#sweetener concealer

[belladoesmakeup]

Hi guys,

I am so excited for today's new blogpost because we are trying the brand new R.E.M Beauty Sweetener Concealer (£21.00)! So far I have only tried liquid eyeshadows from R.E.M Beauty and loved them so I'm excited to try a face base product.

This concealer has been going viral on TikTok partly because of the brand it's from but also the insane coverage it offers. This concealer is a medium - full coverage, creamy lightweight finish and honestly blends like a dream. Usually I don't like pot concealers because the formula can be quiet thick but this is surprisingly lightweight and to make the whole thing even cuter it comes with a mini applicator which I did not expect to fall out the box.

After I tried this concealer a few times I fell in love with it very quickly. This concealer has been a dream when it comes to hiding bags under my eyes and blemishes, it's like applying a filter on areas you want covered up. I love how seamlessly it blends into my facebase regardless if I'm using my fingers , a brush or a beauty blender, it looks flawless every time. When I picked up the concealer L4 was out of stock which is for a fair skin with pink undertones so I picked up L6 instead which is fair skin with peach undertones but still matches me pretty well. I can imagine this concealer being used for highlighting , contour and covering up since it blends so effortlessly. If you want to see all the shades available hit the link above.

Lots of love

Bella x x

[im-his-druidess]

The Deal

No one asked for this, but I needed something dark and gross 🤷‍♀️

TW: Dub-Con turned Non-Con; Infidelity; Cheating; Rough sex; Forced sex; Slight fuck-or-die but not really; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; Unnecessary amount of commas

Setting up the arrangement with Charlie Hewitt left a sour taste in your mouth at the way he openly leered at you the entire time, but you just kept thinking about finally going to bed with a full belly to get you through his poorly concealed innuendos and crass language. It wasn’t until you arrived at the Hewitt’s home, telling your husband you were walking to the next town for groceries as an excuse, that your plan began to crumble. The memory of Charlie’s words making fear squeeze your lungs and bile rising in your throat.

Just when you think you couldn’t feel even more worthless, here you were spreading your legs for a man that wasn’t your husband, all for the chance to get food on your table.

Your husband acted just as worthless as you currently felt and invited his parents to move into your already cramped house without discussing anything with you. Four grown adults living in a one-bedroom shack of a house, with your husband barely making enough money to feed you both let alone two more mouths, was enough to want to pull your hair out. Of course, it didn’t help that your mother-in-law found fault in every single thing you did which your husband agreed with to stay on his mother’s good side. Coupled with your in-laws living beyond their means, including gorging themselves on food that you managed to scrap together, which often left you going to bed hungry and riddled with anxiety. So, when you overheard the local gossip hounds whispering how the Hewitt family would give meat from their job at the slaughterhouse in exchange for favors, it didn’t take long for you to come to a steely resolve. It might have been the numerous days without a steady meal, or how you were belittled everyday at your home, that made you snap and jump at the chance.

‘As much as I want a piece of that pussy…I made a promise to my kin. Tommy’s birthday is coming up and it is far past time for him to become a man despite what mama says. So that’s who you’ll be fucking today. If you got a problem with that then you can fuck off.’

He was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it made your head spin.

Relief that you wouldn’t have to sleep with that disgusting excuse of a man making you giddy, before realization at his words struck you like white-hot lightening. You’ve only seen Tommy Hewitt once and the memory was seared into your brain.

You had come across him as he lumbered down the main road on his way home from the slaughterhouse and you were frozen in your tracks as his hulking form stalked past you. He was a large burly man, with broad shoulders, huge biceps, and thick thighs, and his dark shaggy hair didn’t hide the fact that he wore some type of leather mask on the lower part of his face.

He still wore his bloodstained apron.

You had reluctantly agreed once Charlie “sweetened” the deal by promising double the amount of food he would give. Now, here you were, propped up on a bench in the shed while listening to Charlie whisper harshly outside the door. From his tone it sounded like he was scolding someone, Tommy to be exact when you heard his slow heavy footsteps nearing the door, and you swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest the longer you had to wait. From the snippets you could hear it sounded like he was giving instructions and you grimaced when you heard him give vivid instructions on what to put in where.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tommy came stumbling through the door looking exactly like you remember minus the apron. You realized his blunt appearance was because he was being pushed into the room. Charlie gave you a dirty lingering look, shaking his head with a wistful sigh, before slapping Tommy on a broad shoulder before ducking back out.

The door shut with a firm thud and then you were left alone with the behemoth.

Fear and anxiety once more rushed through you fast enough to make you lightheaded, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, and the man lingered almost awkwardly by the door. You dimly noticed that he kept his head down, stealing glances at you and your body through his curtain of hair, and you took a deep breath to gather your courage. The bench underneath you was hard and uncomfortable and you knew the sooner you got this over with the sooner you can go home and forget this entire thing.

With shaky hands you hiked up your skirt, removing your panties so they won’t get lost or ruined, and spread your legs. Your face burned in mortification at your actions, even more so when Tommy’s entire body jerked as if sucker-punched, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide the way he openly stared between your legs with wide blue eyes. You fumbled with the small bottle of oil you brought with you, knowing you weren’t going to get properly wet enough to make things less painful, and you quickly waved Tommy over. He approached slowly as if you were going to bite before settling between your spread legs. With him so close you suddenly realized just how big he was, your thighs straining to accommodate the width of his hips, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a large heavy hand landed on your thigh. His skin was rough and overly warm, thick fingers digging into the meat of your thigh curiously, and you spotted his eyes darting over the rest of your body before settling back between your legs. Your nerves were starting to crumble at his slow pace so you reached down and began unbuckling his pants with trembling fingers.

His entire body tensed up and you mumbled a quiet apology, but your hands continued their work. You knew this was supposedly his first time, but you were anxious to get this over with. Tommy made a low grunting noise as he shuffled on his feet before you got his pants open and his entire body seemed to spasm when you reached into his pants to grab his dick.

You immediately paled at the sheer girth you encountered as you fingers weren’t even close to touching.

He was clearly proportionate to the rest of his body, but that also meant that he was hung like a fucking horse. You let go and fumbled with the vial of oil with a quick prayer for things to be over quickly. You ignored how he jerked his hips closer to you as if willing your hand back as he restlessly pushed his pants down with a grunt to offer you more room to touch him.

His cock stuck out just below his button-down shirt, almost drooping from the heavy weight, and the thick tip was an angry shade of red. You couldn’t help but compare him to your husband. He was larger in every single way, almost laughably so, and you had the brief thought of if you could even get that inside you. It twitched under your gaze. You looked away suddenly embarrassed and saw out of the corner of your eye his hips jerk once more towards you. You felt sweat pool at your lower back, the hot summer air doing nothing to cool you off despite being in shade, and you nervously wiped the sweat beading at your brow the back of your hand. You chided yourself and focused once more at the task at hand.

You poured a generous amount into your palm, nearly half the bottle, and steeled yourself before reaching down to coat him thoroughly. The sound he made didn’t seem human, the punched out garbled growl making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you held back your whimper of fright as he thickened even more in your grasp. You tried to not think of how you were going to struggle to take him into your body. You dropped him once he was completely coated and dumped more oil into your hand, steadfastly ignoring the way Tommy panted through his mask. You leaned back while taking a deep breath before reaching down and slathering yourself, working the oil into your cunt while simultaneously trying to stretch yourself with two fingers in preparation. It wasn’t long until you felt calloused fingers brushing against the back of your hand making you nearly shriek in surprise. You whipped your head down to see Tommy had moved closer, eyes completely transfixed between your legs, and you realized he was gripping himself with his other hand.

He was stroking himself at the same pace you were working yourself open.

Unexpectedly, heat simmered low in your pelvis at the sight and you couldn’t help but squirm in place. It was only about a minute later that you could tell he was getting restless, his hand squeezing his cock tight enough to make you wince, and you pretended to not notice him rubbing the weeping tip against your thighs. Tommy suddenly gripped your leg and spread you even further and you did whimper at the pain shooting through your hip at the unnatural position. He began grinding against your hand still buried in yourself, huffing in annoyance when he was denied entry, and you took a shuddering deep breath before moving your hand away to grip the edge of the bench.

“Go…slow, okay? Slow,” you muttered in a raspy voice and the only answer you received was the sensation of something blunt and sticky nudging at you.

He suddenly surged forward in an attempt to ram himself in, making you shriek and kick your pinned leg uselessly, but thankfully he just slid through your wet folds and brushed against your clit. He did that a few more times and was clearly growing agitated.

Even as you tried to weakly soothe him by weakly petting the hand holding you open, but that just seemed to work him up even more. Eventually the head of his cock notched at your entrance and he began to slowly push forward, seemingly learning from his mistakes, and you felt your eyes widen at the stretch. He was impossibly wide, nearly making you scream as your body attempted to reject the intrusion, but he was determined and those dark blue eyes never strayed from your straining cunt. You tried to help by shifting your hips, bracing one foot on the bench to widen your pelvis, and even stretching your other leg out to help ease the tension.

Nothing worked and you couldn’t escape the mounting pressure.

“It’s not going to work…Tommy, you have to stop. It hurts,” you pleaded, beginning to push on his thick chest while wiggling your hips away from him, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. Tommy didn’t like you pushing him away.

With a growl he pulled back, but your relief was short lived as he easily grabbed your hips and flipped you over and resumed his position. One broad palm was flat on your back between your shoulder blades, pinning you in place even as you squirmed and kicked, and you felt him trying to push in again with renewed vigor.

“Tommy, stop! I changed my mind! Get off of me!” you shrieked with growing panic only to have your shouts silenced by the feel of that fat head popping inside you.

Your eyes widened, body freezing and clenching down on reflex, and you barely had time to draw in a breath before Tommy drew back and slammed himself halfway inside you. The scream you let out was ear-piercing and your throat immediately felt shredded from the sound, but was cut off by him rearing back and slamming his hip back into you until he was eventually buried to the hilt.

His croaky moan of pleasure was covered by another scream from you.

Tears were now flowing freely down your face as you howled in pain, feeling as if you were being ripped in half, and you barely noticed Tommy’s other hand reaching down to paw at your wet cheeks as if to soothe you.

He only stayed still for a few seconds before leaning back and beginning a downright brutal pace. His hips were slamming into you with enough force to have the bench beneath you creaking ominously, your pelvis felt like it was going to shatter, and you had the stray thought that no amount of preparation would have ever prepared for you for him. Your gasping cries were short and choppy, from both his frantic pace and the hand pushing you down effectively squishing your lungs, but you still shrieked and yelped for him to stop or at least slow down to let your body adjust.

He didn’t listen.

He seemed possessed, grunting and snarling as he pounded into you mercilessly, and eventually your body went limp. You clawed helplessly against the wood beneath your cheek, blubbering incoherently, and prayed that Tommy would finish quickly. As if punishment for accepting this deal, you were granted no such reprieve.

He continued to rut into you like a mindless beast for what felt like hours, your insides swollen and throbbing as they were pummeled by his thick cock, and sweat was dripping off of him and mingling with your tears as he leaned over you to reach impossibly deeper. It wasn’t until his hips started stuttering and his thrusts turned deep and hard instead of fast and frantic that had you crying in relief at the telltale signs that he was nearing his finish. Then a horrifying realization dawned on you. Tommy wasn’t stopping. Instead it seemed he was spending longer and longer buried completely to the hilt, pressed flush against you as close as he could, and a new wave of terror-induced adrenaline washed over you.

“Not inside…Tommy don’t you fucking dare finish inside me,” you shrieked, renewing your struggles to escape him, and you grew increasingly wild as he only grunted at you.

You began writhing and attempting to twist away from him, kicking your legs and reaching back behind you to claw at his face, anything to get him away from you.

It only resulted in the hand on your back to slide up and fist painfully in your hair, nearly slamming you back onto the table hard enough for you to see black spots swimming in your vision, and his other hand grabbed your hip to further hold you in place. You continued to beg and plead for him to not come inside you, literally anywhere else but inside, but you were steadfastly ignored. His pace suddenly quickened, a low rattling whine escaping his broad chest, and you wailed as he stilled completely buried inside you. You felt his cock jerk and throb followed by a wave of scorching heat soothing your ravaged channel and you screamed in outrage and in despair. Tommy continued to grind into you, riding out his orgasm with small hurt noises escaping his throat, and by the time he was finished you were limp and shivering with shock. Realization of what all just happened rolling through your mind as fast as nausea rolled in your stomach at the feeling of wetness slipping down your thighs. Bile threatened to rise in your throat, silent tears spilling anew down your damp face, and your entire body felt both boiling hot and icy cold.

You wept quietly as he stayed buried inside you. He petted through your hair as if you were a frightened animal, his ragged breathing filling the stuffy air of the shed, and you swore you heard him cooing at you. You felt him lean down and nuzzle the back of your head as his hand moved from your hip to shyly pet over the back of your hand in some twisted form of affection after what just happened. The door suddenly swung open and you didn’t even have the energy to even twitch.

“Atta boy, Tommy! Heard that bitch caterwauling clear down the road!” Charlie shouted with clear glee and humiliation burned in your veins.

You heard the man move closer, no doubt wanting to leer at your crumpled body, but Tommy growled and moved his body more firmly on top of you. As if shielding you from view.

“Aw, what’s this, boy? You finally get your dick wet and now feel like you’re somebody special?” Charlie sneered and you felt the large body on top of you press even tighter to you.

You heard movement around you before a large item wrapped in brown paper tied with twine plopped on the table by your head.

“A deal’s a deal. Don’t be shy now. I’m sure Tommy would love to see you again,” he continued with a wheezing laugh, clearly finding the whole ordeal hilarious, and he walked back out of the shed laughing to himself.

Regret and disgust swirled in your gut at the sight of the paper bag, knowledge of what all transpired making you want to cry all over again, and you let out a small hiccupping sob. Tommy nuzzled into your hair once more, his body relaxing now that Charlie had left, and he resumed his petting. He was letting out a happy garbled sound, clearly not realizing how he had just brutalized you, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt Tommy begin to harden inside you once more.

[dumbass-fae]

✨️🪞Glamour Magick🪞✨️

Glamour magick is a spell that you cast on yourself to change how others perceive you. 

The key to this working is to manifest your intent. It's a placebo effect. If you believe it is real, it will become real (in a sense). 

Normally glamour magick is preformed while getting ready for the day, night, or an event (school, date, outing exc. exc.) Which means it blends into the mundane. 

You can create oils and blends anything your heart desires, even magickly infused foods and drinks, or you can use what you already have: shampoo, hair brush, makeup, moisturizer, toothpaste exc exc.

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A good place to start is with:

color magick/correspondences

♡Red- confidence, romantic love, strength 

♡Pink- self love, kindness, platonic love, softness 

♡Orange- creativity, energy, sucess

♡Yellow- happiness, joy, positivity 

♡Green- luck, healing, money manifestation 

♡Blue- peace, calm, clairity, communication 

♡Purple- imagination, intuition, peace

♡Brown- friendship, security, stability 

♡Black- protection, banishing

♡White- clensing, peace, truth

♡Silver- healing 

♡Gold- sucess, wealth

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Moving on, we will get into more correspondences/enchantments in glamour magick. 

Bath/Body 🛁

• Shampoo- clenses negativity 

• Conditioner- restores positivity 

• Body scrub- removes negative energy

• Lotion- (varies by scent), softness

• Hair oil/ leave in conditioner- protection 

• Deep conditioner- restores positive energy 

Skincare 🪞

• Facial cleanser- removes negative energy 

• Facial scrub- clenses negativity 

• Moisturizer- protection, restores positive energy 

• Serums- (varies by ingredient), locks in good energy 

• Spot treatments- conceals what you do not wish to be seen 

• Eye masks- clairity

• Lip masks- sweetens your words 

• Suncreen- protection 

Makeup 💄

• Mascara/eyeliner- see through lies, enhance your eyes beauty 

• Lip products- people will listen when you speak, sweeten your words/influence

• Eyeshadow- (varies by color)

• Concealer- to hide what others should not know 

• Highlighter- to apear more radiant/glowing 

• Blush- to appear innocent and soft 

Other 🐚

• Toothpaste/Toothbrush- clense negativity

• Hairbrush- remove negative energy 

• Nail polish- (varies by color) 

• Glasses- to see what others cannot 

• Hair- Braid your hair with your intentions 

• Perfume- (varies by scent) 

• Clothing- (varies by color) 

• Jewelry- (varies by intent) 

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Remember, affirmations and enchantments are key to glamours 

• say or think corresponding affirmations while doing your skincare or makup 

• enchant everything you use with intentions, you could even put sigils on them 

• enchant your jewelry for a specific purpose

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This is from my personal grimoire, thus my own opinions on glamours.

you can reblog with other glamour related tips and tricks 💕

[infictionalwonderland]

Hiii, not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this, but could you do Eloise Bridgerton with a fem! royal! reader who is completely smitten with Eloise and is very open about being a lesbian? And her family supports her (shes Queen Charlottes favorite niece)

(they are open! and absolutely i can do this for you babe x)

“She’s here!”

The Queen, your aunt, rolled her eyes fondly at you as you scuttled away hastily—a secret smile pulling at her lips at the sheer happiness on your face.

You waded through the mass of people in the ballroom, a smile practically stretching from ear to ear. Some turned to look and curled their lips in disgust at you, knowing very well who you were walking to. Others looked at the raw joy on your face and smiled with you.

You stopped a bit away from your girl and her family, taking the time to admire her. Her hair was in a ponytail of curls with two pulled out the side and her fringe framing her face—lips a soft ruby and skin sparkling under the light. She was dressed in a soft mint green dress, a delicate necklace adorning her neck and resting on her chest, her arms covered with long gloves.

(You were in love)

“Ah.” Daphne spoke first, as she saw you. Her lips curled into a secret smirk, clasping onto her husbands arm and hiding her face half behind his bicep to conceal herself.

Simon looked down at her fondly, eyes practically glimmering.

“Hello Bridgertons.” You beamed genuinely, all the family returning your expression with equal truth.

As you had done her, Eloise could not help but stare at you in awe. Your skin looked glowy and wonderfully soft under the lightening, your smile the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—eyes squinted with the force of it. Your dress was otherworldly, although to her, anything you wore would be and she just wanted to run her fingers through your hair.

“How do you all find yourself fairing tonight?”

“Yes, yes, very good. Blah—blah.” Benedict immediately waved the question away with an easygoing smile, gently taking his sisters arm and pushing her towards you. “We know which Bridgerton you are truly here fo.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

Eloise flustered, unused to such attention but you smirked back at Benedict. The whole family watched with smiles on their faces as their stone cold Eloise who detested marriage and had no true belief in love, melted against you as you took her hand, staring at you with wonder in her eyes.

“I’m beginning to realise it was never love she loathed—“ Anthony mumbled to Kate at his side, “just men.”

“Yes, and who can fault her that?” Kate questioned, head tilted.

All smiles, you looped your arm through Eloise’s and the both of you gracefully walked off—well, you glided effortlessly, from years of training and Eloise’s steps were harsh and careless against the floor, an endearing sense of her own unique grace about her.

“How are you today, Miss Bridgerton?” You smiled at her cheekily, eyes twinkling in a way that immediately disarmed her.

“I—yes, I am quite well, thank you.” Eloise stumbled, a fluttering feeling settling deep within her stomach, heart spiking as she was unable to look away from your eyes. “And yourself, your—your grace?”

“I could be your grace if you would like.” You emphasised pointedly, a mischievously sweetened smile curving at lips. You snatched a flute of alcohol from a passing servers platter, daintily looking into the eyes of the woman you admired.

She gulped slightly, a charmed blush warming her skin.

“I’ve had a genial day so far, my lady.” You giggled softly. “Although it has become all the more enjoyable when graced with your wondrous presence.”

“I can say much the same for myself.” Eloise rushed out genuinely, a smile at her lips as your eyes sparkled in response. “I find being in your proximity a most precious experience.”

“Perhaps you should venture in closer,” you offered almost offhandedly, taking another sip from your flute as you observed her, “you discover that to be an even more precious time.”

Eloise laughed a tad too loudly, nerves escaping her, but—with a timid smirk curving into her plush mouth, she edged closer towards you.

“And?” You encouraged amusedly, smiling.

“I—Your presence is even more powerful from here.” She grinned crookedly, “perhaps a tad too powerful—“ she joked, moving to take a teasing few paces away.

Your gloved hand caught her own and you both breathed in sharper at the contact. Without taking your eyes from hers, you traced almost absently on the silk material and she shallowly breathed in, feeling the sensations of your touch as though they were against her bare skin.

“Stay close, please.” You simply stated, tugging her back towards you gently. “If you would like.”

“I would like very much.”

You raised an amused eyebrow at her immediate reply and she battled back embarrassment as she made direct eye contact you, unabashed in the truth of her words.

“Your Grace, you look enchanting tonight.” Eloise complimented truthfully, admiring you. “I am only disheartened I have to share this awe-inspiring view with others.”

“You could admire me further in private, if you simply ask to do so.” You shrugged, a smirk on your lips.

Eloise blinked innocently, narrowing her eyes (cutely) as she attempted to recognise the hidden meaning—your words and tone making her feel warm all over.

She was about to open her mouth to adhere to your request when another approached.

“Your Grace,” a well dressed man you did not know walked to you both, bowing to you deeply while staring. “Lady Bridgerton.” He shortly acknowledged.

“It is indeed a pleasure.” Eloise muttered with a tight, bitter smile as she stepped closer to you—feeling dismay at how this man was staring at you.

“Quite.” He agreed, still gazing at you. “It has come to my attentions that your dance card is still empty, Your Grace—“

“Is it?” You interrupted, tilting your head innocently. “Allow me.” You implored to him, holding you hand out for his quill that a man was required to bring, to scribe on a lady’s dance card.

He blinked, a smirk crawling to rest on his mouth as he wielded to you his quill. You took it and immediately turned to Eloise, who grinned crookedly at you when you extended your wrist to her with the man’s quill.

The gent sputtered and flailed usefully in your peripherals but you could frankly give less of a shirt—staring at Eloise as she gently clasped your wrist in her hand, writing hurriedly onto your dance card with a triumphant grin upon her lips.

Fuck. You wanted to kiss her.

“This—this is hardly—“

“Enough? I do quite agree.” You aunt announced as she made her rare appearance on the ballroom floor, glowering superiorly at this unknown man. “I will organise more dances for you and your beloved. Now, shoo, shoo.” She turned to you, ushering you to the floor as a new dance began, a secret wink shot at you.

You and Eloise clasped hands, running away and towards the rest of the couples, giggling like children as you left the treacherous man with your darling aunt.

“You are a marvel.” Eloise laughed out softly, cheeks burning with joy, eyes crinkled as you stood across from one another—curtsying to each other. “I could not have asked for a better partner—in well, everything.”

“Oh, El.” You beamed, an enamoured giggle leaving your throat. “Believe me, it is I who is the lucky one.”

“Rubbish.” She rolled her eyes playfully, “never had I envisioned, even in my wildest fantasies, that—that I could. . would feel this way for another. But, you have invoked such—such emotion in me, it is almost a miracle.” Eloise laughed sheepishly. “You are not only angel in beauty and mind alike, you are also a miracle worker. . Are you not simply all a woman could ever want?”

“If you insist, Lady Bridgerton—“ You grinned widely, shrugging playfully at her.

You both laughed together, garnering sneers and smiles alike, although none of it was noticed. Lost in your own little bubble, hearts and butterflies practically fluttering around the pair of you.

In a spur of the moment, you decided to break from the traditional dance, pulling Eloise impossibly close to you before twirling her out—her dress billowing: she yelped in shock before you were both laughing giddily, others on the dance floor stumbling in bewilderment.

All eyes were on you both but you could not care, did not notice. You spun Eloise around before twirling her back to your front, swinging her playfully as she laughed loudly and you grinned uncontrollably down at her.

The sudden lack of chatter caused your shared laughter to slowly die out, looking about only to realise all eyes were on you both.

People blinked owlishly at the pair of you and you could feel Eloise begin to tense defensively before a sharp whistling erupted—followed by whoops and claps.

Everyone turned to see Benedict, fingers to his lips as he whistled uproariously. Kate was whooping and cheering happily, smiling ear to ear and Anthony, arm around her waist, was following her lead. Violet was politely clapping, a barely noticeable sheen of happy tears at her eyes at seeing her daughter to happy—Lady Danbury at her side, was applauding wholeheartedly as well. Colin was grinning, cheering—Penelope at his side was similarly expressing. Daphne and Simon were clapping loudly: The Queen, back on her platform, was engaging in a secret applause of her own, concealing her smile with Brimsley at her back doing the same.

Eloise and You blinked.

“Yes, yes!” Eloise snapped over the cheering, concealing her own smile and touched emotions. “We are quite besotted, thank you all for noticing, if you could return to your prior engagements that would sincerely appreciated.” She shouted, glaring at everyone.

The people of the ton twitched and blinked and fumbled in fear of the Bridgerton girl, returning to what they were doing—some sneaking looks back at you both.

When Eloise turned back to you in a pouty huff, you were beaming at her, mischief in your eyes.

“Besotted—?”

“Shut up!”

As your combined laughs echoed beautifully once again, all the Bridgertons and their extended family traded genuine smiles.

Their Eloise was incredibly happy, so it seemed: as were you.

[icarryitin]

Trade Deal

spencer reid/gn!reader

i started this bc i was ill and feeling sorry for myself and it turned into a very not to me not if it’s you kind of vibe, mostly bc i frankensteined a couple of my favourite translations of That Scene so they could have their own version🥰🥰

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: reader has a cold and all the grossness that comes with it, spencer is so Cute™️ it causes me physical pain

summary: In which Spencer Reid, known germaphobe, pretends he doesn’t know exactly how many pathogens have made their home in your sinuses.

It starts with a scratchy throat on a Tuesday morning.

You don’t think much of it, blame it on seasonal allergies, knock back a multivitamin - you’re not about to be bested by a cough of all things. That is, until it gets to Friday afternoon. You’re trying, you really are. Your immune system has other plans.

“You stay right there, Patient Zero.”

Rossi’s comment would be funny if you didn’t think that laughing might trigger a coughing fit that could very well be the end of you, right there in the doorway of Hotch’s office. That’d be one hell of an epitaph - too stubborn to take a sick day, choked to death in boss’s office. Hotch, at least, already seems to know why you’re hovering.

“I’m-“

“Going home, I hope.” He interrupts you with all the fondness of a concerned father. You don’t have the energy to argue, or to hold up an unaffected front. The men standing by the window soften a little as they watch you visibly deflate. Dave promises to send you his Nonna’s minestrone recipe, there’s nothing it can’t cure; right now, though, you’re only thinking about your bed.

The well wishes follow you through the bullpen, old wives tales and family cures that have never failed. JJ tells you to sweeten your tea with honey, Derek swears that a hot water bottle on your back will work magic. Even Emily pipes up from behind her germ shield, the folder held across her face so you can only see her eyes, and tells you to take a hot shower first thing in the morning - the steam will clear you out for the day. There’s a chorus of agreement, or disagreement you’re not sure. It’s a struggle to hear much over the cotton wool in your ears.

“We’ll see, with any luck I’ll die in my sleep. Love you!” You sniffle as you back out of the office, feeling all kinds of sorry for yourself, and determined to make it as far as you can without touching anything. Lest you actually start the next plague.

Spencer watches you go, shuffling backwards out of the office and turning towards the elevators. He’d elected not to add his own suggestions to the plethora of options supplied by the rest of the team. Unable to focus on much beyond just how tired you look. You’ve been fighting this thing all week, he’d passed over his own supply of hand sanitiser only that morning when you ran out. Ultimately, you put up a good fight, but there’s no cure for a virus. It just has to run its course. Just like his own feelings.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be comparing a virus to whatever it is he feels for you. Has felt, will feel - if there’s an end to this tunnel, he can’t see it yet.

“What about you, Spence?”

JJ’s voice pulls him from his thoughts before he can start spiralling down that particular hole. It takes him a moment to recall what they’d been chattering about before your long overdue exit - drinks, right. Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m busy, actually.” He shrugs, content to miss out on one night in favour of the plan currently coming to fruition in his mind. They won’t miss him too much.

“Busy? You weren’t busy when we talked about it last week.” Emily makes no effort to conceal her surprise. To be fair to them, it’s not like him to blow them off. There’s just something that’s come up, something decidedly you shaped, that’s far more important.

“Yeah, I forgot. Sorry.”

Spencer doesn’t miss the look that JJ and Emily share, he doesn’t miss the eyebrow that Derek raises in his direction. He simply chooses to ignore them.

At least the walk to your apartment is short, there’s still heat leeching from the plastic bag around Spencer’s wrist as he fumbles with his keys. You’d given him a bright pink key cap, so he’d know which one was yours, as if he wouldn’t know anyway. Eidetic or not, that’s one he would have committed to memory. The excuse had been because he was helping you out whilst you were down an arm, takedown gone wrong, you’d dislocated your shoulder. And then you’d insisted he keep it, because someone should have your spare key, and he’s the least likely of the lot of you to lose it.

He thinks you might be asleep at first, open plan living area lit only by a salt lamp and a set of fairy lights draped over your kitchen window, it’s cosy. And then you appear in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a jewel toned blanket. The low light is forgiving, but Spencer would be able to spot the bags under your eyes from a mile away. Without his glasses.

“I brought noodles.” He says as he turns back to set the steaming bag on your kitchen counter.

“I’m so gross right now.” As if to demonstrate your point, another cough racks your body. You just about manage to catch it under the swathes of blanket clutched in your fingers, but at least he can’t claim you’re not truly disgusting in this moment.

“I don’t mind.”

You’re so set on denying him entry that you don’t even really register what he said - Spencer Reid doesn’t mind that you’re ill. He doesn’t mind. A younger, healthier version of you would swoon. You might anyway, although that’s probably the vertigo talking.

“You’ll get sick.” Your rebuttal is weak, resolve crumbling. Warm noodles do sound pretty good right now.

“Will you let me help you, please?” It’s the firmest he’s ever been with you. No room for argument, doctor’s orders. So you have to relent. Not that you have much of a choice, he’s already pottering about in your kitchen in search of bowls. As if he doesn’t remember where they are.

“Did you get me a number three?” Your voice is brighter than he’s heard it all week.

“With extra toppings, of course.”

And those extra toppings go down a treat, of course they do.

Spencer watches you carefully as you eat - usually he’d be a little more subtle about it, but there’s not a lot that could pull your attention away from the bowl in your hands. You’re cross legged on the couch, blanket bunched around your middle, happy as a clam. Something his mother would say. He wonders what else she might say, what she might think about the abandonment of his germaphobia. Convenient, probably. Diana would say it with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, the one that’s just for him. She has always liked you.

He promises he’ll be back tomorrow, once dishes are washed and leftovers are tucked neatly in your fridge, to make sure you get that hot shower Emily mentioned. The steam will definitely help, he’s read about it. Arguing with him would be pointless. You don’t have the energy, he’d only show up anyway, and it’s kind of nice to feel looked after. Spencer’s never failed to make you feel like that. You’re far too delirious to start thinking about that, not while he’s still standing in front of you at least. So you let him tuck you into bed, let him leave a glass of water on the table, let him dote. Pretending is a comfort when you feel as awful as you do. You’re already drifting off before he’s even ready to leave, content enough in your bed with the sound of him in the other room. Just, tinkering.

The sound of your front door opening rouses you the next morning, just about. Just enough to raise your head from your pillow and witness the sorry sight in your bedroom doorway.

Spencer’s trying - key word, trying - to suppress his sniffles, but the red rimmed eyes and tissue clutched in his fist give him away. It’s impossible to keep the sad little smile off of your face.

“Oh no.” You reach out a tired arm to pat the space beside you. There’s enough room for the two of you in amongst the blankets, and Spencer’s so far gone that he doesn’t even argue. His shoes and bag find a home at the foot of your bed as he lets himself collapse into the nest you’ve built. Tension leeches out of his body the moment he hits the mattress.

You have to lean across him to get your phone, right arm outstretched over his back - you can feel the heat rising off of him through his sweater and yours. Fever, that’s day two. Which means he spent yesterday evening taking care of you whilst he began to feel worse and worse. Softie.

“Egg or no egg?”

There’s an affirmative grunt from where his face is buried in your blankets. Egg it is, then. You dial the number mostly from memory, elbow still resting on his shoulder blade when you put the phone to your ear. You feel a little better than you did, but dragging yourself to the front door is still probably all you’ll be capable of today. At least you won’t be suffering alone. The line rings for a moment, then clicks, and a grainy hello sounds from the other side.

“Hi, can I place a breakfast order for delivery, please?”

i’m stuck on which chapter to work on next, do we want angst or yearning or fun flirty activities????🧡

[miam0re]

Hi hi!

Sorry for asking, but could we have a barbatos (from obey me) NSFW fic, drabble, content?

I just think he is such a nice character and deserves so much more love from the Fandom

Anyways, thank you for reading

Hello there! Wow answering an ask after so long wahhh! wrote up some quick Barbatos HCs to feed you, I hope you enjoy them!

Barbatos NSFW Headcanons

NSFW, Fem!Reader, ServiceDom!Barbatos, he worships MC your honor, more stuff i probably missed

Barbatos is a service dom. He takes pleasure in giving and giving. After all, he is a butler, isn’t he? His life’s goal is to serve and make sure your happiness is prioritized above all. Be it making tea for you, his favourite blend of course, or massaging your bare shoulders after a particularly exhausting day, he’s always there for you when you call out his name. Even better if you’re moaning it in bed. His preference is to be on top of you and hold your hips down, keeping your legs open with his gradient deep seafoam coloured tail. He’ll tell you in hushed whispers that you just need him to get your mind off your troubles, and with a few thrusts of his ribbed cock inside you, your mind is already blanking.

Barbatos has a ribbed cock. Bet. The colour of his skin blends into a blue-green as it reaches the tip of his cock. Ridges in ring like formations around his dick, and it makes you drool whenever you watch it twitch and come to life when he takes off his clothes.

Barbatos loves your hands. Whether he’s holding them during your walks around campus, or pinning them against the pillows above your head, he just needs to hold them, occasionally pressing kisses and nibbles to your wrists. It drives him crazy when you pull his hair and drag him into a kiss to conceal your moans, pretty nails scratching down his toned back. And he knows that the love for hands is very much mutual, given how you start squirming when his fingers graze over your lips and down your body, plunging into your pussy or running in an oscillating motion on your clit. It feeds his ego how easily you can cum on his fingers.

Barbatos loves kissing frosting off your lips. As usual, when you’re giving him company while he’s waiting for his pastries to bake, he sees your naughty self dipping your fingers in the array of flavoured frosting across the counter. He can't help but smile when you hum at how delicious they are, walking towards you to help clean off your lips. “Allow me, My Lady.” And his mouth is on yours, fingers tilting your chin as he deepens the kiss. His tongue runs over your sweetened lips, tasting his own creation, but that’s not the flavour he craves. Your pants are down to your ankles, your body wedged between the cool metal surface and his cock grinding into you slowly, as his forked tongue dominates your mouth with deep strokes. Whimper and gasp all you want, he’s not leaving until the flavour of you envelopes his immortal being…and the timer of the oven goes off.

[incognit0slut]

ok song request idea: dress by taylor swift. like spence and reader work together and everyone just thinks they’re best friends but in reality they are much more. anyways the team goes out and reader wears a special little dress and spencer goes a little crazy and yeah that’s the idea

Such a perfect song, thank you for the idea! And btw this is just very witty writing please enjoy my sense of humor yall🙂

Take it off

or in summary, the one where Spencer has a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

cw: 18+ implied sexual content but nothing too explicit; wc: 1.8k

MASTERLIST

“…only bought this dress so you could take it off…”

IT STARTED WITH A GLANCE. The subtle look he gave on her arrival at this dinner festivity the team decided to put together had him quivering in his seat, his eyes almost bulging out of its socket as they roamed across the piece of clothing plastered on her body, or perhaps, the lack of it. The silk material hugged her curves so effortlessly, highlighting the way her luscious body was pressed along the short fabric that he was so close to whimpering like a dog.

It was an obscene thought, one he never considered crossing his mind and one that would leave him extremely appalled if anyone knew the truth of it. Comparing himself to a domestic mammal just because he was prone to submit to a master...

He must be mad. Utterly, completely out of his mind.

Yet he couldn't help it. Not when he was practically following her with an imaginary tail wagging between his legs. Not when she looked like a goddess and he was inclined to worship her existence. It was a sense of devotion and adoration, like a feeling of reverence for her curves and figure, for the way she carried herself every time she moved.

It was an intense sensation that was hard to explain, but Spencer would describe it as close to paying tribute to her beauty. To everything about her. Not only was the feeling overwhelming, but it was also intoxicating how the stolen glances enticed the need to reach out and feel those curves right in the palm of his hands.

It was torture. It was an incredibly torturous endurance to be held in his place while she looked like that. Smooth legs, exposed back, and soft cleavage teasing his whim. She also smelled incredibly delicious. A fragrance of delicate flowers with a hint of warm vanilla that made him dizzy with need. He needed to be kept on a leash before he did something he would regret.

Because he needed to behave. Between undressing her with his eyes and wanting to grab her by the waist just to ravish her completely, he needed to keep his calm between his peers, especially when Prentiss had accidentally caught him staring—which he had to mask as finding a newfound interest in the tablecloth single-handedly picked by Rossi, the host of this joyous event.

But it was getting hard to conceal his shaking hands, to act as if he wasn’t craving her touch. It was getting even harder when she suddenly came up to him later that night as he stood by the dessert table, a variety of sweetened goods bought from the most authentic patisserie in town.

"Hey, Spencer." Dear god, even her voice sounded like velvet to him. He watched as her lips slipped into a taunting smile. "You look handsome tonight."

He looked down at his attire. He was never one to put much thought into his choice of clothing, his concern mainly for comfort, not for style. But tonight he adorned himself in a crisp white button-down under the best suit jacket he possessed. It's a black-tie event, Rossi had said the day before. He wasn't sure why his colleague wanted to host a simple dinner into a fancy soirée, but he was a mere guest, and he'd follow anything the host of the night instructed.

He also felt rather silly wearing this bowtie, but after hearing her genuine compliment, it gave him a sense of pride and joy. It also gave him a boost of confidence as he took a step closer, his eyes raking over her body very slowly as if he was taking his time relishing the stunning view in front of him.

She felt the intensity of his gaze as he muttered, "And you look unbelievably irresistible."

A choked laughter slipped out of her mouth. Talking to Spencer had always been interesting, especially whenever he had something factual to share, but the whimsical words coming out of his mouth was what amused her the most.

"I'm told that I look pretty tonight, but I do like that better." She lifted her glass to her lips and noticed the way his eyes lingered on the top of her dress, a full display of cleavage visible to his enjoyment. "So I take it you're fond of the dress?"

"It's exquisite." She giggled at his choice of words. But then the amusement in her eyes slipped into bewilderment as he continued, "Although as much as I enjoy seeing it on your body, I think prefer it on the floor."

It took all of her abilities not to spit out the sweet taste of the expensive wine she just sipped in her mouth. She had to swallow the liquid down her throat and take a deep breath before she could do anything, her mind haunted by the specter of his hands fiddling the zipper on her back, rough fingers grazing her skin as they slowly slid down her body.

"Spencer," she finally murmured, trying to sound disapproving, but it was far too husky.

"What?" He asked innocently. "I'm being honest."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

What was he scheming? What kind of game was he playing, proposing suggestive words, pushing all of her buttons beneath the innocent look he portrayed? The air was suddenly charged with tension. It was a palpable sensation of yearning and lust that came with a sense of danger and risk. It was like a wave of heat washing over her, a very primal and overwhelming feeling that was extremely difficult to control.

Deciding that she wanted to participate in his game, she knew the only way to get the upper hand was to give him a taste of his own medicine. She twisted her head and peered at him through her lashes before executing her revenge.

"Then it's a good thing I bought it so you could take it off."

Perhaps to those around them, they looked like good friends engaging in an innocent banter, heads together, whispering silly jokes. Not in the middle of exchanging explicit promises while he attempted to school his expression on the suggestion she was spouting.

He leveled her gaze. "Statistically speaking, ripping it off would give me a higher chance to do the things I want to do to you sooner."

"Yeah?" She quirked an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by this. "Give me a number then."

"Well, satin is a very delicate fabric and is quite frail and fragile. So it would take me approximately..." He looked away, marveling at the possibilities, before assessing her with a look that had her feeling extremely flustered. "...three seconds to rip it off."

Her tongue swiped her bottom lip while his eyes followed the movement. "You’d actually rip the dress?"

His gaze lingered on her mouth. "In a heartbeat."

"It's very expensive."

"I'll buy you a new one."

Her head was spinning. The image of his large hands gripping onto the fabric and tearing it apart should've repulse her, it was such a primal thing to do that it seemed so close to an animal-like instinct. Like a dog. Like a wolf. With the heat of his gaze, she was sure he could even devour her the moment his hands touched her skin. Eating her whole would be an extreme notion, but eating her like a man starved as he buried his head between her thighs was something she considered possible.

His gaze was so intense that she had to look away to calm her breathing, to let her heart normalize its pace. But then she felt fingertips brush her shoulder. It was light, almost imperceptible, causing a shiver to run down her spine; goosebumps breaking out all over her limbs. This was extremely dangerous, but he had some kind of pull toward her and all the rational thought keeping her sane flew out the window.

She bit her bottom lip as those warm fingers made their way down the sensitive skin of her inner bicep, then slowly made their way down her forearm. It wasn't until she felt the pressure of his palm on her backside that she gasped in surprise. And it wasn't light—oh no, it was immensely rough. His hand gripped onto her left cheek with utmost force, squeezing it thoroughly that she had to straighten herself, her eyes going frantic.

"Spencer!" She hissed, looking around them as she swat his arm away.

"I'm sorry! I can't help it." He cocked his head, his eyes still piercing onto her ass as his intrusive thought won over him. "What underwear are you wearing? You’re incredibly smooth."

She didn't know whether to laugh or hit some sense into him. "Please behave, someone might see us."

"But they didn't." He gave her a sheepish smile, nodding his head towards their friends who were deep in conversation with one another. "And they won't."

She held the urge to roll her eyes. "Just keep your hands to yourself, Dr. Reid."

"Or what?"

"Or..." She glanced at him, noticing the way he was watching her. The sparkle in those hazel orbs was enticing, they were somewhat deep in this pleading yet captivating manner that reminded her of doe, puppy-like eyes. Seeing this she couldn't help but muster, "Or I might have to put you on a leash."

The heat creeping along his cheeks was enough for her to spew out an amused laugh. "Spencer Reid," she goaded, enjoying the way he was flustering over her teasing. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Spencer looked away, clearly embarrassed being caught of his lewd thoughts. He was trying to avoid her gaze as he picked up his forgotten glass resting on the table. She couldn't stop herself as she leaned forward on her heels and hid herself from any onlookers, slightly settling her lips on the crook of his neck, inches away from tasting his skin.

"And to answer your question," she whispered, waiting for him to casually take a lazy sip of his drink. "I'm not wearing anything underneath."

She couldn't help the triumphant smirk as he choked on the mouthful of wine he just swallowed. He then gaped at her, absolutely flabbergasted, and she gave him one last blistering look before excusing herself on the pretense of the bathrooms. Her hips swayed with every move it was hard for him to look away, because all he could think of now was to run his hand up her thighs just to be greeted with soft, wet folds aching to be touched. Aching to be tasted.

It took a lot of self-control for him not to bark.

[alysrivrs]

❛ ♡. gif credit. ⎯⎯ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍. ❜

★ ⎯⎯ prince aemond and his betrothed take a stroll together in the royal gardens, though a bit more happens on this ‘stroll’ than he had previously anticipated.

𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: i don’t really know what this is, but i was heavily caffeinated & wanted to write something with mostly fluff in it, so… happy reading & enjoy ! ♡

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: mdni, suggestive themes, slightly dark!aemond, profanity, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, first kiss (reader), period-typical sexism, misogyny (women are more than breeding machines, aemond!), innocence kink, breeding kink, possessive & obsessive behavior, pet names, romance, fluff—any grammatical errors are my own -- in advance, i sincerely apologize.

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 1.7k

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

aemond could recall the way you smelled by memory—like freshly ripened strawberries, white roses, sweetened vanilla, your hair was always luscious and soft, like the white satin dress you chose to wear today due to the summer heat in king’s landing.

or maybe, you wished to seek him out and gain more of his attention?

if aemond were to be honest with himself, it worked—oh, how it worked.

“tell me, darling—is the color of your lily-white dress an indication of your virtue?” he mused, causing your cheeks to flush and become dewy from the early afternoon sun, blooming flowers surrounding the two of you.

you couldn’t speak, too embarrassed by your betrothed’s sudden teasing—besides… how scandalous would it be if someone were to eavesdrop on your conversation with the one-eyed prince?

aemond smirked, amused by your shy reaction.

‘twas not as if you were in private, no—the prince demanded your presence once he had finished with his morning training, wishing to take you on a stroll in the royal gardens of the red keep, knowing how much you adored the sight of flowers.

still, no matter how scandalous your dress seemed to others, the heat in king’s landing was quite stifling—even more so with aemond carefully observing you, his amethyst eye sharp and intense as he walked alongside you, not paying any attention to the flowers around you both.

aemond was content to just simply gaze down at you, his own pretty, little flower—soon to blossom into a woman grown, as soon as he would take you under his protection as his lady wife, as far as traditions go.

he made you incredibly nervous—with his long strands of silver hair, his sharp yet handsome features, his prominent nose, his lithe but strong frame, his tall height (which towered over you), those soft, naturally curved lips of his… seven above, you could go on and on!

unbelievably, you seemed to have his full, undivided attention, which made your heart flutter—having the prince all to yourself?

you felt as if you were in some sort of dream—perhaps, you were.

especially with the way aemond treated you—respectful and kind, though you could always see a darkened gleam in his one-eye, as if he were holding himself back from something.

it made your soft, inner thighs slick with arousal—it also had you praying to the seven above each and every evening before bed, begging for forgiveness for your depraved thoughts of your betrothed.

in any case, aemond was much, much worse than you.

aemond could not seem to control himself around you, his cock hardening by the second the more he spent his time with you—alone.

“my sweet lady,” he murmured, interrupting your compliments of the colorful flowers, as he allowed you to do most of the talking as you two walked together, side by side.

aemond was never big on conversation, he never had been, preferring to stay silent and keep his thoughts concealed to himself, in fear of being mocked as he was when he was just a child.

you paused, looking up at the prince—his one natural eye was amethyst in color, the other a sparkling sapphire gem he’d stuffed into his left eye socket when he was just a boy, after his eye had been stolen by his bastard nephew.

however, as you looked up at aemond, there was only one word in your mind—beautiful.

still, he was touched that you didn’t seem afraid of him—in fact, you seemed greatly insulted when he would wear his leather eyepatch around you, claiming it unnecessary and that you wished to see your betrothed whole—every single inch of him.

perhaps, that was the moment aemond one-eye fell irrevocably in love with you.

a moment of silence passed—not uncomfortable, just two soon-to-be lovers gazing at each other.

“may i kiss you, my lady?” he questioned, watching your doe eyes widen, your pink, plump lips parting open slightly in surprise.

“k-kiss me?” you stammered, so sweet and innocent and his.

you didn’t have it in your heart to deny him—in fact, you wanted nothing more than to feel his plush, curved mouth upon yours—desperately.

you nodded, eagerly giving him your consent.

aemond chuckled, quiet and breathy, amused by your sudden eagerness—his shy girl no longer.

immediately, without waiting another second, the prince moved to cup the sides of your flushed face with both of his big, calloused hands, before bending his knees slightly and capturing your lips in a needy, passionate kiss—hearing you release a soft, breathy moan of bliss.

aemond hummed, pleased.

unexpectedly, you kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm, though a bit clumsy, making him think to himself that perhaps this was your first kiss—your first kiss with a man.

the thought excited aemond, which also caused his cock to ache with need—to feel your wet, tight little cunt wrapped around his cock, squeezing him like a vise, right before he would start fucking into your warmth at a frenzied pace, mad with lust for you.

you were a soft, sensitive little thing, with a heart made of glass, meant to be protected, loved, spoiled… and aemond was the perfect man for the role.

he’d cherish you like his queen, love you with every breath he took and beat of his heart—the kind of love that would be told for centuries to come—legendary.

after several seconds of growing accustomed to the way your lips molded together—so perfectly—aemond easily slipped his tongue into your mouth—exploring its delicious sweetness.

strawberries, white roses, and sweetened vanilla.

your scent, your taste—it all filled his senses, making his cock strain even more inside of his leather breeches, while he continuously kissed you more and more, like a man starved until he thought he could never stop.

clearly, you did not wish to stop either.

your soft hands clawed at his back, tugging on his long strands of silver hair, clinging to his lithe form with desperation—a need so strong, aemond had half the mind to bend you over the nearest bench, lift up your pretty, satin skirts and fuck you from behind like a wild beast in his rut.

after several longer moments, you pulled away, gasping for air, though your lips still continued to gently brush against his, both of you panting and sharing the same breath—lips kiss-swollen and desperate for more from one another.

aemond’s eyes were heavy lidded and filled with lust—his amethyst eye practically dilated black and his sparkling sapphire eye shining dangerously with the need to touch you, to fuck you, to spill his seed deep inside of your womb—so deep, you’d be carrying his son by morning.

nevertheless, aemond was a gentleman—he could be patient, though that didn’t stop his depraved thoughts of taking your maidenhead on your wedding night, which was quickly approaching by the days—thank the gods.

soon, you’d be his wife—his lady targaryen.

his and only his.

“perhaps, we s-should return b-back inside, my prince? ‘tis nearly lunchtime… the queen mother requested my presence—she wishes to go over the flower arrangements for our wedding,” you spoke breathlessly, your voice slightly shaky from the intensity of the kiss you both shared.

aemond hummed, nodding his head once in agreement, his face returning back to its usual stoic expression—though his cheeks were still tinted pink and his cock was surely leaking inside of his breeches now… as if he were a little boy once again!

how fucking ridiculous, that he had gotten hard after just simple kissing—however, technically it wasn’t just ‘simple kissing’, not when he was so hopelessly in love.

instantly, aemond offered you one of his lean arms, a silent offer to escort you to his dearest mother’s private solar… and maybe even indulge in some of the ladies newest gossip about your upcoming nuptials—if only to spend more time in your presence.

aemond could not give less of a fuck about what any of the simpering, aggravating noblewomen had to say or gossip about—he only cared for you and what you had to say.

therefore, he would endure the torturous boredom of the ladies of the court, even if he thought each and every single one of them were poisonous, nasty creatures.

be that as it may, aemond would only do such a thing to remain by your side for the rest of the day… and to harshly glare threateningly at any lady who even looked at you the wrong way.

it seemed, the longer aemond spent his time in your gentle presence, the more he grew obsessed—your beautiful and relaxing voice, your sweet smiles, your gentle touch, your naïveté.

seven hells, you were the most breathtaking creature he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing, even with only his one-eye.

when aemond did observe you, which was quite often now as he couldn’t bear to tear his eye away from you, he’d notice the little things about you—causing his world to stop and revolve only around you.

you, you, you.

snapping out of his lovesick thoughts, aemond glanced down at you as you looped your own arm around his offered one, making his blackened heart give a tiny flutter as you smiled so prettily up at him.

“shall we, my sweet lady?” he questioned, his voice a low rasp, controlled and steady, but he did try his best effort with being soft with you, not wanting to scare you off and have you believe the vile rumors spread about him from the court gossipers.

he knew he had quite the temper, the targaryen madness, they called it.

you giggled, “of course, my prince.”

fuck, aemond was quite certainly fucking doomed by having you as his future lady wife—so sweet, caring and loving, the way you seemed so docile and yearned for children of your own… you’d make a lovely mother to his sons, that he was certain.

just as a lovely mother to his future heirs, you’d also make the most perfect wife, he decided.

obedient, doting, gentle, tender and loving—aemond could not wait to make you his little wife, and have his firstborn son swelling inside of your womb.

until then, aemond would portray himself as the perfect gentleman (as usual)—that is, until your wedding night arrives.

fin

[lynnlovesthestars]

"Let me show you how this will benefit you".

For @ask-althaearoserun ❤

Pairing: Gortash x fem!OC (Althaea).

Genre: smut.

Warnings: dub-con (kinda since there's coercion), unprotected sex, fingering, oral fem! recieving, possessive Enver, improper use of throne and throne room, edging, orgasm denial, improper use of golden gauntlet, creampie, slight dumb-fucking, rough sex overrall.. if i missed anything let me know. author regrets nothing. Kind of semi-public sex. Slight power-play, implied ownership. spoiler for act 3.

Synopsis: He's got a proposal she can't refuse.

WC: 4.7k

AN: hello, it took me a while to get through this piece for Skull but a month later i finallydelivered it. With her consent I'm posting it- since her OC is out protag tonight-. Nevertheless let me know what you think, lots of love, lynn.

Wyrm's Rock was obnoxiously calm as they reached the bridge that allowed them into the fortress. 

"Lord Gortash is expecting you, please make your way to the audience chamber." The steel watch repeated and repeated until they had stepped past the doors of the audience hall. They were surprised that they’d let them in so easily, yet they obliged seen their insistence without questioning too much the new rules of the fortress. 

The audience hall was packed with royalty and steel watchers as Gortash was idly eyeing the door, awaiting for the last invited guests.  

Them. 

Enver had insisted on having them attend, not only to let them know who they were going against and the power he held, but also because he had heard so much about Althaea. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet the infamous slayer that took down Ketheric, though his first glance at her left him genuinely confused: he knew he could have her wrapped around his gauntlet before even getting to speak with her and her companions. 

She was small, clearly a nuisance, compared to him and his grandiose presence in the room; in a normal setting, she would have passed unnoticed, but in the middle of royalty, she stood out. 

Nevertheless, his focus was on the ceremony- though Karlach and her troupe didn't agree. The tiefling was furiously throttling towards him, seething and burning. He knew that the steel watch would not have been enough against her, and that it would have sent the wrong message to the masses present at the ceremony, 

“A moment please, my friends- an old acquaintance has come to pay her respects." He mused as he took a step forward, descending the stairs. "Please, Karlach, come say a proper hello.” He said with a smile painted full of faux friendliness. His voice was clearly sweetened for the audience they had as he stepped towards her himself. 

“My respects? You are lucky I’ve agreed to not shove my boot up your-” Karlach roared before he interrupted her with distaste. 

“Ah how I missed your colorful turn of phrase.” He twirled his hand dismissively. “We must catch up as soon as I’ve had words with your little friend.” He uncaringly ignored the tiefling and glanced towards Althaea with dark eyes, clearly hiding something behind them. 

“As for you, I shall congratulate.” He gave her a small bow of his head. “Thorn’s defeat has not passed unnoticed; shall I say thanks to that Netherstone you carry and for your astonishing fighting abilities”. He said with his honeyed voice. “Pleasure to meet you” He gave her a small bow with her head, politeness first, persuasion later. 

He had wondered how she’d rudely introduce herself, telling him to fuck off or hells knows what, yet the moment she opened her pretty mouth, she sounded anything like the gruesome descriptions of her persona he had heard. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Lord Gortash.” She put up her best smile, concealing her mild disgust at the closeness with him. She could feel the bile forming in the back of her mouth already. 

“I believe we have something rather important to discuss.” He pressed his hands together and cracked his fingers, readying for the extenuating and boring conversation they were going to have. “Indeed” She nodded, looking at his movements in case he’d rush a movement.  

The conversation went on between Gortash trying to gauge how much they had known and Althaea respectfully grunting and nodding as he went on and on. 

It felt for her as if he was trying to stroke her mind as he spoke, keeping her in the loop of the conversation yet leaving behind chunks of information he didn't want to reveal yet. 

It was only at the end that he finally seemed to take a step closer to his objective, finally poking at their only protection against the absolute. 

“That prism of yours won’t last indefinitely.” He said sternly while he crossed his arms apprehensively. “Next there's the grand design. Though I suppose that if we come to an agreement, this fate can be avoided.” He concluded in a smirk. 

“What do you suggest?” She quickly ignored the emperor in her head as she replied with a shake of her head yet standing tall and confident in front of him, not allowing him to believe he had the upper hand against them. Enver seemed entertained by her stance, so insignificant yet so annoying in the bigger picture of his plan. He had two choices: either squish the fly or get the fly on his side, and he was a mastermind at the end of the day. 

“Well, the brain won’t respond to new commands as soon as it is done with its current ones. Then it will be free to do as it wishes, and that would be rather unpleasant.” He pointed arch and clever. “And once it’s freed I doubt we’ll ever be able to bring it under control again.” He smacked his lips together as he threw a glance at Althaea- that was now at the center of everyone's attention. 

“I still don’t see where you are going” She lied, seeing behind his mask of politeness. He wanted something. He had that look in his eyes that reminded her of how her father would look at her before he'd try to make a move to overpower her, and she wanted to throw up right there and then. Yet she knew she had to do this: for the sake of her friends, for the sake of the city, and possibly for the sake of the whole coast. 

It was almost as if his words were calculated, trying to catch her in like a spiderweb set up for the next victim, and his sweet- almost sincere words, where the honey he bet would get her to agree. As if admitting having made a poor alliance would have somewhat fixed all that there was wrong with the situation.  

“They say a brittle alliance can never be mended; it is bound to break.” He intoned as if he had rehearsed those words countless times. “Orin is unreliable, and with Ketheric gone, she will want the stone for herself” He simply explained axiomatic. “She only cares for blood, and mine and yours are positively delectable right now.” There was the threat.  

Orin.  

He would betray her if he needed- and he hoped the merry troupe would agree. He was the better way anyway. Giving Orin all that power would have created devastation and unleashing the brain would waste all this gracious power he was about to grasp at. 

No one was fitter to sit ahead of Baldur's Gate like the adept of Bane. 

Nevertheless, Althaea didn't budge. If he wanted something he had to say it out loud, in front of everyone in the room. “I suppose you are right, but I still don’t see what you are trying to say” She huffed.  

“I can’t let that happen, I don’t want to destroy this city, I want to steer it to its glory." He trailed off with another of his sly smiles. “I have a proposition for you” He finally advanced, looking at Althaea first before addressing the rest of the party. 

“A divine oath, sworn and unbreakable. I shall do no harm to you, nor you to me." He propositioned. "You'll slay Oring and with all three of the Netherstones we’ll rule Faerun as kings.” He spelled each of his last words as if they were the best promise he had for them, a vision of success and glory that everyone would run for. “No more than kings- gods. We'll rule as the absolute.” He hyped himself with his own words, as the taste of power already floated in his reach for him to snatch. 

“The only absolute here is my no.” She said firmly trying to ignore the same feeling he had, the need for power. 

His eyes muted, as if he had a new challenge to accomplish, he had set his mind on. “Oh dear, I didn’t know I had to convince you.” He lowered his voice, while his eyes stared daring. “I shall do so once we are done with the ceremony then.” He dismissed them just as quickly as he had with Ketheric before he left him to his demise. 

The ceremony was painfully boring as all the honors had to be made, introducing the most relevant figures in the room and witnessing the tadpoled Duke proclaim Gortash archduke. Althaea could swear even her tadpole was squirming in boredom as the time went on, but there was something about Gortash as he politely entertained the crowd that made her cheeks grow warmer. He'd occasionally made sure to take glances her way, not even attempting to conceal them as the event formally came to an end and their debate resumed. 

It had been a long and extenuating conversation up to that moment, the more Althaea and Enver would bicker, the more the room would feel warm, and with Karlach's occasional comments, the tension was over the top. 

The two were figuratively at each other’s throat. It was a battle of wit, and whether Althaea would end up accepting it or not was up to Enver’s skills. 

She couldn’t deny the allure of the man, and she knew it was better to stay on his good side rather than his bad side. 

“This won’t end well, mark my words” Karlach remarked with a scoff while Enver had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

“I understand your concerns, my old friend, but allow me to demonstrate why you made the right choice.” He purred again, as if he had not tried to reason with them already. He couldn't help but notice Althaea's reaction, her frame shivering when he lowered his voice at last. “You should focus on finding the impostor in your camp” He dismissed Karlach with the useless information of the vanished druid as his eyes fell on Althaea again, already undressing her with his eyes. 

"Let me show you how you'll benefit from this deal" He stepped closer to Althaea, making sure his words were low enough to caress her skin only. 

She could even smell his thoughts as they floated in the room, between them, just like the polite dislike she felt towards him, inviting her brain to stir towards the thought of being bent over the throne, her legs spread for Gortash as he rolled his hips. 

If his point was to get her aroused, he was doing way too good for her wellbeing. 

“Let them out” Enver leaned forward and ordered with a whisper that was so rough she could have mistaken him for a rabid animal. A long shiver ran down her spine as she obliged.  

It took her a moment to convince them it was safe, that she was going to be okay, and he was not going to hurt her, his mind had said so, his body had said so, and she knew he had better intentions than murdering her right there, or so she hoped. 

“Where were we?” He asked, smiling as soon as everyone stepped out and the doors closed behind her. 

“The benefits from the deal.” She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wondering where he was going with his words and his behavior. She could tell he had other plans that didn't involve much talking and she hated that she wanted to find out what those plans were. 

“Ah yes” He circled around her as if she was his prey and he was about to devour her, the tip of his gauntlet traced her jawline, gently tilting her head as if he wanted her to follow his gaze. “The benefits” He hummed as he was again in his original place. “Follow me, dear.” He offered his hand like a gentleman for her to take. “Let’s take a seat.”  

She was dizzy by his words as she accepted his hand and followed him promptly, still trying to keep her composure as they had to come to some sort of compromise. She had to keep up the polite mask, ask for the right things and leave. 

When they came close to the red lined throne, she was quick to catch up eased when Enver roughly gripped her hips and sat her in his lap, as if she was his pretty toy for everyone to see as he sat there regal.  

She tried to keep her composure even though she could feel her wetness starting to seep through her now soaked panties, not too far from Enver’s thigh. “So, the benefits?” She smiled expectantly as she tried to ignore the redness of her cheeks. 

“Well, let's start with a special seat for you, dear.” He purred as he hooked his arm under her legs to properly seat her in his lap, her legs dangling off one side of the golden throne, where she knew she could admire the hall in its whole beauty. She hummed as she didn't dare to look around yet. 

“Don’t you like the view?” He teased as he guided her head towards the entrance to the room, from where she could see every corner of the hall. He made a particular effort in being delicate as she manhandled her, making sure she couldn't miss a chair even if she tried to look away again. 

Earlier she didn't notice the tapestries hung on the high walls, setting the scene for the countless events that were held there. 

“It’s pretty, but it’s not enough” She shrugged faking disinterest. 

“Isn’t it?” He asked curiously as rested his gauntleted hand on her thigh deliberately. The cold gold almost stung against her warm skin as it inched way too close to her pussy. She had to focus on the deal and get out of there, she thought, she had to sort this out and leave. 

“How about this?” He purred as his index finger made its way towards her soaked underwear, running a finger over her clothed heat. He let out a rough hum as his fingertips drenched just as quickly as she refused again.  

“Not enough, sorry” She pushed her legs closed and tight, as the blush on her cheeks made her even more appealing at Enver's eyes. 

He didn't retreat as he brushed the tips of the gauntlet on her tight, still reminding her where she was sitting and how sensitive she was to his touch. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.” He whispered as he made sure his lips brushed against her ear. 

It didn't take much for her to smell the pungent scent of cheap cologne and sweat, quickly taking over all her senses. 

One arm of his quickly wrapped around her middle, supporting her back as his slender fingers quickly spread her legs and moved her underwear to the side before diving ring-deep into her folds.  

He let out a low, dark groan as her pussy clenched around his index finger the second it slid in. She was so wet for him, and he was so eager to see her crumble in his arms. The shallow whine she indulged in sounded like poetry to the man. 

His thumb took its time to find her clit, gently teasing her sensitive nub. His skilled movements were leaving her breathless as she had to keep herself from moaning his name out loud whenever the pad of his finger would bring her so close. 

“I suppose this is a good reason then?” He vexed her teasingly as he stopped on his tracks, waiting for her reply eagerly. 

She was leaning against him just enough so she wouldn't lose balance as she gasped. Her body was still taught as if on the verge of a cliff awaiting to be pushed off, yet she was kept there, tense. 

She shook her head no, the smallest hint of sanity left in her had pushed, reminding her that she couldn't give it all up for an orgasm, right? 

“Ah, pity” He huffed as he quickly slid out his fingers, uncaring if it would stimulate her too much, leaving her gasping and empty, though still in his lap. She almost begged him to not retreat, the newfound need was already enough in her eyes for him to grasp at as he tsked. 

"Need further reasons?" He asked wickedly as he undressed her with his eyes. He could already imagine how her shirt would tie nicely around her wrists as he pinned her down and he made sure she could feel his thought deep down her bones. 

His eyes wouldn’t leave hers for a second, whenever she tried to look away, he’d gently grasp at her chin and bring her attention to him again. She could feel her body heating ever more under his skillful touch as he couldn't help himself but to feel her again, basking in the moment he allowed another finger to enter her, and he stole a soft mewl from her lips. 

This time he was quick, hurried, abrupt as his fingers plunged and grasped at her breath, and just as quick he took his fingers away from her cunt, leaving her just at the cusp of her orgasm again. 

“Please-” She let out as she begged to come, she could feel her orgasm so close, yet so far, just a few pumps away, although those ended up being denied to her. 

“I apologize, I suppose that’s part of the deal, if you’ll accept of course” He whispered before he languidly brought his fingers in his mouth. He was so undeniably sexy, looking at her from under his dark lashes as he sucked her juices off his pads, the wet sound of his lips swallowing her was sending Althaea over the edge. “Ah how I wished you had agreed.” He sighed as he made sure he'd lick each finger clean. “I would have been delighted to taste this lovely juice directly from the source.” 

She swore her eyes rolled at the back of her head just at the thought of his tongue taking a fat lick down her pussy, drenching his stubble with her wetness, and the way he had been swirling it along his fingers looked like a promise she might have been desperate enough to accept. 

“Unless you need more, of course.” He noted sultry as he made no effort hiding what he was alluding to. 

She hesitated. She wanted to reason, to ask what the accord would have stipulated, yet all she could focus on was the ache between her thighs and the need to be filled before she’d miss the chance.  

She nodded as she gripped the edge of her skirt with a blush she couldn’t hide. He hummed satisfied as he quickly secured his arms around her, holstering her frail body and setting her down on the flush throne. 

Quickly and uncaring he tore her panties away from her skin, and spread her pretty legs, revealing her sopping pussy to him. 

He fell to his knees brazenly, bringing his face close to her heat, humming at the sight of her wetness dripping onto the chair.  

His hot breath hitting her naked and dripping core right before his plump lips met with her cunt in a lazy lick, collecting her arousal on his tongue. A filthy growl escaped his lips as he dived between her legs, dedicating his attention to her needy clit, having her whole body shake under his tongue as pleasure overtook her senses completely. 

No one ever remotely made her squirm with their tongue the way Enver was doing just about now as he traced figures eight on her swollen bud, her legs shaking as he guided them around his neck, resting them on his back and being totally engulfed face first in her pussy. 

His finger soon joined, swiftly plunging into her core with ease. It was like she was losing control of her own body as he pumped his digit in her, hitting right where she needed it as his tongue eagerly swirled and licked her like a hungry and desperate man sitting in front of his last meal, devouring and dipping in her folds like a madman. 

Althaea could barely keep her mouth shut as she wailed his name like a forbidden grace as a second finger slid in, his low moans reverberated through her as she sucked him in, clenching around his digits hungry for more, hungry for him. 

He licked her, kissed her, savored her, every centimeter of her throbbing warm pussy getting him high off her, the most euphoric he’s ever been.  

He pumped his fingers in her cunt insatiably as she could feel it build up, the familiar knot as her muscles tensed up, feeling the heat rise and her legs shake. Then when she finally could taste her orgasm on the tip of her tongue, he stopped again. 

He looked at her almost feigning innocence as he cleaned his drenched stubble with his fingertips. He popped each one his mouth again, before sitting up and leaning forward in front of her. 

She looked and felt so small under him as he towered menacingly above her, and even more when she noticed his erection aggressively pressing against his trousers. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her wide eyes, stealing a scoff from her. She turned away, her cheeks already bright crimson from the heat coming from her own body, the embarrassment just doubled up on her.  

“ ‘suppose you like what you see?” He tantalized as he grasped at her chin, and harshly turned her head towards him. 

She nodded a bit dazed from the fast movement as she was still slouched on the throne, legs wide open for him; before they could both line more words, he was on her again. 

His lips trailed down her neck, peppering her skin with sloppy open-mouthed kisses as he mumbled praises against the hot flesh he was ready to devour. His body pressed heatedly against hers, his fingers hungrily digging in her skin as he earned a guttural moan from her. 

“Accept and all of this will be yours” He rasped as he pressed his clothed hard cock against her cunt, grinding just enough to tease her and ease a bit his erection. 

She knew what she was about to bargain with, yet her senses were taken over by her thirst, desperate for release. “Make me come and I’ll accept.” She purred as she bit her lip, almost drawing blood as eager as she was. 

He tilted his head, still holding tight to her chin as he considered her offer. “Don’t know” He shook his head, not breaking eye contact with her. Though she was completely disheveled- half naked and slouching, she still didn’t lose her confidence. He liked it, she was breathtaking. 

She was bold in her movements as he pushed away his hand from her chin and grabbed the collar of his button up. “Shut up and kiss me already.” She pulled him down as she sat up, making him space on the throne again and making sure she was straddling him comfortably. 

Her legs perfectly draped over his lap as she pressed her warmth against his cock. She relentlessly held to his collar as their lips collided in a rough kiss.  

His coarse lips felt scorching against her sweetness, taking over her senses with the aggressive and pungent taste of cheap wine and sweat. The second she tasted it, she knew she was not going to be able to give it up for anything. 

He didn't get undressed, nor did he undress her more than her panties that were already missing, he simply quickly untied his pants and freed his cock. He was strong and the way he was holding her and guiding her on top of his cock was proof of it- just making Althaea more eager to be filled. 

The cold of the golden gauntlet was just the tip of the iceberg as her body was so eager and close already. He had tortured enough, yet the way he pulled her up to have better access to her pussy, made her even hornier than before. 

He was quick in sinking into her cunt, loudly and rough as he manhandled her effortlessly. “So tight, doll” He grunted as he dug his fingers in her soft flesh, stealing a strangled moan from Althaea’s loose lips. 

She was lucky the chatter from outside was loud enough cause, if that was what he could coax out of her with one blunt thrust, she didn’t dare to imagine how she’d keep her lewd sounds unheard. 

She stretched so nicely around him as he filled her to the brim, he didn’t wait for her to adjust before he’d start moving.  

He did a good job hiding it until then, but he was dying to fuck her senseless. Looking at her tossing her head back and moaning his name sent a rush of adrenaline down his body to his cock as he mercilessly slammed into her. 

One hand quickly snuck under her shirt, sloppily grabbing her breast and teasing her nipple as he could feel her already inching closer to her first orgasm. 

The way she rode him drove him insane, unable to form sentences from time to time while the only thing he could do was use his hands to guide her, gripping her ass and helping her to keep some speed as she choked on her words.   

All that could be heard was the sound of ragged breath and skin slapping as she tried to meet his speed. He had her wrapped around his cock so consumed as his movements did nothing but make her mewl and sub for him.  

She didn’t have the power to question how he did it, but his hips met with her in such an electrifying way as he rolled deep in her.  

With one deep thrust he had her eyes rolled back as he rammed her and fucked her till exhaustion. 

“You’re mine” He rasped as the words mindlessly fell over his lips with a possessiveness neither expected. “You understand?” He demanded as he suddenly slowed down, his thrusts hitting deeper, till that sweet spot that made her toes curl and her stomach flutter. 

Y-Yes” She mewled as his nails once more found her hips, pulled her down and closer to him 

“Say it” He ordered as he deliberately let go of her hips, allowing gravity to harshly let her collide with him. “Who do you belong to?” He grabbed at her chin and guided her face towards his. 

Her eyes were dilated, her mouth slack as she fucked herself on his cock desperately. “Yours” She wailed as her hips twitched frantically.  

“Say my name, doll” He rasped as he could feel her cunt ready to milk him as he waited for her reply.  

“I-I” She moaned as she could feel her orgasm pull over her. “B-belong” His hands gripped at her hips again, helping her come as he met her movements. “E-enver” She croaked and sobbed as she could barely hold on to herself anymore, the pleasure rippled under her skin uncontrollably, like a tidal wave pulling her in and out as she gushed over his cock. 

His lips hungrily met with hers again as she sobbed a moan against them, his movements were sloppy just like his kiss as he let his own intense, reckless, arrogant orgasm was over him.  

He carelessly came into her cunt, enjoying the view of his cum filling her to the brim and spilling on her legs. His words were a faint buzzing as she could barely feel her spine and leaned against him, yet she didn’t care anymore. 

She had already fucked up when she accepted and there was no way back. 

No way back from being fucked silly on a throne. 

Just an handful of minutes later she was standing next to her companions, the closest she could get to presentable as his cum dribbled down her thighs as she sealed her deal with Enver, that smirked at her. 

“I, lord Enver Gortash, in the name of Bane, swear I shall do you no harm, and we will rise together over Toril as a roaring sun” He smiled boldly at her, as he offered her his hand, waiting just for her to take it. 

[anantaru]

cw. kissing, gn! reader, very sweet

a/n. i wrote this during my current traveling, it was night and i listened to some music, very comfy, enjoy loves <3

a golden silence soothes the synapses of your brain to a stand still — in supplemental position to being concealed underneath the blossoming sakuras on a luminous evening outside of inazuma city.

furthermore, you find yourself tremendously elated after ayato places the first kiss of the night on your lips and voicelessly fuses his undying love and devotion into your precious skin.

all coming together and devising into one with your fulfilled boyfriend loving your serene voice, your gratifying company and pacifying affections on his person.

"are you cold?" ayato speaks to you, mind at peace, there really wasn‘t a thing he didn‘t notice about you while in those moments he too— would blush slightly with a smile tempted to slip past the corners of his mouth. yet regardless, forged by the kindness of his heart, a dwindle of concern was coursing over his shaded eyes as he automatically discarded of his jacket to wordlessly drape it over your shoulders, "but what about you?"

"worry not." he kisses your forehead, "i‘m never cold around you."

no matter when in time it would happen— the realization that had anchored your soul and created a clear difference in your view of reality, it was no other than the moment ayato would press his lips on you— because, in truth, it wasn‘t “just” a kiss or a simple peck, it was born off pure intention.

for that, he will forever be yours, just as you are his, while agreed— the word forever was shaped separately around each person. would ayato be able to make you happy? yes, you could bet on it, it's a promise locked in eternity, welcomed with honeyed grace and sweetened gratitude.

you look at the trees, listen to the birds and kiss while humming to yourself lovingly. it feels intoxicating when he looks at you, when he sees you, it‘s as if space and time arrive at the finest most dearest position imaginable, it's when kamisato ayato kisses you.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[kitorin]

OUR SPRING

004. dating

"Date me."

"Excuse me what the fuck-?" It wasn't the most elegant way to respond, but it was still one of the most reasonable.

His face was still barely inches away from yours, you expected to notice whatever the media concealed. Any blemishes, scars, acne, maybe even a pimple or two. But somehow, he has none of those. As excessive as it sounds, it was safe to say that he was completely flawless. At least in a visual context. Even in a dark, barely lit janitor's closet his skin still seems to glow, while radiating youth and beauty.

He breaks out into laughter, as if this was peak comedy. "I don't think it's in the way you're thinking of right now... Sorry to disappoint you, darling." For the first time you notice his dimples, which also seemed to complement his face greatly.

The thought of ripping out his luscious hair flits through your mind.

"First, call me that again and I'll make sure no one wants to cast you as a male lead again. Second, if this isn't a weird confession, what is it?"

Concern pinches his features, but they soon return to his usual confident expression.

"We're only going to fake a relationship. It'll benefit both of us."

"You're a fucking idiot, you know?" You could understand his thought process, but at the same time you found this proposal ridiculous.

"You have such an elegant and sophisticated manner of speaking" He comments sarcastically, soon shutting up with a glare from you. "Please listen."

It seems like a waste of time, but you still permit him to explain with a nod. He finally moves back a bit. "How would this work? Won't we just look like manwhores if we're suddenly dating someone else?"

"Which is precisely why we aren't suddenly together. We've been dating throughout the past term, but kept it secret due to not being ready for publicity. That's when the Kira rumors began, right? And you've always denied every single one?"

You nod. Everything's slowly piecing together. "I have. So we're going to make it look like we've been dating this whole time, but due to wanting privacy Kira took advantage of it and tried to make it look like I liked him?"

"Precisely. We're kinda villainizing Kira here, but personally I don't mind. I don't think you do either."

"I don't. But how exactly does this benefit you? Will I have to start posting on social media? Won't I look like another one of your partners?"

Chigiri pauses for a moment, as if he never thought of those possibilities, and was currently improvising a solution. "Well, first off, we'll keep you faceless whenever possible, and I'll make posts on social media. Second, you being with me would help confirm it when the other idols deny the scandals. Think of it as further evidence for our denial."

It was honestly a great idea. Sure, collaboration with a celebrity and having a bit of public exposure was risky but when the media is convinced it'll persuade your classmates too. Chigiri notices this hesitation of yours, and goes even further to sweeten the deal.

"I'll take full responsibility if anything happens. I'll compensate you too."

You blink. It was flattering to know that he knew of to take ownership of his actions but the offer still shocks you. "I appreciate it... but why?"

"I'm dragging you to unfamiliar territory in a way. I'm also proposing this. The compensation is non negotiable." He finalizes your deal, waiting for your answer.

You pause for a moment. Was this risky and possibly stupid? Yes. But it's the only solution available at the moment.

Besides, it's not like anything was entirely risk free, right?

"Let's do it." He's been a celebrity for a long time, he knows what he's doing.

The serious and stern expression he wore dissipates, now one of victory and joy. "Great."

Before you could continue speaking, he unties his hair, ruffling it and tucking his hair tie into one of his pockets. His lithe fingers go up to his shirt and start unbuttoning the top few, while his teeth dig into his lips. Just when you're about to question what he's doing, you realize. Chigiri's already preparing for this act of yours, swollen lips and messy hair, it looks he's been making out.

To accentuate this, he goes even further, pulling out lip balm. He rubs a bit of the pink substance on his neck, careful with it's placement to replicate the aftermath of kisses.

Before you could ask if this was too far or not, he interrupts.

"May I?" His hands reach for your hair, as you allow him to with a nod.

Chigiri's slim fingers gently dishevel your hair, slightly ghosting over your scalp. Although he had intended to create the image of you two having a steamy make out session, the two of you rather juxtaposed each other. Chigiri looked like he came straight out of a romance drama (which is, in one way true), as the male lead that everyone swoons over, perfect everything and ethereal. The embodiment of the ideal man.

On the other hand, you looked like you had a rough night, tossing and turning, and forgetting to brush your hair in the morning.

With a slight tilt of his head asking if you were ready you nodded in response, as the door opens and you're both soaked in light once more.

You weren't sure what exactly to expect, but nothing movie or drama like happened. No one froze in their tracks to question what they were witnessing. Whispers fluttered within the hallway, accompanied by gasps and shocked questions.

To further amplify your facade, Chigiri wraps an arm around your waist, the sensation's new and unfamiliar, but it's warm and oddly comforting.

For the first time, you walk out of school with eyes on you, staring at you with curiosity and great interest.

THREE | FIVE | MASTERLIST

PAIRING. chigiri hyoma x reader

SYNOPSIS. school gets overwhelming with constant rumours and accusations, thankfully someone is willing to help. but what happens when this mutually beneficial agreement escalates into something more?

GENRE. social media au, fake dating, idol / actor au

TAGLIST. @izzylovestnbhd, @angelchigiri, @punkhazardlaw, @silly-ez, @y-sabell-a, @mellozhi, @luvlunazx

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[torawro]

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. this is a toji-centric fic (exclusively from his pov with third person narration) so it doesn’t truly have a reader, but the “woman” often being mentioned throughout is afab. loosely based on chapter 75 of the manga. contains heavy (ish) angst + and descriptions of angst. contains nsfw and descriptions of explicit scenarios, including penetrative sex (reflecting on it already happening) and masturbation (m. receiving, mentions of dried cum). metaphorical (sort of??) depictions of dark themes (i.e., nonexistent “voices”, bad coping skills, toji’s deep emotional and mental trauma, hints of dissociation, etc.). toji is emotionally stunted n constipated and therefore kinda rude. i’m trying to depict him as realistically as possible. lmk if i missed something ♡.

word count ━━ ! 2.0k

notes ━━ ! i posted this fic last night but i am reposting because it wasn’t showing up in the tags (sobs loudly) so i'm sorry for tagging everyone again. i hope you all enjoy this though. wanted highlight an important aspect of toji's life (after mamaguro's death) in a different way bc a lot of the fandom glosses it over w/ jokes. they can be funny or whatever but what this man has been through is actually sad and must have been difficult. since gege refuses to give more backstory on him, i wanted to try and verbalize a more somber, realistic version of toji and dissect him a bit. hopefully i did well characterizing him in this context. reblogs and commentary are very much appreciated!!!!

TOJI'S RAGGED BREATHS SOON evened out after a few minutes. His strong, scarred chest resumed its normal pattern and pacing of its rises and falls. The tail end of his constrained groans of pleasure and expletives lingered in the air along with the stuffy aroma of sex.

With his head resting against the headboard of this woman's bed━ a woman whose name briefly escaped from his mind━ and his increasingly soft cock resting in his callous palms, Toji's eyes slowly pried themselves open and were motionlessly glued to the white ceiling.

He laid there in that position, unmoving, for at least five minutes. Silence swallowed up the space of the room, except for the distant sound of a shower running directly across the hall.

At present, all Toji had the energy for was to breathe and blink. He didn't even move to immediately rid himself of his own ropes of cum that were beginning to harden in his hand in spots on his inner thighs.

Like a spark of static electricity giving him a miniscule jolt of energy, Toji found it within himself to drag his dark, jade irises over to the bedroom door that was slightly ajar, and stared at it as he listened to the water from the showerhead rain on the woman bathing herself.

The events of the last couple of hours replayed throughout his mind's eye as he blankly stared at the entryway. He thought about how he met the woman at one of the establishments he preferred to gamble his money at and how her sugary smile sweetened his silver tongue. He pondered over how he somehow persuaded her to take him back to her very nice apartment, and how he in return gained a place to lay low and rest for the next week or so, by coaxing her with his words and his well-endowed cock.

A gruff, sardonic chuckle fell from his parted lips when he then started thinking about the intercourse he engaged in with this woman. Despite how good it was, despite how her cunt squeezed and fluttered around him, at the end of it all, he still had to resort to pumping his own length like a touch deprived teenager just to obtain that release that's been building up over the last few hours.

Mentally shaking away the lethargy that plagued every square inch of his brain and body, the former Zen'in lifted his head and directed his vision at his bare lap and the sheets that pooled around his knees. Allowing his head fall forward a bit, his inky black hair acted as curtains to conceal his scarred face━ and the other thoughts that lurked in the shadows of his mind that threatened to reveal themselves on his countenance.

If this is what post-nut clarity truly felt like, Toji would have preferred to remain in the state of blissful ignorance and perpetual 'arousal' forever.

He's never felt so blinded by his reality than he did in this moment.

As he thought over this, dark tendrils of smoke rose and slithered out from his repressed memories, suffocating his consciousness like a python squeezing the life out of its prey. He ignored the sensation and its whispers that told him that that wasn't true. He lent a deaf ear to its reminders that he had always been cognizant.

Toji had always been painfully aware of his feelings and the realities that were constantly handed to him. The reality of the life he ran away from, the reality that crumbled away and died with his wife, and of the fucking pathetic reality that stared at him in the face in the form of his dried seed and some stranger's bed. Deep down he unfortunately remembered and was aware of everything. He only became increasingly more conscious, as the months and years toiled by, that he didn't want to be. It was less of a pain that way.

But goddamn it, sometimes his mind was too sharp for its own good, his thoughts strayed too far that it would pierce his very heart and soul.

Toji's vacant gaze was no longer trained on his hands, but more like past them━ into the metaphysical void of space itself, and he was dragged deeper into thoughts he didn't like to revisit or linger on. Everything around him seemed to become muffled and faded into nonexistence.

Toji had previously believed that he didn't care how he lived anymore, as long as he got paid what he was owed and someone didn't try to assassinate him as he slept, then everything else was fine. He believed that going through life like this was no big deal, that this ephemeral living situation didn't bother him. He again ignored the tendrils that reminded him that it did.

A grimace of contempt formed on his face when he subconsciously compared his current behavior of jumping from woman to woman to that of some kind of male prostitute. It shouldn't have bothered him, really━ wasn't like he put a gun to any of their heads or something. It was their problem if they wanted to spread their legs for him, and he enjoyed sex, relatively free meals and some extra spending cash here and there. None of that was supposed to tug uncomfortably at his soul but it did.

And it made sense that it did, when memories of his late wife still flashed in his mind from time to time━ like at this very moment, for example. She appeared whenever his eyes fluttered shut for too long or when he was pulled so far underneath the surface of his own thoughts. Strangely enough, this wasn't exclusive to after having sex with another woman or mindless masturbating.

He was supposed to have gotten rid of that stupid self-respect, this dignity and its adjacent shame, that still lingered in the back of his chest.

He promised himself that he wouldn't live by such standards of pride anymore. He hasn't for a long time, and has been doing well but. . . . but why did the specters of doubt still haunt him so? Hasn't he suffered enough? Those remnants and emotions of an existence that slipped through the cracks and fell into the abyss, shouldn't be able to reach him all the way up here.

But they did.

Toji wasn't as foreign to doubt, to shame, to pride & to self-respect as he thought he was. He'd just been fooling himself. He had always been very persuasive.

None of those things had ever done him any good anyway. All they did was remind him that he was still human.

A useless sentiment. One that no longer mattered.

He shifted his head to the right, gaze hooded before he briefly closed his eyes━ as if he were trying to avert his attention away from something disturbing━ in a feeble attempt to extinguish the wispy embers of his thoughts and ignore its voice.

But Toji’s soul would always smolder with rejection, a characteristic of his that was so deeply ingrained into the fabric of his existence, it wouldn't dissipate no matter how much he wanted it to. His acceptance or refusal of this notion would always be apart of him━ it would always define who he was, whether he welcomed it or not.

But he didn’t care. Caring would make him feel, and reflect and remember too much, and he wasn't really itching to do any of those things anymore.

He only opened his eyes again by a few centimeters, his long dark lashes nearly obscuring his vision completely. His broad shoulders faintly slumped forward, and the fist he didn’t know was clenched into a fist relaxed itself. Like everything else, he ignored the dull ache his short finger nails caused, creating crescent shaped marks on his hand.

The large man hadn't realized the woman was finished with her shower until his ears picked up the sound of her feet on the hardwood floor. The padding noise that steadily increased in volume was enough to break Toji free of his torpid stupor, allowing him to swing his legs over the bed and finally stand up.

Stretching out his limbs and rolling his shoulders, his muscles flexed and shifted across the wide planes of his marred but statuesque body.

As he began looking around for his shirt and boxers, his phone vibrated on the bedside table. Toji picked up and answered without even bothering to check who it was, because there were only two people that had this particular number. And one of those people had an unfortunate "accident” during a previous job.

“What is it?” he answered, slightly startling himself with his own voice; it didn’t quite sound like it came from his mouth. It seemed a little raspier, rougher around the edges, and deeper than usual, like he hasn't spoken in long time.

“Now is that any way to greet the person who so generously hands you on a silver platter?” Shiu Kong’s equally deep but honey-smooth voice reverberated in Toji’s ear.

Toji’s eye roll was practically audible as Shiu chuckled mirthfully on the other line, already imagining the look on his client’s face.

Without having to turn around, he sensed the presence of the woman he was currently “staying” with enter the room. He couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge her wrapping her arms around him from behind and kissing his upper back before floating off to her vanity and closet, which sat on the other side of the room closer to the door.

Still, even though he wasn’t next to her, Toji knew he couldn’t speak as freely as he would of liked now, which irritated him.

“Do you have something for me or not?”

“I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t.”

After listening to what Shiu had to say, and agreeing to confirm the meeting spot via text, the phone call between them ended as swiftly as it started. Toji sighed.

Another job.

Another chance to earn money.

And although he didn’t wholly or immediately admit it to himself, it was his new distraction, and another chance to reject the wretched society that birthed him.

Toji had unknowingly zoned out trying not to think too hard about this, before the woman’s voice regained his attention by cutting through the air like a knife on a chopping board.

“Did you hear me? I was just asking who that was? . . . . Are you okay?”

The raven haired man remained still for a moment before directing his stare at the woman. He was nearly staring down his nose at her, confusion, concern and light curiosity laced in her own eyes.

The silence carried on for what felt like ages, Toji’s mostly unreadable but still intimidating expression scalded the space in between them.

But, as if his thoughts and whatever emotions it mirrored were never there to begin with, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and the scar that stretched across his lips curved with them in tandem. His smirk looked disarming— maybe even harmless, but something about it felt cold and wolfish, as if it weren’t genuine.

“I’m really sorry if this comes as a bit of a shock and disappointment to you, but if I'm not mistaken, I believe the phone call came through my phone. Not yours, and not ours. Thanks for the concern though, sweetheart.”

As he headed towards the door, still bare as the day he was born, Toji didn’t miss the opportunity to glide a heavy hand across the woman’s delicate shoulder blades, his grin widening by a fraction when she tried and failed to suppress a shudder.

“Oh, and um I made a little bit of a mess on the sheets after you left so, you might wanna clean that up. Probably already dried up by now. Sorry 'bout that,” his voice dipped low, utterly tantalizing as he whispered against the woman’s earlobe. The man didn’t even stick around to see her reaction, as he was already out the door and making his way to the bathroom for his own shower.

When the water warmed up to his liking, he didn’t waste any time stepping in and letting the droplets cascade down his body and relax his muscles.

Running his left hand through his hair to push it out of his face, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Toji was able to silence and cool down the smoldering coal that burned at the bottom of his soul, the opaque tendrils retracting back to whence it came.

Just . . . . nearly.

(#) @triangularz @stygianoir @valentineluvu @ramonathinks @valentineluvu @ryukenzz @gabzlovesu @luxesiren @honeybleed @blkjupiters @souyaszn @sxphyroth . let me know if you wanna join my tag list ♡. again i apologize for tagging folks twice, this is a repost of the original 💔

[hastyprovocateur]

What could be- Mizemi farm!au (mild nsfw)

It might be too good to be true.

But I wanted to picture Mizu and Akemi living together in the countryside and their relationship slowly developing as neither is rushed on any timeworn marriage- sex- children- grand children timeline. They'd spend their quiet days working the farm, cleaning their hut, raising pigs and horses. Mizu endured the tough lifting and tending, or repairing the roof and sheds as they'd require frequently. That or she'd monopolise the workshop. Akemi always accompanied her with cut fruit or sliced and salted vegetables with her ever piquant banter resonant through the sound of clanging tools. They'd chide each other with love.

"Pray, I've never seen wolves on our property" said Akemi and Mizu remarked impassively "They see you and warn each other to keep away"

Akemi, despite her dignified upbinging, had grown accustomed to the long walks to get anywhere, comfortable with the dirt flecking her pale feet. It is freedom she breathed through what the finer folks would call the strench of the rural outskirts. She engaged her hours in embroidering linens, patching up their clothes, especially all the elbows Mizu left threadbare from her training. She'd taken to the kitchen. Oddly elated at the fact that she could put exactly what she wanted in her body. Mizu gifted her a paring knife with a hidden love quote on the blunt edge and ever since, Akemi's indulged in finely chopping all the vegetables for their stew. She wasn't great at it but Mizu never griped. Even the most bitter concoction she wouldn't stop at less than 3 servings of. Akemi was determined to get better. Her heart nearly fluttered through her ribs when she managed to wring a sigh of pleasure from Mizu's lips when she'd tasted her miso soup one unremarkable evening. Mizu blushed at her sudden loss in composure, disguising it with the clatter of chopsticks and insistence that Akemi eat more.

"You eat. It's not everyday I cook this well" Akemi concealed a chuckle. "You always cook well" Mizu lied through her teeth.

Mizu set up a wall of shelves for Akemi to curate her books while Akemi recited many of her favorite poems to Mizu and taught her the basic meter. They'd sit together at night to trace their calligraphy in the same ornate style. Mizu fell in love with Akemi's hand. Akemi flicked her brush with artistic finess level with her sword wielding. Mizu never saw one any superior to the other. Akemi lay awake to paint sometimes. Rendering sprawling visions of the pastures and galloping horses. Their hut shared by two spirits. She said watching Mizu sleep invigorates her mind. Mizu claimed it's because she's not awake to spout nonsense in her ear. Akemi wrote Mizu seven poems inspired by all their nonsense. All of which Mizu pretended to never understand so she could ask Akemi to explain each verse again.

On the other hand, Mizu had been persistent in teaching Akemi how to throw a knife. It had been a task to get Akemi to single mindedly commit. Her mind turned forever lush in following the soaring sparrows, flitting butterflies, mating calls of toads and the frequent wondering if she'd left the pot on the hearth. Akemi grasped eventually, now flaunting all the peaches she could collect in just 3 strikes. The downside is that Mizu had to eat wagashi sweetened with peach preserve well into the winter. She never complained about the saccharine spinning in her head. But she'd pass out quickly after dinner. Which Akemi enjoyed watching, counting down till it worked.

"Anytime now" Akemi stroked Mizu's head on her lap as they watch the sun sink into the horizon from their porch. Mizu saw doubles, corners of her vision darkening "I'm not going down without a fight" she grits.

They shared a bed. Mizu offered to set up one close by but Akemi insisted on clutching the edge of her nagajuban as she slept. Mizu didn't object. She understood that Akemi slept light, still worried about being dragged off by strange men in the middle of the night. Unbeknownst to Akemi, Mizu harboured her katana under the mattress on her side if evil men do sully the sanctity of their homestead. Unbeknownst to Mizu, Akemi knew about the katana. They hadn't become intimate beyond the rare incidents of catching each other mid-dressing. They'd touch. Akemi would cleanse and dress Mizu's cuts and scrapes from work and Mizu would rinse Akemi's feet while she tried splashing water in her face. They'd often wake up wrapped up in each others arms.

"You said my name in your sleep" Akemi notes, her voice mellow and meek as Mizu grunted "You were threatening me with a knife." But she couldn't bring herself to confess that they'd been making incessant love in her dreams.

If Mizu woke up first, she'd clutch Akemi tight and in the time it took for her to rouse, Mizu would memorise every curve beneath Akemi's garments. She'd imagine them as she worked the fields as motivation to be done quick and return home and into her embrace. She'd sneak out to the river when it became unbearable, stripping down and letting the cold water numb her thoughts. Truth was... she wanted her more with every new, rising day. Akemi's beguiling smile shone bright as light itself, her quips quicker than a scholar's, her wisdom par to any monk. Her loose hair pooled over their pillow like wrought blessings, her pretty fingers clutched around her nagajuban like she'd lose herself if she let go, curled toes peeking from beneath the sheets. How was a person to deny such loveliness resting on their breast. When she'd call your name midsleep?

Likewise, Akemi would turn a flush red if she admitted it but she'd lay out Mizu's samue over their mattress in her absence and bury her face in it, touching herself as she imagined the slender in Mizu's calves, her sinewy arms and dexter fingers, the shape of her smooth back with dark hair flooding down her spine, the dark corners of her eyes, the unfettered sea in her gaze, her rich mouth. She'd crash from the waves of pleasure. Tossing and turning until she'd tire herself and then go prepare supper before Mizu returned home.

"Akemi!" Mizu called her one such evening as she'd just gotten done preparing hot stew, laying their scant and simple dinnerware out. Akemi came to, hearing the rumbling in the sky as it threatened to pour. "Coming!" Akemi ambled out the house, hair undone and feet bare. She came upon Mizu frenzied, grabbing at the clothes on the clothesline. They cracked in the storm, one blew away with a strong gust. "Mizu!" Akemi yelped, grabbing onto as many clothes as she could, bursting out in laughter halfway as she saw Mizu's eyes squinted, vexed by the dust kicked up by the wind. It began to drizzle... then pour. Akemi giggled harder as their clothes became soaked and Mizu continued to frantically collect them all. "Help me!" Mizu was exasperated, trying to yank down their bedsheet, stuck in place somehow by its pin. Akemi caught Mizu's obi before it flew off and began laughing uncontrollably as she tried to bring down the bedsheet along with Mizu.

The rain came down harder by the second and they are effectively soaked. Mizu stared at Akemi, the top of her head growing slick, loose locks stuck to her forehead. The corners of Mizu's lips twitched as she lost her composure as well. "Come off..." she continued to pull at it. "It'll tear!" Akemi tugged weakly, giving up eventually. "Don't stop!" Mizu insisted but Akemi simply smiled at her, reaching her arms out and looking skyward "It's already wet" she shrugged. Mizu looked at her quizzically "But you washed it..." she reasoned, still squinting from her irritated eyes. Akemi closed the distance between them, reaching for Mizu's face.

"Hold still" she laughed, stroking Mizu's waterline, gently easing a bit of debris out from the corner. Mizu peered down at her, chest heaving ever so slightly. Akemi's robe seeped through to her skin, clinging to it in places she's never seen bare with her eyes. She grew flustered, lowering her eyes from Mizu's piercing blue, resting them on Mizu's cupid's bow. "I'll wash it again... I'll wash them all" Akemi assured and Mizu quietly reached around Akemi, nestling her arms in the dip of her waist and pulling her even closer "Do you desire abhorrent work?" Mizu asked, water embedding into the fabric covering her broad shoulders, top knot coming undone. Akemi gulped, forehead level to Mizu's chest"It's not work to me. I'd do it everyday... blindly" her voice thinned.

To a near squeak.

"Meet my eyes" Mizu instructed her but Akemi hesitated, eyes affixed on Mizu's mouth, counting each part of her lips, the flick of her tongue. "Meet my eyes, Akemi" she repeated. Her tenor softer. Deeper. Sweeter. Akemi emboldened herself to peer up, finding Mizu's glacial blue eyes smiling down at her, the edges crinkled with love. Mizu brought herself closer, cradling Akemi's cheek and wandering her thumb over the soft expanse to push a wet strand back, resting it below her lips covered with raindrops "All this rain and I shall only be quenched by your lips-" Akemi lifted her bare heels above the ground, planting her lips on Mizu's with the tenderness of feathers brushing. Mizu held her tighter, face tilting to fit herself to her lover's lips. Like rivers meeting. They pulled back shyly only to meet again inevitably. Mizu drew away, crouching to hook Akemi under the knees and lifting her clean off the ground "You're getting your feet dirty" she marched her to back inside as Akemi rested her arms around Mizu's shoulders, eyes smitten with adoration "Bathe me" she rested her head in the crook of Mizu's neck

"Then wring me dry on our bed."

"Everyday... blindly" Mizu promised, sincere despite her wicked smile.

[another-lost-mc]

OMG THE ZEE FIC!! There's just something about yandere demon ocs that make me feral 🤭

Oh no, handsome demons being obsessed with you~

If the demon brothers and side characters can be a little sketchy, so can the OCs.

cw: yandere-ish themes and behaviours including stalking, implied violence and non-con magic/drugging to influence mc.

Karasu shares Levi's brand of obsessive jealousy and desire, easily concealed by his impressive connections and his naturally shy, passive demeanor. Being a social introvert has its advantages, after all. The amount of information as his disposal through the technology he created makes it easy for him to observe MC safely from a distance while gathering information about anyone else who attempts to get close to them.

Zee would be similar to Lucifer or Barbatos I think. Smart enough to know how much he can get away with, and he has enough restraint not to draw attention to himself in the process. Plus, like the other two demons, Zee has his own little tricks and conspirators that naturally help him avoid detection while keeping tabs on MC.

Azra and Belial are infatuation-at-first-sight types, where Azra is more jealous and Belial is more possessive when it comes to their love interests. Unfortunately, they both have poor impulse control and rely on their trusted associates (Zee for Azra, Shaitan for Belial) to keep things from getting out of hand and help them clean up any messes along the way. They're a weird combination of Mammon, Satan, and Asmo when it comes to their very boisterous affections for MC (and barely-restrained anger at anyone who gets in their way).

Tenebris has Solomon's magical tricks and Diavolo's nearly untouchable privilege. He's less inclined to use magic on MC, instead choosing to use whatever means necessary to quietly chase away or dispose of his competition. There's probably no surprise that he feels confident about escaping any real repercussions should his actions be discovered - his brother's not going to punish him the way he might any other demon (and if Diavolo is secretly taking part in the scheme, who could blame him, it's a fair compromise they both benefit from).

Simeon and the angel OCs have their sweet faces, pleasant personalities and natural charisma to help lure MC into their grasp. They're the wolves in sheep's clothing that stalk the tasty morsels in the flock. And what's even better - or worse, depending who you ask - is that many of the angels are willing to cooperate.

Metatron and Asmo will seem similar with their bubbly cheerfulness and how touchy-feely they are in MC's personal space.

Seraphiel, Gabriel and Uriel will seem similar to Lucifer or Satan with their calm, methodical approach to dealing with obstacles (and the incensed frustrations they hide behind sweet smiles, resolved later with sharp blades and split knuckles behind closed doors).

Habuhiah has Solomon's brilliance and Beel's warm, protective demeanor. She is calm and reliable, using her knowledge of magic and herbs to create to sweeten MC's affections for her and no one else. She spends most of her time working alone and far away from the Celestial Halls, and when MC visits, it's the perfect excuse to spend time together where the other angels are less likely to interfere.

[jeaninesfavouriteserum]

Genivive's Esmé Squalor Headcanons

this is more fun than therapy, hope you like them! i might add more :) (i'm following TV series canon!)

- she used her commonplace book to record everything people said about others and everything she overheard others say about her, meticulously organized by what was said and who said it. it was her own little book of secrets

- she was always better with numbers than with words, and she always felt like a bit of an outsider for that

- she was the only one to ever sweeten her tea. she tried to ignore how her friends looked between each other every time

- her birthday is the 28th of August, making her a Leo

- she HATES using typewriters with a passion. having her nails done all the time means it's far too easy to make typos

- she got her master's in theatre but was still constantly plagued by the fear that she'd never make it: and ended up going into finance instead

- some kind of neurodivergence?? i haven't decided what yet, but there is so definitely something

- esmé had had a fascination with fire long before the night at the opera, but she'd always carefully concealed it. when she watched that taxi drive away, she finally gave up trying to hide it

- officer luciana was her favourite disguise of the lot

- her handwriting is perfect cursive, which is almost comical when put next to count olaf's chicken scratch

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 2

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 2: Shopping List

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, alcoholism / alcohol dependence, parole/pre-trial release, infant / toddler, past romantic & sexual relationship implied, smut, AA meeting, flashbacks, our boy is a liar liar pants on fire, awkward conversations

Notes: So, about how long this is... WOOFTA. I couldn't cut anything, though, so whatever. Let me know what ya think! Thank you for reading!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

It was an unseasonably hot and miserable day. The morning air was already acting like adhesive on Frankie’s legs, sticking them to the varnished dining room chair. He raised a spoon to his mouth, admiring the perfect ratio of sugar-sweetened milk and Froot Loops he was able to collect. When he engulfed the spoon and squee-geed its contents into his mouth, he swung his short, skinny legs back and forth with glee. The menagerie of artificial fruit-like flavors melded with the creamy whole milk in a softened crunch. 

It was his favorite breakfast. 

His dad sat at the dining room table next to him, trying to lift the spoon to his lips. The utensil vibrated in his grip. Each time he tried to raise a bite out of the white ceramic bowl, the spoon started vibrating and thwarted his efforts. Frankie watched his father with curiosity. 

“What’s wrong with your spoon?” Frankie asked through a mouthful of cereal. 

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” was the response that came. His dad then dropped the spoon onto the tabletop with a clatter, splashing droplets of red-tinted milk. He pushed his chair out hard and stood up. The loud scratching noise it made on their tiled kitchen floor buzzed inside Frankie’s head and made him wince. 

He watched his dad’s broad shoulders as he loafed over to the refrigerator and retrieved a silver can from the door. It hissed and opened with a metallic crack.

Frankie returned his gaze to the offending spoon, squinting to see if there was some kind of kryptonian green glow to the object. There wasn’t. Like he often did, Frankie mentally reviewed the evidence he collected that supported his working theory. 

The dark, loosely curled hair. Squared jaw. Broad shoulders atop his tall, muscular frame. Disappearing for hours at a time, only to return either jubilant or so exhausted he stumbled around the house until he fell asleep. Frankie always secretly knew it was because he was out trying to save the world. 

Sure, his dad wasn’t white, or a journalist, but certainly the people at DC Comics had to conceal some parts of his father’s identity. They couldn’t name him Jose Rolando Morales outright. That would be dangerous. 

The spoon had to be contaminated by kryptonite. And those shiny silver cans held the antidote. Frankie noted that his dad brought at least one anywhere he went. Between them in their beat-up car’s cup holder armrest, lining the refrigerator door like an aluminum forcefield, in a cooler by his feet at Frankie’s softball games.

Frankie determined that the world was lousy with kryptonite radiation, so his dad had to be vigilant. 

Now, as Frankie swings his legs out of the queen-sized bed that’s temporarily his, he stares down at his own shaking hands. A burning in his chest urges him to take the antidote. To return the equilibrium within his body, consequences be damned. 

The digital clock on the desk by the foot of his bed reads 6:30 AM. The house is completely silent, just like it was when he finally fell asleep only 3 hours ago. He balls his hands into tight fists and squeezes. The tremors ripple through the clenched muscles of his forearms. 

Frustration twists through his veins as he stares down at them. He gets to his feet and takes two strides across the cramped room to the dresser, where he fishes out a clean pair of boxers. The floor tracks his footsteps with groans and squeaks as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

He flips the shower on HOT and steps into the water. The pin-sized streams pelt him and roll down his body in sheets. His palms press against the wall and he leans over into the scalding onslaught. He savors the way it stings his skin, leaving him red and buzzing. 

The water swirling down the drain entrances him. Drowns out the roar of his mind and body begging him for a drink. Temporarily stuns the overwhelming need that burns through him hotter than the steaming water. 

A knock at the door snaps him out of the hypnosis. He shakes his head and picks up the bar of soap, “One sec.”

When he emerges, wearing only the clean pair of boxers he brought with him, a cloud of heat and condensation follows him into the hallway. You’re leaning against the wall, crossing your legs, wiggling in place to keep from pissing your pants. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, glancing up at your face just in time to catch your eyes wandering down the length of his body. Your cheeks start to flush when your gaze catches his. You push past him and slam the door behind you. 

It reminds him of the way you looked at him when you met. Then, too, your gaze lingered long enough for him to catch you. You introduced yourself, all tongue-tied and flustered, desire written across your face in bold type. 

He had to remind himself to behave. To ignore the tingle of temptation settling at the base of his spine. That’s never really changed when it comes to you, though, has it? 

A smirk tips up the corner of his mouth as he pads through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into his bedroom. He gets dressed and returns to the kitchen, where he finds you pouring coffee into two ceramic mugs. You take one and breeze past him into the living room. The one you leave behind is obviously for him. It’s black and you leave ample space for his jittery hands to slosh coffee around without spilling over the sides. 

Although, he can’t prove that this is why you started leaving a large gap of space when you pour his coffee. You’ve never talked to each other about the shakes, you’ve never asked if it’s easier for him that way, or anything. One day he was struggling to perform this usually mindless task without spilling hot coffee all over himself, and the next you started leaving space in his mug. 

It could just be a coincidence. But he doubts it. 

Like you do every morning, you set the steaming mug down on your cheap, black coffee table and sink into your hand-me-down couch, all scrunched up in a ball with your ankles crossed and thighs close to your chest. You pull out a notebook and pen and start making lists. Your plans for the day. He settles at the opposite end of the couch and scrolls through the news on his phone. 

Neither of you say anything until you finish your second cup of coffee. This is usually when it’s safe to start speaking. 

“What’s in the books for today?” he asks. 

“Well,” you start, tapping your pen against the notebook, “It’s the, um, family dinner tonight. So I was thinking of getting stuff to make lasagna.” 

A smile stretches across his face. He raises his eyebrows, “Lasagna? You know it’s just the two of us, right?” 

You tilt your head and glare at him, “So?” 

“That’s an insane thing to make for two people,” Frankie snorts. 

“Ok, well,” you roll your eyes, but he sees the beginnings of a grin on your lips, “I happen to know that you love lasagna,” your eyes flick to his for an electric jolt of a moment, and your face deepens a shade. You drop your gaze to the notebook with a shrug, “And we’ll have hella leftovers.” 

A warmth radiates across his chest. It spreads to his face in a smile as he nods, “Need help with anything?”  

“No, that’s ok,” you assure him, shaking your head. 

“You sure? I have nothing else to do today,” he offers. 

Your eyebrow quirks and you tilt your head to the side, “No other options, might as well hang out with me?” 

Frankie frowns, “Whadda you mean?” 

You just chuckle and shake your head, glancing away, “Nothing, it was a joke.” 

His eyes follow you as you stand up and tiptoe through the kitchen to refill your coffee mug. When you return, you fold your legs up in front of your chest and balance your steaming coffee cup on your knee. Something about your “joke” feels like a rock in his shoe. 

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asks directly, tapping his fingers to the tops of his thighs. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Yes,” he states. This leaves no room for speculation or insinuations on your part. 

“Alright,” you shrug. A satisfied smirk plays on your lips, “Lemme finish this cup of coffee then we can go to the store.” 

Frankie trails behind you, leaning onto the shiny plastic handles of the shopping cart in aisle 5. Its wheels squeak across the low rise carpet defiantly. Holding your grocery list scrawled on a frayed notebook paper in one hand, studying a can of tomatoes in the other, you don’t notice his eyes drifting up and down your body with admiration. 

It’s been difficult to resist this temptation. Old habits die hard and all that. He finds his gaze lingering on you frequently, unable to stop his mind from getting swept up in a tidal wave of memories. It doesn’t help that the two of you have walked these same grocery store aisles dozens of times. 

The first time feels like a lifetime ago. You were poking around the kitchen, going from the fridge to the cupboards, then from the cupboards to the fridge, sighing quietly to yourself. He watched you out of the corner of his eye as he fed Sarah a bottle, amused at how you hovered around the doorway between your respective rooms, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to approach him. 

When Sarah slurped down the last of her formula, he stood up to burp her over his shoulder, giving her soft, encouraging pats on the back. You were still standing in the middle of the kitchen, scrunching your face up at the recipe on your phone like it was a puzzle. 

“Need help finding anything?” Frankie stepped onto the fake oak wood linoleum of the kitchen. 

Your eyes flicked to his, face flushed hot like he pantsed you instead of asked you a question. He couldn’t help but notice the way your gaze dropped to his mouth, or how your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you responded, “Um, yeah, sorry. The recipe calls for milk, I used the last of it earlier today. I was looking for a substitute, but, um, I don’t think there’s anything else I can use.”

“Ok,” he nodded, “Did you want to make something else?”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip and worried away at it. You pressed your eyebrows together, inquiring, “Would Mrs. Morales be upset if I made something different?” 

Frankie frowned as he thought about this, considering how fickle his wife can be. Case in point, she insisted that you stay and make dinner while Frankie watched Sarah instead of delegating both tasks to him. This resulted in them paying you to be there for two hours longer than he thought was necessary every day. 

“Or we could go to the store? ” he proposed. 

“Oh, you don’t have to pack Sarah up, I can just go-”

“Let’s all go,” he suggested, switching Sarah to his other shoulder, “I have to get some formula and a few other things anyway.” 

“I could, um, stay here with her, too,” you covered your mouth as a nervous chuckle escaped it, “You don’t have to-”

Sarah released a loud belch and spit up onto Frankie’s shoulder. He groaned, then grimaced at the sour scent that wafted into his nose. 

You burst out laughing. The sound was melodic and bright, and he’s pretty sure you snorted a little. A genuine smile broke out on his face as he handed his daughter off to you and went to change his shirt. 

By the time he returned, you were crouched in front of the car seat, buckling the five-point harness over Sarah’s small body, cooing and babbling back and forth with her. From his vantage point, he could see the white lace of your underwear peeking out over the top of your jeans. 

He let his eyes linger on them, imagining how you would look wearing that pair of panties alone. He wondered what they smelled like. What they tasted like. 

All the blood in his body rushed to his dick. You leaned over further to tighten the straps, exposing more of the white lace. His tongue ran along the seam of his lips. 

How damp could he make them before peeling them off your body? Judging by how starry-eyed you got around him, it wouldn’t take much for you to saturate the delicate fabric. 

“Ready?” you stood up and swung Sarah’s diaper bag over your shoulder. 

He shook the filthy thoughts from his head and rubbed his hands together, “Rock ‘n’ roll.” 

You picked at your fingernail polish the entire drive. Avoided looking anywhere but out the passenger’s side window. He snuck glances at you, despite the sirens going off in his head, warning him to keep his distance. 

When he parked the car and went to get Sarah’s car seat out of its base, you came around to the door and pulled a tangle of thick navy blue fabric out of the diaper bag. 

“I can wear her so we don’t have to lug around her car seat,” you mumbled. 

He furrowed his brow, “Wear her…? What is that?”  

“It’s a babybjörn! You haven’t used this yet?”  

“I have no idea what that means,” he chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. 

“It’s, um… it’s like a kangaroo pouch,” you held the strappy contraption up for him to see, “You wear it and then put her in it and you can carry her around hands free. She loves it.”

He nodded, “Oh. That’s pretty neat.”  

“Do you wanna try?”

You held it out to him, and he accepted it, only to inspect it at arm’s length like the foreign object it was. 

“Here,” you laughed and took it back, rearranging it until there were two definable holes to slide his arms through, which he did. 

“Um, ok, turn around.”

He spun and faced the opposite direction, letting you fasten the device from behind. 

“How the fuck do you do this alone?” Frankie muttered, holding his arms out to the side as he turned around and inspected the completed product. 

You didn’t answer him, just retrieved Sarah from her car seat and helped get her situated in the baby carrier. Once she was nestled into it, and he was tummy-to-tummy with her, she looked up at Frankie with her big, dark eyes and smiled wide, showing off a single pearly white tooth. 

“See? Look at how happy this sweet lil baby is,” you cooed, booping Sarah’s nose with your index finger. Inadvertently, you laid your head against his arm when you did this. Frankie felt his lungs expand and his skin tingle. Those sirens started going off again. 

Sarah blew a raspberry in response and squealed in delight. 

He pushed around a shopping cart behind you, tossing things in as he went along. Sarah cooed happily and watched the world around her with amazement. 

Every once and a while, his eyes caught yours and held your gaze just long enough to make his heart skip a beat. Each time, you got flustered and looked away. He always thought you were attractive and found it cute how obvious your crush on him was. It was flattering. 

But that trip to the store was the first time he knew he fucking wanted you. 

Is that why you insisted on coming to this store today? Going out of your way just to plague him with the reminders of how things were? To show him how your relationship has weaved into so many fucked up directions, neither of you know where you are on the map? 

“Daddy!” 

The sound of Sarah’s voice yanks him from his thoughts. His gaze flicks to you just in time to see your eyes widen in panic at what’s behind him. You step towards the cart and toss in the can of tomatoes. 

Frankie turns around and sees Angelica, shoulders squared and expression steel as she approaches. His face breaks out into a wide smile as his eyes land on Sarah, who has no idea what “dynamics” or “tension” mean or how they could possibly make a difference between her and her daddy. Her dimpled smile when he makes eye contact with her is quite possibly the only thing that has given him hope in the past week. 

“Mi princesa!” he exclaims, abandoning the shopping cart, gravitating towards his family. Sarah claps her hands together and extends her arms to Frankie. He plucks her from the cart and holds her on his hip. 

“What’re you doing here?” Angie spits. His eyes flick to hers and he shivers at how cold the glare is. It always amazes him how she can make her golden brown eyes somehow seem icy. 

“Just getting some groceries,” he shrugs, then looks at Sarah, “How are you, sweetheart? I miss you.” 

“Frankie, put her back,” Angie demands. 

Her voice is low and serious, but when he meets his daughter’s ecstatic gaze, he shakes his head. He tears his eyes away to level them at his wife, “I’ve been trying to set something up so I can see you two. Have you seen my texts?” 

“Yep,” Angie responds. 

Frankie stares at her expectantly. 

She stares back, unflinching as she states, “I don’t want Sarah to be around her .” 

“She doesn’t-“ he takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes, “I can go wherever you want. She doesn’t have to go there.” 

Angie purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything. 

Frankie clenches his jaw, then sighs, “We’re not seeing each other, Ang. I swear. She’s my roommate. That’s all. Things have been over with us for a year. I’m still in this with you.” 

She scoffs and folds her arms across her chest, “Who says that I’m in this with you? ”

“N-nobody,” he stammers, “I just- I don’t know, is that what you really want? To just throw this all away?” 

She’s silent as she contemplates this. Her stance and features soften. 

“I love you, Ang. I love our life together. And,” he presses his eyebrows together and takes a step towards her, “Listen, I- I know I fucked up. But this living situation is a means to an end. Honest. I still wanna be with you.” 

She studies her husband and their child, then sighs, arms going slack at her sides, “Are you doing anything tonight?” 

He turns this question over in his mind a few times. Yes, he does. The first of Ralph’s prescribed “family dinner” with you. The phrase feels like a betrayal to his wife and daughter. Isn’t it just as important, if not more important, that he try to put his life back together with his family? 

“I have a Sunday night meeting,” is what he tells her, glancing behind his shoulder instinctively to see if you’re within earshot. The aisle is vacant, so he turns back to Angie and shrugs, “But I can see if I’m able to skip it.” 

“Ok,” Angie allows one corner of her lips to flick up into a smile, “Come over for dinner.” 

“Yeah?” he grins, looking over to Sarah, “Want me to come and have dinner with you, Princess?” 

She just giggles in response, her deep brown eyes meeting his with glee. 

“What time?” he asks Angie. 

“5:00,” she smirks, “Does that work?” 

“It’s a date,” Frankie beams in response. 

“So, just to be clear,” you itch your eyebrow and sigh, “You’re blatantly disobeying Ralph’s request for us to have family dinner-“ 

“But for dinner with my actual family,” Frankie interrupts as he leans the passenger’s seat back a bit, crossing his ankle over his knee. He presses his fingers to his lips and looks out the window. 

“So I just got all this shit for nothing?” 

“I don’t want to fuck this up with her,” he tells you, casting a hopeful glance your way. 

It meets your eyes, but you look back to the road and shake your head slightly. 

“What?” he asks defensively. 

You scoff and shake your head harder now, then roll your eyes, “I just…” 

He waits for you to continue, but your teeth catch your bottom lip and your face softens into a sadness that feels like a punch in his gut. 

“Nevermind,” you mumble under your breath. 

The rest of the drive home is quiet and awkward. After you pull into the garage, you kill the engine and practically sprint into the house. He grabs all the flimsy plastic bags from the trunk of your car and brings them inside the house, dropping them in front of the fridge before knocking on your closed bedroom door. 

“What?”

Your voice wavers, regardless of how abrasive you try to make it sound. 

“Can I come in?” he requests. His hand rests on the doorknob, waiting for your permission. 

From behind the door, he hears you sniffling, but you don’t answer him. Stomach acid starts to bubble up inside his throat. When he knocks on the door again, and you spit, “Oh my god, what? ” 

“Do you want me to see if Ang will do dinner a different day?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do, Francisco.”

His eyebrows raise and he blinks at the door, knowing damn well that phrase means exactly the opposite of what you’re asserting. With a small sigh, he pulls out his phone and sends a text to Angie, explaining that his PSO told him the meeting was mandatory, then asks to reschedule. 

“Ok, well,” he hollers towards your door from the kitchen, as he unpacks the groceries you just bought, “I’m gonna start making this, then.” 

You don’t respond, so he eggs you on further, “Do I defrost some hamburger for the sauce?”

Silence. He grabs a 1-pound chub of ground beef from the freezer and sets it down on the stovetop with a clunk . 

“Oh, and for the sauce, do I just add Italian seasoning to the tomatoes and cook it?”

He casts a glance to your closed door. Nothing. 

“You put the noodles in uncooked, right? I don’t need to boil them?”

A moment later, the door swings open and you come into the kitchen shaking your head, “I swear to god, Frankie-“

His face breaks out into a satisfied grin and you meet his eyes. Yours are swollen and wet. You fold your arms across your chest. 

“I rescheduled with Ang,” he explains, “We’re gonna get together on a different day.” 

You nod solemnly, then avert your gaze to the stove and sigh, “You can’t just set frozen meat on there to defrost, it’s gonna bleed all over the place.” 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“And I got Italian sausage, it’s way better than hamburger in lasagna,” you smirk and raise an eyebrow at him, unfolding your arms to put the frozen chunk of meat back inside the freezer, “Get the saucepan, I’ll show you how to make it.” 

“Saucepan?” his forehead wrinkles in confusion. 

You snort and shake your head, “Absolutely hopeless.” 

“Holy shit,” Frankie groans. The dining room chair squeaks as he stretches out, “That was so good. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you flash him a close-lipped smile and push the remaining lasagna around your plate. 

Both of you have avoided the open and honest communication Ralph had assigned for as long as possible. Now it’s the only thing left on the agenda. Frankie’s chest tightens as he tries to think of what to say to you. The scrape of your fork against the dinner plate is sandpaper on his spine. It makes his ears itch. 

You clear your throat and set your fork down, then turn to him. Your eyes are dull and overcast, lips all puffy and full of color as a result of your anxious biting. He resists the urge to brush his thumb against your cheek and feel your warmth. 

A deep breath expands your lungs, then you croak, “I hate that I’m always your backup plan.” 

The words hang in the air as they seep into the folds of his brain. 

Frankie shifts in his chair. Its squeak breaks the uncomfortable silence in a way that somehow only makes it more unbearable. He was expecting your anger. Bracing for it, really. But this? This vulnerability you volleyed into his court? 

It makes his heart pound heavy in his chest. Wriggles between every vertebrae down his spine. Settles in his stomach like lead.

He shakes his head in protest, unable to stop the lie from crossing his lips, “You are not always my backup plan.” 

The statement coats his mouth with a slimy residue. 

Your shoulders slump as you deflate, eyes glazing over with disappointment. You drop your gaze to study the plate in front of you, chewing on your bottom lip. Then you take another deep breath and push your chair out behind you. You stomp off to your bedroom and slam the door. 

He sits for a while in silence, waiting for you to return. When it’s obvious you’re committing to your bedroom isolation, he clears the table and washes the dishes. 

While drying his hands on the dish rag over his shoulder, he walks back to your bedroom and holds his ear to the closed door. Sniffling and sobbing cuts through the quiet periodically. His jaw gnashes back and forth as he stands with one knuckle cocked against the door, contemplating whether or not to knock on the door and apologize. 

“My name is Frankie and I’m an alcoholic,” Frankie drones. The metal folding chair squeaks as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

The chant echos around the church basement from the circle of his fellow miserable fucks: Hi, Frankie. 

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure what to-” he presses his mouth into a flat line and looks to the ringleader, David, for assistance. 

Frankie surmises that David could be a middle school principal if he isn’t already. He looks like he once had a full head of short brown hair, but his hairline is now receding and peppered with grays. He’s clean shaven, wearing a white long-sleeved dress shirt, yellow tie, and khaki slacks. His cadence is diplomatic and metered with a southern coastal drawl. 

David frowns and crosses his long legs while responding, “You can talk about how long it’s been since you drank, what brings you today, where you’re at in recovery. Whatever you want to get off your chest.” 

Frankie raises an eyebrow and rubs a hand over his face, then brings his palms to his thighs where his fingertips thrum nervously, “Ok. Um, well, I haven’t drank in a week and a half. But I want to. It’s all I wanna do, if I’m being honest. Everything is such a shit show right now. I don’t even know where to start. My wife threw me out last week after I was arrested,” he pauses and thinks about that assessment, then tilts his head to the side, “Well, I guess, it’s not really the arrest. The person that I’m staying with, we have a history, and, my wife-” he clamps his mouth shut in frustration. Why can’t he explain this? 

“It’s… complicated. Anyway, Two weeks ago, everything was fine, now it’s like my whole world is flipped upside down. I’m out on bail, can’t drink, facing a felony, living with my ex, and my wife is probably filing for divorce. I fucking-” he stops and looks at David, “Sorry, can- can I swear?”

David shrugs, “Go ahead, bud.” 

“I fucking hate it. And I have to go to these meetings three times a week, call my PSO every day, always talking about what’s going on in my life and what I’m feeling. Everyone always asking what I’m fucking feeling . And I have no goddamn idea how to answer. I’ve never had to fucking do this before. I fucking hate it, it’s bullshit,” he finishes, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his mouth before one more, “Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. Thank you for sharing,” David nods with a calming smile that surprises Frankie, then looks around the circle, “Who else would like to share?” 

While waiting at a bus stop, Frankie stares at the bar across the street. He tries to calculate the odds of him getting drug tested within the next few days.Fuck, it would be good to get lost in a whiskey haze. A small vacation from his mind. 

Maybe just one. 

The bus roars down the street, right on time, pulling him from the temptation of those neon lights. He stands up off the bench to meet it. 

After scanning his bus pass, he searches for a place to plant his ass, settling on a window seat he doesn’t have to share with another person. A lanky, pale twenty-something man sitting in front of him starts digging through a crinkly McDonald’s bag. The deep fat fried scent of french fries wafts back into his face and his stomach growls in protest. 

While the city of Kissimmee passes by his window, Frankie wonders what you made for dinner. Whatever it is is probably better than McDonald’s french fries. Even if it’s just leftovers from last night. The past week has reminded him of what a good cook you are.  

And, god, he misses his daughter. His house. His truck. His bed. His wife. But to be spending time with you again, shooting the shit while you occupied your hands preparing dinner… It was good. Reminded him of those first few months, after you came out of your shell around him, before he kissed you for the first time. 

You hadn’t yet found out that he’s a fuckup. He would talk you into having a beer with him while you cooked. The timid exterior would melt away into the smartass he came to know and love. 

Maybe he should have just left you alone. Let you do your job. You would’ve never set up a prepaid calling account so you could accept collect calls from county. He would have never broken your heart. 

His stop comes up, so Frankie pulls the cord and gets to his feet. Before he hops off and starts towards your place, he thanks the bus driver. The evening air is soupy hot and he regrets not asking you to just pick him up from the meeting. Although, he never gathered the courage to console you last night, so you probably don’t want to do him any favors. 

He walks a few blocks, until the little tangerine orange house comes into view. The weight in his chest settles down further with each step. He wants a drink. He wants to go home. Not this one, though, the real one. 

This is fucking bullshit. 

Frankie opens the front door to find you curled against the couch, swiping through tinder on your phone as Friends plays idly on the TV. A nonsensical pang of jealousy stabs through his guts when you swipe right on Rory, 32, who’s posing shirtless next to a surfboard. What the fuck kind of a name is Rory, anyway? 

“Hey,” he calls to you as he kicks his heavy work boots off onto the shoe tray. 

“Hey,” you glance at him through your tortoiseshell glasses, then up at the TV, clicking the phone screen off as you tuck it away under your leg. You’re wearing a pair of floral cotton pajama shorts that have to have just a 1-inch inseam. The swell of your ass peaks out the bottom. Your hard nipples are outlined against your tight gray tank top. 

He remembers how soft and warm your skin was against his. The quiet little moans you made when he kissed your neck. The things you would whimper against his mouth you were alone behind locked doors. 

“I heated up some lasagna for dinner,” you inform him without looking up. 

Frankie glances from the kitchen, to you. He thinks about the way the two of you left off last night, then plops down on the couch, “Listen, um, I wanted to tell you...”

You slide your eyes from the TV to his face, then tilt your head in question. 

“I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” he looks down at his hands as they wring together, “And everything that you’ve done for me in the past. You’ve always been just… fuck, so great,” he taps his fingers to his lips and shrugs, “I don’t deserve you.” 

The corners of your mouth upturn into a peace treaty, “I appreciate you pulling glass out of my foot.” 

“Anytime,” he thrums his fingers against the top of his legs, then turns to you, “I’m getting you LED bulbs, though. Can’t believe you’re still using incandescent. That was your first mistake.”

“Wow, that is the most dad thing you could possibly bitch at me about,” you deadpan, then snort as you turn your attention back to the TV. 

“How is it healing up?” he asks, ignoring your comment as he tilts his head at your feet. 

“Fine,” you assure him, lifting your foot to show proof.

“Let me see” he hums, wrapping his hand around your foot and pulling it closer for inspection. The gasp of air you intake when he touches you is almost undetectable, but he notes it. Arousal pricks his skin when he realizes he should stop. Those old, familiar sirens start going off in his head again, warning him to proceed with caution. 

But you’re sitting there looking absolutely fucking irresistible. It’s killing him. The subtle rumblings of lust in his belly, and in your quiet little gasp, stick to his insides and prod him on further. 

“Oh yeah,” he mumbles, running his thumb over the elevated patch of skin that’s now sealed, “Looks way better.”

You start to giggle and pull your foot back. His eyebrows raise and he seizes it, a wide smile transforming his eyes to crescents, “Oh, are you ticklish?” 

The pads of his fingers trail up the sole of your foot and you start laughing this fucking champagne laugh, all sparkling and effervescent. You writhe and scoot closer. Your hands fly to his wrist as you whine through your rosy-cheeked laughter, “You know that I am, Frankie!” 

And your body is wiggling closer still, and you’re smiling and laughing, squealing breathlessly, “Stop- please stop-”

It’s almost the same cadence as the breathy moans you’ve huffed against his lips countless times, “don’t- don’t stop- ”

You go on the offensive, releasing his wrist so your fingertips can graze against his rib cage. God damn you, the tickle creeps across his ribcage, making him giggle, quickly escalating to a howling laughter when you continue. He lets go of your foot and grabs your hands, pulling them away from his sides, but the onslaught continues when you swing your leg over his lap. Your knees settle on either side of his hips when you wriggle one hand away and go back for more. 

Fingertips in his armpit, sending shockwaves of laughter through his body until he throws his head back and his hat falls off. He opens his eyes and you’re straddling him and smiling and laughing, and your gaze catches on his. 

Chests heaving, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks, hips pressed together so close that there’s no way you don’t feel how fucking hard he is right now. The urge lingers for just one second before he acts, pressing his lips to yours. 

Your sweet, soft lips respond, kissing back with urgency. He abandons his attempts to pull your hands away from his body. Instead, his grasp drops to your waist, pulling you closer. You bring your fingertips to his scalp and rake them through his hair. A shudder rolls down his spine. His hips jerk against yours. 

His lips part and your tongue rolls against his, hands cradling his head, pulling his hair into your fists. The power in your kiss tugs at the edges of him. He bites back a moan and tightens his grip on your waist. His hands slide up the shirt clinging to your chest, cupping your breasts, thumbs rolling soft across the hard buds. You gasp in response, but don’t stop kissing him, even when your breath becomes labored and sweet little whimpers bubble from your lips onto his. 

You start to grind against him, a sliding scale of pressure along the length of his cock, sending his heart racing and body tingling. You part the kiss to throw your head back and face the ceiling, panting and whining as you rub yourself against the zipper of his jeans. The loss of your lips sends him reeling. He wants to taste you, and brings his mouth to your nipple to fulfill the need. 

You moan when his tongue draws wet circles on the hardened bud, and look down to meet his eyes with a smoldering gaze, lips puckered, dragging your fingernails through his hair, nodding down at him enthusiastically, never ceasing the steady rhythm of dry humping. He switches sides to tease the neglected breast, and he can feel your body shudder at the stimulation. Your hand tugs on his, guiding it to your mouth. Soft, humming lips wrap around two thick digits. You rut them in and out of your mouth, dragging moisture out with each thrust, soaking his fingers with your saliva. 

He throws his head back against the couch, groaning through gritted teeth as the desire stoked in his abdomen becomes unbearably tedious, “I wanna fuck you, baby, please.”

You take fingers from your mouth, then bring those puffy, swollen lips to his ear and purr, “Then fuck me, Francisco.” 

His breath hitches as the command slithers around inside him, sticking to the most primal of instincts and dragging them out to play. He buries his hand in your hair and grabs a fistful, pulling your head back to expose the column of your neck. He drags his tongue up your neck, relishing the salty bite of your sweat, then husks, “Take off your clothes, sweetheart.”

You stand on shaky legs. Both of you pull your clothes off, piling them on the living room floor. Then you climb back onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his hips. 

He drinks in your form, eyes drifting up your skin until he meets your gaze. Your lips press against his for a languid kiss as you lower yourself down, tip of his cock dipping into your hot, tight cunt. His head rolls back against the couch, sensitive nerve endings along his length firing on all cylinders you work yourself open, engulfing him inch by inch, breathy moans falling from your lips. 

His hands find the soft skin of your hips and he spurs you on, guiding you to roll your hips on his, setting a steady, luscious pace, filling his center with ecstasy with each gentle thrust. He groans, “You’re so fucking tight , holy fuck- Look so fucking good riding me, baby.”

Your eyebrows draw together and you moan at the praise, bpm of your hips increasing just enough to stoke the fire inside and break him out in a sweat. You lean forward to take his lips in a kiss, running your tongue against his, passing whimpers back and forth between your mouths, reveling in the blissful ache of your bodies sliding together. 

He runs a hand down between your pumping thighs and starts drawing easy, slick circles around your swollen clit. You respond with a guttural moan, arching your back towards him, hands pressing against his thighs for support as you rut up and down his slippery cock. 

“That’s right, sweetheart- Jesus Christ - you feel so fucking good,” Frankie babbles. 

Your eyebrows crease together and you look down at him, nodding with your lips pouting into an O as you whimper breathlessly, “So fucking big, you stretch me- can’t take it all- ”

He nods with a moan and undulates his fingers faster now, “You can take it baby, I know you can. You can do it.”  

You bite your lip and bury him to the hilt, pulling a choked sob from both of your throats. Ecstasy fills his vision with stars as you find a rhythm sliding your cunt down his shaft until he disappears inside you. He grits his teeth, “Fuck yes- take that cock, baby, just like that-“ 

Your body starts to quiver and your moans grow more frantic. You fold over and press your lips to his, sloppy and dazed, whimpering, “Fuck me, Frankie, please- give it to me-“ 

“You want me to give it to you, hmm?” he pants and brings his hands to your hips, digging into the soft skin so hard his knuckles tinge white. 

You nod, grabbing onto his shoulders with the same ferocity, then growl, “Fucking give it to me.” 

Holding your hips down, thrusting into you deep and hungry, ripping a moan from the back of your throat, he grunts, “Is that what you need, baby?” 

An airy whine escapes you and your face contorts with pleasure, “Yes- yes, fuck yes-”

“Sweet girl wants to get fucked hard, is that what you need?” His words surface from the most depraved part of his brain as he sets a brutal pace.

Your beautiful face gets hot and flushed, breath coming in frantic gasps against his mouth, “Fuck yes- fucked hard- you fuck me so good-”

“Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hmm?” he pants, then groans into a kiss on your lips, wet and heavy, vibrating against him as your body bounces in time with his thrusts. 

You nod frantically and your fingers dig into his shoulders deeper. His muscles start to tense as your sounds and movements seem to disappear, just a shattered inhale with your face all twisted up with pleasure. Then your body seizes, quivering and shaking as you release a strangled moan, convulsing around him. 

“That’s it, baby, cum for me,” he rasps, not letting up in his tempo as he works you through the orgasm. The tingling spreads at his core, overtaking his body, pushing him over the edge. His hips snap up into you, painting your walls with his cum. 

You climb off of him and lay back on the couch, ragged breath and limp noodle body. His head rolls back and his body sinks into the couch as the feel-good chemicals make their way through his system. His heaving chest settles, madness draining from his psyche, replaced by a calmness. When he looks over at you, you meet his dazed smile with pained eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his smile falling into a frown. 

You sit up and grab your shorts, shoving your trembling legs in, one after the other, muttering to yourself, “Exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t fucking do.” 

“Hey- it’s ok-” he sits up and places a hand on your forearm, which you rip away immediately. 

“Don’t- ok? It’s not ok,” you snap, pulling your shirt on. You sniffle and hide your face behind your hair as you frantically search for your phone.

“I won’t tell Ralph-”

“It’s not about that and you fucking know it,” you grind out, then growl, “Where is my fucking phone?!”

He shakes his head as he slides his boxers back on, standing to pull them over his hips, “It’s really not a big deal, sweetheart.” 

You throw your hands up in frustration, then stand on your toes, pointing an accusing finger at his face as you yell, “It’s not a big deal to you! That’s exactly what the fucking problem is! You-” your face crumbles and tears well in your eyes. Your shoulders slump and your bottom lip quivers, but you meet his eyes and sob, “You know how I fucking feel, Frankie. And you’ve made it clear that you don’t feel the same way. And I just keep- fuck ,” you lower your face to your hands, drawing shattered breathes. 

His chest aches like it’s raw. When he swallows, the muscles in his throat feel swollen and thick. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss your tears away. He wants to take back all the times he told you no. 

No, I can’t be with you. Not like that.  No, I won’t leave her.  No, I don’t love you. Not like that. 

But he’s not going to do that. It wouldn’t be fair. What he told you was the truth. He can’t do anything about that now. 

“Just, forget it. It won’t happen again,” you exhale a shaky sigh and run your hands through your hair, then finally spot your phone under his pants crumpled on the floor. 

He says nothing as you snatch it up and walk back to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. 

“How did your first meeting go?” Ralph asks. 

Through the phone line, Frankie can hear him clicking his black pen, and imagines he’s sitting in his tiny white-washed office within the Osceola County Corrections Department, hovering over a notebook with the corded phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

“I don’t know,” Frankie answers truthfully, “I don’t think I’m like those guys. I really don’t think I have a problem.” 

Ralph’s sigh crackles in his ear. The pen clicks again. Frankie thinks then that it’s not a notebook that Ralph is hovering over. It’s a worksheet. A pre-printed worksheet he keeps for every call with his parolees, with little blank spaces typed at the top for Ralph to fill in the name and date. He’ll file this one away in the folder titled Francisco Morales, saving it as proof for how much progress he has or has not made when his court date comes. 

“Mr. Morales, do you know what I’m looking at right now?” 

Frankie leans back in his office chair and crosses his ankle over his knee, then thrums his fingers against the armrest, “A worksheet?” 

Ralph laughs heartily at this, “I do have a worksheet. What else?” 

Oh, for fucks sake, what is this? 

Frankie’s turn to sigh now, “I don’t know, what?” 

“Let me give you a hint: 2015, public intoxication. 2018, felony drug possession and trafficking. 2019, DUI. 2020, public intoxication and assault. 2021, public intoxication and assault-” 

Frankie gnashes his jaws together and sits up, then cuts Ralph off, “My record, I get it.” 

“How many times a week would you say you use alcohol to alleviate your PTSD symptoms?” 

“None, now,” Frank grumbles, tapping his index finger on the desktop. 

“Before your arrest, smartass,” Ralph retorts. 

“I don’t know, I had a few beers when I got home from work-“

The pen clicks. 

“How many beers? Be honest with me.”

“Six or seven, maybe more.”

“And on the weekend?” 

“I’d go to the bar and have a few drinks.”

“How-“

“I don’t know, Ralph, enough to have a good time. Eight, maybe? It depends.” 

“Would you drive home?” 

“Not every time. A friend or my wife would bring me home sometimes. Sometimes I’d walk.”

“Uh huh. And your friend, would that happen to be the woman you’re currently living with?” 

“Not… always,” Frankie lied. He remembers all the times he texted you when Angie wouldn’t pick up, when he knew the streets were ripe with police and he couldn’t risk driving home. 

“How are things going with her? Did you talk to her about how things left off on Sunday?” 

Frankie is silent as he tries to compile the right answer to this question. 

“Honestly,” Ralph tacks on to his question. 

“I think if I’m honest with you, you’re going to put a stop to all this and send me back to jail,” Frankie admits. 

“Are you drinking or using drugs?”

“No.”

“Any other crimes?” 

“No.”

“Then try me.”

Frankie gulps and stands up, moving to the corner of the small, empty office he shares with two other aircraft maintenance technicians. He speaks in a hushed tone, “We had sex last night. She said it was… a mistake. And it won't happen again.” 

“Uh huh,” Ralph clicks his pen, “And what do you think about it?” 

Frankie exhales all the air from his lungs, deflating his shoulders as he shrugs weakly, “I think it was impulsive. I had such a fucking bad day. I wanted to feel good.” 

“And did you achieve that by having sex with her?”

“No,” Frankie chuckles to himself, “No, I feel much worse now. I’m a piece of shit.” 

“Do you wanna know what I think?” 

Click. 

Frankie groans, “I don’t know, do I?” 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway,” Ralph declares, clears this throat, then continues, “I think you’re in a hole. But you don’t wanna do anything about it. You don’t acknowledge it, try to get out, or nothing. You want everything to fix itself. Well, guess what, buckeroo? You gotta get out of the damn hole somehow!”

Frankie closes his eyes and his head falls back in exhaustion, “It’s such a fucking mess, though, Ralph.” 

“You’re goddamn right it is. But, the good news is, you have help. You have the AA meetings three times a week. And I know you don’t think you have a problem, but just humor me and go along with it. Do the steps. Participate,” his pen clicks once, twice, “You have a friend that has been willing to post bail for you, house you, quit drinking with you, and support you in this journey-” 

“And I fucked it up-” 

“And you need to start treating her like a person , not a doormat you can stick your dick into. Make it right. You hear me?” Ralph orders. 

“Yes, sir.”

Click. 

“And, then of course, you get to talk to me every day. And we love our talks, don’t we, Mr. Morales?” Ralph laughs. Frankie grins, but doesn’t respond. Ralph continues, “Next item on the agenda: Wife and daughter- any luck with them?” 

“Angie said I could come visit them on Saturday,” Frankie says with a tone of optimism. 

“That’s good news! When you see her, see if you can work out a consistent schedule.”  

He sighs in response, “I’ll try.”

“Hang in there, kid. It’ll get better. Trust the process.”

When Frankie gets home from work, you’re in the small galley kitchen, hovering above a scratched-up white plastic cutting board as you dice an onion. You hum along to the music playing over your headphones, bobbing your head from side-to-side in time with the rhythm. Blue flames lick the bottom of a stainless steel pan on the gas stovetop. 

Swallowing hard, he approaches you and shoves his hands into his front pockets. You don’t see him. His teeth catch the smooth inside of his cheek and bite down. He casts a contemplative glance to the front door, then back to you, before his shoulders slump and he sighs. 

Frankie clears his throat as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, “Hey.”

“Jesus Christ -” your body jolts upright, hand darting from the onion to clutch at your heart. You pull the headphones down around your neck and gasp, “You scared the shit out of me!” 

Your eyes only meet his for a moment before you blink and drop your gaze to the onion. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, then straightens his spine. His eyes wander to the front door again, Adam’s apple bobbing thick in his throat. 

You say nothing, just cut the white bulb down the middle, then start to dice the two halves. The sharp chopping sound pulls his attention back to you. 

“What’re you making?” he asks, peering down at the saucepan that’s heating a shiny, slick pool of greenish-yellow olive oil. 

“Spaghetti.”

He nods in acknowledgement and scratches the stubble on his neck. His mouth flattens into a straight line and he looks down to his feet, “Do… you need help?” 

“Is there something you want from me, Frankie?” you snip, shooting a glare at him before you turn your attention back to the onion. 

The words he wants to say sit at the end of his tongue but they won’t leave his mouth. His jaw clenches, as if he’s subconsciously holding them prisoner. 

You lift the cutting board and hold it above the shiny hollow of the pan. The paring knife scrapes against the rough plastic and pushes the diced onion into the oil. Steam hisses from the pan up into your face. You turn around, take two steps towards the kitchen sink, then toss the cutting board and knife into the basin. 

Its clatter ricochets off the walls and makes him wince. 

You spin around to face him with your arms crossed, eyebrows arched in annoyance, “Fine. Get the hamburger out of the fridge.” 

The onions sizzle and pop from inside the pan. Without hesitation, he nods and pushes himself off the counter, then retrieves the meat from the refrigerator, unrolling it from the butcher’s paper. He plops it in the middle of the saucepan, earning a loud hiss from the oil. 

You return with a pot of salted water and start the burner beneath it. Your arm brushes up against his and you both recoil at the contact like as if touched by a livewire. You take a sideways step, increasing the proximity between your bodies. 

Tension hangs in the air like a noxious gas. Frankie’s skin feels exposed and raw in its presence. He peaks over at you and mutters, “I’m sorry for last night.” 

You don't respond. You don't move. For a brief moment, he thinks maybe you’re not even breathing. 

Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the ground beef around the pan, then clears his throat and sighs, “We shouldn’t have, um… I mean, I shouldn’t have, y’know…” 

You blink and cross your arms in front of your chest, “Are you done?” 

A red, hot wave of frustration creeps up his spine and starts to boil in his chest. His jaw cocks to one side and his eyes flick to yours, “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Like you don’t care.” 

“Maybe I don’t,” you shrug and avert your gaze to the linoleum tile.

“Yeah, ok,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

You huff and throw your hands in the air, “So I’m supposed to have feelings but you don’t have to?” 

“I don’t not have feelings for you,” he states. His stomach flips as the admission comes out in the open. 

Your brow furrows and you tilt your head, then look up at him, searching his face. 

“But… I don’t know, I don’t think we can be… more than this. Roommates. At least not right now,” he admits. Your gaze drops to the floor again.

You’re silent for a moment, then nod, “I think you’re right.” 

Bubbles start to rise to the surface of the salted water. Frankie stirs the ground beef around the pan, flipping it to reveal gray-brown crumbles. 

The two of you sit there for a beat, both contemplating whether or not to explain your reasoning. Both of you wonder the reasoning behind the other’s conclusion.

“You want me to season this?” Frankie asks eventually. 

You nod, “Yes, please.”

[ Next Chapter ]