#the word 'gone'....here and there........

[eraenaa]

Unexpected Affections

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince. 

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, ¿Simp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 7,287

A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.

He’s broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true him— simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on him— simply let him drown in his darkness, except you. 

Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness. 

“Who is that?” Aemond asked his family’s most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. “Lady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,” the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away. 

The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.

Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about you— more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trance. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him. 

He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. “My prince,” You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the prince’s lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. “Are… are you well, my prince?” You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well. 

You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. “Perhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,” You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldn’t even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. “Do you wish for refreshment, perhaps w—“ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses. 

You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. “I am fine; I apologize for the— the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,” He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. “No need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well… you look a bit pale, my prince.” You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concern— this kindness that he was never the receiver of. “I am quite well; good day, my lady.” He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you. 

The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitious— that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you. 

When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you. 

When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. “Prince Aemond,” You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. “I hope you are feeling better,” You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable. 

“I am; I was simply tired,” He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not. 

You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. “What business did you have here?” He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. “If I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.” You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. “My father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.” Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare. 

“So you have no purpose here?” He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, “I suppose not.” Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading. 

“Do you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?” You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. “I do,” Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. “Then have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,” You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours. 

You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. “I must take my leave,” he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about. 

“Oh,” You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? “Good day, my prince,” You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. “Thank you for your explanations… they were quite enlightening,” You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you. 

You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance.   

Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. “My lady,” He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, “My prince,” Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt. 

“Are you well?” This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. “I am fine, and you, my prince?” You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. “Are… are you certain?” Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye. 

You sighed and placed your head on the ground. “I… I tripped, and I think my ankle is injured— but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.” Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. “Wh— My prince!” You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. “You don’t— I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,” You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. “You are clearly in pain,” Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court. 

Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you. 

“I did not wish to bother you, my prince.” You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the prince’s presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours. 

“Will it heal, maester?” He asked in concern, stepping forward. “Yes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,” The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him. 

“Thank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,” You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. “I shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.” He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave. 

Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted. 

Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning. 

The prince attended his family’s supper in his mother’s chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. “We apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.” The queen explained as she took her seat. “What matter?” Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. “The crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell… it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.” The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror. 

“Surely they could be reasoned with— they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,” Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. “Perhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.” Aemond’s hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.

“I just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,” the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. “Offer me,” Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queen’s lips agape in shock at his words. “The crown does not have money to pay our debt— then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?” He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince. 

“Aemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.” The queen said. “But it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdom’s security over this winter— and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,” Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandson’s words. “But you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,” Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed. 

“We owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?” He asked, “Lord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,” Aemond said, determined to see you once more. “That is a most favorable solution,” The hand commented, quite content by his grandson’s proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. “Very well then,” she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips. 

“I shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,” Otto said in finality. “No need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,” Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his mother’s eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him. 

It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. “My prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. “What business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?” They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity. 

“It is the matter of the crown’s debt,” Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an ‘oh,’ clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. “Is the crown ready to pay us the price owed?” Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. “In a way,” The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. “In lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,” Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your father’s face. 

“With respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!” Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. “I believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughter— an opportunity for your only child to be a princess… your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.” Lord Tyrell shook his head, “My daughter is already bound to marry another— titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.” Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your father’s words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone else’s when you had consumed his entire being— when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his. 

Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. “Very well then… a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,” Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. “I shall need time to reach a decision,” Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course,” Aemond agreed. “For the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.” 

Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence. 

You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an arm’s length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. “My prince,” You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king. 

“How… what brings you here, your highness?” You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. “Business for the crown,” He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. “Oh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,” You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. “Martell? Are you not a long way from Drone?” Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the prince’s hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the man’s tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. “Yes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,” He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words. 

You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, “Would anyone like some tea?” You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoon’s refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyone’s cup. “If I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?” Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers. 

“A proposal for House Tyrell,” he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. “What proposal, if I may ask,” Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. “A proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.” You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe. 

Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. “I— excuse me, my princes,” You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your father’s call. 

“What is happening— the prince just informed me of his proposal— in front of Prince Martell!” You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. “Bold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.” You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance. 

“Where did this proposal come from? I… I do not understand,” You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable. 

“The proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us… instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,” The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. “Oh,” Was all you could utter. “What is your decision then?” You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home. 

“Your courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,” Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. “But Sunspear is a long way from here,” Your father added, “And though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,” You twirled with your hair as you listening into your father’s musing. “But this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,” You nodded along and waited for your father to decide. 

“So? Which one of them?” You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, “I shall leave that decision to you… it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concern— it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,” Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task. 

“Can I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I… it is— I need to speak with him,” you say, and your father gives the nod, “I shall have him meet you in the drawing room,” You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first. 

“I know this is quite abrupt,” Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. “It is my prince,” You agreed. “Could I just ask why?” Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. “The crown owes your house,” He said matter of factly, “I know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,” Aemond licked his lips, “And I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.” 

“Is this a rejection?” Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. “More of a question,” Aemond’s brows raised at your words. “Well, it’s clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest… I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.” 

“All marriages are business dealings,” You pursed your lips at the prince’s words. “I supposed they are… but not every marriage is just a business dealing.” Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. “I guess what I’m saying is… I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,” You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity. 

“My lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,” You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation… isn’t it? “No one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mind— I…” Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. “I have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because… I— I want you. I want you to be my wife.” 

You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smile— perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. “You want me?” You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. “But why? We barely know each other?” You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the prince’s cold ones. “Why?” Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded. 

“Because I just do,” Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. “I— Because you are pretty, overly pretty,” Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. “And because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,” Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown. 

“And most of all, because you are kind. You are… you are not one to judge— you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and not…” Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. “Not like a weapon?” You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more. 

“You want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?” You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. “If that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest… am I simply to be set to the side?” Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. “What if—“ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut. 

You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the prince’s thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. “I do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you… but you must know, I have never felt such a way— I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight. 

“The situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualms— but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,” You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the prince’s lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer. 

Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. “Are you certain?” Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. “I am,” You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door. 

Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this. 

You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. “I am his, and he is mine,” You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemond’s turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. “I am hers, and she is mine,” Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise. 

You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. “My flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyes— just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love. 

You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast. 

Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. “Aemond,” You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. “You’re all mine, my flower… forever bound to me, my kind little wife.” Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. “I’m yours, my prince,” You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. “I am your husband… you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,” Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips. 

You nodded, “I’m all yours, Aemond,” You said and whimpered as your husband’s eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him. 

You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction. 

“Aemond, I…” You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. “Yes, wife?” He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. “I… I—“ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, “Do you want more… do you want to be pleasure, my flower?” He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head. 

It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, “Aemond! Oh, gods!” You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod. 

As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cunt— a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose. 

“Oh gods,” You say breathlessly as you feel Aemond’s weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. “W… will it fit?” You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so… large and appealing. “Of course, you were made for me, my flower.” Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. “It hurts— Aemond, I… it’s too much,” You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace. 

Aemond’s found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. “Aemond… It’s too much. I— husband, I cannot,” You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, “Just… come for me one more time, my flower,” He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you. 

Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. “Oh… Aemond!” You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck. 

Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. “I knew you were capable of it,” He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. “My perfect wife,” he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile. 

[roosterforme]

Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception. 

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning. 

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

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

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched. 

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

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

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

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

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights. 

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

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

After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged. 

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door. 

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

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

He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[seoktized]

nsfw mdni!

a/n: cheol rot is back guys.. this has been sittin’ in my drafts for a while n i wanted to try n finish it :> hope you enjoy <3 reblogs are appreciated

thinkin’ about sugardaddy husband!seungcheol who’ll spoil you with so many gifts !!

whether it’s designer clothes or jewelry, if he thinks you’ll like it, he’s getting it for you!

loves to take you on shopping sprees, carrying all your bags and watching with a smile as you excitedly walk into another store. he loves to see you happy.

now if you two were to step in a lingerie store, he gets a bit excited, knowing you guys’ll walk out with something he can ravish you in later.

seungcheol, who looks absolutely delicious, manspreading with his sleeves pulled up, is watching as you show him different sets. yes, he was hard but he had a good bit of self restraint. but when you stepped out with a gorgeous color that complemented your skin so well, all that restraint went out the window.

next thing you know, you’re being pushed back into the dressing room, his lips finding yours. he pushed the door closed and locked it. his large hands felt around your body before he pulled back to get a good look at you before diving back in, kissing your jaw and down your neck.

“mmph- cheol, baby not here!” you whispered. he groaned into your neck, not giving up on his ministrations.

“baby i really need you to ride me right now. you look so pretty in this set.” he said in between kisses, “wanna buy a hundred of ‘em so i can rip ‘em all off of you.”

he moved over to sit on the chair in the corner of the dressing room, pulling you along with him and onto his lap.

seungcheol placed you right over his thick bulge, groaning as you rolled your hips against him.

you quickly unbuttoned his pants (which looked like they were going to burst at the seam at how thick his cock AND his thighs were) he helped you a bit by ridding himself of his pants and his boxers, his thick hard cock springing out and slapping against his stomach.

you spat on your hand, coating his length a bit before moving your own underwear to the side and sinking down on him. you never got used to the delicious stretch he’d give you every time, soft broken moans leaving your mouth.

“can’t make too much noise, princess. fuck- don’t want anyone to hear how dirty you’re being.” he said through gritted teeth.

when you began to bounce on his cock, seungcheol threw his head back, trying not to moan loudly himself. his bottom lip caught between his teeth while he watched you make a mess on his cock. his hands that were on your thighs went to your ass, squeezing the flesh softly.

trying not to moan was impossible as his tip was hitting that spot that sent sparks throughout your whole body. burying your face in the crook of his neck, you whimpered quietly.

“cheollie ‘m getting tired..” you mumbled.

“s’okay, doll, you can relax. lemme help you.” he reassured.

you relaxed your body and let seungcheol take over. your eyes rolled back as his thrusts were now a bit harder and quicker, desperately trying to get you both to reach your peak as you guys had been gone for a suspicious amount of time.

“fuck fuck fuck- cheol right there!” you whined before your mouth went agape, orgasm washing over you. you were gripping him so tightly seungcheol knew he wouldn’t last much longer either.

seungcheol gave a few deep thrusts before cumming as well, letting your cunt milk him dry.

he let you lay there for a second, allowing your to catch your breath before reminding you that you two needed to leave.

he somewhat kept his word, buying you that same set in every color they had. a dopey smile on his face while the two of you exited the store, his mind occupied with how many positions he’d have you in later tonight <3

[netherfeildren]

FABLE OF THE DOG : 3. Little Freak

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1, Chapter: 2,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Rough Sex; Size Difference; Spanking; DD/lg Dynamics; Dom/Sub Undertones; Forced Orgasm; Dirty Talk (like really forreal); Small Boobie Rep; Biting; Over Stimulation;

A/N: really sticking my finger in the father wound and wiggling it around in this one :))))))

Word Count: 10.3K

Read on AO3

3. Little Freak

You pull your sticky fingers from the damp bed of your underwear, the not enough little orgasm you’d been able to rub out still pulsing hot and cold through your cunt. 

Horrible man—you’ve never wanted anyone or anything as badly as you want him to need you. And no, not a wanting sort of thing, not a wanting sort of desire—that’s not what you’d demand from him. It’s specific, this thing: it’s that you want him to have no choice in the matter, you want him to be forced, to see no other recourse but you because that’s just how necessary you feel to him. 

You want there to be no thought, no compunction in him—only you. 

Even more, because lies are worth nothing here in your own mind in your cold bed—

—You want him to love you. 

The way your father never did. The way no man ever has, not really. 

Face buried in the dark for a moment, you groan softly before sliding belly first off the silk bedding onto your knees, pushing yourself up off the floor unsteadily. You toe your boots off and then step tiptoe on the end of each sock to pull them from your feet. It’d not been a lie—you’re not drunk, limiting yourself to only one tonight, and no liquor, because you knew you needed to be able to focus on the taste of his tongue when you inevitably got your hooks in him, hoping, knowing he’d take your bait and follow, but now, it’s a wholly different sort of buzz zinging through you. 

All him. All man. All Joel.

He’d been flavored of smoked whiskey and mint, a hint of tobacco, and you wish you could’ve been more faithful in your pursuit of enjoying the chewing of the leaves he always has, you’d tried for years but couldn’t bear the texture, the green gnashed between your teeth, earthen and organic. It’s not for you, your tastes veering to something hotter and sweeter. But you’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and every endeavor at a connection, no matter how small, had always seemed like a valiant one. 

Stupid birthdays. Disgusting leaves of mint. Dead fathers and daughters and all the different ways we hurt each other. 

Stumbling coltish and uncoordinated, newly birthed down the staircase, you push your way out the back door. He’ll have gone to bed now, you know they’re going up the mountain early tomorrow morning to check on one of the herds, but you’re desperate for one more second of him, being spit out of the house of your dead parents, hunting for the last hint of his presence riding on the fresh air off the Tetons and all this land that’s all yours now. 

You veer left then right, a zigzagging dance across the green lawn until you’re far enough away from the house it’s like you can pretend to ignore the ghosts you’re readying to exorcize. One knee hits the ground hard and stinging, limbs loose and strengthless, you feel the stab of a little rock against the curve of round bone beneath easily broken skin, catching yourself on a palm, another too hard scrape and then you’re rolling over into the grass, settling on your back to look up at the stars. 

There are so many, an infinite number of lights winking like watchful eyes back at you, and you wonder at the sort of childhood that lends itself to laying in the grass like this beside a parent that loves you and wants you and carves space in their life for a child they'd forced into the world. It should be some sort of crime, you think, immediate execution sort of barbarity, to have a child and not love it the way it demands. 

Back of your hands open at your sides, palms to the watching sky, you close your eyes and imagine what it’d be like to have the hand of a father holding it, one that would want you—not a mother because what is she in reality to you but an imagination figure you can’t even truly conjure up? That much of a stranger is what she is—such an alien thing you can’t even bother to dream her. 

Drawing your knees up, you press your bare heels into the earth and the wet placket of your panties is ice cold and sticking uncomfortably now, breeze against it. You shouldn't be thinking about this shit, but you think you might cry anyway, sucking in too fast breaths, forcing them out in attemptedly slow little puffs through your nose. A wave of sudden grief, then a plateau, the nauseating up and down of it all. You should be thinking about him, about your victory tonight, about making him so angry he can’t help himself, about what’ll come next—his skin. But that’s the thing about him, Joel, isn’t it? Always has been—the incongruous, make-no-sense feelings he’s always pulled out of you since you’d first set eyes on him, fourteen years old and tender and so alone you didn’t even know there was another way to be but abandoned. 

A laugh then—huffing and sardonic and again, incongruous, because now you really are crying. Tears leaking back, hot and fat to pool in your ears and salt the earth beneath you—unloading your grief into the grass as if God were beside you. Nothing will grow here again because of you if you’re not careful, and that’s the next worry—

If he never needs you the way you’re demanding of him, you won’t be able to stay here. 

You won't be able to live here and love him and not have him, and you could force him, perhaps, in your own ways. But you’ve done so much of that your whole life—forcing unloving men to look at you and take you into their arms when they’d never really wanted to give you the thing you’d always wanted most. 

The tender truth: it would be so much better if Joel decided to need you because he wants to, because he can’t fathom another way than just that. 

And you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live with anything else besides such. 

Another forced out laugh again—just to feel the feeling of it, go through the motion, mountain air a roundabout gust in your lungs, then to your left:  “What’re you laughing at, weirdo?”

Ellie, long and loping and beautiful, come to your rescue. She throws herself down onto the ground beside you and doesn’t even have to ask a thing about it when she places her rough hand in your soft one. 

Working girl, mover of mountains, changer of lives. 

Ellie has always known how to know you, and it has always been an incredible comfort. 

The two of you lay there for a few quiet moments. Friendship as an entity has always been a strange thing to you who have never understood love in a non-transactional way. But the thing that Ellie has always given you, it has always been an incredibly straightforward sort of understanding, simple—that of one abandoned child to another, perhaps. 

“Are you drunk?”

“Why’s everyone always fucking asking me that?” Said with another laugh but of the real sort this time, despite the bite in your voice. 

“You’re a hazard. What can I say?”

Undeniable. “Oh, shut up.” You dig your nails into the back of her hand, trying to scratch her but probably ruining your manicure instead, she squeezes your knuckles in sideways, hurting you way more than you could manage her. A yelp, and you say, “You know what I’m excited for?”  

“What’s that?”

“Skijoring.”

“Fuck no, dude. I almost died last time.”

You snicker, “Yeah, that was the fun part for me.”

Elbow to the ribs, and, “Asshole,” she laughs. And then you’re quiet again together, still gripped by the hands, and it’s the sort of comfortable only two girls who’ve been together since they were truly girls can be. 

“You see Cassiopeia?” She points her finger way north. 

“Do you think I should stay?” You see it, and easily, and you know if you were somewhere not here, it wouldn’t be so simply found. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Because of Joel.” It isn’t a question. You’ve never said it with words to her, but she’s always known. 

You hum instead of answering, can’t say it out loud anyway just yet. “So you finally asked her.” Dina, she knows what you mean.

And Ellie hums now in turn too. The both of you are so fucked up. Can’t say a thing out loud. 

“And?” 

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

Ellie groans loud and long, baying goat, and you tell her so, which gets another knock to the ribs. “Turn around and don’t look at me so I can tell you.”

You roll over towards the mountains and feel her face the house where she doesn’t see ghosts like you do. 

“But you’re not allowed to say anything—just say okay. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think—well, you know…,” she gruffs, voice dipping low and dropping off before she can say the words out loud again also. Everything’s a secret code here, even the stuff that shouldn’t be.

“You think?”

“You’re such a fucker. I know.”

You hum again but the good and happy sort, pressing your lips together to keep the misty eyed smile at bay. “Okay,” you say back just as low and just as gruff. 

“S’why I think you should stay,” she adds. “If I can find happy here, so can you.”

“I’ve never been able to before.”

“But you’re different now.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah—can see it, you know. And this place is different now too—will be different.” 

“I was afraid to come back for such a long time. It seemed like the worst thing in the world.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she says: “You’re not supposed to be afraid of your father.” A very obvious thing—or at least it should be. 

You feel her turn to look at the back of your neck, and you peer over your shoulder at her and when your eyes meet, she looks so sad, like she’s so sorry for you but without the pity, and you do understand what it is she’s saying despite never having had that fearless experience. 

“Aren’t you?” A shrug of your shoulder and a helpless laugh but also maybe with real humor accompanying it. Because yes, you’re not supposed to be. You always were anyway. It’s funny in an impossible to understand way. 

A beat and then, “Can I say something fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

“He isn’t here for you to be afraid of anymore.”

Funniest of all, you’re the most sad about this. And what you don’t say to her, perhaps for shame or that child’s feeling of having done something wrong but not necessarily understanding what that wrong is—sometimes it’s inevitable, missing the monster. 

“Maybe you needed him to die.” Yeah, fucked up. You’d already thought the same thing and were chock full of guilt for it. “Maybe it was like—like I don’t know. It was never going to be the way it should have between you, but now you can remember him, fuck, I don’t know—different. Not that you wanted him to die, but now the reality of him isn’t here for you to see, so you can just remember it all however you like or not.”

“So I should lie to myself?”

“Why not? There are worse things you could do. There are worse things you do do.”

You snort. “Is this what your method is?”

“Yeah. Like—like sometimes, when I’m so happy I can’t believe it’s me feeling it because she makes me that happy, Dina,” she says her name with love, “I pretend nothing from before was ever the way it was, and it’s only here and now and me and Dina and the ranch and there was no shitty, abandoning father and no dead mom and no nothing and only Joel is my dad and it’s all always been okay.”

Joel. 

At the center of everyone’s happy dream, why is it always him? 

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try it.” She reaches behind her back then, pawing at your hip until you give her your hand again, and you were wrong. She’s changed too. She can say things now. She’s always had those too perceptive eyes and that too big heart, and she’s changed now in a way that makes her not afraid to let it out and use these things anymore. 

You tell this changed Ellie now: “You know that like— that like… I don’t know how to say it. When a person’s life seems like it should be perfect, and you have everything. Everything should be good, right—but it’s just not. Your parents should be kind, they should be loving. They should be attentive and give a shit what happens to you, and it probably seems that way to the whole rest of the world except for the people that have to witness the humiliation behind closed doors, but it’s really just not, and then they probably look at me and wonder how my life could be anything but rose colored, and it all just seems a little silly and empty. Doesn’t it?”

“Nah—don’t know. My life was always shit before I came here and found Joel and Dina and all of them and you. And I'd seen enough to recognize what you were and how it was. Nothing ever looked rose colored to me—just looked like more shit.” You laugh again out loud now and for real, squeezing more tears out over your hot cheeks when she joins you in the sad hilarity as well. 

When her voice is finally steady from the belly laughs again, she says, “It’s a grief pyramid, we’re all just going around hurting each other in the name of our ghosts and call it an excuse, an offering to their memory and act like it’s okay. But it’s fucked up. That’s why I decided to stop. I stopped pushing her away, I told her—well, you know. I told her.”

“Say it, loser.” You bump your butt into hers. 

“Not to you—leave me alone.”

Say it, say it, say it, you sing. 

“I love her, fuck off.” And a little clog of emotion sticks wetly in your throat.

That’s the real question, honestly: How do you make someone love you? How do you make yourself into someone people can love?

“It’s a grief pyramid,” she repeats. “You have to choose to stop adding to it.” And she’s quiet again for a long time, and you can’t fathom how it is one stops building onto something they’d been born into. You think on it so long the feel of her palm clutching yours starts losing itself to sleep in the grass and the breeze comes off the mountains like a blanket over the two girls who’d become women before them until she says again, “Anyway, that’s usually the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid.”

-

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nope. You’re definitely doing something.” He angles the phone away from her prying eyes, trying to shield his shame with the palm of his hand. 

“Mind your own damn business, kid.”

“Is that an Instagram account?” Ellie howls like a banshee, Tommy coming up behind him to reach over his shoulder to try and rip the phone out of his hand. He holds it out of his reach. 

It’s just that he couldn’t help himself. He’d heard the boys all talking about it on the ride back down after their long day of work—your Instagram page—as if he knew what the fuck that was. He’d had to search it up on the internet when he’d gotten a moment alone in the bunk, cracking open a beer, muscles exhausted from the hard ride and having to haul a heifer out of a bramble she’d gotten herself caught in, he’d realized it was a thing young people put photographs and such on, a social media thing. But when he’d gone to search your name, it’d told him he’d needed to make an account of his own. Growling in frustration, he’d slowly made his way through the process, too big fingers punching at the too tiny keys of the stupid phone you’d forced on him. 

“Can you shut up and just show me how to work this thing. And stop your goddamn howling—Dina’s gonna think she’s dating a hyena not a girl.” She slides into the seat next to him, taking the phone from his grip to finish setting up the account and type in your name, a deck of pictures loading up for him to hunt through like a vandal. Photographs of you in all sorts of different places, draped in fine clothes and jewels and your fucking perfect ass right there for everyone to see. 

Oh my God.

“How many people can see this shit?” He asks Ellie, angling the phone back towards her. 

“You’re so nosey, man,” she chastises. “Thirty-seven thousand followers.” And a long, impressed whistle from Tommy who he’s going to punch in the face after he’s done with this. 

He swallows hard. “What’s that mean?”

“That thirty-seven thousand people are following her and looking at her pictures, Joel,” his brother says. “Man, how fuckin’ old are you?”

“Yeah, you’re not that old, Joel. Come on.”

“Go away now. I’m busy,” he tells the both of them, going back to doom scrolling through your pictures. One’s of you in barely any clothes at all, an itty bitty orange bikini, hands on your ass and sand where his tongue should be.

Joel feels insane again. 

“Pervert.”

“Joel… I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think there’s steam comin’ out of your ears, man.”

“Fuck off.”

Blessedly, they leave him to suffer in peace after a while, and thank Christ for that because eventually, the ex-boyfriend shows up in the scroll of pictures too. There for everyone to see in posts dated several weeks back—even one of the two of you kissing, you on his lap, fuck that. Good looking, shiny-boy sort. Joel’s left eye twitches at the sight of the sort of man he has never been, could never be for you, someone of your caliber. 

The memory of your cunt grinding against him last night flashes through his mind and his cock throbs once and hungry. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, adjusting in the suddenly too tight seat of his jeans. 

A clusterfuck is what it is—this sudden melding of the memory of the girl-child you used to be, the one that up until only recently lived in his mind, good and golden, and the woman you are now. With both figures meeting together with all the characteristics he’d always admired in you, your kind heart, your honesty, your generosity. You’ve turned out to be an exceptional woman, and it’s difficult to let the distant perception from before meet the lust he feels for you now and grapple with it without feeling sick to his stomach about it all.

It’s all an inevitability though, anyway. He knows this just from the rewind memory play of last night, the taste of your mouth and the little sounds you'd made for him, because of him, the way your hips had rolled over his lap desperately seeking. 

You’re ending up on his cock one way or another—inevitable. 

He’s never claimed to be a good and honorable man—never played the part of one either. He’s not about to start now. 

Clicking on the picture of your sun bronzed ass in the tiny bikini again, he imagines himself biting and eating it, shifting his legs restlessly, taking another long pull of his beer. Tapping twice on the image, he tries to zoom in to the apex of your thighs—he’s going to hell, he’s so fucked up, doesn’t matter—when a little heart appears in the center of the image. He clicks it again and the heart appears once more, refusing to zoom into what he wants to see up close. Fucking piece of shit phone and fucking Instagram—frustrated and hard and pissed off at the fact he’s yet to see you all day, he locks the phone, slamming it face down on the kitchen table, and downs the rest of the can. 

If he doesn’t get a hold of himself soon he’s going to burst, gut all twisted up into a hot knot of coal. Sick with jealousy and anger and lust, aggressive, the taste of your sweetness ringing in his ears and the sound of your moans on his tongue—his head is not on straight and he better get it fixed quick or all this pent up frustration is going to come out with teeth to take a chunk of flesh out of you. 

Groaning loudly, he lets his head fall back, thumbs digging into the sockets of his eyes until he sees stars and not the sight of your slick swollen mouth made that way by himself. He wonders if you slept well last night, if you thought of him, if you’d made yourself come the way he’d ran home to the little foreman’s cabin Kelly had given him years ago, to do himself. Jumping in the shower to jack his leaking cock to the image of what it would’ve been like if he’d been brave enough to pull that flimsy little tease of a thong to the side, let his cock out and force it inside of you, make you take it until you were crying and coming so hard you’d never think to even look at another man again, much less kiss him. 

He should’ve hit that fucker harder. He should’ve kissed you longer. 

He needs to force you to take all of those goddamn half naked pictures down. No one should get to look at you like that except for him, and he doesn’t give a fuck how insane he sounds. 

Outside, he can hear the cowboys hooting and hollering at something, egging each other on louder and louder, the scuffle of them shoving each other and horsing around. He sighs once and long, too tired to deal with their shit right now. All he needs is an evening of peace to get his head on straight and relax and will his boner down for a few hours. He’s acting like a goddamn randy teenager, walking around hard and aching half the day. 

Heaving himself out of the chair, back hurts, he grabs another beer before he’s pushing the bunk door open to the sight of half the team huddled together and peering around the corner of the bunk towards the house. 

“The hell’s got y’all clucking like a bunch of hens?” He asks, coming around them to stop dead in his tracks when he lays eyes on what it is that’s got them all worked up. 

That same ass he’d just been trying to zoom in on, right there in the flesh for the whole ranch to ogle at. Stretched out on one of the sun loungers from the deck, dragged out into the center of the lawn with a little table set up next to you. You’d even gotten someone to scrounge up a huge umbrella, a misting fan spinning lazily, spitting a damp sheen of water every few minutes, a drink and a speaker playing some girly song, whole goddamn set up for all of these fuckers to stand here and take an eyeful of your perfect ass. 

Joel tries to take deep breaths, counting back from ten in his head—fails. He’s going to be calm and cool and collected—not. He isn’t going to lose his temper—sure. 

Fuck that. 

He’s going to spank your ass so hard you can’t sit for a week.

“If you all don’t find something to do in the next thirty seconds,” he growls at them all through clenched teeth, “I swear I’ll have you slingin’ shit for a month.” The can in his grip pops loudly between his fingers. 

They all take one peek at the look on his face and scatter like chicken shit until it’s only Ellie left smirking beside him.

“Take this,” he shoves the can at her and starts towards you. 

“Bro—” He ignores her. Hey! She calls after him, voice demanding now, stopping him in his tracks before he can go get exactly what he’s been denying himself from the moment you kissed him two nights ago. 

Giving him that look she gets when she needs to remind him she knows exactly who he is and that he can’t ever hide it from her, she chews on her cheek for a second before she says, and he doesn’t mistake it, it’s a warning: “She’s a real peach. You know that. Pretty and soft and sweet, but easily hurt. Needs gentle handling, even when she wants to pretend otherwise.”

It pisses him off. Bad. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? I understand her—” thumb to chest. Because he did—does. Because he thinks that he really always has. It’s undeniable that he has what you have, what Ellie has. Even what Oswald Kelly himself had had and what he’d seen in Joel when he’d decided to save the life of a no good man in a no good spot with a no good future in front of him—that sadness, that lost doggedness about you all that makes you so like one another, even despite your immeasurable differences.  

The two of them look at each other for another long moment, and Ellie knows, Ellie always understands. With a roll of her eyes she spins on her heel, muttering to herself, slugging back Joel’s discarded beer.

Slowly, he rounds back towards you, afraid as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun, just as dramatic, as well. Objectively, he knows you’re doing this on purpose, to piss him off and rile him up and get a blow out reaction out of him. He tries to remind himself of it as he marches towards you, and if he were smarter or less inclined to take your bait, he’d take a beat to finish that count to ten reversal in his head and calm the fuck down before he gets to you—but honestly, he just doesn’t feel like it. 

All he sees instead is the baby pink barely there string bikini you’ve got on, the slope of your back gleaming in the sun, slicked in something shiny, the damp from the mister, the lush curve of your ass and the shine of your hair resting face down on your folded arms. 

You’re all sunkissed everywhere, and he’d really rather just give you what you want already. 

“Get up,” he growls down at you. 

One eye winks open, peering up at him before you press up on your elbows to take in the sight of him scowling down at you, and he can’t help it when his eyes flit down to the sight of your breasts cupped precariously in the tiny bikini, skin all sun flushed red against the soft baby pink fabric. You look like you’re made of sugar and sweet fruit and like you’ve come here specifically to ruin him and his whole life and all his self control. 

Hmm? You smile up at him wide and teasing. Oh, he’s feeding right into your shit, and you piss him off so badly. 

He’s never been this hard in his entire life, he’s even made dizzy with it. 

The little wisps of hair at your temples are sweat soaked and curling, looking silky soft. A thousand little details about you and your body—the white of your smile and the flushed heat of your cheeks, sun burnished bridge of your nose starting to freckle—that he can’t help but notice. 

Get. Up, he grits through clenched teeth. No one in the whole world deserves to see you like this, looking so beautiful, especially not him. Shading your eyes with the palm of your hand, you scrunch your nose up at him, and he’s got half a mind to bark at you to not do that when he’s around or he’s really gonna lose it. Your smile beams brighter. 

“What’s wrong, Joel? Havin’ a rough day?”

“I swear to Christ, if you don’t get your ass up and in the house right this minute, I’m going to put you over my knee right here in front of your whole ranch to witness, little girl.”

You smile up at him again and a muscle at the corner of his jaw flutters madly, he’s about to crack a fucking molar. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” And you flop back down again so that the soft of your ass jiggles slightly, arching your back just a little so that he’s growling once, right before he’s gripping you by the elbow and pulling you upwards against his chest and dragging you all bare and slippery limbed to your feet. You smell like coconuts and sweet sweat and saliva pools heavy beneath his tongue. 

“If you wanna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you like one. You get me?” He yanks you towards the house screeching like a banshee, let go of me, you fucking psycho, you howl. A too little fist swings towards his face, and he catches it in his palm, squeezing tight and feeling your thumb tucked inside your fist. 

“Stop that—you’re gonna hurt yourself.” More squawking and howling, skinny wrist slipping from his grip to take another swing at him. “Don’t even know how to throw a goddamn punch—Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t tuck your thumb.” He hauls you up higher against himself, getting a better grip around your waist so he can carry you bodily up the steps of the deck. 

You jam your heels into his shins, and he huffs and puffs, trying to keep his hold on you. I’m gonna kick your ass, you screech again, scratching and pinching at his forearms. 

Joel is too old and too goodman tired for this. 

“No, you’re not. And if you think I’m gonna let the whole goddamn ranch and all the boys stare at your bare ass all day, you’ve got another thing comin’ for you.”

“Well, I’ve gotta show it to someone, don’t I?” You sass back, trying to elbow him in the throat while you’re at it. Blood boiling, catching you by the small joint, he pulls your arm bent behind your back, other forearm banding against your stomach so that his hand is splayed at your hip, feeling the satin soft skin, slippery in your suncream. 

And sure, he might be too old or too tired for this, but his cock is still hard as anything at the feel of you all against him like this. 

Pushing the door open with his hip, he shoves you inside. The late afternoon sun paints the cool interior in shades of gold and beaming white; everything is beautiful and pristine as always, and yet tinged with the red of his temper and lust. His temples beat in tune with his too fast, pumping heart. 

“Where’s Dina?” He’s still got you caught in his grip. He does not plan to let go. 

“Let me go, you mother ffff—” He gives you one hard shake, hearing your teeth click and rattle. Little doll caught in his grip. He can do anything to you—and you won’t be able to stop him. 

“Where is she?” He asks again, and something in his voice must snap you alert because you settle for a brief second, a little shiver skipping down the length of your spine that he follows to your full ass. He tugs you back, barely moving and slow, just that little bit further into himself so that the lush curve presses against the hard length of his cock—and there it is, the little knowing gasp, finally understanding what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.

-

“She—” Your belly is suddenly so hot and tight, heartbeat starting up behind your navel. Suddenly knowing what it is this is about to be, and yet now finally confronted with the reality of it for the first time, you can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like. “She—I don’t know. She went into town, I— I think,” you stutter, brain short-circuiting, desperate to feel that hardness again. “Waiting for Ellie—they’ve got plans there tonight.” His entire hand is wrapped around your forearm pressed against the small of your back, long, thick fingers overlapping against each other, and you roll up on your tiptoes, trying to arch your back further into him. 

He grunts once, exasperated, and then shoves you forward again, rough enough you’re stumbling over your own two feet, full on aggressive panting bull at your back. 

That’s good, he says so low you barely catch it before he’s pushing you up against the wall by the front door, cheek smushed against the silk printed wallpaper. 

Your mother decorated this room years ago, melding the masculine taste of your father and her love for European decor. The walls, wrapped in hand painted English wallpaper on the top half, and paneled at the bottom with a mahogany so fine it gleams an amber golden glow when the afternoon sun shines in through the windows just so. 

Everything beautiful; still, even after all this time. 

He holds you there for a long moment, his breathing quick and shallow, bellows of hot air at the nape of your neck, disturbing the escaped hair from your claw clip curling there. 

“Joel?” You ask once, voice wavering just a little bit because he suddenly feels so large and imposing behind you that something like trepidation beats behind the soft of your kneecaps. You know he worked all day, and his big body is a steaming blaze of heat, waves rolling off of him to burn the naked length of your back and limbs. 

He pulls your arm trapped between his forearm and your stomach to the small of your back to join the other, holding you there in a lock pinned against the wall, reaching up slowly to let your hair down, long and swinging. You listen to the clatter of your clip against the hardwood floor, and then he’s circling the side of your neck, the tiny beating pulse held in the cup of his palm so that it feels as if it’s reverberating back into your head, a staccato rhythm, and echoing all through your body. A chiming bell, ringing and ringing and ringing, telling you that it’s time now. His hand smooths down the slope of your throat to your shoulder, and you listen to the rumbling half humming moan he lets out at the feel of your sweat sticky skin, then down the flat wing of your scapula, thumb nail scraping against the edge of your jutting bone for the way he’s got your arms trapped behind you. 

You let out a high pitched whine, almost a scream, another puff of sound in the assimilation of his name, pleading now, rolling up onto your tiptoes again to push your ass back against the hard of his cock. Everything is so, so sensitive. 

Quit, he snaps once and mean. Ordering. In a tone that says he’s in charge, and finally. 

It’s such a relief. 

You whine again, higher, needier, like you’ve never felt before, and there’s a nauseating thrum of electrified butterflies in your tummy, sticky sweet and cloying for attention. Joel, please, again and the wings beat faster. You’re sure he’ll enjoy the sound of your begging, it’s just something you know. Tiptoes straining higher so that the soles of your feet ache, he smooths that work roughened palm down the slope of your spine, thumb against your vertebrae, feeling the round little notches of bone beneath sensitive skin until he’s reached the twin dimples at the low of your back right above your ass, and presses there and hard—mean—so it hurts. Keening loudly, you crush your cheek harder, harder against your mother’s wallpaper until the bone aches, until there’ll surely be an indent of your shape left in the wall, and his thumb digs even harder anyway, gripping you tight enough to bruise. 

This is how it’ll be—surprising, but also not. In all your years of imagining, you still don’t know what it is you expected.

“You’re carved so fine,” whispered against your skin and gooseflesh spreads like wildfire, nipples going tight and aching. His nose skims the slope of your nape, smelling you. “S’like you’re made of sugar. Is that what you’ll taste like too?” And his words are slurred, drunk-like and you feel the same way also, legs on the verge of giving out.

You press your hips back again, desperate for any sort of pressure, and he jostles you once, hard enough you bite your tongue. Quit moving, he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs and spreading you wide and immobile, thigh hooked over his own so that the toes of that leg barely skim the ground and now you’re precariously balanced on one foot, held up and pinned entirely by him. 

 Caughtcha, he murmurs.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. 

The palm at the low of your back splays wide, his long fingers reaching from side to side and pressing hard against your skin and then all of a sudden he’s gone, and only for a second, before he’s back and slapping you hard and painfully stinging on the ass. A downward swipe of his thick fingers so that it really fucking hurts, and then the palm is back at the small of your waist, hooked thigh over his leg, unable to move, unable to do anything except take it. 

He presses your belly into the wall, and the pressure is so intense and so deep—his breathing is so rough behind you. You know he worked the mountain all day, he should be exhausted, but the strength he’s trapping you with belies the possibility. 

His hand goes away from your back again, and he’s spanking you once more, and you can’t tell if it’s harder or not this time, if it hurts worse than the previous, but the fire pain of it snaps all the way down from your thigh to your calve, pooling there in a knot of painful ache. An animal baying noise warbles in your throat, he tuts once, a cooing click of his tongue and cups your ass right at the rose of pain he’s left, kneading the skin gently, palpating the hurt like he’s looking for the physical imprint of it beneath your skin. 

“Yeah, baby? Like that?” You sing the little animal song for him again. “S’what you needed, right?” His voice now is not the Joel-voice you’ve always known, but it is the one you’ve always dreamed of. The kneading fingers slide whisper soft down the back of your thigh, up again, down again, callused skin scraping. On the up again, his thumb catches at the edge of your bathing suit wedged between the cleft of your ass.

And lest he thinks he’s bested you, you say, “Yes, that’s what I needed,” and he laughs a rough laugh that makes him sound like he’s been gutted. 

He squeezes the thick of your ass between his thumb and forefinger, an almost pinch and then smoothes his thumb beneath the pink edge along the curve, precariously close to danger. The sound of his name loses meaning, you’re praying it in a litany almost, over and over, begging. Hush now, he gentles, more in a sort of voice you recognize while your heart beats so hard against the wall it must surely sound like someone’s knocking on the front door for entry, like it must surely send echoes all through the ghost-house. 

His smoothing thumb continues its journey until it’s between your thighs, pulling the wet lycra wide away from your skin so that he can tuck the rest of his fingers flat against your cunt, and now he’s there. 

One of you says the word fuck another lets out a whimpering sort of noise—you’re not sure which is who, it’s all only a cunt-throbbing need you know he’s feeling leak and pulse against his hand. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs all reverence like. Joel—touching your cunt and sounding like he can’t believe it. His hand slides back along the curve of your sex, and you really are so wet the sound of it is slick and lewd, his fingertips at your entrance, a gentle probing and then forward again, a circling not touch around your clit, like he’s learning for himself this new little place that belongs to him now. Your mouth falls open on a spit-full moan, your eyes closed because you don’t even have strength now to keep them open and watchful. You’re so wet for me, he says again and again like he can’t believe it all either. 

He drags his finger flats against you once more and then another time and then taps twice with all four of them, two little almost slaps to your clit that make a sticky wet splashing sound. Good girl, and you don’t know which part of you he’s talking to. You’re practically leaking onto the floor, trying to widen your hips, arch your ass back further and present your cunt to him for fucking. And then his fingers side to side in a swiping motion and fast. 

Oh God. Oh God. Inside, inside, you need him inside. He needs to go inside. 

“Please, pleeease, Joel. Oh, please.” Delirious.

“Please?” His fingers move fast and your vision goes entirely away. “Please what? Please what? You, please.” He switches front and backwards again, and then two fingers draw a little ghost circle at your entrance. You, please, he says again. His hand flips over, palm facing downwards, and he starts to slowly, slowly press a single tip of one inside. “Please behave. Please don’t— don’t—fuck— please gimme a second to breathe, to think, to catch up. God, fucking tight little cunt. I’ll never fit in here, baby.” 

Your vision whites, then blacks, then goes blinding bright and colorless—zero frequency. Up to the first knuckle, and he wiggles the tip inside, making you cry and squirm, pulls out and then two fingers are pressing inside and downwards. “We’re gonna have to take it so slow in this little cunt.” Shit—shit.

“Oh my God, yes.” 

Your hips shiver and shake as he penetrates you, his forehead tucked against your shoulder so he can look down at what he’s doing, and drool slides along your mother’s wallpaper from the corner of your mouth as he pushes his fingers in and out of you so slowly, the slick slide, the pressure against your front wall so heavy, and spread so wide like this but held so immobile—it all makes you feel like you’ll wet yourself with such little control over your body. A few slides in and out again, “Good girl, just a little more,” before he’s wedging a third into the mix, trying to put it inside of you as well. A little more? The stretch is too much, burning, and you wail and cry, arching again but this time to get away instead of steal more. 

“Okay, okay. It’s alright,” he soothes. Hush. “It’s okay.” He pulls his fingers entirely out and covers the slick mess of your mound with his entire palm possessively. Rubbing soothingly at your wet, his fingers slide over the satiny smooth skin of your lips. 

“You’re all bare,” he whispers, shocked.

You swallow hard once, shoulders and neck starting to ache. “I— I got lasered.”

“Lasers?” Voice confused. 

“Yeah.” You swallow again, can’t catch your breath. “Yes.”

“Gotta see.”

He pulls you from the wall, shuffling you like gambling cards in his hands, that’s what this is, a gamble, so that you’re facing him as he walks you backwards, bikini bottoms askew and cunt bare to your parents living room; your dead father’s best man about to fuck it raw. 

Pressing up on your tiptoes at the same time that you’re tugging him low by the collar and the slightly too long hair that curls over it to press an open mouthed kiss to his lips with eyes kept open. You need to see his face, his reaction, that even though he’s all rough, he’s still Joel and he’ll still take care of you now. 

One strong forearm bands around your back, pressing you up high and close to his chest, fingers tangling in the bikini string at your back so that it pulls tight and bites into your skin, the other reaching around the back of your thighs to take a squeezing handful of you ass as he lifts you clean off the ground, lumbering slowly towards the couch while the two of you stare at each other with something that smells suspiciously of wonder. 

On the high ground now, you stare down at him, held as you are and kiss him again, for real this time, with tongue, an eating of his mouth. Trying to taste him as deep as you can go, digging your manicured fingernails into the rough whiskered planes of his cheeks until he grunts roughly.

Showing him that you can hurt him too. 

His knees hit the edge of the couch, one palm going to the back to hold himself steady as he sets you down, following your path to fold over you nose to nose. Watching each other for a blink, predator, predator, lashes tangling and then his mouth is sliding wetly over your burning cheekbone, drawn out groan like dying. Down to the hinge of your jaw where he sucks sharp once and his tongue flutters down the column of your throat, tasting your pulse, his palms everywhere at the same time too. Over your shoulders and down your goosefleshed arms, cinching at the nip of your waist to slide around your hips and to your ass, pulling you forward and open when he goes to his knees on the floor at the edge of the sofa between your spread thighs, with you draped diagonally across the cool leather that sticks to your sweaty, coconut flavored skin. 

One palm slides down your chest, dragging over your breast, the other catching at your nipple with this thumb, nail scraping and pulling the wet fabric along with him, baring you to the first glance of his eyes. A sound that’s a little like a whimper precedes his latching mouth, sucking hard and with teeth so you’re arching and crying and when your head rolls to the side, eyes bleary and barely seeing, he’s got your small breast in his mouth, jaw hinged wide and hungry. His teeth scrape, one wide palm sliding over your thigh to the back, pushing your knee up high and open to your shoulder, lips skim over your belly, smell so fucking good, sharp edge over your hip bone and the lave of his tongue, taste so fucking good.

“I’m gonna eat your cunt.” Bikini askew, one little tit bared to the cold AC, nipples hard enough to hurt, he pinches it once and mean and stretches the soaking wet center gusset of your bottoms wider.

He looks and looks and grins and everything inside of you pulses. 

Boyish smirk and a cocky glance up at you, oh, pretty, “Perfect little princess pussy, huh? I see now.” He sticks his thumb into his mouth, pulls it out with a pop to rub it spit slick against your clit. Yeah, yeah, like that, and you can’t help the whining cry. 

Pushing your other thigh up high, the grin turns to something a little more menacing before he bends to your cunt, whole mouth covering you there like he’d swallowed your breast. His thumbs dig painfully into the backs of your thighs like they’d dug in your back, leaving little spots of hurt all over your body is what he’s doing, spreading you wide open.  

Every touch is possessive, full of ownership. 

“What are you doing to me?” He groans as he eats your cunt, doing exactly as he said he would, flat of his tongue licking all over you, dipping inside. Purse of his lips then and he’s sucking hard and pulsing in quick successions, and there’s your first one—little gush of slick and your belly so tight it hurts, you need something inside of you so bad—your first orgasm forced from you and onto his tongue, swallowed down into his stomach. He groans like an animal—doubles his efforts, tongue spearing inside, pulling away to press two fingers in—fuck, fuck, and you grab hold of your own thigh to keep yourself open for him, knees trembling beside your ribs. 

The hand not inside slides across you, smearing slick over your belly, it’s everywhere, and presses down as he crooks those two fingers forward. His hair’s all fucked up, eyes glazed a maniacle shade of hazel that makes him more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him and also hotter than you could’ve ever dreamed, that boy’s smile again. 

His mustache is soaked in you. “Little pussy’s so small ‘nd wet, baby.” He wiggles his fingers, pets against the blindingly sensitive place inside of you. “Feel that?” Fingers twisting—almost too much, the stretch burns already and just like this. 

“Please, put it in,” you beg stupidly, a tear leaks and then another, not at all smart of self preserving. 

He clicks his tongue, and you can’t tell if it’s soothing or condescending or both, your eyes screwing shut at what he’s doing to you, trying to paw at his shoulders and pull him towards you at the same time. “Can’t—too small.”

No, no— His palm at your belly presses down, fingers petting forward, again, again, head bent once more to suck on your clit, licking it roughly if a tongue can be rough because it’s heavy and strong and intentional—I can take it. There’s your next one, obeying the come here order of his fingers. Mid-come and he’s forcing that painful third one from before inside, and now it’s split open and sloshing wetly—your cunt—hiccupping into another left over shaky orgasm, fucking hurts a little bit. More tears and his soft chuckle—you’re really in it now. 

When he slurps at your leaking again, fingers leaving you to gape empty and wanting, your hips shiver, trying to shake him away and rock against him at the same time. He says something you can’t make out, can’t even open your eyes, you just need a second, you swear, and then the clink of his belt, the shuffle of clothes, and he’s pulled his shirt over his head—you’ve enough mind left to open your eyes for this. 

He’s so strong, built for fucking and working and heaving. You knew this already, you hadn’t needed to see him without clothes to know. 

And all yours now, too. 

Your fingertips paw greedy at his chest, muscular, the thickly corded arms and shoulders. One hand wraps around the slim of your ankle, manacling you while he undoes his fly, your heart skips with the split of the zipper’s teeth and pulls his cock out, letting it fall heavy on your stomach—a threatening, aggressive thing. It drags against your cunt, so big it doesn’t stand up straight and jutting like the others you’ve been used to, but bobs low and hanging.

Reaching forward you flit the tips of your fingers over the wide head—barely there butterfly touch—and your hand looks comically small next to the thing as you pet at the dark head swelling out of the thick skin around it, soft and burning hot—he growls like a wolf at your touch.

 “I’ve never— I’ve never… with one like…”

He pulls your hand forward, wrapping it tightly around the thick length with his fist over yours. “Nah, baby. You’ve never had one like this. It’s alright—I’ll show you how to take it.” 

You’ve half a mind to roll your eyes at him, but he distracts you with the soft touch at the split indentation in your knee from your romp in the grass last night. “What happened here, little thing?” His words and his touch are so soft, eyes warm and caring, as if he weren’t threatening at all, as if that thing that’s about to split you in half and make you cry hasn’t started to slick itself back and forth between your legs, parting the lips of your cunt, sticky sound on every pass with his fist wrapped around himself—too many things happening to you all at once by his hand. 

“A rock hiding in the grass last night.” You start to roll your hips minutely against him, presenting your similarly torn palm for his appraisal, no, no, my poor baby, he kisses the little hurt while the fat head swipes over your clit, pressing against your hole—a little gasp and you circle his wrist at your knee, anchoring yourself. 

He frowns. “Last night when?”

“After you left me.” Pouting back. 

Cooing once and low, “You shouldn’t go out alone at night, anything could happen,” pressing again at the mouth of your cunt. Fuck, now— 

“Wasn’t alone—”

The head notches and stays, “Without me then— Deep breath now, baby.” He grunts on the first push inside, and your back arches tight as a bowstring, hand splaying wide at the center of his belly and his long fingers wrap around your breast tight, holding you in place, deep breath, he says again. 

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God.”

He pitches his hips forward once, just a little, just a small shove, and you tense, sharp whine hiccuping through you. “Oh, it’s too big,” pressing harder at his belly as he edges deeper again, an inch and then another, literally splitting your cunt open for himself, thumb swiping slow and gentle over your clit, forcing little shudders of pleasure out of you amidst the pain. 

“See, told ya.” It’s slow, slow until he makes it fit, watching himself sink inside of you the entire time, until you’re rooted on his cock, breath coming is quick, sucking pants, puffs out through your nose, body flushing hot and then even hotter. He folds over you, groaning loud and long, deep grinds and small shoves, and then it’s so much, too much until there’s no room left inside of you at all, that dull ache pain of his tip pressing against your cervix. 

You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, it hurts, it hurts, but he plays with that place anyways, covering you with his body to press his face against your breasts, mouthing wet and hot at your nipples, biting hard to distract you from the pain inside. Your fingers twist in his hair, hot and damp at the roots, sweaty musk smell of a hard day's work, masculine, making you wetter for him. “It’s alright… it’s alright. You can take it. You’re such a good girl.” And then a fuck, and he’s mumbling your name, how good you are again, how well you’re taking your fucking. 

“This what you wanted, right? To get caught on my cock?” The palm cupping your ass tips you up and forwards, forcing him inside just that little bit more. Your knees are at your shoulders, folded entirely under him, and the tip of his cock is still there where it hurts the most while he pants and sweats on top of you. A cramp of heat moves like lightning down your back and something goes loose in your cunt, your womb contracting once, accepting its fate as you start to come around him, milking him deep inside of you. You start to cry for real now too, fingernails dragging against his naked back looking for blood—sobbing, actually, not just crying. 

He bites your breast hard, grinds further not letting the orgasm stop, “God—I’m so fuckin’ deep. No one’s ever been this deep, right? Tell me, baby,” he begs, sitting back and dragging you boneless, still coming, into his lap, little girl splayed wide over his knees on the floor. You sink further down onto his cock, and he kisses your hot cheeks, letting your cunt drip down him. His belt digs bruisingly into the back of your thighs and it all hurts—he really is so deep now, head tucked firmly at your cervix, and he feels like he’s getting thicker, harder, like he just needs to be sunk deep like this, as deep as he can get so that all your cunt needs to do is work him until it milks the come right out of him. 

Your head lolls back on your neck, supported at the edge of the sofa. “No more—” You don’t know if you mean it, but it is just on the verge of too much now. You’re so sensitive. 

“Yes more.” He starts to lift his hips again, pulling back and shoving, not a lot, but enough that it’s like a little punch inside of you each time. “As much as I say.”

Whining, “No—I can’t.” You roll your hips against him though, the both of you moving, straining against each other, his wide hands around your waist shifting you up and down like a doll on his cock. Your eyes finally open again, and the sunlight spears in through the windows in buttery blinding shafts, sparkling dust motes dancing above as he fucks you. The sound is all so wet, everything from his lower belly to the open front of his jeans is soaked. “I don’t like it anymore,” you lie. 

“I don’t care,” and he gives you the first really rough thrust, not a pounding but with enough strength behind it that you get that heat cramp again, feel like you’re going to wet yourself again, there’s so much pressure in your belly. 

You’re going to come again. You are coming again. It feels like you should say thank you. 

He laughs, little cock sleeve, and you can’t understand how it’s so intense when the fucking is so slow—so good anyways—who cares about anything. His name slips through your lips without them moving, and he’s laughing again, a little mean and you tell him so, but still tender, still endeared by you. 

You push his face away weakly, a mumbled, “Nasty old man.”

Nuh uh, he hums, taking both of your wrists in his grip and pressing them back to the leather edge on either side of your head, forcing you into an arch so that he can latch his teeth at your throat and suck. The rolling of his hips pick up speed, just that little bit, the heat coming off him boiling up to steaming and his sweat drips onto your skin and disappears inside of you—everywhere you’ve got him inside of you. 

“Birth control?” All broken up with pants and your jugular between his teeth. 

Flexing fingers, hands going away to numbness, he’s got you held so tightly, not being so careful of his strength anymore, his cock drags and it’s so wet and sensitive and swollen inside of you, it feels like he barely fits even more than it did before, like there’s definitely no more space inside of you for him at all.. “Yeah—ye—ah, ahh,” can’t get your voice to come out right with your clit grinding against his pelvic bone like that. “Implant right here.” You turn your face towards your left arm, tipping your nose the hidden little bump right beneath your skin. He clicks his tongue, kissing it softly.

“Poor baby. That’s good. That’s real good, baby. Just be good and lemme come in you now. It’s okay.” He spreads his thighs wider, pushing up with his knees into you now. Oh fuck— “But you gotta give me one more. I want it—it’s mine.” And the way he’s got you arched, the spot he hits inside is more intense than the others. He grunts rougher now, biting your throat so hard you’ll be left bruised all over and on the inside too. One palm lets go of your wrist to grip your bottom, long fingers slotting on either side of his impaling cock, pulling you to him so tightly the orgasm is squeezed out of you forcibly and hurts all the worse for it. You’re limp and boneless now, and he starts to pump his come into you in thick spurts, belly all suffused with heat and your name a groan in his throat.

His fingers, parted around his splitting cock rub at the slippery skin of your labia, back and forth to your asshole, holding and cupping the place he’s claimed, and he comes so long, hunched over and rutting into you, filling and filling until the wet squelch is even louder and you can feel the thick come being forced out of your stuffed full cunt. 

You want to say his name, trying to move your lips, but your tongue rolls uselessly inside your mouth, all you are is a shivering cunt, a muscle spasming and spasming around him. He nuzzles at your throat, finally unlatching his teeth, licking away the hurt, pressing a soft kiss to the sore spot. You can feel him playing in the leaking wet now, fingering at your puffy cunt, well fucked and filled. 

You want to tell him you didn’t think that the bikini was going to make this happen, pull this out of him. 

At least not like this. You don’t think you could’ve ever imagined it’d be like this. 

His mouth, hot on your jaw once more before he finally picks up his head to look at you, and his eyes make you want to cry, all that manic heat is gone now, replaced by some softly smoldering ember. You don’t think anyone in all the world has eyes the color of hazel he’s got. Something that should belong to some fiercely guarded precious stone, they glow, amber opal like, burnished in the setting sun’s golden glow.

“You okay?” His voice is very soft, and only for you.

You nod, chin tipping to your sternum, face flushed with so much unbearably pleased heat you’re unable to find your own. 

Tilting his head to get at your mouth, he kisses you long and soft and open mouthed, licking your tongue, tasting you completely. And when he pulls back he has that same look you feel on your own face—that same unbearable pleasure. Shocked wonder sprinkled into it.

Look at what we’ve done and together and how good it is—

A smile and then a laugh from both of you, giggling like school children into each other’s mouths, and you’ve always thought he has some strange effect of appearing all man one second and then smiling and boyish for the flash of a single moment the next. And you don’t think you understand how someone who’s been through so much can still laugh the way he does. You smooth your finger over the arch of his eyebrow, thumbing at the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Gorgeously strong man, and you suppose, looking at the wider picture, his life here, Ellie and the boys and a whole full life, you understand it, just a little bit—all the ranch’d given him. He has so much here—centered by the land as its heart. 

You’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and finally, voice found—the feel of his heartbeat inside of you—it’s like finding a dream, “I’m okay,” you tell him. 

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Another celebration ficlet. The ask for this one somehow got deleted from the inbox, but I know it was sent by @weirdandabsurd42 - hope you enjoy! 🥰

On being seen

Rated: T

Words: 990

Tags: Post-Vecna; Injury; Hospitals; Hair loss; Referenced parental death; Hurt/comfort; Steve Harrington is a sweetheart; Pre-Steddie

“Brought you these,” Dustin says, stacking some books on the bedside table. Eddie spots The Hobbit at the top of the pile. “They’re mine, but you can keep them until …” 

“Until what?” Eddie asks. His voice is a thin rasp, grating on shredded vocal cords. “Until they unearth my home from that interdimensional sinkhole? Fat fucking chance, huh?” 

Dustin swallows, hiding his face under his cap. Guilt churns in Eddie’s gut like acid. His left hand - the one that’s not hooked to the beeping machines - flies up to fiddle with his hair, only to come up blank. 

Oh, right. They cut it off during the surgery. It’s gone, just like half his face and jaw. 

“You should go,” he says. “s getting dark and your mom will want you home.” 

Dustin looks up, eyes bright. “But-” 

Eddie shakes his head as well as the bandages will let him. “C’mon, I need my beauty sleep. I promise I won’t go anywhere.” 

Dustin hesitates and Eddie’s afraid he’ll start to argue, or worse, plead. But then, the kid sighs, rising from his chair. 

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” 

Eddie raises his hand for a wave, pausing when he catches sight of his bare fingers. 

“Henderson?” 

Dustin turns in the door, face gaunt in the sterile light of the hospital corridor. 

“You haven't heard about…?” 

Eddie wiggles his hand. Dustin’s expression morphs into one of regret.

“Sorry,” he says. “I asked the nurses, but there were so many emergencies. Maybe they got thrown in the trash or something.” 

Eddie nods. Tries to tug at his hair again. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Dustin shuffles uncomfortably. “Listen, I could-” 

“I said it's okay, Henderson. Good night.” 

Dustin sighs. “Night, Eddie.” 

The beeping of the machines follows Eddie into his dreams, where it turns into the shrieks of the swarm.

*

When he startles awake, it's dark outside his window. 

There's a figure in the chair beside his bed, backlit by the heart monitor.

“Fuck, Henderson,” Eddie groans. “I told you to go home.” 

The figure jerks upright with a snort. 

“Shit,” it mumbles. “Sorry, ‘m awake.” 

It’s not Dustin.

Eddie freezes, terror sinking into his every limb like lead. The noise of the machines drowns under the roar of his own blood in his ears. 

“Hey,” says the figure, voice low and soothing, and he realizes a bit belatedly that he made a sound - a raw, terrified thing, like a trapped animal. “Hey, it’s okay. Eddie, it’s me. It’s Steve.” 

A hand reaches for his. It’s warm and strong and so much bigger than his own. He jerks away so violently he almost pulls the iv-cord from his arm. 

“No,” he rasps. “Don’t touch me. Get away from me.” 

Steve flinches, hand falling limply into his own lap. Eddie can’t see his expression in the dark. Doesn’t want to see. Doesn’t want Steve to see him, not like this. Hurt and bare and small with nothing left to hide behind.  

Neither of them speaks or moves for a while, the slowly calming heart monitor the only sound in the room. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says at length. “I just … I’ll go. Just wanted to give these back.” 

He rummages for something in his pocket, then holds out his open palm - carefully, like an offering. Eddie’s breath catches in his ruined throat. 

“Where’d you find these?” 

“Um,” Steve shuffles in his seat. “Saw them lying on the nurse’s desk the other day. Sorry I didn’t return them sooner, things have been sorta crazy out there.” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just snatches the rings. He attempts to slip them on, but he can’t use his right hand, and his fingers haven't stopped trembling since he first woke up. Nerve damage, the doctors said. He fumbles and drops the rings, but Steve is there to scoop them up before they can fall to the ground. 

“Here, let me.” 

Eddie watches, frozen in place, heart in his throat, as Steve slips the rings onto the fingers of his left hand. Cross on the index finger, boar in the middle, skull on his ring finger. His breath tickles the skin of Eddie’s wrist. 

“This one's special, right?” 

Eddie blinks out of his stupor. Steve has taken a hold of his right hand, infinitely careful to not disturb the needles and cords, and slipped the last ring back on. The delicate one with the dark, oval stone.

Eddie nods. His voice won't obey him, but this time, it has nothing to do with his injuries. 

“My mom's.” 

Steve hums in understanding, and Eddie knows he doesn’t need to say more. 

“Tell me about her?” 

Not a request. An offer. Eddie squints at Steve’s shadowy face as he settles back in his chair. 

“Why?” 

Steve shrugs. “You’re one of us. I’d like to know more about you.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he needs to laugh. It burns in his throat and sends tears to his eyes. He tries to tug a strand of hair in front of his face to hide them and grasps only at thin air. 

“Not sure what to tell you, big boy. Not a whole lot left of me, is there?” 

“You’re brave and kind and tough,” Steve says, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry. “You’re great with the kids, and an amazing musician, and you were willing to die for a town that hates your guts. I think that’s a whole lot. The outside stuff will come back.” 

Some of it already has, Eddie thinks, fingertips rubbing against the familiar shape of his rings. 

“Her name was Elizabeth,” he says. “She died when I was seven.” 

Steve listens for a long while, not interrupting once. He doesn’t switch on the light. He doesn’t need to, Eddie thinks. He feels more seen than he has in a long while, sitting here in the dark, allowing Steve to get to know him. 

Somehow, it isn’t as scary as he thought it would be.

More celebration ficlets

[chvoswxtch]

secrets

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: in the aftermath of your fight with frank, you get more than one unexpected visitor.

warnings: swearing, lots & lots & lots of angst

word count: 4.4k

a/n: it's getting juicyyyy. friendly reminder y'all voted for a double drop this week, so chapter twenty one is coming this friday. enjoy. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [series masterlist]

“You keep frownin’ like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Lifting your focused gaze from your computer screen to the source of a familiar voice, the creases etched along your forehead deepened at the sight of Billy standing in your office doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit pants and that signature vain smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, darlin’.”

Billy let out a dry chuckle, crossing the threshold over towards your desk in just a few quick strides. Leaning over your desk, Billy stretched his hand out to brush his thumb along the space between your eyebrows, effectively smoothing out the crinkles of concentration coupled with confusion. The gesture caught you off guard, and you blinked a few times in surprise as Billy unbuttoned the middle button on his dark gray suit jacket before sitting down in the chair in front of your desk.

“There, that’s better. Now, how ‘bout you at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, that same smirk still gracing the edge of his lips in a silent tease. Looking over at him, it occurred to you that there always seemed to be some hint of mischief lingering in his deep espresso tinted eyes. Leaning back in your chair and folding your arms over your chest, you gave him a pointed look.

“What can I do for you, Billy?”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.”

“I could be worse, if you’d like.”

Billy’s lips split into a full blown grin, and he let out an amused chuckle at the sass dripping from your dry reply.

“Nah, I’ve seen you pissed. I’d prefer to stay on your good side, sweetheart. You wanna tell me what’s got you in such a pleasant mood this mornin’?”

Being around Billy just made you think about Frank, and thinking about Frank only reminded you of the fact that the two of you weren’t in a good place right now. He swore to you the night you confronted him that he was going to wrap this job up as quickly as he could, but that meant he had to devote all of his time to it, which resulted in him being around even less than he had been last month. 

Two weeks had passed since you’d last seen Frank in person. When you woke up in his bed the morning after you’d shown up at his apartment to confront him, he was already gone. He’d left a note on his pillow saying that he would call you soon, but that call didn’t come for four days, and neither one of you had much to say. You thought hearing his voice after being apart for a while would make you feel better about the whole situation, grant you some sense of relief or jumpstart a spark of acceptance you couldn’t find beforehand, but it only made you even more pissed off about what was happening.

And then the call you had with him two days ago really set you off.

Frank had been trying to keep the conversation light, and there was an apologetic tone to his gruff voice, but you couldn’t bite your tongue. The more you sat alone with the vague explanation he had given you, the more his promise of reassurance felt like fraud. You drew blood first, like you always did, but after a round of back and forth passive aggressive exchanges, Frank lost his own temper and went on the defense.

“For Christ’s sake, what else you want me to say, huh? How many other ways I gotta apologize?”

“We shouldn’t even be in this situation right now, Frank-”

“Yeah, well we are, and you’re gonna have to find a way to deal with it cause it ain’t changin’ any goddamn time soon.”

Frank’s aggressive retort only incensed you further. The stress of the current job combined with the growing rift between the two of you eroded his patience into raw frustration, and you were matching his verbal lashes blow for blow.

“Just deal with it? Just deal with you being away and hiding things from me?”

“That’s the job sometimes, alright? You know first hand the kinda shit I gotta do. You know what my world’s like. I told you I was gonna do what I could to get this handled as soon as possible-”

“But this isn’t your normal job, Frank! Stop using that as a fucking excuse. You’ve never had to disappear to God only knows where before, and you’ve never kept secrets from me-”

“Oh for fucks sake. You think that’s what I’m doin’? Makin’ excuses? That’s bullshit and you know it. I told you what I could-”

“And that’s supposed to be enough?“

“It was enough for Maria.”

Those five simple words stunned you silent. They struck a nerve you didn’t even know existed, and Frank, blinded by his aggravation, just kept hacking away at it with his verbal arsenal.

“Ya’know, she never gave me this much fuckin’ shit, and she had to deal with way worse than you. I was away from her and the kids for months at a time, couldn’t tell her a goddamn thing ‘bout what I was really doin’, and she was never on my ass the way you are right now-”

“I’m not her, Frank!”

The only sounds on the line were yours and Frank’s labored breathing, shallow and heavy from yelling and exhausting your vexed emotions on one another. For several moments, neither of you spoke a word, until finally you broke the silence by gritting your teeth and delivering one last blow.

“You know what, don’t fucking call me again until this shit is over.”

Frank, being the stubborn ass that he was, hadn’t attempted to contact you to smooth things over or to apologize. It infuriated you, but in the same breath, you didn’t want to speak to him right now. 

Still, it wasn’t fair of you to take your sour mood out on Billy. He hadn’t done anything wrong. You were upset with Frank, not him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you slowly dragged your palm down your face before leaning back in your chair. You hadn’t noticed how stiffly you’d been sitting until you felt a dull ache in your lower back.

“I…sorry. There’s just…a lot going on right now. I’m spread kinda thin so, I’m…a bit on edge.”

“A bit?”

When you shot him an unamused look, Billy let out a light chuckle and held up his hands in a show of faux surrender.

“Alright, alright. I didn’t come to here to fuck with ya. I actually came to ask a favor.”

An expression of surprise swiftly coveted your features. What could you possibly have to offer Billy Russo?

“A favor?”

Billy leaned back in the chair, adjusting the lapels of his suit before crossing his left leg over his right knee, placing his elbows on the arm rests. Maybe it was because your office was familiar to him, or maybe it was because he was so rich he felt like he owned everything, but Billy had a way of being able to make himself comfortable no matter what setting he was in. Fixing his deep brown eyes on you, that signature smirk of his graced his lips once again when he caught your look of intrigue and confusion.

“As you know, Anvil has a government contract with Homeland Security. It was a big deal for the company, and it’s proven to be a damn good business investment. As a matter of fact, it’s been so successful, that I’ve been meetin’ with a few other branches negotiatin’ another expansion, and recently closed a deal with the CIA.”

“Don’t government contracts kinda defeat the whole private military operation thing?”

“I didn’t hear you complainin’ when that Homeland contract brought you to me.”

Rolling your eyes at the smugness in his voice, you reached for the nearly empty iced coffee sitting on your desk.

“It wasn’t a complaint.”

“Anvil is more than personal protection, darlin’. It’s also convoy security, tactical operations, tailored training, and more. Most of our military contracts are outside of the U.S, so havin’ two on American soil is a huge deal.”

“If you’re trying to sell me on investing, I hate to break it to you, but I think the number currently reflecting in my bank account would make you cry.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle at that, his lips stretching open into a tooth bearing grin. Giving a faint shake of his head, he ran his right hand along the top of his head, smoothing his perfectly styled raven hair back into place.

“That’s not what I’m askin’.”

“Then how do I come into this, exactly?”

“The news hasn’t hit the media yet. Anvil’s hosting a Veteran’s Charity Ball this Saturday night, and I’m gonna make the announcement then. That, pretty girl, is where you come into play. I’d like you to personally cover the story.”

Looking across your desk at Billy, you could see by the look on his face that he was serious about wanting you to cover the piece. A slight furrow nestled between your brows at the idea.

“Why me?”

Billy cocked his head to the side, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes and a sly smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Why would I ask anyone else? You know me, you know the company-”

“Which is kind of conflict of interest-”

“I already cleared it with your editor. You bein’ under the protection of Anvil is classified through Homeland, and since we’re a private company like you mentioned, our records ain’t public. Besides, your editor seemed pretty confident you could write without bias. Look, I want you on this. I’ve read the work of some of the other journalists here, and I gotta tell ya, even if I didn’t know ya, I still woulda picked you.”

Hearing that Billy had already talked to Ellison about this was a surprise to you because Ellison hadn’t mentioned it at all to you. When had Billy talked to him about this? Why hadn’t Ellison told you? Perplexity shrouded your features as you looked over at Billy.

“Ellison didn’t say anything-”

“I asked him not to. I wanted to ask you first, in person. He gave it the green light, but ultimately, it’s up to you if you wanna do it.”

Being kept in the dark seemed to be a recurring theme in your life lately that you weren’t happy with, and it stirred up dull embers of irritation from your fight with Frank. A part of you didn’t want to do it purely out of immature spite, since Billy indirectly had a hand in creating the chasm currently deepening between you and Frank. But that wasn’t fair to Billy. You owed him your life as much as you did Frank and Dinah. Billy played a vital part in keeping you safe and protected from the Defenders of Freedom, and recording Steven’s confession ended up being the smoking gun in proving his involvement.

After a moment of silent contemplation, you let out a light exhale through your lips.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t get too excited, now. It’s only a fancy party with an extensive open bar and catering from all of the best restaurants in the city.”

Trying to fight the smile that threatened to escape across your lips, you looked over at Billy and arched one of your brows.

“Are you trying to bribe me to write you a good article, Mr. Russo?”

“Is it workin’?”

Billy’s mouth was stretched in a wide, wolfish grin, showcasing the top row of his dazzling pearly white teeth. His dark brows were raised slightly up his forehead, and he had that familiar devilish twinkle in his eyes. Giving a soft shake of your head with a dry laugh, you crossed your arms over your chest and relaxed back in your chair.

“What time?”

“Starts at seven, I’ll send a car for ya ‘round six-thirty.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can take a cab-”

“C’mon, you’re doin’ me a favor.”

“Hey, I never agreed to write a good article. I might make you look terrible, just for the fun of it.”

Returning your teasing smile with an amused grin, Billy chuckled with a shake of his head. As he stood up and fixed his maroon tie, he motioned towards your office door with his head.

“Alright, c’mon.”

Staring up at him with a puzzled expression, you let out a soft laugh while he buttoned the middle button of his suit jacket.

“What?”

“I’m takin’ your bratty ass to lunch. Maybe after some food you’ll be a bit nicer.”

Making a show of rolling your eyes in faux exasperation, you stood from your chair and locked your computer before closing your notebook.

“No promises.”

“Well in my experience, you’re more tolerable when you’re fed.”

“Keep talking. Your article is getting worse and worse.”

“I’m sure a few glasses of expensive champagne will fix that.”

Billy turned to take a step towards the door and then abruptly paused, turning back to look at you with another teasing grin.

“Oh, and do me another favor, would ya? See if you can get Frankie to drag his ass out and make an appearance. I think he’s forgotten how to use his phone.”

The mention of Frank’s name instantly tarnished the light hearted mood Billy’s banter had put you in. Letting out a dry scoff, you slipped your phone into your purse and pulled the straps over your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. That job you and Madani have him working has not only turned him into a ghost, but also a complete dick. I’ll let you deal with him.”

Tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, you started to round your desk when you looked up and caught the expression on Billy’s face, and it made you stop in your tracks. His sharp features were suddenly void of their usual playful warmth, and there was no charming smirk etched onto his mouth. His lips were set in a firm line, outlining his chiseled jaw that was covered in a perfectly trimmed dark beard, and his dark brown eyes looked nearly obsidian. 

“The job with Madani?”

There was a faint serrated edge to his tone when he spoke, but you didn’t miss it. Billy’s stare was intense, and you realized he probably thought that you knew something you shouldn’t. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let an irritated exhale escape through your nose as your gaze drifted towards the window of your office.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me anything. Not where he was going, not what he was doing, nothing. So whatever top secret thing you two have him doing, it’s still top secret, alright?”

There was a long pause of silence, and your annoyance started to fade into a feeling of perplexity when you looked back at him and saw a look in Billy’s eyes that you didn’t know how to read. There was a sudden coldness to him, and an emotion you couldn’t decode hidden in his steely gaze. The tense quietness in your office sent an uneasy shiver down your spine, but then it was like a switch was suddenly flipped, and Billy reverted back to the version of him you’re familiar with.

He plastered that charming smirk on his lips again, but you noticed this time, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you dropped your gaze down to the floor for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t like being lied to, or kept in the dark. I know your line of work is…complicated, I just…I thought Frank and I didn’t have any secrets between us.”

“Sometimes lyin’ and keepin’ somethin’ hidden is the only way to protect someone from the pain of the truth.”

Lifting your head, you met Billy’s intense gaze with an incredulous and inquisitive look.

“You really believe that?”

“Trust me, some secrets are better left buried, darlin’.”

»»———　　———««

The following evening when you came home from work, all you wanted was a long soak in a hot bath and an entire bottle of wine. The stress of the last two weeks wasn’t just taking a toll on you emotionally, it was also physically manifesting in your body. Closing the front door behind you, the lock sounded with a click when you twisted the oval knob, and you lazily tossed your keys onto the side table in the entryway before carelessly tossing your purse onto it as well. 

Coming around the corner into your living room, you nearly had a heart attack when you were suddenly met with the sight of a large figure sitting at your dining table, waiting in the dark. Clutching at your chest in panic and jumping nearly two feet in the air, your voice came out in a shrill shriek.

“Jesus Christ, Frank!”

Frank didn’t physically react to your outburst. He sat as still as a statue in one of the chairs, slightly hunched over with his thighs spread wide, his forearms resting just a few inches above his knees. A bit of dark stubble coated his cheeks and sharp jawline, and his grown out hair was a tousled mess of ebony waves resting against his forehead instead of being pushed back in their usual style.

The swift scare of Frank’s intrusion, his silent treatment, and the lingering resentment you’d been harboring for the past two weeks had you glaring at him.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

His deep brown eyes were fixated on you and his plump lips were set in a stubborn line. Frank’s rugged features were even more pronounced in his resting semi-permanent broody expression. Wordlessly, he lifted one of his large hands, showcasing a set of keys on a ring pinched between his thumb and index finger. One of which, belonged to your front door. 

After everything that had happened at your last place, you couldn’t stay there anymore. You’d quickly moved into a new place that happened to be closer to the Bulletin, and as far as you knew no one had died in it, and there weren’t lingering bullet holes under the paint. Frank had helped you move and set up your security system for you again. You’d forgotten that you’d given him a spare key so he could get in while you were at work.

When you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive stance, Frank caught the pissed off look on your face, and when you opened your mouth to lash out at him, he quickly cut you off with his rough voice before you could get a word out.

“Said not to call. Didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout comin’ to see ya.”

The snippiness of his comment made you narrow your eyes in his direction. Clenching your jaw, you pursed your lips tightly as your face contorted into a portrait of annoyance. You were about to snap back at him when you noticed out of the corner of your eye that there was a packed bag sitting on the dining table next to him.

It was yours.

Eyes flickering between your bag and Frank, you stared at him in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

“What the hell is that for?”

“I gotta leave town for a bit. I told ya I’d make sure you were taken care of while I was gone, so you’re gonna stay with a friend of mine.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me if that was something I even wanted to do?”

“It ain’t up for discussion.”

Frank hadn’t been this cold towards you since the early days of when he was your bodyguard. For a moment your exasperation evaporated, wondering if things between the two of you were worse than you thought. Picking up on the slight change in your body language and facial expression, Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose and slowly stood up from the chair.

“I can’t do what I need to do if I’m worryin’ ‘bout you bein’ alone here, alright? It’s just for a few days.”

“Frank, I’m not in any danger anymore. No one is actively trying to kill me. If you’re that worried about me being alone, Billy can stop by-”

“No.”

The aggressive tone of Frank’s voice and the roughness of his tone caught you off guard. Frank glanced away from you, his eyes darting around your living room for a few seconds before they finally returned to you. His left hand was tightly grasped in a fist, but on his right, his index and middle finger twitched. A sharp exhale escaped his large nose, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip quickly before he spoke again.

“Look you wanna be pissed at me, be pissed at me, but don’t put yourself at risk cause of it. Maybe you’re right, yeah? Maybe you ain’t a target no more. But I’d rather know you were safe than have to deal with the fact later on that I shoulda done more. I ain’t takin’ that risk again.”

It was like a light bulb went off in your head when he spoke that last sentence. In the midst of your own tangled mess of selfish feelings, you hadn’t once stopped to think about how Frank felt about all of this. A sinking feeling of remorse settled in your stomach hearing the frustration but also the lingering pain in his voice when he spoke. 

I ain’t takin’ that risk again.

He’d had his entire family ripped away from him in one single moment, right in front of his eyes, of course he was fucking paranoid. From your perspective, Steven was facing life in prison, and all the remaining members of the Defenders of Freedom were gonna rot with him, so you didn’t think you had anything to be worried about.

But Frank saw danger everywhere. He anticipated it. He planned for it. And that’s what he was doing right now. 

Frank was doing the exact same thing he’d been doing every single day since he met you: keeping you safe.

Letting out a deep sigh, you looked down at the floor for a moment to gather your irrational thoughts and rein in your impulsive emotions. When you raised your head, your eyes flickered from the packed bag sitting on your dining table back to Frank’s unrelenting stare. Running one of your hands stressfully through the roots of your hair, you made a faint gesture of throwing your hands up in concession.

“Alright, well if you’re not leaving me with Billy, I’m assuming you’re not taking me to Madani either. So, does Matt know I’m coming?”

Frank’s steely expression crumbled at the mention of Matt’s name. He pulled a face like you’d just asked a ridiculous question, a furrow of annoyance and confusion settling between his thick brows.

“You think I’d leave you with him?”

Letting out a dry scoff void of humor, you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head and folded your arms across your chest.

“Just because he’s blind-”

“It ain’t got shit to do with him bein’ blind.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I don’t trust him to keep his fuckin’ hands to himself, and I ain’t lettin’ him pull that ‘poor blind orphan’ shit on you.”

A look of surprise crossed your face as your brows lifted slightly up your forehead, and it took every ounce of self control not to laugh or show any indication of amusement. Frank wouldn’t leave you in Matt’s care because he was worried he would…hit on you?

Letting out a grunt, Frank grabbed the handles of your bag in his left hand and swiped it off the table.

“He’s too preoccupied at night anyway.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Bein’ the goddamn Devil. C’mon.”

When Frank walked past you towards your front door, you turned around to watch him, narrowing your eyes in irritation.

“Can you at least tell me who you’ve employed to babysit me then?”

Frank paused at your front door, which he took up the entire frame of, and his head dropped between his shoulders for a moment. You could hear him audibly voice his frustration with your attitude when he let out another sharp exhale before turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“A friend of mine.”

“Yeah, you said that. A friend of yours, that you’ve never mentioned before. Do I have to have some kind of top secret security clearance for you to tell me their name?”

There was a scowl on Frank’s face as he glowered at you, turning around to face you fully. He dropped your bag on the floor with a light thud, scrunching up his face for a moment as he inhaled sharply through his large nose, cocking his head to the side.

“Christ. This what you wanna do right now, huh?”

Returning his glare with just as much vehemence, you let out a dry and humorless laugh as you gestured around loosely.

“No, Frank. This isn’t what I want-”

“Look you wanna keep bustin’ my goddamn balls, fine. But do it from the truck, yeah? You can antagonize me with your bullshit all you want while I drive, but we got somewhere to be.”

Clenching your jaw, your hands balled into frustrated fists at your sides. For a moment the two of you were locked in some kind of silent staring contest. You were so sick of every conversation with Frank lately turning into an argument that ended with the two of you at each other’s throats. You didn’t have the patience to combat his stubborn dedication to being a self righteous asshole. Gritting your teeth, you stormed forward and grabbed your own bag as you brushed past him out your front door, swearing under your breath.

“Dick.”

Frank pursed his full lips and nodded his head, turning around to follow you after forcefully shutting your front door behind himself.

“Yeah yeah, get in the goddamn truck.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[my-castles-crumbling]

Grieving His Sanity

A jegulus microfic

Denial

It started on a Saturday. He’d gone to the Quidditch Match out of pure boredom and need for information. Gryffindor was the best, after all, except for Slytherin. He needed to know their strategies and secrets before facing them in a month.

So he watched from the stands, eyes fixed on the scarlet-clad players as they zipped through the skies. 

“Why’re you watching James Potter so closely?” Barty murmured to him, nose wrinkled in confusion.

But he wasn’t. Watching James Potter, that is. Of course, Potter was an excellent flier. He moved with the grace he lacked on the ground, and, from a purely analytical perspective, he had the build of a skilled player. His muscles rippled as he shot past the stands, and Regulus figured he probably was able to handle balls- Quidditch balls- quite easily. But he wasn’t looking at Potter any more than any other player. 

“I’m not,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Anger

“You’re staring,” Pandora commented a few days later.

But he wasn’t. It was just…Potter was smiling.

Of course, he couldn’t explain this to Pandora. Because how was he supposed to put into words that Potter’s ridiculous, stupid, annoying grin made him irritated? His annoyingly perfect smile that made Regulus’s stomach flip-flop was just…infuriating.

So he watched, grinding his teeth, as Potter laughed loudly at something Sirius had said, showing off the most beautiful smile Regulus had ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes on.

And Regulus hated every second of it. Every second of the way his body was heating up with emotions he couldn’t name and his heart was fluttering in his chest as he realized that sometimes when Potter smiled it went a bit crooked and-

“Reg? You look…mad,” Evan mumbled, concern in his eyes.

“Fucking Potter,” Regulus grumbled, getting up and leaving the table. 

Bargaining

He didn’t like Potter. He couldn’t.

He spent more time watching the older than not, it seemed, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He tried everything. 

“Hit me if you see me staring,” he told Barty one day. 

By the time he left the Great Hall, his arm was bruised from all the times Barty had nudged him.

“Switch seats with me so I can’t see him,” he’d begged Evan the next morning.

But to no avail. He’d just swiveled stupidly in his seat to lock eyes with the Gryffindor, scowling stupidly and burning his head in his hands.

“Fucking kill me if I so much as think about him,” he begged Pandora as they sat out on the grounds a day later.

But she showed him no mercy. “I’m a pacifist,” she shrugged, grinning teasingly. “And you are in love.”

Groaning, Regulus curled up on the grass in the fetal position.

Depression

“This is horrifying,” Regulus mumbled, burying his head in his pillow and pulling the covers over his head. “I can’t go on.”

“Aw, cheer up, Reg!” Barty called from his own bed. “At least we know you’re not made of stone!”

But that was hardly something to cheer up about. Multiple times now, Potter had caught him staring, had smiled at him in the halls or at meal times, made him trip on nothing or drop his spoon just by sending him a grin. It was mortifying.

“I think I’ll live here forever,” Regulus whispered into his pillow, closing his eyes.

“That’s the spirit!” Barty replied.

Acceptance

“Regulus! Wait up!”

Oh Salazar, no. Just when Regulus thought things couldn’t get worse. Potter was talking to him. 

Trying his best to school his face into an expression of indifference, he turned, sizing Potter up in the empty hall. “What?” he asked, internally hoping he wasn’t blushing.

“Erm..” Fuck, even when he was flustered, Potter looked good. His messy hair framed his face so nicely, and his eyes sparkled. “Hogsmeade?”

“What?” Regulus repeated, sure he had misheard. He must have, since he was too busy mooning over Potter to hear clearly.

But the older boy cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Come to Hogsmeade with me. Please?”

Oh, thank Merlin Pandora hadn’t killed him. Unless she had, and this was heaven.

“Erm. Yes,” he murmured, trying to stay calm. “That would be okay.” Perfect. That would be bloody perfect.

And Potter’s stunning face split into the most beautiful smile Regulus had ever seen. “Great. I’ll see you then, Reg!”

And Regulus stood there in the hall as the other boy retreated, rooted to the spot as he contemplated the way he felt like he was floating.

Fuck. He liked James Potter.

[adora-but-ginger]

Terminal Lucidity

pairing: spencer reid x gender neutral reader

synopsis: you were going to get out of there if it was the last thing you did.

warnings: typical cm violence, kidnapping events, mentions of torture, death mentions in relation to the reader and the unsub, barely some medical talk, reader saves a teen as well, all that comes with a fic about this sort of stuff, happy ending!! angst until then though

word count: ~850

masterlist

a/n: wrote this in one setting whilst listening to the rep stadium tour 'i did something bad,' so that's the energy we're bringing to the table today. not proofread, and i might forget that i made this by tomorrow morning whoops.

--

You don't know what came over you. You had a guess, but it didn't feel right. In the medical field, they call it a surge.

A slice of time before a person's final moments where they regain an amount of energy which can lead others to believe that they have regained their health. It's fairly common.

It's also the closest thing that you could call what you experienced.

You could feel yourself dwindling, the last drops of hope leaving down the drain along with the significant amount of blood you lost. You were tied up to a chair, your wrists rung raw from trying to escape.

You didn't know where you were or how long you'd been gone, but maybe it was that fact that made you have your burst of energy. Or maybe it was the fact that you weren't the only person in this position. There was a younger person, name unknown, in a similar position to your right, and you weren't going to let what the unsub did to you happen again.

Your concussion was making everything slanted and your bones were screaming. You thought that was it, that you were at the end, until you felt a breath of fresh air. Not literally, but it felt like it.

Oddly enough, Spencer's voice ran through your head directly after.

Terminal Lucidity.

A surge.

Of course, in what was probably your last minutes, you thought of him. You hoped he knew that this wasn't his fault, that he was loved and deserved the best. You knew they had been looking, but it wasn't looking good.

If this was it, you were going to make the unsub pay.

That was how you ended up with a broken chair leg in hand, splinters shaving through the rope on the other individual. You had checked their pulse to make sure they were still breathing, much unlike the unsub now twenty feet away from you.

Like you said, a surge.

Once they were freed, you shook the teen's shoulder in a futile attempt, but you could feel yourself starting to crash. Just a little further. Get them outside with you, get to someplace with a phone, anywhere but here.

It took quite literally your all to stand them up, but thankfully they started to come to as you did so.

They reasonably panicked, but it seemed like they were a little better health wise than you. Good, they will make it out. Once they took notice of the situation, you nodded your head. "We don't need to worry about him anymore. We just need to get out."

"We're on a first floor." Oh, thank goodness.

"We are?"

"Your arm looks bad." You threw their arm over your shoulder, yours mirroring. Even if you two had to drag the other out, you were getting out of here.

"You should see the other guy." One step. Another. "Do you have a phone?"

It was getting harder to walk. "No, he took it."

"That's okay."

You didn't know each other's names, but that didn't matter. They were clearly in a better stance than you, and so when your face hit the true fresh air, you made sure to have them repeat Spencer's number to you, knowing they had it memorized, before sending them off to the nearest payphone. They could walk better than you could, and you could feel the energy crashing. You were on the ground now, them long gone, and you made note of the soft grass between your fingers, the sounds of the birds welcoming your exit.

All you could do, as your eyes shut, was hope.

Your last moments were of the one you loved, the genius who you would plead to the stars to not blame himself for this. They were of the last night you spent with Spencer, watching the stars. You were going to see the stars with him again, you had to.

--

Death was giving you a headache, and it was making you fed up. Your name was continuously being yelled into your ear, and for some reason death sounded like...Spencer? What kind of joke was that?

Until your eyes opened, and his started to cry.

This was why you were confused. You thought you went through a surge. If it wasn't that, then what the hell was it? Maybe just the innate yearning for survival, which you were incredibly glad for. The shouting of your name turned to whispers as you felt your partner's arms holding you, rocking you back and forth.

"It's okay, you're okay."

And for the first time in who knows how long, a smile fell across your face. "Is the kid okay?"

"Yeah, yeah they are. You will be too. EMTs are on their way, just stay with me."

"Spencer?" Your eyes fluttered, sleep beckoning you.

"Hmm? Keep those eyes open for me."

"You came." His hand was rubbing your arm, and you could vaguely see a stray curl of his fall from his head into his face.

He pressed a delicate, feather-like kiss to your forehead. "You called."

You answered sleeps call, and were pleasantly surprised to wake to the sounds of a machine beeping. A hospital.

Squinting, you could make out your partner asleep in the chair next to you bed, hand in yours.

Things were going to be okay.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (15/?)

Part Summary: You and Leigh go on your first date, and nothing goes as planned.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 10.700+ | Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut | Author's note: The date chapter is finally here! It's basically Leigh and R getting to know each other. But beware of the tags ;) Thank you for being so patient! Please enjoy :) Only one or two more chapters to go!

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV

-

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ as you come, Leigh's fingers moving deftly down your jeans. She is entranced by the sight of you falling apart in her hands, torn between kissing you and watching as you ride the final waves of your orgasm.

The moment she opened the front door and saw you, she couldn't resist. You’re dressed in a loose white button-down shirt, open at the chest to reveal the collarbones she recently discovered she’s so fond of. The sleeves are rolled up to your elbows, and your boot-cut jeans fit perfectly, accentuating all the right places, especially at the back. The subtle scent of your perfume, sweet and intoxicating like chocolate, drifted across the room, pulling her closer. Without a second thought, she grabbed you by the collar, kissing you deeply as she pulled you into the kitchen.

“You're so beautiful,” Leigh whispers, her breath hot against your ear. Her eyes are locked onto your face, mesmerized.

You gasp, your body tensing as you reach the peak. “Leigh, please” you breathe out, shifting uncomfortably. The tight confines of your jeans restrict your movement. Sure, they make your figure look fantastic, but at moments like this, you question if it's really worth it.

Leigh's lips hover just above yours, her fingers still working their magic. “I can't decide,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

“Decide what?” you ask, your voice quivering.

“Whether I want to kiss you or keep watching you like this,” she replies, her eyes dark with desire.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Both,” you whisper. “Do both.”

-

As you both recover, you adjust your clothes, tucking your blouse back into the waistband of your pants. Still catching your breath, you glance at Leigh, who is already rinsing her fingers under the running water of the sink.

“What was that for?” you ask, your voice still a bit breathless.

Leigh grins, glancing over her shoulder at you. “Payback for last week.” 

She moves around the espresso machine, then says, “By the way, I'm really sorry,” as if she hadn’t been driving you to an intense climax just minutes ago. “I can’t believe I overslept.”

You lean casually against the counter, your legs still weak from coming so hard, thoroughly entertained by her stream of apologies and quietly thrilled that she cares so much. The bagels you brought—laden with lox and a thick layer of cream cheese—wait patiently between you.

“It’s really okay,” you say, watching her make a fuss. Catching her hand as she goes for another apology, you squeeze it gently. “You… more than made up for it.”

She has the good grace to blush, a soft smile breaking through her earlier fretfulness. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, her voice still a little hoarse and, somehow, even more beguiling. “I’ve been looking forward to today. I guess last night just took more out of me than I thought.”

“You don’t say,” you tease lightly, observing the casual disarray of her hair and the relaxed hang of her clothes—it’s Leigh unplugged, and you’re increasingly fond of this version. 

Leigh's eyes shift to the side, landing on the two take-out lattes you had bought earlier, now sitting forlornly on the counter. She grimaces slightly as she realizes they've gone cold—leftovers from your long wait outside her house, where it hasn’t stopped raining. 

“Oh, you brought coffee too,” she husks out. “And I made you wait…”

“Yeah, I might have been a bit optimistic about the timing,” you say.

Leigh gives you a long, scrutinizing look, clearly baffled by your patience.

“I don’t get it,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Get what?”

“It’s just—I’m clumsy, you know? I forget things. I’m always late to appointments. I keep expecting you to realize how dysfunctional I am and run off,” she jokes, though her eyes tell a different story. The coffee maker gurgles, signaling that the brew is ready. She moves to pour the coffee, her shoulders tense, hesitating before speaking again. “But you don’t. You just... stay. And I don’t understand why.”

You watch her pour the coffee, the steam rising in soft curls. “I stay because I love you, Leigh,” you say simply. You’ve told her that three—maybe four—times now. Not that you’re counting, but each time it gets a little easier to say. And you hope, for her, it gets a little easier to hear.

She hasn't said it back, and while you’re unsure if she feels the same, you know she cares—maybe not enough to utter those three words yet, but enough to be here now. Her accepting this date, spending this day with you, it’s a concession you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Leigh's gaze flickers, eyes widening a touch, lips parting as though words are on the brink of breaking free. You hold your breath, waiting for whatever she might reveal. But then, she blinks—like she's snapping back from a distant thought—and quietly turns to pour another cup, her glance drifting off as she collects herself. 

She hands you a steaming mug, her fingertips brushing yours. You take it from her carefully, feeling the warmth seep through your fingers, spreading a comforting heat up your arms. 

“Thanks,” you say, your voice low, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth as you take a slow sip.

Leigh watches you over her own cup, her eyelashes casting long shadows on her cheeks as she takes a tentative sip. Words have the power to bring things into being, and for Leigh, speaking things into existence feels like an indelible commitment—a promise carved into stone. 

But maybe some things are beloved even before they ever take shape.

-

After breakfast, you both head to The Beautiful Beast to drop off Logan. Jules is happy to take care of him, as the house is empty with Amy away on a trip with friends. With Logan settled, you and Leigh head to the art exhibit you had tickets for.

Inside the exhibit, you find yourselves packed tightly among the throngs of people. The crowd presses in, and while the vivid artwork is a distraction, the constricted room makes it tough to fully enjoy the pieces. Far from the tech hubs and arts districts, the local community jumps at anything that breaks the monotony of their usual scene. Moreover, today’s rain has chased everyone indoors, turning this rare cultural event into a magnet for locals starved for something different. With the parks soggy and deserted, people had the choice between shopping malls or here.

As you and Leigh wade through the crowded gallery, people jostle for space, elbows occasionally colliding with your sides as they vie for a better view of the vibrant installations. Suddenly, a passerby brushes against you, nearly pulling you away from Leigh. Instinctively, you snatch her hand, holding fast for dear life. In the confusion, unsuspecting of the sudden tug, Leigh loses her footing. Her thick heel comes down hard on your foot, and you yelp in pain. Tears spring to your eyes, and you try to hold back a cry, but the pain is sharp and persistent.

“Sorry, sorry!” Leigh's cheeks flush with mortification as she quickly steps back. “Are you okay?”

Trying to brush it off with a grimace that's more a wince, you manage a weak smile. 

“I'll live,” you say, half-joking, even as you gingerly test your foot. “But I think that was my cue to start wearing steel-toed boots around you.” 

Despite herself, Leigh chuckles. “I'm really sorry,” she laments, reaching out to gently squeeze your arm. “Let's find a place to sit, okay?”

You cautiously try a step, hopeful but hesitant. The sharp pain bites, making you flinch, and you end up limping. Immediately, Leigh slips her arm around your waist to stabilize you.

“Let's find someone to help you get to a first-aid station,” she suggests, eyeing your gait with concern.

“But the exhibit?” you protest weakly, looking longingly back at the art you were both eager to see.

Leigh gives you a wry smile. “I'm more worried they might have to amputate your foot,” she jokes, successfully coaxing a laugh out of you. Yet, as you chuckle, you wince again, putting weight on your foot without thinking.

Noticing your discomfort, Leigh guides you gently towards the front of the gallery. Soon, you're at the information booth, where a helpful attendant offers you an ice pack and points you to a bench near the entrance. As you try to get comfortable on the small bench, you struggle to keep the ice pack properly positioned on your foot, repeatedly bending down in an awkward dance of readjustment. 

“Here, just put your foot on my lap,” she suggests, patting her lap lightly. 

You start to object, not wanting to impose, but before you can finish your sentence, Leigh decisively grabs your leg and guides it onto her lap. She starts massaging the sole of your foot while holding the ice pack firmly against the swollen area. It's a simple, caring gesture, and you can't help but watch Leigh as she focuses on making you feel better. 

When she looks up and catches you staring, she smirks. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You shake your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. “I just didn't think we'd end up back here, and we haven't even seen a third of the art yet,” you say.

Leigh laughs softly. “It's okay, the exhibits weren't all that impressive anyway,” she says. “Besides, I was starting to feel claustrophobic there.”

A twinge of disappointment pulls at you. You’d been excited about the exhibit, about sharing something you thought would be cool and sophisticated. With your foot throbbing and Leigh’s less-than-enthused review, the day feels like it’s stumbled right out of the gate.

Leigh notices your sudden quiet and nudges you gently. “What's wrong?”

“I just thought you’d be into this. I was almost entirely sure,” you say, avoiding her gaze.

“I am,” Leigh says, still holding your foot. “I love exhibits, but right now, my top priority is spending time with you.”

You blush at that. “We are spending time—”

She cuts you off with a small laugh. “I mean, like, actually talking. It’s hard to have a conversation when we’re constantly moving and trying to look at everything.”

You mull that over, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that feels more like understanding than emptiness. Then, out of the blue, Leigh asks, “So, how did you end up being an animal doctor?”

You’re startled by her sudden question, but it’s a welcome distraction from your foot and the disappointing exhibit. 

“It’s a bit of a long story,” you start. 

“I’ve got time,” she says with a smirk.

You take a deep breath and lean back on the bench, feeling more comfortable as your leg rests on Leigh’s lap. Her foot massage is so soothing, it’s almost putting you into a sleepy state. 

“Well, I always loved animals. My parents used to joke that I’d bring home every stray if I could. But it wasn’t until I volunteered at a local shelter in high school that I realized it was what I wanted to do with my life.”

Leigh tilts her head and smiles. “That’s sweet. What was it about the shelter that made you decide?”

“It was this one dog,” you say, your voice catching and your eyes getting misty. “A scrappy little terrier mix named Max. He’d been through so much, but he still had so much love to give. Helping him heal and find a forever home—it just clicked. That’s when I knew I wanted to help as many animals as I could.”

Leigh looks at you with a kind of awe, as if something beautiful is unfolding before her eyes.  “That’s amazing. I love that you found your calling through something so meaningful.”

You shrug, feeling a bit bashful under her stare. “What about you? When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”

She laughs, a light, airy sound that makes you grin from ear to ear. You could listen to it forever. 

“Oh, I’ve always known,” she says. “Actually, I was always writing in my diary as a kid. I'd write about my day, things I enjoyed, pretty much anything that came to mind. I loved reading pocket books, too, and I even tried my hand at writing fiction once or twice.

“But I quickly discovered that fiction wasn't really my thing. I loved writing, though—just the act of putting words on paper, sharing my thoughts and experiences. It felt natural, like breathing.

“And even though I wasn't making up fictional characters and places,” Leigh continues, “I realized I could still tell stories. They were my stories, rooted in the everyday things I observed and experienced. That was my niche, and I just ran with it.”

“Did you have a specific moment, like with Max?” you ask.

“Not really,” she says. “It’s just what I wanted to do, that’s all.”

You nod. “Knowing what you want to do or be saves a lot of time, doesn’t it?”

“I guess?” She smiles at your insight, then adds, “Though maybe in another life, I’d be a serious journalist. If I thought I had the natural knack or talent for it, maybe I would.”

You frown slightly at that, concerned by her self-doubt. “Why do you think you’re not good enough to be a ‘serious’ journalist now?”

Leigh looks surprised by your question, then thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess I always see those roles as being for people who are more... intense, more investigative. But you’re right. Maybe it’s just a matter of believing I could.”

“You’re an amazing writer, Leigh,” you say earnestly. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“How can you say that?” she asks, leaning in a bit closer. “Have you read any of my work apart from my tiny blurbs in the gossip column?”

You feel a blush warm your cheeks. “Well, I might have done a bit of Googling,” you confess, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Your articles popped up, and I... may have read all of them.”

Her eyebrows lift, and she gives your foot a careful pinch. “Is that so?” she teases, her voice dropping lower. The blush spreads down your neck and chest. “And what did you think? Did they pass muster with our impromptu art critic here?”

“Honestly, I was blown away,” you say, looking her straight in the eye. “Your writing is intuitive, engaging. It pulled me right in. You've got this strong, clear voice that really comes through, even in the straightforward pieces.”

Leigh regards you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read the pages of a particularly dense novel—searching for the truth in your words. Then, as if finding what she was looking for, her features soften, the guarded lines around her eyes relaxing.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a tender gravity. “That really means a lot to me.”

You beam up at her, blissfully unaware of the profound impact your praise has had on her appreciation of her own writing. 

Before you can pick up the thread of your laid-back conversation again, a man who could easily double as an Instagram model approaches. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a rogue lock of hair artfully obscuring one icy-blue eye. Both you and Leigh pause, taken aback by his sudden, striking presence, and an instinctive wariness settles in between you.

“Hey there. Are you okay?” he asks, hovering slightly, his focus solely on you, as if Leigh is merely a shadow on the wall.

“It's nothing, just a bit of swelling,” you say. You look up at him briefly and force a smile before focusing your attention back on Leigh.  She's already staring down the stranger, as if trying to laser through his meticulously sculpted side-profile.

He presses on, “I could drive you to the hospital to get that checked out.”

You exchange a quick look with Leigh, catching the flash of irritation that crosses her face before she masks it with a polite smile. 

“That’s very kind of you, but I'll be fine.”

Despite this, he doesn’t give up. “Really, it's no trouble at all. You shouldn't walk on that,” he says, pointing at your foot that’s clearly on someone else’s lap. This time, his gaze lingers a little too long for comfort. 

Leigh gently lowers your foot from her lap and stands up, positioning herself between you and the persistent stranger. There's a considerable height difference between them—Leigh is notably shorter—but she doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. Instead, she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin like she’s ten feet tall.

“Excuse me,” Leigh clears her throat. “We’re on a date here.” 

The man blinks, surprised. “A date?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Leigh confirms, her smile now a thin line of resolve. “The kind where I kiss her goodnight after.”  

You catch a few curious glances from nearby onlookers and feel a blush creeping up your neck. You duck your head, trying to shield yourself from their stares. More than anything, though, you're struck by Leigh's bold declaration to a near stranger—that she was going to kiss you by the end of this date.

Of course, you’re hoping she would, but hearing her say it out loud sends your stomach into a flutter of somersaults

His face registers the rebuff, and he nods awkwardly, stepping back. “Right, sorry,” he mutters before finally turning and walking away.

Leigh is heaving slightly, visibly tense, her back to you, and you gently take her hand to bring her focus back.

“Hey,” you mumble softly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Leigh says as she turns back to face you, her eyes now softer. You sense the tension easing from her as your fingers intertwine more firmly. “I’m sorry if—”

“Thank you,” you interrupt gently, wanting her to know her protectiveness was welcome. “I really appreciated that.”

She laughs, a sound of relief. “Okay, good. I didn’t want to come off too strong.”

You want to tell her that she does, that she's always been a force to be reckoned with. But you bite your lip, not wanting it to come across as criticism. You like this quality of hers, and you don’t want her to change anything about herself just because you're a completely different person with a different perspective.

She shuffles her feet, looking a bit unsure, then sits down beside you. “So... where were we?”

You smile at her. “I was saying how amazing you are as a writer.”

Leigh grins, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, right. Please, go on.”

You laugh, and the two of you spend the next hour in the art exhibit, talking about everything and nothing.

-

At 1pm, you and Leigh head out for a scenic drive to Santa Monica Beach.

A week ago, as soon as she agreed to this date, you booked a table at a beachside lobster joint that’s been trending locally for some time now. It seems like the perfect spot, with great reviews and a beautiful setting by the ocean. The drive is relaxed, the windows rolled down and the salty air filling the car, clearing away any last threads of the tension from earlier at the exhibit. 

Leigh is in high spirits, chatting animatedly about books and laughing more freely than she has all day. At one point, you find yourselves discussing The Great Gatsby.

“I just don't get the hype,” you say, shaking your head as you keep your eyes on the road, though you're eager to dive into what promises to be an interesting debate. “I mean, the characters are all so shallow, and the story feels more like a soap opera than a classic.”

Leigh's expression brightens, excited to dispute your claim. “But that’s exactly why it’s a classic,” she counters, turning to face you and resting her head against her arm on the windshield. “Fitzgerald captured the Jazz Age perfectly—the decadence, the disillusionment, the elusive American Dream. It's all critiqued through some really beautiful writing.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “So you think the shallowness is the point?”

“Exactly,” she replies, smirking slightly. “Gatsby's obsession with Daisy, who represents everything he can't have, mirrors the era's obsession with wealth and status. It's tragic and a little ridiculous because it's supposed to be.”

You pretend to mull it over, though you know she has a point. You can feel her gaze on you, and you're starting to relish Leigh's undivided and very welcome attention. You drag out your response, just to see how she reacts. You think you catch her rolling her eyes out of the corner of your eye.

Chuckling, you say, “You’re making it hard to stick to my guns here.”

Her smirk widens into a proud smile. “Good! Maybe it’s time to surrender those guns.”

You flex your arm, showcasing your slim and completely unimpressive biceps. “Speaking of guns, maybe I should keep these instead,” you joke, giving Leigh a playful look.

Leigh makes a face. “Oh, please, keep those guns. They're definitely more persuasive than your take on Fitzgerald!” she teases. 

You pout at her sarcastic comment about your physique, but your smile is good-natured. It's been a long time since you've felt this at ease—not just with Leigh, but with anyone else. You haven't enjoyed company like this in a while, not since... 

Well, not since Matt. 

After a while, you say, “Maybe I need to give it another read. You make it sound like a completely different book.”

Leigh shifts in her seat to face the long, winding road ahead. “We can read it together. Maybe you’ll catch some of the subtleties you missed the first time around,” she suggests.

You sneak a glance at her, catching her eyes just as she looks back at you, your dark brown eyes meeting her green ones. It's a bit ridiculous, but you find yourself wishing this drive would never end. The swelling in your foot stings with every press of the gas pedal, but somehow, it doesn't seem to matter.

“I’d love that.”

-

When you pull into the quaint parking lot of the restaurant, nestled right against the beach, you're greeted by stunning ocean views that truly live up to the hype. Inside, the nautical decor, complete with nets and life rings adorning the walls, is cliché yet undeniably still charming. The rain has subsided, but the beach remains unusually quiet, lacking the usual crowds that gather when the sun is out. 

As you settle into a table with a view of the beach, it feels like the right kind of perfect until you start discussing the menu and Leigh's smile drops a touch. 

“I should’ve mentioned—I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Oh,” you manage, a twinge of embarrassment settling in your stomach. You feel a bit foolish for jumping ahead without checking first. It's not the first time this has happened with Leigh, and suddenly, her earlier hesitations about your intentions and feelings make more sense. You realize you've constructed a version of her that feels familiar, yet moments like these remind you that there's still so much about her you have yet to understand.

“We can go somewhere else,” you suggest, even though you don’t have the first clue where else to go.

“Really, it's okay. We don’t have to leave. I'll find something else. This place is too gorgeous to skip just because of that,” she says.

You hastily scan the menu for alternatives, but the options are slim. The only non-shellfish item is a fish and chips plate that looks unappealing at best. Then, tucked at the bottom of the menu, you spot a plain cheeseburger with fries on the side.

“Leigh, we should really head somewhere else,” you say, remembering how she mentioned she was starving just before stepping inside the restaurant. The last thing you want is for her to settle for a less-than-satisfying meal simply because the setting is picturesque.

Leigh gives you a reassuring smile, but you can sense the underlying frustration as she says, “You don't need to make such a big deal out of it.”

“But you said you were hungry.”

“I know you mean well, and I really appreciate it. But honestly, it's just lunch,” Leigh says.

You go quiet, not wanting to argue further, but inside, you’re still kicking yourself for not having a backup plan. Sensing your inner turmoil, Leigh sighs, dropping the menu on the table. 

“Hey,” she begins softly, waiting until you meet her eyes before offering a small, apologetic smile. She knows today hasn't gone as smoothly as you hoped—starting with her oversleeping, then arriving late to a gallery you were excited to see, only to find it overcrowded. And on top of that, the incident where she stepped on your foot. You’ve been brushing it off, insisting you’re fine, but she noticed your grimaces every time you pressed the gas pedal during the drive. Clearly, today hasn’t unfolded as you planned.

Leigh’s not trying to downplay the effort you've put into today, but she also doesn't want you to think that a single mishap could turn her away. She hopes you don't set expectations too high just yet, not when you're both still in the early stages of getting to know each other. Beyond the undeniable physical chemistry between you, she's looking forward to discovering how you both handle the less-than-perfect moments just as much as the perfect ones.

Once she has your attention, she continues, “I was married for seven years and had numerous relationships before that.”

Your curiosity prickles—Numerous? How many?—but Leigh keeps talking, pulling you back to the moment.

“I've seen all the grand gestures. They’re fine—they’re romantic, but right now, I just want to do normal stuff with someone I like.”

“Me, too. I—”

“That means not worrying about every little thing on a menu I can’t eat. I don’t need every outing to be perfect.”

You nod, a realization sinking in. Leigh doesn’t want you to treat her as if she’s delicate, like china that could shatter at any moment. She wants you, with all your flawed plans and your corny jokes.

Maybe, you realize, you and Leigh share more than just an intense attraction. You both harbor insecurities about being wanted for something you're not, rather than for who you truly are. Deep down, there's a fear lurking in you that maybe this—whatever this is—could evaporate. You're scared that Leigh might discover something about you that could change her mind, worried that all this might just be a fleeting curiosity or a complicated connection tied to her past.

So you aimed for perfection today—at the expense of not being yourself, perhaps becoming too cautious and too rigid in the process. Leigh's desire for authenticity over perfection makes you rethink your approach.

“Okay,” you finally say, setting the menu down. You signal a waiter and order their bestseller—broiled lobster in butter garlic herb sauce.

Leigh looks up from her menu. “And I'll have the cheeseburger,” she tells him. Then, leaning across the table, she adds in a mock-threatening tone, “But you should know, it’s actually breakfast and dessert where you really can’t go wrong with me.” She exaggerates her expression, widening her eyes for effect.

Perhaps it’s a good lesson to learn that not everything has to be perfect to be right. 

At least, not with Leigh Shaw.

-

After a hearty meal, with you having indulged in the lobster since Leigh couldn't partake, you both feel pleasantly full. Needing to stretch your legs and help settle the big lunch, you suggest a walk along the shore.

You roll up your jeans to your calves, trying to keep them dry, but the relentless little waves have other plans, occasionally splashing over and wetting the fabric. Meanwhile, Leigh, wearing high-waisted cotton shorts, meanders alongside you, unaffected by the water's reach. As the sun dips lower, it paints the horizon in vibrant shades of orange and pink. Endless stretches of beach host a few leisurely strollers, all basking in scenery that seems almost too striking to be real. 

Walking side by side, every now and then your fingers brush against each other—a fleeting touch that sends a subtle thrill through you. Despite the advanced nature of your physical relationship, you and Leigh exchange shy smiles, almost as if you're newly acquainted. It's a curious thing that here, in the open expanse of the beach, there are instances where it feels like you haven't crossed those boundaries at all.

You want to reach out and hold her hand, but Leigh is wrapped up in her own thoughts, her arms crossed as she stares out where the horizon swallows ships whole. Respecting her reverie, you shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans instead.

After a while, Leigh turns to you, her face catching the evening light, transforming her into something almost otherworldly. Her expression is open, inviting, and it makes your heart stumble over itself once more. 

“So, Y/N,” she says, her voice low and a little unsteady, as if she had second thoughts a moment ago about whether to even say the words. “Tell me about the girls and boys you've loved before.”

Once again, you’re unsuspecting of Leigh’s directness.

You scramble for a moment, trying to buy some time. “Well, what exactly do you want to know about them?” you ask, watching her closely. Ex-lovers are bound to come up soon, and you haven't really thought about your own answer. Truth be told, your track record feels lackluster, but somehow you think that might be a good thing.

Leigh bites her lip, seemingly pondering her next move. She kicks at the small ripples lapping at her ankles, sending water splashing in little arcs. After a moment, she looks up at you coyly. “I don't know, you decide what to tell me,” she says, unapologetically leaving the ball squarely in your court.

Her response puts you at ease a little, turning the pressure of the question into more of a gentle invitation to share what you feel comfortable with. 

You take a deep breath, tasting the salt on the breeze. “I didn't actually have a boyfriend until I was twenty-two,” you say, glancing at Leigh to gauge her reaction.

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, an expression that draws a small laugh from you. “Yeah, I was a late bloomer,” you say, a flippant shrug accompanying your words. “I think I was just curious, you know? Everyone around me was pairing off, and I felt like I was missing out.

“It lasted six months. It was more about exploration than anything else. And then, well, it took another two years before I found myself in something serious.”

“With who?” Leigh asks, slowing down a little. The wind picks up, teasing strands of her hair across her face, not bound today in her usual ponytail. She brushes them aside absently, her focus fixed on you.

“Her name was Alex,” you continue, the name rolling off your tongue thoughtfully as bittersweet memories flood your mind. You haven’t thought about her in a long time—she was your first love and your first heartbreak. “She was incredible—taught me what it really means to be with someone, to really be present. We were together for almost three years.”

Leigh suddenly stops and turns to face you. She grabs your hand, guiding you both to a weathered bench a few steps from the lapping waves. 

“How did it end?” she asks quietly.

“We moved in together after a year,” you say, trying to keep your tone light even though you’re about to rehash a painful past. “Things were really good, at least that's what I thought. But then, just a month after our third anniversary, I came home early from work and... I found her in bed with someone else.”

“Oh, Y/N…”

“It was her coworker, someone I'd always just thought of as a colleague of hers,” you conclude, managing a tight-lipped smile. Neither of you speak for a while, allowing the susurration of the sea to fill the gap instead.

“I’m sorry,” Leigh finally says.

You shrug, looking out at the horizon where the sun meets the calm waters. “It's a long time ago. From what I've heard through mutual friends, they're still together. Maybe they were meant for each other, and I was just a stop on her journey to finding that out. I mean, I shouldn't feel so bad for not getting in the way of true love.”

Leigh shakes her head, not buying into your attempt to whitewash what Alex did. “She should've ended it with you properly.”

You’ve pondered that moment countless times, wondering if it would have been easier if she had simply been honest about falling out of love. You picture different scenarios where you come home to Alex waiting to tell you there’s someone else, and each time, you arrive at the same painful conclusion.

“I don't know, it probably would have hurt just the same,” you tell her honestly. 

Leigh scoots closer, looping her arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder. In a whisper, she concurs, “I think so too.”

Then, Leigh starts sharing her story with Matt. It begins at a college house party, where they first met—just a couple of undergrads who had no idea what the future held. As she talks, you rest your cheek against her head, absorbing every detail. You chuckle at her lighthearted anecdotes, feeling the happiness they brought her. But as she talks about the tougher times, particularly the months leading up to his death, your smile fades, replaced by a tightness in your chest.

Soon enough the telling morphs into a session of self-reflection where it becomes unclear whether Leigh’s speaking to you or to herself. She suggests that she blames herself for his death, feeling as if she had somehow caused his demise. She confesses that when he died, it seemed like all the good parts of her died with him, parts she now thinks existed only because of him. 

When she finally breaks down, sobbing into your neck, you pull her closer, wrapping your arms around her as if you could squeeze away all the guilt and pain she’s carrying. Part of you wants to interrupt, to assure her that she’s wrong, that all her good parts were always there, maybe just brightened by her love for him—because isn’t that what love does? It casts everything in a better light. But you resist the urge to speak, understanding that sometimes the best comfort you can offer isn’t words, but simply presence and the quiet acceptance of her sorrow.

-

It starts to rain again a few minutes into your drive back to the city. As the droplets splatter against the windshield and the wipers slide back and forth, you notice Leigh holding up her phone, talking animatedly into it.

“Hey there, we're on our way back and look at this rain, it's really coming down! Oh, and I've got someone very special I want you to meet—this is Y/N.” She angles the phone toward you. You feel your cheeks warm as you give a small, awkward wave. “Aren’t those eyes incredible? Like deep, rich coffee... absolutely gorgeous.”

“What are you doing?” you ask, still a bit embarrassed.

“Something for my eyes only,” Leigh replies nonchalantly, lowering her phone but keeping that roguish smile.

“You didn't have to stop,” you tell her, still a bit amused by her whole vlogging act.

Leigh turns to face you fully. “I kind of want to look at you now without a screen between us,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting.

You swallow, feeling a thrill at her directness. Leigh's approach is always bold, and it sends an excited shiver down your spine. You wish you weren't trapped in the driver's seat, confined by the slow crawl of traffic, so you could fully engage with her flirtation. Yet, there's a part of you that suspects Leigh enjoys knowing you're somewhat at her mercy, divided between the road and her teasing.

Trying to distract her from whatever she’s up to, you throw out a playful challenge. “Want to guess where we're headed next?”

It seems to work as Leigh glances out at the relentless downpour. “In this weather?”

“Yup,” you respond simply, a mysterious smile on your lips as you focus on the rain-slicked road ahead, keeping the surprise of your next stop just between the two of you for a little longer.

Leigh has this endearing habit of pressing the back of her fingers against her mouth, her thumb brushing her lower lip as she thinks. You've come to recognize this gesture as a sign she's deep in thought or uncertain about something.

“Bowling?”

You snort in amusement.

“At least give me a clue!”

“It involves a membership card,” you hint.

Leigh scrunches up her nose, clearly appalled at her next guess. “The gym?”

“The library, of course,” you reply with a grin, recalling an earlier conversation. “Remember I mentioned having a membership card?”

Leigh narrows her eyes, and in a skittish huff, slaps your arm lightly. “You're totally messing with me,” she accuses.

“Hey, I'm driving here!” you protest, trying to keep the car steady. Undeterred, she pokes at your ribs, discovering a ticklish spot. You can't help but burst into laughter. “Seriously, Leigh, we're going to crash if you keep this up,” you say between giggles, half-joking, half-pleading for mercy.

She pulls back, her laughter tapering off into a series of chuckles that fade into the rhythmic splatter of hefty raindrops on the car roof. Once it’s comfortably quiet again, she leans back in her seat, her expression turning curious and a little conspiratorial. 

“Speaking of books, there's something I almost forgot to tell you,” she says.

“Yeah?” you respond, somewhat distracted as a car swiftly cuts into your lane.

“Matt's comic is going to be published posthumously,” she reveals slowly. “Danny and I have been working together on it.”

You strive to keep your expression blasé at the mention of Danny's name. There's no room for jealousy when it concerns Matt's legacy. If Leigh needs to do this, whether Danny is involved or not, it's her choice and not your place to question.

“That's amazing, Leigh,” you say, trying to sound cheerful and supportive. “Matt would have been thrilled.”

Leigh gives you a curious look. Your focus remains on the road ahead, so you miss the reservation in her green eyes.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” you respond, nodding. Without much thought, you add, “He used to show me his work, and I was honestly impressed.”

Leigh's expression shifts subtly at your words, and there's a moment of quiet between you. “Matt never showed me his works,” she says softly, almost to herself.

You feel a flush of embarrassment, realizing it might have sounded like you were bragging about being privy to Matt's work—a privilege Leigh, his wife, hadn't shared. You manage only a soft, “Oh,” which hangs awkwardly in the air.

“I found his sketches one day by accident, and he didn't like it—me seeing his work, I mean. He always wanted to keep that part of his life separate.”

You’re still processing this when Leigh speaks again.

“I used to tell him everything, you know? I’d ask for his take on my work, vent about the chaos at mom’s studio, and talk through the tough times we faced as a family when—well, when Jules was dealing with her addiction,” she says, her voice trailing off a bit at the end.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not knowing what else to say.

Leigh brushes off your sympathy with a gentle flick of her wrist. “No, it's not that he was trying to be secretive. I think... I think I was too critical of him, even about his depression.  I thought I knew everything, knew what was best for him.” She sighs, a shadow of regret crossing her face. “I guess I was kind of overbearing, so he stopped sharing things with me. He chose to keep it all to himself instead of having to constantly argue with me.”

You wince slightly, feeling guilty in some way, but Leigh quickly reassures you. “Hey, I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad that he shared things with you. I’m actually glad he did. His work deserves to be out there.”

You nod, taking in Leigh's reflections quietly. Wanting to steer back to a milder topic, you ask, “So, when is it going to be published?”

Leigh's fingers absently toy with the ends of her hair as she thinks. “It's set to come out early next year,” she finally says, her voice surprisingly devoid of excitement. You can't help but wonder why that is.

“And there's going to be a tour right after—it's promoting the comic along with some other new titles from the publisher. I'm... planning to go.”

“That sounds like an incredible experience,” you say, smiling at her.

Leigh makes a sound of agreement. “It's probably starting in late February,” She takes a deep breath before adding, “It'll take me all over the country. We need to attend conventions and such.”

You fall silent, digesting her words. The realization that this isn't just a short trip starts to sink in. “How long will you be gone?” you ask, trying to catch her gaze but Leigh’s eyes are trained forwards.

“I don't have all the details yet, but it could be anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months,” she says.

“But you'll come back in between, right?” The hope in your question is palpable.

Leigh shakes her head slowly. “I'm not sure. It might be a good time to travel and go away for a while with this opportunity.”

The conversation drifts between you, muffled like the world outside the fogged-up windows of your car. It's becoming clear, maybe too clear, what this all means.

Leigh's gaze stays fixed on the shimmering road ahead. She's quiet, but you can almost hear her thoughts tumbling over each other. You know she's wrestling with the implications of her future plans, just as you are. She knows the reality of the situation, understands that there are only a few ways this could possibly go.

She can't ask you to wait, and it wouldn't be fair to ask you to drop everything and follow her. That leaves the looming possibility of a farewell that could stretch into something indefinite.

Minutes pass—one, then two—before you both lose count. It feels as though an hourglass has been unwillingly flipped. Watching the city lights blur through the rain, you can't help but feel they reflect the uncertainty of your future with Leigh. You're willing to attempt a long-distance relationship, though you know it might not be ideal. The prospect of being apart just as things are beginning to bloom between you feels akin to a preemptive goodbye.

Then, an idea takes hold—a bold, possibly reckless notion, but it clings to your heart with surprising tenacity. Yes, you have a clinic, a business that needs you, but suddenly, those realities seem negotiable, secondary to what feels more pressing—being with Leigh.

“What if I came with you on the tour?”

Leigh turns to look at you, her eyes wide with surprise and something like worry. She knows your life is deeply rooted here, especially with the veterinary clinic you’ve poured your heart—and savings—into.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she says.

“Why not?” you ask softly.

Your tone is so earnest, almost childlike in your confusion, that Leigh’s lips part and then close as she grapples with how to articulate her feelings about your rash offer.

“You have your clinic, your responsibilities here. It's too much for me to expect you to just walk away from that,” Leigh argues.

“But what if it’s not about what you’re asking me to give up?” you say, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on the steering wheel. “What if it’s about what I’m willing to sacrifice?”

Leigh's frustration shows clearly as she pushes back against your idea. “Sacrifices? It's about being realistic. We can't just make decisions on a whim.”

You turn to look at her, making it a point to focus on her for a second longer than you should while driving. “But I don't see it as a whim. I see it as choosing what matters most to me.”

Leigh sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You're not seeing the whole picture. What about your employees? They depend on you.”

“I can arrange things at the clinic. I can find people to cover for me,” you say confidently. But Leigh is just as relentless with her objections.

“And what if you come back and resent me for taking you away from all that?” Leigh counters, her voice rising a little. 

“I won’t,” you reply quickly, even though you know it's a hefty promise to make in such a heated moment.

Leigh scoffs, shaking her head vehemently. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Before you can bolster your promise with more reassurances, your phone rings. It’s Sara, calling from the clinic. Leigh watches as you answer, her expression a mix of resignation and pointedness, as if to emphasize her earlier concerns about your responsibilities.

You excuse yourself, grab your phone, and answer the call. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“It's an emergency,” Sara's voice is tense. “Foreman needs you. Can you make it?”

You're just minutes from the city now, and your heart sinks as you realize the timing couldn't be worse. “Yes, I'll be there soon,” you mutter, feeling torn.

After hanging up, you turn to Leigh, who's been quietly observing. “There’s an emergency at the clinic, and Foreman needs my help,” you explain. “Can we stop there? It won't take long, and we can still make it to our next stop.”

Leigh gives a resigned nod, her earlier arguments about your responsibilities underscored by this untimely call. “Sure, whatever,” she says, her voice flat. You want to erase that look on her face, but for now, you’re needed elsewhere.

-

You spring from the car the moment it's parked, snagging your white coat from the trunk in one fluid motion. Leigh is right on your heels, her footsteps quick and questioning as you both scurry into the clinic.

You burst through the doors and immediately spot Sara at the reception, giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. Beside you, Leigh’s steps falter slightly at the sight of Sara, her expression one of mild shock at seeing her there—a detail you realize you've failed to mention.

“What’s happening?” you ask Sara, pulling your hair into a tight bun.

“Room two, now,” she replies, gesturing briskly towards the surgery room.

You nod and break into a jog, with Leigh hesitantly trailing behind. When you reach your destination, you stop short and turn to signal Leigh to wait outside.

“I’m so sorry about this,” you say, your voice full of apology.

“Just go,” she whispers softly. You offer her a grateful smile before your expression shifts to calm determination as you slip into the surgery room.

Left in the waiting area, Leigh stands in a stupor, surrounded by unanswered questions and a sudden solitude, her eyes lingering on the closed doors you've just disappeared through.

-

Leigh has been noticeably quiet since you emerged from the surgery room an hour and a half ago. Right after you came out, she meekly asked for the car keys and walked straight out of the clinic. You didn’t think much of it at the time, busy giving final instructions to Foreman and Sara before heading out to continue your date with her.

Now, as you drive to the bar you planned on taking her to, you can’t seem to come up with a topic that doesn’t seem like you're evading the earlier argument.

“Where are we headed next?”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Leigh breaks the silence. You notice her glance at the watch on her wrist. The small motion feels like a small betrayal—does it signal impatience, or worse, a desire to escape this disjointed evening?

With everything that’s happened, you drop the pretense of surprise. “I had planned for us to catch a live band at a speakeasy downtown,” you say evenly. “But we're running late, and honestly, I'm not even sure it's worth heading there now.”

You risk a glance at Leigh, almost expecting she’d choose this moment to cut the evening short. But she merely hums noncommittally, and just like that, silence settles in once more.

When you arrive, the heavy rain makes the night feel even more somber. A few cars are still scattered around the parking lot, but the place otherwise looks almost deserted. You grab an umbrella from the backseat and offer it to Leigh as you both make your way to the entrance.

As you approach, the doorman stops you from crossing the threshold. “Sorry, folks,” he says, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “The performance was canceled, and we're wrapping up early tonight because of the weather.”

Disappointment settles in, heavier now with the official confirmation. You turn to Leigh, trying to salvage what you can of the evening. “Maybe we can have at least one drink?” you suggest, hoping to extend the time you have together.

Leigh pauses, her expression inscrutable for a moment before she shakes her head. “Actually, I think I’d rather not,” she says, throwing you off with her refusal. 

The doorman gives you a sympathetic nod as he pulls the heavy doors shut, sealing off the warm glow of the bar from the cold, wet night. Leigh takes the umbrella from you with a gesture that's both resigned and leading, and starts walking back to the car. Her steps are quick, purposeful, but she slows just enough under the umbrella to ensure you're covered and not getting drenched. But you barely notice the rain; your mind is clouded with thoughts of how the evening has unfolded.

As you walk, you replay the last few hours, how what began as an attempt to reassure Leigh of your willingness to go the distance by offering to join her on the tour quickly spiraled into a demonstration of all the practical reasons why it was a bad idea. And the unexpected revelation about Sara working at your clinic surely hadn't helped.

Leigh slides into the passenger seat, handing you the umbrella which you catch as several raindrops escape onto your arm. You settle into the driver’s seat, carefully folding the umbrella and tossing it behind you. 

“I guess I should drop you home?” you suggest, more as a formality than a question.

Leigh hums in response, her voice low and temporizing. It’s starting to irk you, this silent treatment. Throughout the drive to her house, the only sounds are the steady swish of the windshield wipers and the occasional splash of tires against puddles. You steal glances at her, trying to decipher her thoughts. Her face is angled towards the window, so that each time you pass under a street lamp, there’s a fleeting moment where her face is illuminated, revealing a tightness around her eyes and a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth.

Just before you turn onto her street, something inside you rebels. You can’t let the night end on this note—defeated, disconnected. You pull over under a massive tree beside an empty lot and shut off the engine.

Turning to her, you find your voice again. “Leigh, talk to me. Please.”

She sighs but remains silent.

“Are you upset because of Sara?”

That gets a reaction from her—an unpleasant one, but a reaction nonetheless. 

“Oh, please.” Leigh lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Really, it's not my business who you hire, even if it's an ex. But considering you just told me you love me this morning, don't you think that's something you should have mentioned?”

You hadn’t intentionally kept Sara's hiring from Leigh; it had slipped through the cracks of a busy week. You never even considered Sara an ex-anything, so it was an honest mistake. If only you could convince Leigh that Sara is truly that insignificant to you.

“I'm sorry, Leigh,” you say, hoping to smooth things over. But she isn't having it. “It was an oversight, not a choice. Sara really doesn't mean anything in that way. I just didn't think it was important.”

Instead of pacifying her, your words have the opposite effect.

“Not important?” Leigh’s face sets like concrete. “When you say you love someone, everything becomes important, especially things like this. How am I supposed to trust you?”

Your own frustration flares. You didn’t expect such a harsh judgment over what seemed so trivial in your mind. A thought then strikes you, fueling your anger. “And what about you? You’re heading away for months, and you’ve barely spoken about it. When were you going to tell me all the details? Right before you left?”

Leigh reels as if you've slapped her. “That’s different. I was going to tell you—”

“When? Last minute at the airport?” You cut her off, your voice rising to match hers.

“It’s not the same, and you know it!” Leigh snaps back, her eyes alight with anger and something like hurt.

“You're right, it's not the same,” you snap back. “It’s much worse. Because you said you’d give us a chance. And now, when I’m telling you I’m willing to fight for a chance to be with you, you’re shutting me down.”

“I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep,” Leigh says tightly.

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” you reply, your voice softening. “All I’m asking for is a real shot at this. I know you want that too.”

Leigh’s eyes glisten, and for a moment, you think you’re getting through to her. But then her expression hardens again. “Not like this,” she says.

You feel like you're climbing an ever-growing wall between the two of you, but you refuse to give up on this—on her.

“It won’t be easy,” you acquiesce, changing tactics. “But nothing worth having ever is. We can figure it out together, Leigh. We can make it work if we both want it enough.”

Leigh’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, the rain streaking down the windows like tears. She can’t help but compare this moment to the beginning with Matt. He had been so eager, so willing to give himself to her completely. He had always assured her that he was happy just to be with her, to follow her wherever her dreams led. He had said yes to every plan she made, every crazy idea she had, always with that same smile, always saying, “As long as I’m with you.”

But then, one day, he wasn’t there anymore.

And Leigh doesn’t know if she can survive another abandonment.

You have no idea that all of this is racing through her mind as you keep making your case. “...just take a leap of faith. Don’t push me away before we’ve even had a chance to—”

You’re mid-sentence, almost convincing yourself that you're breaking through her defenses, when Leigh interrupts with a shout, “Maybe this was a mistake!”

Taken aback and hurt by her outburst, you risk calling her bluff, exclaiming, “Maybe it was!”

An impasse is reached. For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other, each of you gasping for breath as if the air itself has slipped from the car in those tense seconds. 

Is this it, then?

Is this the end?

But before you can retract any of your words, in a move you never see coming, Leigh reaches out. Her hand clasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. She kisses you fiercely, as if trying to settle the argument with just the pressure of her lips.

But she's not trying to win. Leigh doesn't want to come out on top in this argument. Instead, she wants to forget her usual realism and bury herself in the moment. She wants to give in to your optimism, to let you abandon everything you've worked for to be with her in the coming months.

But she knows that’s selfish.

And she finds herself unable to be selfish when it comes to you. 

You're just beginning to melt into the kiss, to lose yourself in the forgiveness it promises, when Leigh abruptly pulls away. She hurls herself back against her seat, her back pressed hard against the door, panting. 

“Sorry,” she gasps, her voice thick with both regret and need.

You look at her, eyes half-lidded and lips feeling bruised from the fervor of her kiss. All you can focus on is how she's starting to pull away—but you're determined not to let her go. Not this time.

“No, no, come here. Come back here, damn it.”

Leigh doesn't need to be told twice. She meets you halfway, the space between you disappearing as quickly as it had expanded. Her mouth finds yours once again, lips slotting together in a way that feels right, necessary—like solving a puzzle that neither of you knew how to complete until now. 

With all inhibitions cast aside, Leigh grabs the collar of your shirt with surprising strength, yanking you towards her so forcefully that half of your body ends up sprawled across the cramped passenger seat. Your hips press painfully against the gear stick, but any discomfort quickly fades as Leigh's tongue teases yours. Instinctively, you open your mouth wider, a low moan escaping as your tongues intertwine. You support your weight with one arm braced against the windshield behind her, careful not to overwhelm her with your weight. Your other hand rises to cradle her neck, feeling the heat of her skin rising by the second under your touch.

Leigh's hands are anything but idle; they're bold and determined as she reaches for the buttons of your jeans. It's the second time today since this morning, and she's all confidence as she pulls down the zipper, slipping her hand inside your soaked underwear. The moment her fingers trace the length of your slit, brushing against your clit with each pass, you nearly lose your balance.

But as much as you're caught up in the temptation of her touch, there’s something else on your mind—something you've been thinking about all week.

“Backseat,” you say breathlessly, the word more of a command than a suggestion. Without waiting for her response, you clamber toward the backseat of the car. Once there, you quickly turn to help Leigh slide in after you.

You gently push at Leigh's shoulders, and she understands immediately, lying back with a soft thud against the door panel. Her upper back curves awkwardly against the hard surface, but she doesn’t mind, consumed by desire and curiosity about what you’re planning to do next. She lies there, expectant and provocatively inviting, as your fingers hover over the waistband of her shorts. 

You lower your voice to a whisper, “May I?” 

She nods quickly and you make short work of her shorts and panties, tugging them down her thighs efficiently. With a firm tap, you signal for her to lift her legs. She complies, bending at the knees as you strip the fabric past her ankles and casually toss it to the front seat.

Your eyes widen at the sight of her waxed bare. “God, you're beautiful,” you whisper, pulling her closer until she's practically lying across your lap. Your hands roam over her creamy thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. You take your time, exploring every inch, your touch deliberately skirting the places she aches for you most. You’re teasing her, and her body responds ardently—her breath catches, her hips tilt seeking more.

Leigh’s skin is hot under your fingertips. She’s ready, practically quivering, but you keep the pace maddeningly slow. Your fingers dance closer, then retreat, building her frustration to a fever pitch.

“Patience,” you murmur with a teasing smile, savoring the way her body arches and responds to your touch.

“Don't be cruel,” she whines, her eyes the darkest you've seen them.

You lean in, your lips brushing against her ear. “I promise, it'll be worth it,” you whisper, letting your fingers finally drift to the spot she needs you most. Your fingers play with her, teasing her folds, drawing circles around her clit to get her wetter and wetter, each touch designed to increase her desire, her body responding with eager, heated movements. Her breathing becomes heavier, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she pushes against your fingers, craving more.

Seeing her so turned on, you adjust your position. You scoot backward until your back presses against the other side of the car, then gently maneuver Leigh's legs to drape over your shoulders, positioning her in a bridge. The pose might be demanding, so you look up at her, your hands supporting her weight by firmly grasping her buttocks. 

“Is this okay?" you ask as you prepare to bring her closer to your eager mouth.

“Just fuck me, please,” Leigh breathes out impatiently. 

That's all the permission you need. You lower your head, your lips finding the delicate, sensitive flesh of her pussy. Her taste is intoxicating, driving you to explore further with your tongue. Her hips rise to meet your mouth, the angle allowing you to take her in deeply. Leigh's response is immediate—her moans fill the car, guttural and unrestrained. The scent of sex begins to saturate the air, mingling with the dampness of the rain outside. You’re thankful for the dark tint of your car windows and the fact that the bad weather has cleared the streets at this hour.

You want to prolong this, to draw out every moment of her pleasure, but you can already feel Leigh tightening around your tongue, telling you she’s close. In a bid to intensify her impending release, you decide to gamble on your strength. With one hand you keep her lifted in the perfect position, while your other hand moves with a different intent.

Pulling your tongue back, you replace it with your lips, sucking her clit into your mouth, letting the slight pressure send ripples through her. Simultaneously, you slide your middle and ring finger deep into her, the slick heat of her welcoming you in. Leigh's response is visceral, a raw, “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s it, don’t stop…!” that she screams out as if it's being torn from her.

Fuelled by her cries, you pump your fingers harder, faster, curling them to stroke that perfect spot inside her. She's loud, unabashedly so, her moans filling the car, steaming up the windows even more, turning this space into your own sordid bubble. She's dripping down your wrist, your chin, but you don’t mind, existing in that moment solely for her pleasure.

“Y/N, I—”

She's right on the edge, her body slick with sweat and shaking from the relentless pleasure you're hammering into her. But as the climax washes over her, her voice breaks into something unexpected. Instead of the anticipated screams or the typical rush of expletives, something deeper bursts forth.

“—I love you!”

You almost lose your rhythm at her declaration.

Her body shakes violently, her screams of ecstasy almost a primal release. You keep going, pushing her through it, savoring every tremble and shudder, tasting every bit of her orgasm, all the while thinking, Leigh loves me.

She fucking loves me.

You’re cautious enough not to hang your entire heart on those three words immediately, but the confession still paints a devilish grin across your face. This wasn’t merely a heat-of-the-moment slip; it felt like Leigh was revealing something she'd been holding back for a while.

Carefully, you ease her legs down from your shoulders, noticing her wince as she adjusts from the stretch. Before you even get the chance to ask if she really meant what she said, Leigh answers by pulling you in close, her hands framing your face. She kisses you, so tenderly, and it’s nothing like the ones you’ve shared before. It’s the kind of kiss that slows time, the one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little kid, the one you hope to keep until you’re old.

Leigh’s eyes lock onto yours, earnest and clear, “I do love you.” 

[deanstead]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Requested: Yes, by anon

Summary: Sam gets an unexpected call from Y/N, which brings another surprise for Dean

Word Count: 2.7K

Tags/Warnings: Dad!Dean, canon-typical mentions of blood/violence

A/N: In my "everything i write sucks" era but thanks to @seatsbythepit for her consistent beta services! I think this was in my inbox for a (long) while so I finally got this out!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST

Sam frowned, glancing at his phone where it was lighting up with an incoming call from a number he didn’t know.

Not many people had this number, so he picked up warily, as Dean looked up.

“Hello?”

There was a short silence on the other end of the line before a familiar voice reached his ears.

“Sam?” 

Sam froze.

“Y/N?”

Dean sat up straighter, his eyes flicking toward his brother but Sam wasn’t paying attention.

It had been more than 2 years since you’d left and not a day had gone by that Dean didn’t blame himself for it. Sometimes, when he lay in bed at night, the last fight still haunted him - the look in your eyes when those hurtful words had cut across the room, the defeated sound in your voice as you looked him in the eyes and told him that if that’s what he thought of you, there was no point to all this.

After you left, he’d spent too many days staring at your name in his lists of contacts, his thumb hovering over the call button. The days ticked by, and soon it was way too late for Dean to call or reach out so he was left with replaying the last conversation you’d ever had like he needed to torture himself to make up for the hurt.

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice pulled Dean out of his thoughts and he frowned. That was never a good sign.

Sam spoke in a low voice before he nodded and hung up.

Dean stared at his younger brother as Sam stood, pausing as his eyes flicked toward Dean who was watching intently.

“Dean, she…”

Dean nodded, his eyes flicking back downward. “Yeah, I don’t blame her.”

“Look, why don’t you help from here, alright? I’ll make sure she’s alright.” Sam said, although he knew it must be killing Dean. 

“Yeah, just let me know what you need,” Dean responded, failing to hide the slight dejection in his voice as Sam left.

“Sammy.”

His name flowed off your lips the moment you opened the door, feeling familiar yet foreign at the same time. Yet, it was really good to see him.

Sam just smiled, enveloping you in a tight hug the way only an older brother would. “It’s good to see you.”

You nodded, smiling.

“You flying solo?” Sam asked, frowning.

You shook your head. “I’m not hunting. Not really. We were just passing through and I wanted to just run, but I… I couldn’t. Now, my friend’s sister is missing and I just…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Wait. We?”

You gave him a guilty smile. “That’s why I called.” You paused before continuing. “And why I asked you to come alone. I didn’t think I should surprise Dean out here.”

Sam gave you a confused look and you exhaled slowly.

Without saying anything more, you led Sam into the room, as his eyes fell upon a two-year-old kid. A kid who was unmistakably Dean’s son as he gripped a miniature Impala car in his hand where he was sitting on the ground.

Sam looked at you in surprise.

You nodded. “This is Leo.”

It was probably a Winchester thing but Leo took to Sam almost immediately despite the fact he never let anyone else but you carry him for the past two years. 

You remembered how he’d wail in the doctor's or nurse’s arms but he seemed perfectly content sitting in Uncle Sammy’s arms now, playing with Sam’s hair.

“I was gonna get a friend to watch him, but if he likes you so much…”

Sam looked at you like you were crazy. “You’re not going alone.”

You exhaled slowly and nodded, like you’d already expected this answer from him.

Instead, Sam asked to review the information you had. It felt almost like the good old days, as you watched Sam pore over the notes you had at the small desk at the motel, the only thing different being that Dean wasn’t here and you had a two-year-old who’d fallen asleep in your arms.

You knew Sam was planning to call Dean when he left to get dinner but you pretended like you didn’t, busying yourself with preparing Leo’s meal.

When Sam returned with food for the both of you, you glanced at him and he nodded. “Yeah, I called Dean. Look, you know the research there is helpful. It won’t hurt.”

You shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

Sam glanced up at you. “What’s the plan, Y/N? Why didn’t you tell him? Or me?”

You glanced over your shoulder at where Leo was sleeping soundly and sighed softly. “I don’t know. I guess… I guess Dean and I never really had the talk. I didn’t know where he stood with regards to having kids, especially in this life.”

You paused, looking up at Sam momentarily before continuing. “Besides, we’d broken up. I thought he’d try to come and get me but… well, he didn’t. By the time I found out I was pregnant, too much time had passed and I didn’t know how to tell him.”

Sam nodded quietly, letting you continue.

“But I got out. I didn’t let Leo into this part of our life. Until today. And I hate it that he’s here when there’s a nest of fucking vamps right here. I didn’t…”

Sam reached out and squeezed your shoulder. “You were right to call. No matter what, it never hurts to have someone looking out for you.”

You smiled. “Well, I’m glad it’s you…”

“And Dean. Sorta.” You added after a small silence.

The conversation was cut short by Sam’s phone and he quickly answered it. “Anything good?”

You could hear the crackle of Dean’s voice and you felt your heart give a jolt. A jolt that didn’t exactly surprise you. Of course, how could you ever get over Dean Winchester?

You could vaguely hear Dean giving Sam some additional information before Sam hung up, glancing at you.

“You sure about this, Y/N?”

You glanced at Leo before nodding. You planted a firm kiss on Leo’s head, nodding to your friend, Samantha.

“Don’t worry. Sam’s great at what he does. We’ll figure this out.” 

She nodded back at you, assuring you that Leo was in safe hands.

It was your first hunt in a long while, but being a hunter seemed to already be a part of your DNA. 

Armed with the information that Dean had dug up, you and Sam managed to infiltrate the nest, easily lopping heads of vampires off as they were caught off-guard. You were glad Sam was there to have your back, especially when you both made your way to the dead center of the nest. 

“Sharon?” You kept your voice low. 

You headed to where she was huddled in the corner. You didn’t know Sharon well but you’d met once or twice when you’d come up here to meet Samantha.

“Y/N?” 

Her voice shook slightly. 

You nodded. “Yeah. I promised Samantha I’d bring you home.”

Sharon looked around, her eyes flicking to a dead body lying to the side. “They’re…”

You shook your head at Sharon. “Sharon, look at me. We’re going to get you home alright? Trust me.”

“Come on, Y/N.” Sam urged gently. 

Of course, you knew hunts never went that smoothly. 

A growl alerted you that a vamp had joined you and your body stiffened, the grip on the machete in your hand tightening. 

“Sam, get her out of here.”

“Y/N.” Sam’s voice was stressed and you recognized it, the struggle between leaving you here and taking Sharon to safety. 

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him, glancing back at the new arrival.

Sam didn’t answer but you knew the exact moment when he took Sharon and left, their footsteps seeming to echo as they got further away. 

“You hunters are the real monsters.” The vampire droned, staring at you. “Here we are, just trying to survive and you break into our home and kill my entire family.”

You tried to stifle the sarcastic laughter that was at the tip of your tongue.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

You knew it was coming before the vampire twitched, and you swung your machete upward as he rushed toward you. 

The vampire sidestepped, missing the machete by inches as it growled, even more determined to get you.

You stepped back again as it lunged at you, your heart sinking as you felt yourself lose your footing. 

Fuck. 

You rolled out of the way but the vampire was too quick, pouncing upon you. 

You raised your machete but it was too close, the machete inching closer toward you as the vampire bared its fangs at you. 

You held onto a single thought. You had to get home to Leo. 

Then, as if by sheer willpower, the unmistakable sound of a blade swishing through the air before the vampire’s head rolled off its shoulders. 

“Dean?”

Dean had lasted all of five minutes after the last call with Sam before he’d muttered a “screw this” to himself and torn his way out of the bunker and down to where Sam and you were.

You were still stunned as Dean rolled what was left of the vampire off you and helped you up.

“You alright? Are you hurt?” Dean’s eyes studied you, unable to differentiate if the blood on you was the result of any injuries you might have sustained before he’d arrived.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

The atmosphere sank into awkwardness as the both of you stood there now in silence.

“Sorry, Y/N. I know you wanted me to sit this one out, but I…”

You shook your head and interrupted him. “No, I… Thanks, Dean.”

You fell back into silence, both of you walking out toward the exit to Sam.

“God, Y/N!” Sharon’s stressed voice made her way to you first but you didn’t miss the surprised look Sam gave his brother even as you were assuring Sharon you weren’t hurt.

You looked up to see Dean quietly heading to the Impala, and before you could think through your next move, you were running toward him.

“Dean.”

Dean paused and turned to look at you.

You took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

There was a look in Dean’s eyes that sat somewhere between confusion and intrigue.

You looked down at your blood-stained clothes and smiled. “Give me a few hours and I’ll come meet you at the bunker?” 

The words rolled off your tongue feeling foreign yet welcoming at the same time.

“The bunker?” Dean asked.

You shrugged. “Or wherever you guys want. If you don’t want me there.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not what I…” He paused before continuing. “See you there.”

You watched the Impala drive off before you turned back to look at Sam, who had a small smile on his face, and you knew he’d heard everything.

You’d delivered Sharon safely back to Samantha, who hadn’t asked any questions, just glad to see her sister again. and you even managed to shower and change before Leo even noticed you and Sam were gone.

Now, Sam pulled up outside the bunker and you took a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Sam asked softly.

You gave a short laugh. “Never.”

You felt everything at the same time as you took Leo in your arms and walked into the bunker, the memories seeming to hit you all at once - the way this place made you feel, the laughter in your head that belonged to a memory of the three of you as you sat in Dean's embrace.

Even if this was the same place where things had ended, it was the happy memories that followed you as you walked down the stairs now.

Dean stepped out of the kitchen, freezing in his footsteps.

His eyes took in the sight before him, a kid that looked like a carbon copy of himself except for the eyes that were undoubtedly yours.

“Y/N…”

You cleared your throat and exhaled. 

“Hey Leo, let’s go find you some snacks,” Sam said, reaching his hands out for Leo.

Leo cracked a smile and allowed Sam to pick him out of your arms. “Pie!”

Sam glanced over at Dean, unable to hide a chuckle. “I’m sure we have that.”

The silence that followed was almost loud as Dean looked at you in disbelief and you cleared your throat. “Let’s talk.”

Dean led the way into the library, unsure if he should be pissed or happy to see you.

You leaned against one of the tables, as Dean looked back at you.

“Sorry.” You said quietly, looking down. You knew Dean had every right to be angry and you braced yourself for the rise in his voice but nothing came.

You glanced up at him again, meeting the green eyes you’d sorely missed.

Met with Dean’s silence you spoke again. “I didn’t know how to tell you. By the time I found out about it, too much time had passed since the last time we spoke. I stared at your number but I was afraid. I…” You took another breath. “We never talked about this. I didn’t know if you’d be happy or not and I chickened out.”

“So were you never going to tell me?” Dean finally asked.

You couldn’t really determine the tone of his voice but you shook your head.

“I… I kinda was on the way here.” You said quietly.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I didn’t really have a plan.” You said. “Part of me thought if I just drove here, I wouldn’t be able to back out anymore. Then, that nest of vamps kidnapped my friend’s sister so I…”

“So you called Sam.” It was a statement.

You gave him a tentative smile. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate seeing Leo without an explanation in the middle of a hunt.”

Dean exhaled slowly.

“So what now?” Dean asked.

You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid your eyes would give you away. The eyes that screamed how you were still in love with him and that you’d missed him every single day that you’d been apart. The way your heart crumbled every time Leo smiled because it reminded you of Dean, and how all you wanted was to be enveloped in those arms again.

Even as those thoughts ran through your mind, you felt the prick of tears because this was exactly why you’d put off telling Dean about Leo.

“I don’t know, D.” You answered quietly. 

Your voice cracked slightly and you hoped Dean hadn’t picked up on it.

“Y/N.” He called, forcing you to look up at him, even though the tears blurred your vision.

Dean closed the gap between the both of you, one hand cupping your face as he pressed his lips against yours, his other arm snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“God, I missed you,” Dean whispered, as he pulled away just a little, your faces still pressed together.

You buried your face into his shoulder without saying anything, feeling your tears get absorbed into the shirt he had on.

You needn’t have worried about Leo. You looked at you son clutching the tiny toy Impala while he sat in his father's arms almost triumphantly as they came back in. Dean had brought Leo to see the real thing, and Leo had a ball of a time just sitting in the Impala.

“Mama, can we stay?” Leo asked with anticipation in his voice.

You froze. Dean and you hadn’t talked about anything. He’d kissed you, you’d hugged and then you’d gotten him out of that library to meet his son.

Dean closed the gap between the two of you, putting Leo into a giant hug between the both of you before he reached out for your hand.

“Stay,” Dean said quietly.

You glanced up at him. 

“I’m not going to lose you again.” Dean added, squeezing your hand gently. “Not for anything in the world.”

The words felt stuck in your throat, but you glanced at Leo and smiled. “Yeah, we’re staying with Daddy and Uncle Sammy.”

Dean leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips amidst Leo's triumphant yells.

Sam moved forward to press you into a hug. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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Character taglists are open, hit me up if you would like to be added!

[baronessvonglitter]

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader

Word count: 2,852

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

[randombush3]

the end of the world

alexia putellas x reader

summary: just another one of those toxic relationships (based on 'i want you' by mitski, except i don't know the song very well and went a bit off topic)

notes: me? posting incoherent rambling that i refuse to read again? never.

i couldn't be bothered to fish out my journal or whatever

OH ALSO pls ignore the car. i'm not sure how i feel about the fucking toyota yet.

[...]

You want her. 

Alexia is in between your tensing thighs, strong and steady where you tremble and shake. Hands slide up your canting hips; her tongue through your slick folds. The pressure she bears down on you is almost to take, but you take it anyway. You’d take anything for her. 

You want her, and you know you were never supposed to, but that was a risk you took. You’ll be whipped for it, if not lashed by her tongue then by the agonising cane of her absence. She has been clear about what she herself desires, wants. Unashamed to crave your body, her silence has always met your probe for something more. 

You want to tell her about it, too, as she works so relentlessly, so diligently; as blonde hair suffocates your fingers, winding around them like pythons (dead pythons that you force to constrict, mind).

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” you’d say, and the sole card pressed against your bare chest would flutter to the floor. Its patterned back would mercilessly disappear, revealing the worth of your hand. 

It would be a joker. 

Jokers aren’t allowed in this game – whatever it is you’ve got going with Alexia. The rules are fuzzy, a deliberate haze in your mind that acts as some suicidal fog, but this one is obvious. She couldn’t make it more obvious. 

Jokers are also foolish idiots. The dealer was sick and twisted, but the dealer was Alexia and Alexia is between your legs, and Alexia makes you feel both good and bad. Alexia, with a mouth that rivals her other talents, and her fingers that slide into you with such smug entitlement that you can’t help but whimper. 

You beg her for more – what an addict you are – but she decides it is impossible to give you it, and then she is gone. 

But she’s never really gone. 

You crawl into the shower, sobbing. You’re not sure why you are sobbing, nor how you got here, but the only difference between your tears and the droplets of water falling from the shiny head is that one was asked for. Wanted back. And Alexia’s fucked you up properly this time, because you are comparing yourself to a fucking showerhead. 

Is that how worthless she has made you feel? Is this her punishment for you? 

“We’re starting over.” It sounds out from your doorway. You fall to your knees before she crosses the threshold into your apartment. You’re begging her, but, eyes narrowed and unimpressed, she ignores what you mean, nudging you backwards so that the door can close behind her and you can press her against it. Eagerly, she keens into your mouth, holding your head in place. 

You move your lips with your question but there is no answer in her whine of pleasure. You spell it out and she is unaware, and you could scream it at her, you realise, if you’d like. She’d meet your burning throat with her mouth placed on your skin wrapping around the tunnel into the soul you are trying to bear to her. Your voice would go hoarse but she would be deaf to the words you would repeat. 

And it is your apartment she is in, but you are driving away. There is a car parked outside; a nice, shiny Toyota with decent mileage and a full tank of diesel. The seats are unused and they criticise you for it; why didn’t you make an escape earlier? Alexia is in the house and you are in the car, and the roads are wet like your face as though the sky’s copious amount of weeping is mocking you for being so fucking pathetic. The tyres screech and scratch and the bends grow windier as you drive far away. 

Someplace quiet, you think. A field, empty and far from the constraint of Alexia’s city. You scream, out in the open, “how I love you!” But ‘you’ is only the birds that fly away in terror, ‘you’ is the wind that carries your curse into other lands. 

“I want you,” Alexia gasps. 

You’re not actually in the field – don’t be stupid. Why would you get to be anywhere other than where Alexia has put you? 

“I want you too,” you could reply, turning her words against her because it is her power that will shatter the house of glass she has built around herself. The flip would be unexpected; it would shock her. She’d maybe… run? 

From herself. From you. From many other things that she hides in her glass house – plainly in sight but unreachable and untouchable. If the door were to open, your steps would lead to your death: there is no floor here.

You’d keep falling and falling and falling and tumbling and falling. You’d never reach the bottom of the bottomless pit, because no one is supposed to even try. 

Alexia is in the house and you are in the car. 

Alexia, crystal glass, has value. Yours diminishes the further you go from her. 

But you want her. Oh, how you want her. 

[chilling-seavey]

Dreamland (ln4) - Part Three

↳ A/N Idk where my mind went when I wrote this but I'm almost embarrassed to post it because it's so filthy- Please comment something nice so I don't regret everything and delete these 7.7k words of pure sin LOL

↳ Inspired By: 'Late Night Talking' by Harry Styles

↳ Summary: Ever since your night together in your hotel room, Lando can’t seem to get you off his mind

↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex

↳ Word Count: 7.7k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, sexting, dirty talk gets really super nasty, sending nudes, Lando's so incredibly down bad

PART TWO || PART FOUR

It had been twenty-two days since Lando lost his virginity to you in that Bristol hotel room and ever since, he only thought about you more than he had before. Everything was you as if he couldn’t get enough, having given his trust into the hands of the woman of his dreams, and he was so far past attached that even he himself did not realize the extent of his borderline dependency. He played it cool with you through Instagram dms here and there since your night together and every time he received a notification with your Instagram account handle and a simple little message, he would be grinning ear to ear. 

It had been sixteen days since Lando turned twenty-one. Usually he would message you first since you were still on your book tour and quite busy, but on his birthday you had sent him something early that morning. His only wish was to have more of you…to have all of you, for life. He even made that wish over his birthday cake as he blew out the candles. His sisters took some pictures of him so he could post them for his birthday and you were one of the first people to like them. You made his insides feel so warm and you did so unknowingly. 

It had been three days since Lando moved out of the dorms and back into his parents house. Three days and he was already going crazy. The freedom of the dorms was refreshing but being stuck back at home under his parents’ rules felt suffocating to the now twenty-one year old. Between the curfew, chores, and annoyance from his siblings, Lando was nearly ready to re-pack his suitcase and book a ticket on the next flight out…if only he had more than $14 to his name. His family just didn’t get it. Not like you did. 

“We pay a lot of money for you to go to school and we don’t like seeing you wasting your time and throwing it away.” his mother explained as gently as she could over dinner that evening. 

Lando, elbow on the table and chin in his hand, swatted the last bit of his supper around his plate with his gaze downcast, “I’m not throwing it away.” 

“Well you’re certainly not trying.” his father replied. “Your grades are proof of that.” 

Lando dropped his fork to the plate with a clatter and his three siblings glanced over at him from around the table without a word, listening to him be ridiculed by their parents and waiting for his hostile defences, “It’s not my fault that I’m not as good as the rest of the students! I pull as many late nights as they do but their work is just better.”

“Have you sought out extra help from your professors or the tutoring centre?” his mother offered. 

“God!” Lando tisked in frustration and slouched back in his chair, “I don’t care!” 

“Exactly. You don’t care,” his father agreed seriously, “Your GPA is astronomically low and you’re threatened with academic probation because of it. If you flunk out you will be paying your mother and I back every cent that has gone towards tuition and housing.” 

“This isn’t even what I want to do!” Lando retorted strongly, “I want to, like, go into arts and design…or something.” 

“That’s not a stable career, Lando, come on. We’ve discussed this.”

His mother added, her voice attempting to be gentle, “We went out on a limb with your attempt at the racing and karting stuff and look where that got you? We want to support you, love, but we can’t keep taking financial risks. We still have to get your sisters through university too.”

“What if I had an opportunity to design book covers for a really well known author?”

His family all looked over at him. There was a beat of silence. 

“Do you?” his father inquired, honestly curious. 

Lando dropped his gaze to his plate and crossed his arms over his chest, “Well…not yet.” 

His younger sisters snickered into their forks. 

He glared over at them but recovered quickly at the defence, “But when I met that author that I like at her book signing last month I pitched the offer and she seemed really interested.” 

“Oh my God, here we go.” his youngest sister rolled her eyes. 

“Lando-” his mother started. 

“No, listen-” Lando huffed, “When she gets back to Monaco she’s going to help me get a job…she said so. Something where I can do what I really truly like.”

His parents exchanged flat expressions that had his face falling. 

“She will.” he pressed. 

His father held a hand up to stop him, “You gotta stop living your daydream, son. Come on.” 

“It’s not a daydream!” Lando protested. “Why can’t you guys support me?”

“We don’t want to see you struggling, Lando.” his mother said, “We want you to have a fulfilling life.”

“Yeah, they don’t want you unemployed and living in their basement until you’re middle aged.” his older brother added with a smirk. 

Lando glared over at him, “Says you.” 

Their two sisters “ooo”ed. 

“Regardless of what you think your future is going to look like, you need to better yourself in the present.” his mother continued. 

“Which means focusing more on your degree when the next term comes around…and getting a full time job in the meantime.” his father finished. 

“I don’t want to go back to school.” Lando grumbled. 

“Oh really? What’s your alternative plan?” 

“She’s gonna get me a job-”

“Oh my God.” his middle sister laughed, “You’re dropping her name like you’re besties.” 

Lando clenched his jaw, biting his tongue to smother the dirty truth to answer with the more innocent response, “We talk every day.” 

“She’s being nice.” his mother said gently, “She’s being nice to one of her fans.” 

Lando knew his family didn’t understand but the simple words from his mother sent his heart aching. In all honesty, it had been a few days since you had conversed and Lando had been starting to overthink every reason as to why you had left him on ‘seen’. He could have bet money on the fact that you would never use him and drop him…that your night together was more than just a one night stand…but maybe he was getting too ahead of himself. 

His father only dug the blade farther into his chest, “She is a stranger whom you think you know. She doesn’t owe you anything. She is not going to be your free pass into having a life you don’t need to work for and she is not going to come sweep you off your feet to rescue you from your failing grades. You are twenty-one years old now, Lando, and it’s about time you start acting like a grown man and get your shit together before life runs you over.” 

Lando threw his napkin onto the table and stood up so quickly from his chair that the cutlery rattled on the table when he bumped against it, his throat burning from how he tried to swallow back his anger, muttering under his breath before he stormed off, “I can’t wait to get out of this fucking house.” 

His mother called after him warningly, “Don’t think that just because you’re twenty-one now doesn’t mean we can’t still ground you!” 

Lando took the stairs two at a time and when he turned the corner at the top of the stairs into his bedroom, he slammed the door behind him and locked it. It was a dangerous balance between anger and heartbreak and Lando paced his room while taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down. 

After the freedom that living in the dorms provided, it was hard to return to his house where his parents still ruled. Once he had that taste of independence - a taste of life with you - it was horribly difficult to fit himself back into the little bedroom in which he grew up and grew out of his small suburban town. He didn’t have a bad relationship with his family at all but the reintegration of him back into their house made tensions feel insufferable sometimes. His parents were always on him and he already wanted to escape.

Sitting down on the side of his double bed, Lando pulled out his phone and opened Instagram to send his frustrations to his group chat with his two closest friends. 

landonorris: I need to get the fuck out of this stupid house and get to Monaco like NOW landonorris: I’m gonna lose my fucking mind alex_albon: Oh no what happened  landonorris: My parents are on my arse about school and work and they don’t get it georgerussell63: Don’t get what? landonorris: That I already am on track to get the one thing I want and it’s not being a stupid accountant georgerussell63: You have us for that alex_albon: Yeah we’re always going to support your dreams mate landonorris: I just want HER landonorris: That’s all landonorris: And she promised me a job designing for her books landonorris: It’s going to be real landonorris: It has to be alex_albon: It will be alex_albon: It won’t happen overnight but it will be landonorris: I just want to get out of this house landonorris: It’s so fucking embarrassing living with my parents georgerussell63: Hey we all live with our parents georgerussell63: Are you saying Alex and I aren’t cool georgerussell63: Rude alex_albon: Yeah what the hell mate alex_albon: 🤨 landonorris: Noo it’s different landonorris: You guys aren’t trying to get a self-sufficient borderline famous Monaco woman landonorris: No one like her is going to want some muppet like me who lives at home with his parents  georgerussell63: She clearly does alex_albon: Besides, this is just a temporary stop until you find your own place alex_albon: You’re being resourceful…saving your money georgerussell63: Has she said anything recently? You haven’t told us much these last few days alex_albon: Do we even want to know what she’s been saying? 👀 landonorris: Nothing landonorris: That’s it landonorris: Nothing georgerussell63: Wdym?? landonorris: I messaged her the day I moved back home just to make casual conversation that I moved out of the dorms and she said something like ‘that's nice’ and then when I replied again she just left me on seen alex_albon: Oh georgerussell63: Why?? landonorris: Idfk but I’m stressing so bad over it landonorris: Like what if my parents are right and she just sees me as a fan and nothing more georgerussell63: She took your virginity mate I don’t think she’d be the kind of person to just drop you after that alex_albon: Maybe she’s busy with work. Isn’t she still on tour? landonorris: Her book tour ended yesterday. She should be home now alex_albon: So maybe give her a day or two? Maybe she needs some time to relax after traveling the entire continent of Europe landonorris: Idk landonorris: I miss her georgerussell63: Message her again landonorris: Idk I don’t want to be annoying  alex_albon: Ask for your virginity back landonorris: OMFG georgerussell63: Excuse me mommy can I have my virginity back 🥺🥺🥺🤲🏼🤲🏼🤲🏼 alex_albon: EW GEORGE landonorris: GOEREG STOP georgerussell63: HAHJJKKPFJFJG  georgerussell63: That’s one way to get her to answer you  alex_albon: No that’s how you get blocked landonorris: Lol funny you think I’m the sub tho landonorris: Anyways alex_albon: Pff georgerussell63: Oh yeah with all that experience you have alex_albon: OOF ROASTED landonorris: WOW landonorris: That one night was ENOUGH tbh landonorris: Jeeeezus georgerussell63: Ya those marks you had were fuckin brutal mate alex_albon: In the best way ofc landonorris: YEAH landonorris: I KNOW

Lando flopped backwards on his bed with a smile he struggled to bite back, his worries distracted by his internet friends and the mere memory that was your night together so many days before. 

landonorris: God I miss her so fucking much landonorris: How has it almost been a month georgerussell63: Back to celibacy for you georgerussell63: Rip landonorris: I actually hate it here alex_albon: Just message her  alex_albon: Just a ‘hey’ or something landonorris: Ew that’s cringe alex_albon: ??? How landonorris: Idk georgerussell63: Be like ‘hey how was the rest of your tour’ landonorris: Make me sound any more like a grandma 🙄 alex_albon: Mate georgerussell63: Or tell her you miss her georgerussell63: Girls like that kinda thing alex_albon: Like you would know what girls like 🤨 georgerussell63: 🖕🏼🖕🏼 alex_albon: ‘Hey I’ve been thinking about our night 😏’ landonorris: Brooo landonorris: I wanna sext with her so bad georgerussell63: 😂😂 alex_albon: Oh but just ‘hey’ is cringe okay landonorris: Maybe I’ll send that landonorris: Idk landonorris: Should I? landonorris: Is it too much? landonorris: After being left on seen for two days idk georgerussell63: Go for it georgerussell63: She literally let you come inside her georgerussell63: I think this is nothing compared to that alex_albon: An odd comparison but a valid one there, GR georgerussell63: Hey thanks mate landonorris: Should I?? georgerussell63: Yeah it’s just reminding her that she’s on your mind which is a good thing alex_albon: And it’s not too hot and heavy right off the bat alex_albon: If she responds with something flirty back then who knows landonorris: Or she’ll leave me on seen again and I’ll have to die of embarrassment  georgerussell63: Omg alex_albon: Nah she won’t. Send it georgerussell63: Right now

Lando exhaled deeply and sat up again on the side of his bed as he exited the group chat to find his dm thread with you. It wasn’t too far down on his list since he didn’t talk to many people other than Alex and George and when he opened it up, the little grey ‘seen’ nearly slapped him across the face. He pursed his lips in thought and let his thumbs wave over the keyboard, debating what to say. 

He finally drafted something quickly,

Hey…been thinking about our night recently 

He screenshotted it before he sent it and then shared the image to his group chat. 

landonorris: *sent a screenshot*  landonorris: Is this fine? georgerussell63: Add an emoji alex_albon: Yeah maybe a heart or something

Lando swiped back to his thread with you and added a heart to the end,

Hey…been thinking about our night recently 🧡

He sent that screenshot to the group chat.

landonorris: *sent a screenshot*  landonorris: Maybe? alex_albon: Yes I think that’s good georgerussell63: Yesss now send it landonorris: Ahh idk is that too annoying?  georgerussell63: Blimey mate why are you suddenly all flustered like a teenage girl lol georgerussell63: You’ve literally already slept with her georgerussell63: The hard part is over alex_albon: ^^^ alex_albon: Send it alex_albon: Sendddd it georgerussell63: Send it!!!!

Lando sighed and sat up on his bed again as he exited out of the group chat and opened his thread with you once more. The notifications from his internet friends kept popping up at the top of the screen in silent encouraging cyber chants to get him to send the message. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous exactly. Maybe he had spent too much time dreaming about you that he didn’t want to let one measly message fuck up his one fleeting chance at having you. 

His thumb hesitated over the send button for a moment, debating and overthinking. He got up and paced his room a little, staring at the unsent message and going through every possible situation in his head like it was the last decision he would ever make. With a slightly dramatic huff, he closed his eyes and tapped the send button hurriedly. 

He exited the chat and opened his group chat in a panic.

landonorris: OKAY I SENT IT landonorris: AHHH landonorris: Gonna throw my phone out the window now georgerussell63: GOOD JOB alex_albon: YES georgerussell63: Now we wait 😌 landonorris: For a miracle  georgerussell63: You already had your miracle georgerussell63: That was your night together alex_albon: She’s going to answer Lan dw

Lando didn’t leave his room all night because the concept of facing his family after his slightly immature and dramatic blow up over their inability to see his side of things felt like the worst idea ever. Instead, he dabbled with a few new doodles in his notebook that were infused with thoughts of you and when that got boring, he turned to one of your books for his usual go-to entertainment. His friends were busy with their families and it wouldn’t be until they were ready to sleep that they would reconnect. 

Because of their lack of conversation that evening, Lando was trying to do everything in his power to keep his mind away from his sent message to you. The one that you still hadn’t replied to. The more time that passed the more anxious he got until he had no choice but to dive into your fictional universes as some sort of escape, his phone hiding under his pillow and out of sight. 

His eyes were glued to the page and every carefully printed word as what always happened when he opened one of your novels. The steamy scene in front of him had his hands clutching the hardcover book tightly, spread out comfortably on his bed, and your honest words only brought him back to his own very real recollection of your magical night that you shared almost a month prior. The chapter ended before the scene got too far and Lando huffed and shut the book and tossed it onto his night stand, letting his head rest back against his headboard so he was staring up at the ceiling. 

By that point in the night, it was dark outside and his room was illuminated by only the light of his bedside lamp. He had heard his siblings heading to their own rooms over the prior few hours and eventually heard his parents head to bed too. No one bothered him; probably not wanting to push his buttons with any wrong move. Things would smooth over by morning. 

But Lando didn’t feel at ease at all and it was solely due to the fact that he was scared to death that you were ignoring him. He could only pray that his one message didn’t ruin all that he had dreamt of. 

When the city of Bristol passed into 9pm, Lando checked his phone one last time. Only a few messages from his group chat were waiting for his response. Nothing from you. 

alex_albon: Ok finally done the movie alex_albon: My family wanted to analyze the whole damn thing alex_albon: My sister doesn’t know a thing I stg georgerussell63: Omg we just finished too georgerussell63: I totally demolished my nephew on F1 2021 ngl alex_albon: Ayy the kid didn’t stand a chance alex_albon: Who’d you play as? georgerussell63: Max Verstappen alex_albon: Hell ya les gooo georgerussell63: Did you hear people say he be might be world champion this year?? alex_albon: And beat out Lewis?? Idk… georgerussell63: If my parents had actually let me kart and I made it to F1 I bet I’d be able to beat out Lewis lol imagine alex_albon: Kinky georgerussell63: Ew???? landonorris: George you’d get like 15 points MAXIMUM georgerussell63: That’s so rude alex_albon: Omg Lan hi alex_albon: Did she answer?? landonorris: Nopeee landonorris: I’m gonna kms 😀 georgerussell63: Nooo! georgerussell63: Give her time alex_albon: It’s only been like alex_albon: Three hours… landonorris: Ugh alex_albon: But I gotta sleep  landonorris: Ughhhh georgerussell63: Same georgerussell63: I’m helping my dad run some errands tomorrow so we have to be up early for whatever reason alex_albon: Damn I just have to sleep because I’m tired alex_albon: I’m literally doing nothing tomorrow georgerussell63: Your usual landonorris: Lol alex_albon: Lando you’re so dry its weirding me out landonorris: Sorry landonorris: 🧡 landonorris: Love u mate landonorris: Sleep well alex_albon: Thanks mate alex_albon: Praying that you get a reply by morning georgerussell63: Me too! alex_albon: Love yall georgerussell63: Love u ♥️

Lando locked his phone and tossed it onto his bedsheets, deciding to get himself a snack since he didn’t finish his dinner. It would be at least something to take his mind off his worries. With his family already in their rooms, he could navigate his house without interruption and he tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen silently. 

Glass of water and a handful of chocolate chip cookies in hand, Lando returned to his room and shut the door behind him. One cookie resting between his lips and his hands full with the rest of the stack and his drink, he headed over to his bed once more. His phone screen lit up just as he approached and the notification that was greeting him had the half bitten cookie falling out of his mouth and onto his bedsheets. 

He hurriedly set the glass of water and discarded cookies on his night stand, brushing the crumbs out of his bed as he sat down and re-read the Instagram notification from you. 

-Hey you 💕 I’ve been thinking about it too

Lando unlocked his phone and let his thumbs word a response for him without letting himself overthink it,

landonorris: Was wondering if you forgot about it! Haven’t heard from you in a bit

His message was delivered and opened right away, meaning you were waiting for his response in the chat. That fact had him biting back his bashful smile, but his nervousness still lingered over what your answer was going to be. This could have been the moment you would shut him down for good. 

-Omg never! -Tour ended yesterday and the flight from Miami was crazy…delayed…they lost my luggage…and then after a hefty sleep last night I’ve spent today picking up my retrieved bags and then unpacking and I was just at lunch with my friends

Lando let out an audible sigh in relief,

 landonorris: That’s okay  landonorris: Good to be home? -Very -Tour was fucking incredible but this break is going to be nice  landonorris: Yeah for sure -Did you really think I forgot about you just like that?  landonorris: No I just wanted to make sure you were okay  landonorris: It’s been a few days -You’re a sweetheart -I’m just fine  landonorris: I’m glad 🧡 -But tell me… -What had you wanting to remind me about our night?  landonorris: Nothing in particular  landonorris: Was just missing you a little -A little?  landonorris: …Yes -Mhmm -Well you may keep your pride here all you want but I won’t be afraid to admit that I missed you quite a lot  landonorris: Oh really?  landonorris: You?  landonorris: Miss Monte Carlo? -Oh please -I’m the least Monaco that Monaco can get -And we had something special that night -I don’t throw that around lightly  landonorris: Yeah…  landonorris: Okay…  landonorris: You got me  landonorris: I miss you a lot  -The truth comes out 😌  landonorris: I’ve been re-reading your novels because I miss you :) -Omg really 🥺🥺 -Which?  landonorris: Second novel…chapter eight… -I see 👀 -So that’s what had you thinking about our night 

Lando slouched back against his headboard with a blushing grin that he hid in the material of the collar of his forest green hoodie. He contemplated his response but saw that you were already typing so he waited. 

-Which part were you thinking of most?

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip carefully with what you were smoothly instigating and his mind rushed back to each piece of your night together that had thrived in his memory ever since. He didn’t know how strong to start off so he played it cool,

 landonorris: All of it  landonorris: Kissing in the elevator  landonorris: And in the hotel room -Just kissing?  landonorris: Well you’re an incredible kisser  landonorris: And I fucking loved kissing you -I loved kissing you too -Your lips are so soft  -And your hands on my body felt so good -I miss that a lot -The way you grabbed me  landonorris: I should have done more of that -That’s okay -Next time 🥰

Lando had to toss his phone onto his bed for a second so he could roll over and scream into his pillow out of sheer lustful glee. He was so smitten for you and all his worries were completely erased by the simple reassurance from you that you had been thinking about doing it all again. 

 landonorris: For sure  landonorris: When and where -Sometime this summer maybe -But we can plan later -I want to hear more about what you miss about me first  landonorris: Okay 🧡  landonorris: I miss your body  landonorris: And the way it felt under my hands  landonorris: Your hips…your ass…your tits…  landonorris: So fucking perfect -I swear you’d be so good at body worship  landonorris: Fuck baby I’d gladly worship you anyday -Yeah? 🥰 -How?  landonorris: I want to take your clothes off and kiss over every inch of your body   landonorris: Just breathe you in  landonorris: Trail every curve with my lips or my finger just so every part of you has been touched by me -That sounds so good -And then?  landonorris: You sure you wanna know? -Tell me everything -Don’t hold back  landonorris: I want to spread your legs and taste you -Oh my God  landonorris: Is that okay? -Yeah lol I’m sorry that just made my pussy throb  landonorris: Jesus  landonorris: Did it?? -Yess -I’m an author, words speak wonders to me  landonorris: No pressure lol -Never any pressure with me baby -Tell me more -Just spill your thoughts here  landonorris: I just wanna know what you taste like because I didn’t get to last time  landonorris: You might have to guide me -That’s okay baby -I can lace my fingers in your pretty brown hair and show you where I need you  landonorris: Fuck yes please  -So I can feel your warm tongue all over my pussy -Inside me -On my clit -Feeling you so fucking close  landonorris: I’d kill for your legs over my shoulders right now  landonorris: I really really really want you to show me how to eat you out  landonorris: Making you come on my mouth would be so fucking hot -Yes sir

Lando’s mouth literally fell open in shock, his heart racing in his chest at how quickly this conversation turned exactly to how he had imagined it in his most salacious dreams.

 landonorris: And I fucking loved hearing the way you called me sir  landonorris: That fucking did it for me baby -It was your idea and it was a genius one -It got me off too -Honestly I catch myself moaning out that title when I make myself cum now  landonorris: You think of me? -Yeah I think of you when I touch myself  -Every time  landonorris: Often? -Couple times a week -And right now

Lando blinked at his phone screen in disbelief, trying to picture you in your pricey Monaco apartment and warm in your bed in limited clothing and touching yourself while you spoke with him. His dick twitched in his sweats and he dropped a hand down to palm himself lazily over his growing erection. You sent another message,

-Do you think of me?  landonorris: Always have  landonorris: Only ever you -You’re so fucking cute -God I miss you  landonorris: I’m getting hardddd lol -Good hehe -Are you touching yourself too?  landonorris: Do you want me to? -That’s for you to decide sir -Do you want me to help make you cum?   landonorris: Fuck yes -Okay then strip down and keep talking to me  landonorris: Ok gimme a sec

Lando tossed his phone to the side so he could hurry to push down his pants and boxers in one go, letting them drop to the floor carelessly. His sweater joined the pile, leaving him slouched back against his pillows and the headboard in the warm light of his bedside lamp, his legs spread just slightly. He returned to your conversation, 

 landonorris: Okay  landonorris: What else do you want to know? -Talk to me more about eating me out -Have you thought about it a lot?  landonorris: Yeah baby  landonorris: I dream about it too sometimes  landonorris: I can still hear your gorgeous little whimpers and the way you moan my name and I just want to feel you grinding up against my face and helping me to make you feel so good  landonorris: But I really wanna know how you taste -Want me to describe it?  landonorris: Yes -It’s sweet -But not like candy -It’s more of a warm kind of flavour that tastes salacious -And it drips everywhere and soaks everything -It would get all over your mouth and your chin  landonorris: Fuck  landonorris: I want that  landonorris: And I want to wrap my arms around your thighs so you can’t get away from me and I can feel all of you all over me, just covering me in your wetness  -It’s all for you sir -I’d link my ankles around your shoulders to keep you there too  landonorris: Hands pulling at my hair -Yes please  landonorris: Show me how you want me to touch you  landonorris: Pull me to where you need me -Suck on my clit  landonorris: Whatever you need baby  landonorris: Can I finger you too?  -At the same time pleaseeee  landonorris: I can do that landonorris: My mouth on your clit and two fingers inside you  -Fuck that’d make me moan so loud -Just the idea of your fingers flicking inside me is making my legs shake -I need it  landonorris: How fast? -Slow. I want to make it last  landonorris: Of course  landonorris: And if you’re a good girl for me I’ll let you cum twice -Fuck how can I be your good girl sir  landonorris: Let me have my way with you  landonorris: And show me how good I make you feel with your sweet moans and the way you cry my name  landonorris: You’re so fucking sexy I won’t want to stop -Yes I wanna cum for you -Can I sir  landonorris: I’ll always let you cum baby  landonorris: Just licking and sucking at your pussy with my fingers so fucking deep inside you  landonorris: I bet you taste so fucking good  landonorris: Soaking my face and my hand and the sheets  landonorris: God I’m so fucking hard

Lando glanced down his naked body draped back against his bed to where his dick was resting against his abdomen, already swollen hard and aching for touch. You were taking a bit of time to reply so he reached down to gently rub the tip of his finger up and down along the underside of his cock, watching how his gentle touch made it tense and flinch. He turned back to his phone,

 landonorris: Hello? -Sorry I just had to finish myself off lol  landonorris: Oh-  landonorris: Like right now? -Yeah, you said I could  landonorris: You listened to me? -Yeah?

Lando swelled with pride at that concept,

 landonorris: Good girl  landonorris: Did it feel good? -Would have been better if you were physically here -But yes -It felt really good -Moaned your name when I came too  landonorris: That’s so fucking hot -Now I wanna do more -How do you want to cum?  landonorris: Inside you -Again?  -Dirty boy -I like it -Would you want me to ride you?  landonorris: No I want to fuck you myself  -Go on…  landonorris: Keep you on your back and push your legs open as wide as you can get them and just hold your hips while I push my cock inside your soaking wet pussy -Oh my god I miss that baby -I miss your dick so bad

He was letting lust take over in his messages, typing with one hand as quickly as he could while his other lazily stroked his dick in careful motions. 

 landonorris: Nothing compares to how you feel around me  landonorris: You’re just so fucking warm…so wet -I’m soaked for you -You’d slip in so easy right now  landonorris: Jesus  landonorris: I wish I could see your face when I’m inside you  landonorris: Your pretty eyes just fucking rolling -God you’re so big too what’d you expect  -I’d be fucking drooling for it -I wanna beg for it…have you tease me so fucking slowly until I’m nearly sobbing for you to fuck me harder  landonorris: Will you scratch up my back again for it baby? -I’d do anything you want for your dick

Lando mouthed a swear word to his phone screen, tearing his eyes away for a moment just to look down at his fist wrapped around his cock, the one that you were so persistently fantasizing about in the next state over. His hand was useless compared to how your pussy felt and after he had that glimpse of heaven, it was difficult to go without. Your words certainly helped, even only through messages, and he stroked himself a bit faster.

 landonorris: I’m so hard for you baby  landonorris: I seriously need to fuck you  landonorris: I want to give you all you want and more -Can you take me from the back  landonorris: Yes  landonorris: Whatever you want -What a pleasure dom -You’re such a gentleman  landonorris: Lol just want you to feel good  -I can roll over for you and grind my ass back against your cock until you push it back inside me -You’d get so fucking deep that way -I’m already moaning just dreaming about it  landonorris: Then I can hold onto your hips and fuck you like that -Yes pleaseee  landonorris: Fuck -Can I send a pic?   landonorris: Yes -Ok but no screenshots  landonorris: Promise -*you sent an image*

Lando opened the picture with furrowed brows in intense interest as to what he was about to see. On his screen was the most glorious picture of you he had ever seen, the way you looked on your knees on your bed, fully naked, bent over at the waist so your phone captured your curves in the full-length mirror beside your bed. Lando’s eyes were wide as he soaked you in, licking his lips, and tried to memorize each pixel to keep in his mind forever. He let his lust speak for him in reply,

 landonorris: Fucking hell baby  landonorris: You’re so fucking hot  landonorris: I want to slap that ass so bad  landonorris: Grab those hips  landonorris: Fucking pound you until your gripping the sheets -This pussy is yours sir -My whole body is only yours  landonorris: Do you want a pic of me? -Only if you’re comfortable sending

Lando had never tried before since talking to girls - yet alone engaging in sending nudes - was quite few and far between for him. But he wanted to impress you and the way you tended to gawk over his body made him feel really good and made him hungry for more. He lifted his phone camera up and angled it towards his bare body, staring at himself in the screen as he reached his other hand down to keep a secure hand around his dick, drawing attention right to it. Only slightly self conscious, Lando hesitated for a beat before sending it to you before he could overthink yet another thing. 

He waited while you opened his image and he nibbled at his bottom lip anxiously when you typing bubble popped up in the bottom left of his screen,

-Fuck I think I forgot how big your dick is -You’re stunning -Every inch of you -Holy shit -I want you inside me so fucking bad right now  landonorris: Me too  landonorris: My hand is not the same -I have my vibrator on my clit and my pussy is fucking pulsing for you. It’s just so empty…  landonorris: Jesus fuck  landonorris: I’d fill you up baby -God I know you would -So well too  landonorris: Fuck you until your bed is shaking -Yes sir I want it rough  landonorris: Then you should beg for it -I will -I’ll gladly beg for your cock  -Cry for you to beat this pussy up, spank me, manhandle me -Whatever you want I can take -Fuck me like your own little whore

Lando could hardly formulate a response as the speed at which his hand was pumping his cock had him drawing dangerously close to that sweet pleasurably precipice that anything else seemed like too much of a distraction. He held his phone tightly in his left hand, the messaging thread still open, as his legs laid spread on his bed and his right hand stroked himself off in quick messy motions. 

“Oh my God.” he groaned quietly through his teeth, letting his mind whirl with his memories from your night together and his fantasies of wishing you were with him at that moment. Those thoughts weren’t odd for when he got himself off but this time it was different because even from a timezone away, you were still helping him along. 

-I’m so fucking wet its dripping down my thighs -It’s making the nastiest sounds that would only be so much better if your cock was pounding me from behind

Lando’s hand gripped his phone tighter, eyes focused unwaveringly from your little profile picture and the words you sent just for him to read, a little saucy narrative of your own lust made just for him. He shakily spelt out his encouragement to remind you that he was still there and still so painfully close. 

 landonorris: Keep going -You’re gonna cum aren’t you baby -Thinking about my pussy is gonna make you cum so fucking hard isn’t it? -Letting you fuck me…pound your big dick into me as deep as it can go until I crying for it -Making my fucking legs shake while I scream your name into the bed sheets

Lando read each of your messages so carefully, taking in your every word and transferring it right to the pictures in his mind as a light sweat dusted across his brow. He bit his lip to try and keep himself quiet, smothering his whimpers and groans from his oblivious sleeping family members through the walls. His dick was leaking, trailing precum down the length of it and down to his balls, only slicking up his hand in it to help him pull easier strokes faster and tighter, trying to replicate the feeling of your body the best he was able to. 

-Give it to me sir -Please -I miss you so bad

Lando felt as if he were tingling and he naturally thrusted up into his hand a little, whimpering quietly, dizzy on the fast rising pleasure and the warmth it spread over his body. 

-Send a voice memo of you coming if you’re comfortable baby -Please -I really wanna hear you cum  -I really wanna hear the way you sound when you imagine coming so deep inside me

Lando was already so close that he didn’t even think about it before pressing and holding his thumb down on the audio record button, allowing his phone to capture his every breath and every sound as he finally came for you. He wanted to come inside you so badly that he nearly cried for it, being stuck with only his own touch to work him through his orgasm. His hand stuttered around his dick as the first shot of cum spurted out and fell onto his pelvis, matching the whimpering little gasps that he let out for you in steady waves. 

And he of course moaned your name breathily as he always did, letting his eyes close and his head tilt back to welcome the pleasure that overcame him. He could almost feel you right there and he was desperate to reach out and hold you down on him, aching to give you his everything right then and there. When his thumb lifted from the screen, his recording sent right to you and he watched it immediately turn to “seen” as he kept a tight cum-streaked hand around the base of his throbbing sensitive cock. 

Lando’s chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, his wide blue eyes peering down at the creamy white mess that streaked his hand, his dick, and dotted across his stomach and pelvis. He looked back to your chat as you sent your reply,

-Fuck Lando that was so hot -Oh my God -The way my name sounds when you moan it makes me fucking drip  -You sound so pretty  landonorris: Your words do things to me too  landonorris: Felt so fucking good  landonorris: Wish you were here too though -Me too  landonorris: Did you come again yet? -Yeah lol I got myself off to your audio -It was hard not to  landonorris: And you didn’t record it for me in return?? -Next time 😉  landonorris: Next time you better be with me for real  landonorris: None of this texting shit -Yes sir -I agree -Really miss the feeling of you coming inside me  landonorris: Fuck, me too  landonorris: You’ll have to take plan b again  landonorris: Right? -Of course -But that’s worth it  landonorris: You’re incredible and I honestly can’t believe my luck that I can talk to you like this…have you like this -You’re a sweetheart -I feel the exact same way 💕  landonorris: Wish I could cuddle you right now -Me too 🥺 -And kiss you

Lando reached over to his bedside table and grabbed a tissue to clean himself up, giving him a second to absolutely grin to himself. Oh how he missed you in his arms…the post-orgasm drop off was turning lust into longing quickly. He wiped up the streaks of cum from his body and his hand and disposed of the tissue in the garbage bin beside his bed before returning to your few additional messages as he turned over in bed to cuddle up tiredly. 

-I slept so well with you that night I really miss that -Didn’t know I’d be missing you so much but that week after just had my mind clouded with you and every day since has been filled with wondering when we can see each other next -You’ve really somehow wiggled yourself into my heart and soul Lando Norris and idk how you managed that

It took Lando all of his self control to not tell you he loves you right then and there. He had known you for much longer than you knew him…he had to take it slowly. He had always been hesitant in facing where he stood with you but at that moment, reading your little confession, it just felt like everything was falling into place. 

 landonorris: You’re always the only thing I think about  landonorris: And I am so grateful for you for many reasons I wouldn’t even know where to start if you asked me to -Taking your virginity? 😜  landonorris: LOL yes that especially   landonorris: No one else I would have wanted it to be -I gotta say, you’re certainly not shy over text -Your confidence is sexy -Makes me want to submit to you so bad  landonorris: Donttttt say that or I’ll get hard again -LOL SORRY  landonorris: Tell me more next time 🫣  landonorris: Although I’m probably going to be so shy when we see each other in person again  landonorris: You tend to make me nervous lol -I make you nervous??  landonorris: Yesss you’re my dream girl  landonorris: Ofc you make me all nervous and shy  landonorris: And you make my heart go !!!! -You’re adorable I wanna kiss the fuck outta you so bad rn  landonorris: 🥰🧡 -Gotta get you to Monaco -Gotta get you in my bed  landonorris: Please  landonorris: I literally need that right now -I know you have another term after break but then what’s your summer looking like -Work?

Part of him didn’t want to tell the truth as to what his pathetic summer was looking like but he trust you and you were never one to judge,

 landonorris: Nope  landonorris: No job and living back at my parents place  landonorris: It’s been three days of only winter break and I’m going fucking insane I need to get out of here -Oh my -Would you want an internship or something with my team? Idk if its possible but I can see if I can pull some strings…get you a little summer position at least  landonorris: Oh my god baby I’d love that -Haha okay lover 💕 let me see what I can come up with for you -We’re gonna get you out of this low  landonorris: God I miss you so much  landonorris: You’re fucking incredible  -Anything for you 😘  landonorris: 😘😘 -I’m still pretty jet lagged so I might head to sleep now  landonorris: Ok gorgeous   landonorris: This was fun :)  -Hehe it really was -If we can’t wait until we see each other in person then maybe we should try a phone call next time  landonorris: Fuck I’d say yes except these walls are super thin and I don’t want my parents and siblings to hear every detail about how I want to bend you over your desk and fuck the shit outta you -Fuck offfjffjjfjfjf oh my gosh  landonorris: What?? -You’re making me blush go away 😂  landonorris: 😜 -I seriouslyyyy gotta sleep  landonorris: Yes you do  landonorris: Sleep well baby -You too 💕 I’m gonna imagine you’re cuddling me the whole time  landonorris: Wish I could 🧡🧡 -💕💕

Lando laid there for a little bit, just staring at your little pink hearts with a lovesick grin on his face, still giving his heart a chance to calm down after the events of the previous hour. He scrolled back up your conversation and screenshotted the last little bit of your saucy conversation, starting from his audio recording attachment down to your shared conclusions and then he scrolled back down to your promise of a job. The two most important things to share with his best friends for when they woke up. 

 landonorris: *sent a screenshot*  landonorris: Just made her cum twice over text so anyway how's your nights going 😌  landonorris: *sent a screenshot*   landonorris: And she’s going to help me get the fuck outta this place   landonorris: Get you a girl that can do both  landonorris: I love her so much  landonorris: I can’t wait for the day I can tell her that  landonorris: Good night guys  landonorris: Talk tomorrow 🧡

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♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐎 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄) ❞

c/w: spoilers for 261, angst, possible happy ending? i'm so sorry lmao.

Body and soul — many in jujutsu had spent millennia contemplating the connection between these two — were they two separate entities co-existing, or were they always one, until they parted in death? And even if they were to part — does the soul still linger? 

You didn’t know — and you didn’t care. 

“What do you mean you don’t care what happens to your body?” Satoru wiped the blood from his hands, before brushing past you to wash it in the sink, diluted scarlet swirling down the drain just as your stomach had upon hearing what he said. 

You only knew that your heart belonged to one man. And he would take it with him with his death. Even as he left his body behind. But your heart wasn’t your concern, no, his body was. 

“Sweetheart—“ 

“No, don’t,” you already know what he’s going to say — a quick witted joke that you have no faith in him, empty reassurance that he’ll win — anything but an answer to your question, “I don’t know how people call you uncaring, the only person you don’t care for is yourself,” 

The Strongest. The Six Eyes User. The Gojo Clan Leader. Anything — anything but calling him who he is — Satoru Gojo. 

He’s shaking his head. “I’m not going to lose, so it’s a pointless—“ 

“Satoru,” and you grit your teeth, wondering if your words were a curse themselves, and that you dare not utter them, but you do anyway, “you don’t know that. Not for sure,” your words are a whisper, one you think wouldn’t be heard and manifested by a higher power — because you know that jujutsu is too cruel not to. 

“What is a dead body? I’ll be gone,” his back still faces you, wiping his hands off, and you’re shaking your head, “the body and soul—“ 

“They are one, in far too many ways—“ your eyes burn with tears as you hear his sigh, “so Geto’s body deserves a burial, but yours doesn’t?” 

You stab at a nerve — it’s a low blow, but one you had to deal, if only to get through that damned infinity of his — the wall he had kept up, even with you. Close, but never close enough. 

“Don’t—“ he cuts you off, gentle but hard, sword hitting shield, sparks fly as the metal meets, “it’s different—“ 

“How?” 

“I gave my consent, for one,” he says, his hands leaning against sink, head hanging, “and my body isn’t being used for a cheap trick,” and the bitterness still lingers on his tongue, and you know the moment flashes before his eyes, again and again — if he hadn’t hesitated, if he hadn’t let the past hold him, if he didn’t been such a fool—  “they need me—“ 

You need him. 

“I know, I know they need you,” you swallow the bile rising in your throat, but you spit acid all the same, “but do they have to take your dead body too?” 

And he finally turns, skies softening when they see the drops slipping down your cheeks, and his steps echo in the silence of the bunker, hollow just as this conversation was, “Y’know I have to,” 

“I know that, I know Yuta is making the right choice, it’s for the good of everyone,” except you, except us, “but it doesn’t make it any less difficult,” 

And his arms wind their way around you, pressing you against him, his fingers winding through your hair, “I’m going to come back to you,” hands sliding down your sides, “I always will,” 

“It’s not just this,” your fingers cup his cheek, his face leaning into your touch, “you’re not alone, Toru. I’m here.” 

“You’re here, huh?” he murmurs, more to himself than you, “if I die, you have my full permission to kick my ass,” 

“And I will be,” you kiss him, fingers sliding to the nape of his neck, brushing against his undercut, “I don’t care about the strongest,” your lips brush soft kisses against your cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead, before finally finding his lips, “I only care about Satoru Gojo, I just need you, only you,”

He presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing his, “You have me,” but you didn’t know for how long, how long you could touch his cheek like this and not feel cold rigid skin underneath your fingertips, how long you could kiss his lips and have him kiss back, and how long it would be until you could hold his hand again, “and you have my heart,” and he gives a small chuckle, “maybe not the part everyone wants—“ 

“It’s the one I want,” you cut him off with a soft kiss, “I want all of you, every inch, but your heart? That already is mine,” your head pressed against his chest, feeling the muscle contract underneath, as if it would reassure you that it would keep doing that. 

But it didn’t. 

“I’ll stay,” Shoko furrows her brow, “he would want me to,” Satoru Gojo’s body laid on a slab of cold metal,  cold as his skin was now — and cold as your heart was now, without the warmth of his love to dwell in. Ugly stitches marred his stomach, right where Sukuna had sliced through him — you watched it, you couldn’t look away, and you watched the smile on his lips until it fell slack. 

Just like the rest of him. 

“He would understand why you couldn’t—“ 

“It really did upset him that you didn’t object,” and Shoko’s mouth opens and closes, her eyes shutting, “but I know that’s only because you had faith he would win,” and you add, “and he knew that too — he was just pouting, what he does best,” and your fingers trace over his lips — Shoko had done a good job cleaning the blood from his face, “did best,” and Shoko frowns again. 

“You don’t—“ 

“I’m his wife,” you say, “for better or worse, it’s my duty to stay with him, it’s the least he deserves,” your fingers skin over his forehead, before pressing a sweet kiss to the rigid skin, knowing that the smooth skin would be overwritten with jagged stitches — the thread pulled from the fabric of your own life that laid before you, leaving you in pieces, “because he may be a monster, but all of us are the real devils — for letting him bear it alone,” and you shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek, “I won’t make that mistake again,” 

You miss who you you used to be without this weight around your neck, desd bodies piled on top of your back, back broken under the grief, and yet you still walked on. Because you know it’s what he would have wanted, as his ghost whispers in your ear. 

Body and soul — if it was one, you wondered if he could feel your touch, sense your presence, and hear your words. And you hoped he could — but you know he was listening somewhere either way, so you whispered the only words you meant with your entire heart and soul—

“I love you," you murmur, before turning away — you don't see the way his fingers twitch for you.

Those words were still a curse all the same.

[lilacstarx]

☆ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴜs

↳ Summary: And you will still see it until the end of time, the loss of your life.

↳Genre: Angst/trabble

↳ Gender-neutral Reader

↳Warning: Angst No Comfort, Misunderstanding, Messy/Clean Break Ups, Mixed Signals, Reader Is describe You, mentions of Alcohol, almost getting married, Reader Is left hoping for something, Robin is mentioned (2.2 Spoilers penacony on sunday part)

𝔍𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔜𝔲𝔞𝔫

Finding yourself packing every last piece of your things and essentials that needed to be packed first, is this how it will end?

You burst into tears, just today when Jing Yuan told you that the planned wedding that you two had been working so hard to plan would be cancelled.

"I love you, I really do, but I wish to call off our wedding, my sparrow" You loathed how calm he was, arms crossed, calling you by that dearing name as if it will help the shattering of your broken heart.

"O-of course" palms sweaty, straining to maintain your breath, you wanted to yell or even question why, but you stayed still, stopping yourself from crying in front of the man you once dreamed of marrying. "I'll pack my things."

The memories felt like a broken record repeating itself. You longed to know the reason, but no amount of arguing and problem solving would help. Jing Yuan had already made a decision.

Just like that, you were gone by the morning, leaving nothing in your shared room but the ring that had meant everything laying on the bedside table.

𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔰 ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬

You can't remember how many drinks you had tonight. It's strange that you're not here to celebrate, but rather to drink till the sensation of melancholy fades.

Dreaming is such a foolish thing. You thought it was hilarious how you disliked alcohol, yet here you were alone at a bar a few years earlier; you were an assistant.

To the one and only veritas ratio, a genius, you wished it had stayed that way rather than falling in love with an idiot wearing an alabaster head.

In fact, it was ridiculous how he fell in love with you first and left you "our stage of relationship is going nowhere, im afraid that this is the end and i wish you the best"

Chuckling to yourself, remembering the words he uttered a few days ago, in actuality it was pathetic, and suddenly it was evident what his true goals were.

You're nothing but a victim of his scheming experiments. "Veritas, what have you done to me?" you whine to yourself as you prepare to walk back to your hotel room.

Maybe in your dreams he stayed with you, his arms wrapped around your waist, and read a book to lure you to sleep. Yes, it was less scary that way.

𝔖𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔶

It was no secret that you were the amazing spouse of Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony, who spoiled you in every aspect. 

“My beloved deserves to be spoiled only with the finest of things” Sunday said, tucking a few strands of hair from your ear and wanting to see the pair of earrings he gifted. 

Marking you as off limits and only his as if the ring on your finger doesn't make up for it 

In truth, you were happy. waltzing at the empty ballroom in a cozy afternoon, asking Sunday to take a break from the mountains of paperworks that kept him occupied due to the upcoming charmony festival

You wished you knew what he was actually feeling at the time.

Now, as you lay on the hospital bed, surrounded by the family nurses and doctors, together with Robin, they were checking on you two.

Looking around expecting to get a sight of Sunday only to be left with a teary-eyed robin by your side explaining that Sunday was out of reach and not even the family knows where he is.

Holding Robin for comfort, "we will find him" you whispered soothingly, thinking how Sunday believed leaving you safe and stranded was a better option.

©Do Not Repost Without Permission or Translate

[inurnctdreams]

dress - m.l

idol!mark x idol fem!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, established relationship, one shot, song fic (maybe?? i wouldn’t class it as one but there are references to lyrics and the song inspired the fic so??)

warnings: swearing, very suggestive (grinding, making out, over the clothes stuff but no explicit sex), alcohol, mentions of being tipsy/drunk (mark and reader have been drinking but everything is consensual), pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, mine/yours, dude (affectionate)), mdni

wc: 3.1k

notes: this entire thing stemmed from this gifset that gave me mark brainrot and made me think of the song dress by taylor swift

you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to be paying attention to the conversation happening in front of you right now. one of the executives for mbc… or was it kbs? whoever it was, they were important in the industry and they were talking at you and your group mates about your latest comeback stage… or maybe next year’s end of year concert that was already in the planning stages? you’d kind of stopped listening about five minutes ago. and it wasn’t your fault, really. you took your career seriously and wouldn’t dream of disrespecting anyone who was showing interest in your group by ignoring them usually, but you’d heard zhong chenle’s signature dolphin laugh across the room and that had been it. he’s here.

it would obviously be absolutely, outrageously scandalous for you to take off mid conversation, make a beeline for the group that had walked in and greet him like you want to. you have some modicum of self control and societal responsibility. and it isn’t a surprise, you knew he’d be here, you’d even gotten updates via text with a rough estimate of when he’d walk in. but you haven’t seen him in person in over three weeks and you’ve been looking forward to this night since the last time he’d kissed you goodbye at your door before sneaking back out of your dorm building to his car. 3am on a tuesday morning had turned out to be the only time the both of you were in the same city and without obligations in months. comebacks, tours, interviews. both of your lives were so hectic, it was difficult enough to get a moment to yourself to breathe, let alone together. now he’s here, in the same room as you, and you can’t do anything about it. the anticipation is killing you.

it hadn’t stopped you from pausing mid sentence when you’d registered his presence, though. disguising it with a cough and a modest apology, you’d finished your words and promptly stopped contributing to the conversation. smiling politely with your best poker face on as you tuned out of whatever was being discussed further and listened out across the room for any sign of him. chenle’s laugh is infectious, so donghyuck’s high pitched giggles soon joined in, audible above the rumble of laughter that had erupted from that corner of the room. but that was it. once the joke had worn off, the usual sounds of casual conversation replaced it, no doubt one of the older members’ doing as they reminded them of their surroundings. the first hour or so of award show after parties tend to be just the thing you’re ignoring: prominent figures in the industry congratulating and backhandedly complimenting idols whilst trying to promote something or take advantage of rookies with less media training by getting them to reveal secrets or agree to things.

once they’ve either gotten what they wanted or given up trying, they make their way out and the real party starts. realising you’re going to get nothing from the indiscernible voices in their direction, you start to work out how long you’ve been here, and how long you have to wait before it won’t be suspicious of you to drag your group over there to greet them. unfortunately, you’re interrupted midway through your mental calculations by something digging into your side. it’s gone before you even register the touch, light and inconspicuous. you glance down momentarily before meeting the eyes of your group mate, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“sorry, i didn’t quite catch that last bit.” your years of experience in the spotlight and exceptional training kick in immediately. you turn back to the middle-aged man in front of you with a practised innocent smile. “what were you saying?”

you smile graciously at the waitress as she hands you a flute of expensive champagne off of the shiny silver tray in her hand. taking a small sip, you school your face into a neutral expression to hide the wince at the acidic taste. you’ve never been much of a fan of the stuff, but it’s always handed out at events so you’ve gotten somewhat used to it in the years you’ve been legally allowed to drink at them. this is your second glass, and yet again you find yourself longing for the boring portion of the night to be over so the alcohol can start flowing more freely. you meet the eyes of your group mate and share a look, she hates champagne too. giggling to yourselves, you almost don’t notice the group of twenty-something boys heading in your direction, led by taeyong.

you’re immediately at full attention, straightening up from the pillar you’d been leaning against and placing your half full champagne flute on the nearest surface as you grin at your friends approaching. it’s almost comical, how the amount of people surrounding you in that moment feels like you’re looking for him in a crowd rather than just among his own group members. but then yuta moves to say hi to your group mate and there he is. god, he looks heavenly. the all black ensemble complimented by silver jewellery, his artfully tousled hair, the hint of gloss that have his lips looking so shiny and kissable it’s taking all of your entire being not to ravish him right here and now in the middle of this crowded room. not that he needs any of it to start up the roaring of butterflies in your stomach or trigger the giddy high you’re feeling. no, mark lee makes you feel like this every time he looks at you. barefaced, old t-shirt and glasses on with a hint of stubble starting to grow in as you sit next to him in the studio. bleary eyed, half asleep and hair sticking up as your phone alarm goes off on his bedside table. hoodie, snapback and face mask hiding most of his face as he slips into your practise room and catches your gaze in the mirror.

“y/n.” and everything just stops. the rest of the room falls away, the roar of conversation as your groups say hi is silenced, all you can see, hear, feel is him. the way he looks you up and down appreciatively that still makes your heart flutter despite it happening every time he sees you. he just has this way of making you feel like you’re the only one his attention would ever be captured by.

“hi, mark.” there’s a smile on your face, and you’re trying to make it your usual polite idol, public appearance smile, but really you have no control and you can feel the corners of your mouth turning up further against your will. you think that if you looked, his would be similar, probably that mischievous half-smirk he does that makes his dimple appear. and you love his dimple, but you’re currently captivated by the lovestruck look in his eyes. in that moment, you’re thankful you’d put your glass down because you would’ve dropped it. your hands shake as you force yourself to hold back from him. your groups are publicly very good friends, having known each other as trainees and debuting within a year of each other. you and mark have been best friends for years, and that’s all it was until the mutual pining hit its peak. there was something so beautiful about being in love with your best friend, with someone who understood how demanding your career was and already knew everything about you and who was still your best friend alongside being your boyfriend. around you, the rest of nct are giving your group mates half-hugs or shoulder nudges, but you don’t move to touch him, knowing you won’t let go if you initiate physical contact.

“y/n!” johnny rips you from your bubble. you have no idea how long you and mark were stood there, staring into each other’s eyes with that look on your faces, but it must’ve been long enough if someone’s intervened. the older idol pulls you into a short hug, but not before leaning down to murmur in your ear. “we know you guys are like, sickeningly in love, but would it kill you to not make it super obvious while there’s still cameras everywhere?”

oops.

“mark!” you whisper. or at least you hope you do, you’re pretty tipsy by this point in the evening. he just laughs, equally inebriated, and continues pulling you down the empty corridor, fingers intertwined. on a scale of zero to having your relationship exposed by dispatch come morning, sneaking off together a mere forty minutes after the industry execs had left the party is probably a solid deniable accusation. not exactly a great idea, but if anyone found out it wouldn’t be the end of the world, just carefully curated excuses in a statement and an earful from management. the first couple of doors he tries are locked, but third time seems to be the charm as you’re pulled into a room and plunged into darkness when the door clicks shut behind you.

“c’mere baby.” and you let go. all the pressure from being around so many people that could ruin your careers with one article, all the stolen glances across the room, all the secret smiles you share, all the patience that had been slowly wearing thin the longer you were in his proximity but not being able to do anything about it. it’s been been building all evening, and the dam finally breaks.

you practically throw yourself into his arms, winding your own around his neck as his wrap around your middle. he holds you to him so tight it hurts a little, but you’re probably slightly choking him with how strong your own grip is. the initial ‘holy shit you’re here and i can touch you without everyone looking’ moment passes and you both relax slightly. he still holds you close but it’s more grounding and comforting than anything. you bury your face into his neck and just let yourself breathe him in. his scent, the underlying notes of mark and home underneath the fancy cologne. the steady, comforting beat of his pulse against you. his arms are your safe place and being held by him makes everything better, even if just a little. you can’t count the number of times you’ve been exhausted or stressed or upset or scared or angry and all he’s had to do is pull you into him. you’ve cried on him, ranted into his chest and listened to him murmur words of encouragement and reassurance and love into your ear. there’s no other place you’d ever want to be. and even when you couldn’t physically be with him, he’s been there on facetime, or phone call, or over text. you’ve done the same for him without hesitation more times than you can imagine. he’s your person, your best friend, your soulmate, your everything, your one and only, your lifeline. you feel him press firm kisses into your hair and smile against his throat, snuggling into him happily.

“missed you.” you mumble. the alcohol in your system is amplifying the giddy feeling that’s thrumming through your entire being. all semblance of public image and self-control come crumbling down in front of him like always until all that’s left is the unguarded, most raw versions of yourselves laid bare for each other. he squeezes your hips and pulls back a little to look you in the eyes. you’ve adjusted to the darkness enough to make out his facial features and that same unfiltered, pure love is staring back at you from earlier but now he’s unabashedly grinning at you and his cheeks are flushed with happiness (and alcohol). his dimple is out in full force as he giggles right back at you. this is your mark, the one reserved for you and you only.

“fuck, you’re so perfect.” he whispers. “wish we could stay in here forever, just us.”

“i know.” you bite your lip, and his eyes zero in on your mouth. “wait, where even are we?”

“i don’t care.” and just as quickly as the wholesome, lovesick feeling had flooded you, the arousal and want flares up, threatening to consume you the second he grabs your face and claims your lips in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. he walks you both backwards until you’re pressed up against the door, gripping the sides of his jacket both for stability and to satiate the overwhelming need to get your hands on him. you whine against his lips as one of his hands slips into your hair and pulls gently, letting your hands roam under his jacket all over his waist and up his chest until they’re holding his shoulders. you use the leverage to push yourself up onto your tiptoes to match his heated, open-mouth kisses with the same carnal energy. he groans, the sound making you shiver and adding to the warmth pooling in your abdomen. the hand that’s not in your hair drops down to slide around you and grab your hip, pulling you even closer so you’re flush against his body. the need for oxygen is beginning to grow, but you’re addicted to the floaty, lightheaded feeling that comes along with it. it soon becomes too much, though, the both of you breathing heavily as you break away for air, but he wastes no time in leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and neck, each one hotter and more filthy than the last.

“mark.” you whimper, turning your head to the side to grant him more access to your throat. he nips at your pulse point softly, careful not to leave a visible mark, but it makes you gasp and arch into him further all the same.

“my pretty girl.” he pants against your skin. “all mine.”

“mm-hmm.” you agree. “yours.” and you are, fully and irrevocably his in every sense of the word. you thread your own hands into his hair and pull his face back up to kiss him again. you could spend forever kissing him and never be satisfied, never get bored. it doesn’t matter than you know him better than you know yourself, or that you’ve spent hours in this exact same position with him already. there seems to be this endless need inside you for mark lee that started when you met him. you were kids back then, but you always craved his presence, his attention. over the years it’s developed, but the need for him has never wavered, even after he became yours.

“been thinking about this all night, you look incredible.” he confesses between kisses, both hands dropping from around you to wander under your dress and start caressing your thighs. his touch is electrifying, leaving trails of fire in his wake as he slides his hands up to grab your ass and squeeze it. the subsequent jolt of excitement has you whimpering against him and his grip moves to the crease where your ass and thighs meet. he kneads the soft flesh there sensually before squeezing again, and that’s all the warning you get before he lifts you up and presses you back against the door in one fluid motion without even breaking the kiss. you’re quick to wrap your legs around his waist, ankles crossing against his back. not that you think he’ll drop you, it’s never happened before, you just use the leverage to pull him in until you’re happily trapped between the cold, hard surface of the door and your boyfriend’s warm, inviting body. you both groan as his hips roll into yours. whether it was a result of you pulling him in or an intentional movement on his part is unknown, but the way he bites your lip and grinds his crotch into yours again is definitely not an accident. with you now supporting yourself, he’s free to bring one hand up to your chest, groping at your tits through your dress. his hips haven’t stopped moving, and you can feel the way he’s quickly hardening against your underwear. whilst the sensation is incredible, it snaps you out of the trance you’ve been in.

“babe.” you moan. “mark, baby, we can’t.”

“you mean we shouldn’t.” he smirks.

“no, i mean someone is going to notice we’re gone soon, if they haven’t already, and come looking for us.” you counter. he stops moving and looks up at you, the fog of arousal starting to clear from his expression. he sighs exasperatedly, knowing you’re right.

“fine.” he lowers you back to your feet. you know you both probably no longer resemble the perfect idol look your stylists and hair and makeup artists crafted before you decided to sneak off for a tipsy make out session in one of the back rooms, so you feel around for a light switch. your eyes squeeze shut as the room is flooded with light, blinking a couple times to readjust your vision. a giggle escapes you as you take in how adorably disheveled mark looks, hair tousled, collar rumpled and the pink hue of your lipstick smudged around his lips. although, you’re sure you look pretty similar.

you spend a couple minutes making yourselves look presentable again before you rejoin the party. “i should probably go first, give you a couple of extra minutes to calm down.” you tease, eyeing the tent in his pants.

“i bet if i checked, you’d still be soaking wet for me.” he retorts, eyes darkening slightly, sending a flush of heat straight to your core. he’s not lying. you take a deep breath to compose yourself before opening the door and stepping out into the corridor. you turn back to your boyfriend.

“behave.”

“the rest of this party’s gonna be torture, having to watch you go around looking like that.” he looks you up and down appreciatively again, though this time it’s a lot less innocent. you’re so glad that your schedules have calmed down enough to allow you more time together for the next month or so, the last couple months without being able to see him properly have been rough.

“well you can show me how much you like it when we get back to yours, later.”

“i plan to.”

“good. ‘cause i only bought this dress so you could take it off.” you smirk as the door shuts behind you.

“not helping, dude!” his voice is muffled as you begin walking back towards the party, giggling to yourself as you go. “i hate you!”

“no you don’t!”