to monaco

Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 4h Searching my family tree to find any trace of Monégasque roots ↳ Charles Leclerc @Charles_Leclerc · 1h I can adopt you if needed ↳ Jonny @EB_Jonny · 13m did we just become in-laws to the leclercs???

piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 1h oscar piastri-leclerc 😭

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee @urfavsgf @eiaaasamantha @sp1rl @destinyg237 @iloveyou3000morgan

[lilywastaken]

⇝ SICK DAY SCENARIOS !

CC!DreamWasTaken, CC!Sapnap, CC!GeorgeNotFound, CC!Quackity, CC!Karl Jacobs x GN!Reader.

SUMMARY: taking care of CCs when they're sick :( <3.

WARNINGS: SFW, a few spicy moments here and there, illness, a tiny drop of angst in Karl's part!

A/N: I'm alive!! The brainrot is real for these guys so I just had to write something, even if it's a bit crap LMAO. It's my first time writing for Karl/Quack, so they might be a bit weird/stiff, apologies! Once again, requests are open!! Please don't forget to reblog/comment if you enjoy the post, it helps a lot!! Thank you for reading! <333 If you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know, please!!! I wrote this quite late so there might be a few!

MASTERLIST.

DREAM:

"Feeling a bit better?"

You whisper softly as you open the door to your boyfriend's bedroom, noticing that he had made his way off his bed and onto his chair, legs up and pressed to his chest with his knees tucked under his chin, the bright screens of his monitors reflecting onto his sad face.

"Mm…"

His broken whimper makes you sigh, walking over to him carefully and placing the bowl of chicken soup next to his keyboard, leaning down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

"You should be resting."

You're about to lean back until Dream grabs your arm, his pointer finger coming up to tap his lips, hopeful eyes staring up at you.

"Clay. You're ill."

"Which means you're refusing to kiss your poor, suffering boyfriend?" He sighs dramatically, his voice deep yet nasally due to his stuffy nose, leaning into your touch as your hand comes up to cup his cheek.

"Are you ready to take care of me when I inevitably get sick, sweetheart?" You coo back, watching his expression morph from one of self-pity to one of dread.

"O-of course." He mumbles, hoping you don't remember how stressed he was when George had gotten sick a few weeks ago, running around the house looking for medicine in hopes that his friend wouldn't die. "Still… What if the cure to my sickness is a kiss from my beautiful partner?"

"Oh?" You play along with a smile, your hand coming up to play with his hair and run your fingers through his dirty blond curls, watching him flutter his eyes closed to enjoy your touch with a smile, half expecting him to start purring. "Well…" You sigh dramatically in defeat, leaning down so that the tips of both your noses are bumping. "I guess if it helps."

Dream makes a soft noise of excitement before you press your lips to his, his soft hand holding your head to his to slot your lips together easily.

"Now get to bed." You snap as soon as you pull back, causing him to huff and pause whatever video he had been watching.

"Fine." He grumbles like a child, lifting himself up and taking a few moments to make sure he isn't about to collapse before turning to you, letting you lead him to his mattress, onto which he immediately collapses on with a loud groan.

He situates himself under the covers and outstretches his arms to you expectantly, yet instead of your warm body he finds himself holding the bowl of soup you had brought.

You press a kiss to his forehead as he begrudgingly starts to sip on the soup, his gaze softening as he realises you're not about to leave his side.

Needless to say, the next day you were as ill as he was.

SAPNAP:

A loud groan resounds across the house.

You try your best to ignore it, going back to scrolling through your phone and scratching behind Patches' ears.

Another groan, louder this time, finally brings your attention away from social media and back to reality, frowning at the unending dramatic groans that come from your boyfriend.

You sigh, carefully pushing Patches off and starting your trek upstairs, listening to the borderline fake sounds coming from inside the room.

"You sound like you're dying."

You comment as soon as you push open the door to his bedroom, rolling your eyes with a smile as you meet your boyfriend's gaze, his lower lip curled into a pout as he makes grabby hands at you, his bed covered in what you assume to be snotty tissues.

"I am dying, darlin'. Feels like I'm being ripped apart."

You laugh, making your way towards him and sitting on the edge of the bed, and placing your hand onto his forehead, frowning instantly at how hot he feels.

"Wait, are you actually sick?"

"Yes!" Sapnap whines, throwing his head back and slamming it accidentally onto the wooden headboard, whining at the additional pain. "You thought I was fakin'!?"

"I wouldn't put it past you." You grumbled, wiping some of the sweat on his face with your sleeve, watching him try to adjust in his bed just to be closer with you. "What hurts?"

"Everything." He sighs out, closing his eyes in pain as his head throbs.

"Everything?" You repeat, unamused, already getting up to retrieve an ice pack from downstairs, hoping to cool down the fever he seems to have caught.

"Yes, every-" his eyes snap open as soon as he feels the bed shift, whining. "No, don't leave!"

"Nick, I need to get you something for your fever!"

You struggle against Sapnap's grip as he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped around your waist and stubble scratching against your cheek.

"No… all I need is you, darl'." He grumbles against your skin, peppering sloppy kisses onto your neck.

"You're delirious." You sigh, melting into his warmth as he pulls you under the covers, sniffling and whining with every move he makes. "You'll take some medicine later, right?"

"Mhm … yeah." He says drowsily as he starts to fall asleep right there, listening to your breathing as a means to calm himself down. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

GEORGE:

How can George still be asleep?

You think to yourself as you stare mindlessly into the TV, the plate of food you had been eating abandoned on the coffee table as you take note of how long it had been since you had seen your boyfriend after last night.

You know he's prone to sleeping in for long, but not this long. Especially now in Florida, where the sun rises earlier and helps him wake up at the same time as you and your roommates.

Once you give your half eaten plate to Dream, you carefully push open the door to your boyfriend's room, stopping for a few moments so your eyes get used to the darkness his room was covered in.

"George? Are you awake?"

Treading carefully so you don't trip on any loose cables or stuff that he might have tossed onto the ground, you finally reach his bed, kneeling next to him and placing your hands on the body beneath the covers and shaking softly.

"Georgie?"

"Hmng."

You feel him turn around, meeting his gaze despite the darkness around you, watching as his pained expression turns into one of relief.

"Hi…" He mumbles, voice coarse as if he had just finished screaming for over an hour, reminding you of that one time he had lost his voice after a particularly long stream. "Time…?"

"Almost 4." Your hand comes up to push back his bangs, a shiver racking through his body as your cool touch makes contact with his atypically hot skin. "What th- do you have a fever?"

"I think." You feel his arms creep around your waist, pulling you closer with abnormal strength and placing his head onto your lap, snuggling himself into your thighs, letting out a shaky sigh at the warmth. "Tried getting up this morning and I think I passed out."

That would explain the crash Sapnap had claimed to have heard early in the morning.

"You passed out? Why didn't you call me?" You whisper back, running your fingers through his hair and massaging the back of his neck, a spot you know always gets him weak. "We could've brought you downstairs so you weren't cooped up like this."

George laughed as the image of Dream and Sapnap dragging him downstairs came to mind, but the sudden stabbing pain that attacked his lungs caused him to start coughing with a whine.

"I'd rather just stay up here with you." He started to manhandle you to lie under the covers, his hands warm on your hips as he quite basically shoved his face into your chest, trying to calm his raging headache. "We can order something later… I just want to be with you for now."

You chewed on your lower lip before your hands came up subconsciously to bury themselves in his soft locks, a whine leaving his lips as your nails started scratching at his scalp. "Fine. Just for a bit, okay? You still have to eat, we got to get you medicine, and you probably stin-"

You squeaked as he nipped on your skin in an attempt to get you to shut up, rolling your eyes at the smirk on his pretty lips before he fluttered his eyes back closed, a silent way of telling you that he was going back to sleep.

QUACKITY:

"You're an idiot."

Your boyfriend sputters out a confused sound as he walks into the kitchen, not having expected to be instantly insulted first thing in the morning.

"Huh?"

"Why are you half-naked!? You're sick!" You point at his feet and then his shorts with your spoon, making him groan and roll his eyes.

"It's hot!" He throws his arms up in the air as he sits down at the kitchen island, ignoring the way you frown at him. "And I'm not sick. I'm fine. It's just a cold."

"That still counts as being sick." You mumble under your breath, pushing a plate of food in his direction before pulling off your hoodie (which casually happened to be his) and handing it to him. "Put it on. I don't want you getting worse."

"...fine." He mumbles, starting to eat once it's on. "Thank you, mi vida."

Your face heats up at the casual nickname, nodding as you start on your own breakfast, too busy scrolling on your phone to notice the way your boyfriend starts squirming in his seat, sweat dripping down his forehead as he tries to focus on his food.

"You alright?" You finally realise how sick he looks despite having looked fine mere moments before, face flushed and skin sickly pale as he wipes the sweat away with his hoodies sleeves.

"Mhm. Okay." Your hand reaches over to cup his cheek, almost flinching back at how hot his skin feels. "Jesus! You're so fucking hot!"

You instantly regret what comes out of your mouth at his cocky expression, watching him m lean into your hand and sigh dreamily, eyelashes fluttering open and closed as he speaks.

"You think I'm that hot, babe?" He purrs out, despite the absolute pain that's racking through his body at the minute. "Damn, didn't expect you to be bold."

"Shut up." You pinch his cheek, forcing a high pitched cry to leave his mouth as you turn around to look through the medicine cabinet. "I meant you're literally hot, Alex."

"So you think I'm not figuratively hot?" You refrain from the urge to groan at his teasing, pulling off the cap to some medicine and dropping a pill into a glass of water.

"If you keep acting like this, you'll be less than hot to me." You snap, handing him the drink and waiting for him to down it like he usually does when it comes to ill-tasting medicine. "Go lie down, I'll make you some soup."

Before you can leave, he grabs your arm, pulling you into the space between his open legs and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"With me?" He mumbles into your hair, causing you to roll your eyes at how clingy he's become. "Come on, cielo. We can just order soup."

"But will it be as good as my soup?" You brush some of his longer strands of hair away from his eyes and trace the invisible lines between the beauty marks on his face.

"No… but I'd take cold soup any day of the week if it means having you in my arms."

KARL:

"Your nose is running."

You comment as you watch your boyfriend sluggishly make his way towards the fridge, eyes barely open and sweatpants almost falling down his waist.

"Mhm."

He doesn't even acknowledge your words, digging through the countless cans in the fridge to pull out some orange juice, instantly downing it without a second thought.

"Sorry. You want some?" He slurs, extending his arm and offering you the carton.

"Just finish it, Karl. I'd rather not get sick."

You notice that instead of his normal sleeping shirt he has a button up on, the buttons all messed up from probably trying to do it on his own in the bathroom mirror.

"You going somewhere, baby?" You comment on his appearance, frowning as he instantly nods, throwing the carton into the bin before looking for some snacks.

"Filming with Jimmy." He casually says, as if he hadn't been battling with a fever for almost a week. "I volunteered yesterd-"

You slap your hand over his mouth, stopping him from talking and meeting his shocked gaze, feeling his hands immediately find place on your waist out of instinct at how close you are.

"You're not going anywhere, Karl. I don't want you to get worse." You comment with a frown, having half expected him to lick at your hand when you had covered his mouth, but the sad look in his eyes feels worse than how that would've. "Please. You've been in pain for almost a week, I just want you to get better."

You let go of his face, moving your hand to cup his cheek and watch him press into your touch, nodding solemnly.

"Just don't like being useless. I wanna do stuff, I want to help!" He whines, closing his eyes as if afraid of your reaction to his complaint.

"You're not useless, though. You're sick. I'm taking care of you because I love you and I want you to get better. Jimmy's your friend, he'll probably won't want you working while you're sick, either." You lean up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a comforting hug, his cool hands roaming your skin under your shirt. "So get back into your pyjamas and get to bed and I'll bring you some food, okay? Then we can watch a movie, whichever one you want."

He nods enthusiastically, taking his turn to cup your cheeks in his hands and pepper kisses all over, brushing your lips with his before pulling away, aware of how sick you'd get if he gave you what he had. "I love you!" He says before rushing back upstairs giddily, not even waiting for you to say it back, aware that even without saying it, you do.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Yandere Raiden x reader x Yandere Fujin? Or feed my delusional mind with just Yandere mk men x reader- with that harem “no she’s mine! Not yours!”

“Alright, men please listen up. Y/N can only choose one of us..which means you all will have to die.”

A/N: I love a delusional queen from infinity to infinityyyyyy. MHMM OFC!!! Anything for my delusional friends…I didn’t have Raiden in this one because I’m going to give you some good stuff in a separate post. I have Raiden and Fujin fighting for you in that. Plus a bonus;) this has been my favorite request so far.

Warnings: Johnny cage💀, Yandere/Toxic Themes, mentions of stalking, harassment, violence, a bit suggestive???

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

Let’s be real, the mk men are perpetually thirsty. Actually all the characters are to be honest. Did you hear the flirty dialogue?? Even the keeper is trying to get some of that action.

So really it’s no shocker that you, the new fighter, have all the attention from them.

Johnny is undoubtedly the first to strike. He may be an older man now but damn, you make him feel like he’s 20 again. He just cannot control making some kind of flirtatious comment when he sees you walk by.

“Woah, woah, woah, now sweetheart. I think you and I should have a nice long conversation. Get to know each other a little…or a lot…dealers choice.” ;)

Yeahh he doesn’t care that he has a kid and a mortgage. Cassie is grown now and Sonya doesn’t want him anymore…so free game, baby.

His eyes are hungry and he barely can hold himself back from pouncing on you—

Liu Kang and Kung Lao see this and apologize for his behavior towards you. They introduced themselves and of course did their absolute best to make you feel at home.

Don’t let this fool you though, those are some sinful monks. They are no better than Johnny and they want you real baaaad.

“So, Y/N. What is your skill set? Wait. Let me guess, you use beauty essence to trap your opponent in a daze before knocking them out?”

Liu Kang jabs Kung Lao in the stomach with his elbow, before speaking to you.

“I’m sorry for these two. You are very beautiful but please know we are just as excited to train with you as we would anyone else. Anytime you’d like to spar, please, don’t hesitate to find me.”

Ahh he’s so damn slick…he just wants a reason to pin you downnnn

“Hey! Liu Kang don’t you mean us? We all would like to train with you darling~. Some people like to fight over in the courtyard but if you’d like I have a very special place called, me casa.”

“I would also like to train with you…in the courtyard of course. I mean unless you prefer—“

“Thanks? Umm..I appreciate all of your….offers. I’m supposed to actually meet with Raiden, I’m just a little lost. Have you guys—-“

Before you could even finish your sentence all three of them bombarded you with offers and began fighting over each other, debating who actually knows how to find Lord Raiden the best.

“Uhh—“

That pretty much sets the tone for how everyone acts around you.

By a month or so into you being here, everyone knows about you. Especially the men. You’re all they talk about.

At first it was simply chatter about you being a new kombatant for earthrealm and of course mentions of your beauty.

But since learning more about and becoming closer with you, the little infatuations have turned into full blown obsessions.

No one can seem to get enough of you, even the grand masters have trouble focusing when you’re around. Hanzo and Kai Liang may disagree on many things but you are one of the few things they can get behind.

They are both trying to recruit you to their different clans so they can be fully entitled to you.

Scorpion wants extreme control over you, he wants to shape you into the perfect companion. He wants you to be just as poised as his wife once was. You already have her beauty so just let him perfect you.

Sub-Zero wants you to become his equal. What he failed to do with Frost, he will make up with you. How more beautiful you’d become if only your heart was frozen over.

Either one will stop at nothing to have you. A trophy they could boast over. For a second you ended a centuries-long feud, both agreeing on your excellence…only for it to start all over again for who is more worthy to own you.

This isn’t isolated to just them, all the men are fighting for your attention. Arguing about who you actually belong to, bragging about how much attention they got from you, and comparing it to each other. Don’t get me started on that. Mk men are so needy for your attention. Whenever they can’t get it, they resort to other ways.

Johnny is such a filthy pervert. You don’t wanna give him the time of day? Fine, he’ll take matters into his own hands.

He’s your very own paparazzi, you should be grateful that he’s taking this many pictures of you. You’re the first and only.

It doesn’t matter that he’s doing it without your consent or knowledge…it also doesn’t matter that some of them are a little…provocative. He’ll jump into the flesh pits if that meant getting the perfect shot of you…let him have this.

He refuses to share these with the other guys, it’s just for him. Over his dead body will Kano or someone else see you like this.

Shang Tsung has also caught wind of you and you’re a pretty sight indeed. He doesn’t want you to fight in the tournament. A gorgeous soul like you should be locked away in his throne room. He always tries to bribe you with fortune and power. He can offer you so much more than these rodents. If you need an extra push in his direction, a little trickery may help with that….he has no shame using an incantation on you.

Liu Kang and Kung Lao are no better. They manipulate that fact you see them as good friends as a way to be in the limelight.

They stalk you just as much as the rest, sometimes separately but often times together. It always ends up in a fight between the two tho because one person starts shit talking…

“Idk Kang. A woman like that would never be into you. Kitana barely even looks your way…what makes you think Y/N will? Besides, she called me cute.”

“Yeah, I think she’ll think it’s real ‘cute’ how I destroy you in the tournament..”

Perverted as Cage. Kung Lao is extremely touchy while sparring. He loves to “teach” you things. He never shines away from a moment to flex all of his years of training under the shaolin and that he’s a self proclaimed expert.

For some reason when he’s fixing your form, his hand always winds up on your ass…hmm strange.

Liu Kang loves when you watch him workout or spar with others. When it’s finally your turn to be his opponent, he never holds back. All because he wants to be the one on top…always.

You cannot catch a break. Gifts and proposals are constantly sent to your door and no matter how much you try to decline, it just won’t stop coming. Sure being basically waited on, and desired by many is really nice. Every girls dream! But you have to admit just how it is scary having such dangerous men obsessed with you.

There hasn’t been a moment in the last few months where you’ve ever felt completely alone. The feeling that someone is always watching you has never left.

And, occasionally you would awkwardly overhear or walk in on a group of men fighting about you.

“With all due disrespect, I believe a babe like that would prefer a star like me. She’s all mine”

“Nonsense. Y/N belongs to the Shirai Ryu. Both her beauty and skill makes her a viable asset to the clan. You can fight me in hell over it, Cage.”

It doesn’t get any better when the tournament starts.

I think the men forgot they were fighting for their realms because it quickly turned into a fight for dominance.

A tournament that was once a noble cause, turned into a bloody showcase. Every man dedicating their wins to you, making sure to send a cheeky flex or wink your way.

Besides, what value did their realms hold if you weren’t there with them.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Hi, for the wip ask game, bff Soap Hurt Comfort? :') please and thank you!

for the wip ask game--lighter, sweeter bff!Soap. you're meeting him at the airport. he's coming home after being MIA. scared you to death.

this one is short, so here it is edited + posted in full. for the hurt/comfort girlies :)

600 words / 23

…

“Thought you couldna live without me, eh?”

You tackle Soap in a hug, tactical gear and all. "Shut up. Shut up. God, you're alive."

He laughs and returns the embrace. "Too stubborn to die. I thought I told you not to worry about me."

You grip the straps on the back of his vest and keep your face in his chest to hide the tears threatening to track down your cheeks. "You can't just say that and go MIA. They talked about putting your name on a memorial and everything."

"You know me. Always gotta do things my way."

"Your way is stupid."

He chuckles and rubs your back. "Yeah, I'm stupid. I've missed you, though. I haven't stopped thinkin' bout you."

"Really? Cause I..." The dam breaks. You can't stop the flood of hot, angry tears. "I missed you too." Then you start sobbing. God, it's embarrassing. But you refuse to let go of him.

He strokes your hair. "Hen, don't cry. Please. I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm your man, aye?"

You shake your head, stubbornly refusing to move.

He rests his cheek on you. "I don't want you to be sad. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you."

Hearing him say that just makes your heart skip before the tears come out faster. You love him, too, more than a friend should. How could anyone not fall in love with him? He's Johnny. It's just that you were always too chickenshit to tell him. You thought you lost your chance.

"Come on, look at me."

"No," you mutter, refusing to unbury your face from his shirt. Scared to, maybe. "I don't want you to make it up to me. I want to stay here."

"That's no problem. We can stay here for however long. I just need to know you're not upset at me. I can't stand seein' you sad. Makes me sad."

You sniff. "You deserve it."

"Aye, I do. But what can I do to cheer you up'?"

"Nothing," you mumble into his chest. "I've been crying for two weeks because of you."

You try to collect yourself anyway, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. His squadmates stand a little ways away from the terminal, looking curious at this scene you're causing. This isn't exactly how you wanted to meet them. You're supposed to be Johnny's cool best friend, not a weepy mess.

Johnny recaptures your attention, wiping away a stray tear track with his thumb. "You've been cryin' about me?"

You shove him, but it's light and there's no anger in it. "Of course I have, asshole, you're my best friend. They said you were MIA. Why wouldn't I cry?"

He grins. "But I'm here now, though. Could use a wee bit of comforting myself. You mind?"

You sniff, nodding as you press your sleeves into your eyes one more time to dry them. He's right. He's the one who's been away from home for a month. Probably endured some draconian shit, missing for two weeks and all. But the way he's looking at you through those blue eyes of his... it's not fair how easy it is to fall under his spell again.

"Yeah. I guess. What do you want? More fawning and crying?"

He laughs softly and pulls you into another tight hug. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you have to act like it doesn't make your heart explode into tiny pieces. He rests his chin on the top of your head, content to keep you here, totally enveloped in his frame. "Mm, that'll do. Just to start."

...

wip ask game / more Soap / masterlist tag

[hwanchaesong]

Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels

Synopsis: Love portrayed in different kinds of ways and worlds.

🥀 Heeseung: Sanctuary (Love Epiphany)

genre: angst, smut, fluff

"Will you believe me if I told you that you're my whole sky? Dazzling like the orange sun, prettier than the sinking sunset over the glistening cerulean sea. You are my calm during the night. Will you believe me if I said that from the start to finish, you're the one I've prayed for?"

Preview

🌌 Jay: Chatoyant (Soulmate)

genre: angst, fluff, smut

"Every waking day, I asked the sun to look after your well being. Every sleepless night, I wished for the moon to let you be safe. I implored the whole universe to guide you back to me. Here, in my arms. So I could marry you like I always promised. So you could love me like how I deserve it."

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🪐Jake: Idyllic (Mutual Pining)

genre: fluff, angst, smut

"How many times do I stumble down this dead end? How many times should I meet all these wrong people just to meet the right, destined one? Tell me, how long should I tolerate more of this suffering? When will I be able to leave this hell hole? When the sweet happiness finally has turned into an ugly resentment?"

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❄️ Sunghoon: Quintessence (Forbidden Love)

genre: angst, smut, fluff

"Do my words mean nothing to you unless they are on an old paper, written metaphorically? Are any of my sentences and paragraphs trash just because they don't rhyme poetically? Then, what if we let the stars align tonight, by chance, by fate, by destinies and against all odds, will you allow me to enter your life?"

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🤍 Sunoo: Labyrinth (Unexpected Love)

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive

"These pretty faces won't be the reason why I'll let myself fall in love again. I will not accept someone who brings an unreasonably expensive bouquet only during special occasions. I can't make any promises anymore, not in a tranquil and joyful way. Please forgive me, because if I open my heart again, I don't think I will be ready for it to bleed until I die."

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🍀 Jungwon: Ephemeral (Second Chances)

genre: angst, fluff, suggestive

"Were your feelings truly genuine or you just weren't patient enough? Did you really love me or were you in love with the thought of having someone kiss you during your darkest nights, or having someone hold you during your coldest days? The chances that weren't given to you, you only chose me for that, right? Successfully distracting your heart that wasn't meant to take a risk."

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🪷 Riki: Paradox (Enemies to Lovers)

genre: angst, fluff, suggestive

"No, not once did I question the moment where I felt like drowning when you decided to walk the other way, turning your back on me. Surprise was the last emotion I felt when someone took my spot once I'm out of the picture. The only thing that is wrong here is me. I made the mistake of asking you the truth, then choosing to believe the untrue."

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a/n: again, another one that's in my drafts for so long, i had to post this and add to the masterlist ig. feel free to message, send an ask, or comment under this post if you want to be added to the taglist :3