#Home Bar Rendering

[scott-arthur-millwork]

Custom Home Bar Rendering - Cabinetry and Millwork - Edmonton, AB

From the walnut cabinetry, to the brick walls, tin ceilings, and stone countertops - the ultimate man cave!

For many of us, imagining how all the details of our design choices will work together is difficult. We know what we like and what we do not, but blending all those preferences and styles into a well-designed space is not always as straightforward. With our 3D renderings, you can give yourself the reassurances that you will love all your aesthetic choices together, just as much as you like each element on its own.

To learn more, please visit:

Interactive Renderings - Cabinets and Millwork | Edmonton, AB

[glancingeye]

A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away. (c)

Source glancingeye.com

[chasing-after-memories]

Modern Living Room Idea for a large, modern living room with a medium-toned wood floor, a bar, and beige walls and a media wall

[junhuiscent]

—𝗦𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Your boyfriend, Woozi, gets jealous when you pay attention to Hoshi at dinner instead of him. When you get home he ends up proving who you belong to and leaves a reminder to Hoshi.

—𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Woozi x reader (ft Hoshi)

—WC: 2.1k

—𝗰𝘄: smut with no plot (tiniest bit of plot), unprotected sex, jealousy, degradation, mean dom, sub reader, fingering, slight dumbification, dirty talk (kinda icky), phonecall during sex

You were sat, shuffling in your seat around the booth, with the normal group of friends that surrounded you when your boyfriend took you out to see them, yet the atmosphere felt entirely unfamiliar. Opposite you, sat your boyfriend, Woozi, whose eyes had not left you and the occupant of the seat neighbouring yours once. Woozi had been quiet the whole day so it was to no ones surprise that you ended up talking to the lively, mood-maker that is Kwon Hoshi.

You countlessly attempted to ignore your boyfriend’s hovering gaze as you engaged in conversation, but his lingering eyes only made you want to push him further. You had calculated the perfect time to swiftly glide your hand over Hoshi’s arm, amidst laughter.

Too subtle for Hoshi to notice. Too close for Woozi not to notice.

You witnessed the darkening of your partners eyes as the enthusiasm in your response to Hoshi's words increased. You knew how to push his buttons and you’d be an idiot to not prioritise of this fact.

As the alcohol in your glass refilled, the weight of your head became more prominent and the outside world faded into obscurity whilst your head lay, resting upon Hoshi’s shoulder. You let the fluorescent bar light’s deep hum blur your senses as you rolled your head in need of comfort, not noticing the contact of your lips on Hoshi’s bare shoulder caused by your adjustment.

This was until you were promptly awoken from your drunken haze as a glass of water slammed down onto the space in front of you, the contents of the glass slightly pouring over edges and dripping into the accumulating puddle which began to decorate the table.

“Sober up.. now, please.” Woozi spoke with little expression which was also paired with the humourless line his lips were now pursed into.

You were met with these cold words which alone fought against the seductive call of your intoxicated daze. However, despite your consciousness, Hoshi picked up the glass and fed it into your mouth, you maintained eye contact with the man out of shock at his sudden action although Jihoon had already read your actions differently.

In a matter of seconds, you were whisked out of your seat, the glass remaining in Hoshi’s hand, as you landed in the grasp of Jihoon who directed you towards his car.

Once you arrived in your seat, silence, along with the steady beat of your heart were the only sounds occupying the car.

“What kind of game are you playing?” Jihoon’s words sliced through the air like a sudden, cold breeze leaving goosebumps along your exposed arms.

You didn’t know how to reply so you didn’t. Even if you had replied, the loud rev of the engine would have rendered your words inaudible. With every turn of the wheels you could view your boyfriend’s patience thinning, until you finally reached the door of your apartment.

The slam of the door closing was followed by Jihoon’s speech.

“Do you enjoy acting like a slut for my friends then?”

His vulgar language caught you by surprise, however you would have been lying if you said it wasn't the reason why you had been rubbing your thighs together. It wasn't abnormal for Woozi to swear but he had never directed that language towards you.

You turned to the side as a signal of opposition before replying, “You’re overreacting, i wasn’t even as close as you normally are with him.” You left the statement with a roll of your eyes which you knew was a mistake as soon as you did it. Yet, that didn’t explain the excitement which enraptured you within the same moment.

Jihoon pushed you against the wall wihtout hesitation, your back facing him. You could feel his sturdy grip on your arms, guiding his action, which made you feel utterly powerless in the dynamic.

“If you’re gonna act like a whore, then i’ll have to treat you like one too.” Jihoon whispered slowly into your ear, his front pressed against your back as his lips lightly graze the back of your ear with every word. You melted into his touch, this new pleasure seemingly overwhelming when paired with the apparent bulge pressing into your skirt from behind.

This light touch stemmed into slow, measured kisses which worked their way from your ears to venturing down your neck, his heavy breath following the same path and sending shivers down you to your core. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, his strength easily overpowering yours as he kept you remained against the wall without faltering.

His fingers trailed tentatively down your arms until they intertwined with your hands before twisting you to face him. The heavy weight of his gaze left you speechless. His eyes appeared to be overcome by rage mixed with desire, clearly mentally undressing you with every flick of his vision. This eye contact didnt last long before his grip sweeped back up your revealed arms, retracing his previous actions before his fingers began teasing the hem of your top. Your mind went blank as he slid off your top and attached his mouth onto one of your nipples.

You let your head fall against the wall as you arch your back into his touch. His arm slided behind your waist to hold you closer as he explores your chest with his mouth, his other hand kneading your breast.

He detached his mouth to let out a few hurried words before making contact with the other.

“I’m so much better than him.”

He kisses your breasts messily between words, his voice coming out muffled yet his power is still present through every word leaving his mouth.

“We both know he’d never be able to make you feel the things I do”

“He wouldn’t have the power to turn you into the needy slut you end up as with me, huh?”

You moan into his words, his voice controlling your body. His knee rose between your legs as he allowed you to grind down in desperation for friction. His hand promptly replaced his knee as he frantically pulls your panties down, mirroring your eagerness.

“Hm, are you this wet from me or is it from Hoshi?”

His voice makes you go numb as you choke out a pathetic reply,

“Y-You”

Jihoon enters one of his fingers inside you at your response before speaking again, as a smirk forms with his words.

“Who was it? Sorry i missed that.”

You desperately try to form the sentence he desires but all that escapes you is a moan.

“Awh, are you really that affected by just one of my fingers?” Jihoon adds a second finger. “Come on, tell me i’m better than him and maybe you’ll get more than just my fingers”

You hold onto his shoulder to steady yourself as you force the words out of yourself.

“It’s you. Jihoon. You make me feel like this. Hoshi couldn’t.” You manage to spill the words out but you are only met with Jihoon’s low chuckle as feedback.

“Do you really think a slut like you deserves to get fucked on my cock?” He speaks before pushing up your skirt, the fabric collecting in his grasp as he takes you along with him to his desk.

He pushes you onto the desk as you stumble back in attempt not to damage any of his music equipment. He promptly undoes his belt before dropping his clothing. You are met with the sight of his bulge, straining against the fabric of his underwear before it’s pulled down and revealed to you.

His length stands up proudly, veins decorating the sides as they travel up his shaft until they ultimately reach his rosy-shaded tip, precum seeping out, acting as an invitation for you. He cocks an eyebrow at your reaction before pulling you onto his lap. He steadies your hips above him as you prepare to sink down and adjust to his great size.

"Don't you need a condom, Hoonie?" You murmur out through half-lidded eyes.

This thought process is swiftly stolen from you as he forces you to take him all at once. The stretch of his dick carving out your insides as every vein drags against your most sensitive spots becoming overwhelming. You attempt to move back up but he holds you still.

“Remember what I said. You don’t deserve it, do you?”

“You’re gonna stay right here until I say so, understood?”

You only respond with a weak nod as Jihoon’s hands work their way to his mouse. The only sound you are left with is the clicking of his keyboard and the slight remnants of music which escape his headphones. You always found him the sexiest when he was working on his music, but now that attraction only appeared to be torture. Yet you were aware he was still affected, he remained hard, and every twitch left you squirming, pleading for more.

The sound of him turning off his computer acted as the saviour to your desperation as he finally looked towards you again. Your eyes finally locking again as you choke back a moan at his length twitching inside you, pushing at your insides, making you weak again.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” He asked, his words sounding warmer yet his tone still remained just as cold as your previous interaction.

“Please— Jihoon. I just want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

At your words he stood up and pushed you around to face the equipment on his desk. He allowed no time for you to prepare yourself before he slid his length into you once again, providing you with the sensation you had been longing for. His hand lay rested upon your back as he pushed you down further, allowing for the optimum angle for him to reach as deep as possible with every thrust. His pace remained constant, drilling into you at a speed which made you question if he was human. His hips rolled against you in the motion you had seen him display countless times when dancing. The same motion that pushed you forward with every thrust whilst forcing the moans out of your throat. The same motion that proved who you really belonged to.

It seemed as though your thoughts coincided with eachothers as the overlapping sounds of your moans and skin meeting with every push which had been creating a symphony of passion was interrupted by the sounds caused by his ringtone. You felt Woozi's hand cover your mouth yet his thrusts didnt falter as he answered the phone.

“What do you want, Hoshi?” You heard your boyfriend call out as he quickened his pace, driving you further into his desk.

Your eyes widened at the realisation of who was on the other side of the phone. Instantly, you attempt to silence your uncontrollable moans, being aided by Woozi's hand. Your attempt proved to be futile due to the sheer speed and depth possessed by Woozi.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Jihoon states coldly into the phone as he punctuates each word with a thrust before releasing his hand from your mouth, allowing the trail of moans to travel through the phone and into Hoshi’s ears before he hangs up.

“That’ll remind him who you belong to..” You hear your boyfriend mutter as he holds onto your hips, his pace not even close to halting as he feels you clench tighter. Your boyfriend's brutal pace, paired with the control he holds over you in this moment as he selfishly claims you, pushes you further.

“You close, huh?” He speaks out into the room, aware of the way your body works as you nod into the desk you are bent on, nudging his mic further. His thrusts begin to hold more power behind them yet his pace becomes messier. His grasp travels from your hip to your hair as he pulls it lightly, causing your back to arch along with his action.

This action causes you to hiss out in pain, however at this point the line between pain and pleasure had been made indistinguishable. You feel your pleasure building with every knock against your body. Woozi leans down over your back, hugging you from behind whilst kissing patterns on your upper back and his movements somehow reaching even deeper. You sqeal out as your body locks and your eyes roll back.

Woozi doesn’t stop. His movements pick up as he works towards his high with you. You can feel him twitch inside you before he leaves with with one final thrust, emptying his contents inside you. Your knees become weak as you are left unable to move on his desk. Reluctantly, he pulls out, leaving you with a single stream of his cum seeping out of you as your mind remains blank.

Woozi gathers your hair for you before turning you around to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I really hope I don't have to remind you that you belong to me like this again, although I'm sure you enjoyed it."

[logaenhowlett]

I hc Logan as being very physically clingy when he's alone with his partner :)) once he passes the threshold of vulnerability there is NO going back he is a cuddlebug

oh, absolutely. i’m going with origins!logan for this one. i just know, somewhere beneath all that adamantium, that man is a fiend for physical affection.

— CLINGY ORIGINS!LOGAN HCs

Personal space becomes more of an unheard phenomenon once Logan gets comfortable.

Of course, it’s not that he’s obsessive to an unhealthy level. No. He just has a barely-filled physical touch meter that goes balls-to-the-walls and suddenly, he's a three hundred pound koala of sorts. Good luck prying him off.

You’d think he got smacked upside the head. Maybe some drunk at the bar he frequents landed a few hits. Maybe his buddies at the lumberyard were droning on and on about how their partners are too affectionate and he got self-conscious.

Is he doing enough? Are you satisfied with him?

This man has spent the better part of two centuries keeping people at a claw's length. And now? The floodgates are open, and Logan's hell-bent on making up for lost time.

He'll find any excuse for contact. It's all very shy at first. When you're walking together, his pinkie will somehow tangle with yours. When you're both heading for the doorway, he'll accidentally bump into you, his hand conveniently grabbing your hip. "Sorry, darlin'... didn't see ya there." (He totally saw you there).

The kitchen becomes his playground. Reaching for the same dish towel, purposely hovering behind you while putting away groceries, helping you stir something on the stove, his chest warm and solid against your back.

You swear he starts purring. Soft, little hums of content as he's nuzzling into your neck. He'll deny, of course.

Logan develops a fascination with your hands. He'll instinctively hold one as you're talking, ghosting random patterns with his thumb. If you pay attention, he's really tracing the words 'I love you' over and over again.

Long before either of you actually say it.

Sometimes, he'll press his lips to your knuckles, before quickly looking away, pretending he didn't just melt his own heart.

Forget about being cold. If the breeze ever dares to catch you off-guard, it's game over. Logan's arms are around you in seconds. You'll be warm, all right, and perhaps slightly suffocated. But mostly warm. Not that you'd ever complain.

He's all cocky and confident until you start reciprocating. You seek his biceps. You lean into him on the couch. You initiate hugs, cuddles—and Logan's personal favourite—sweet, slow kisses.

That's when he's gone. Rendered stupid even. His vocabulary reduces to happy sighs and even happier grumbles.

And the best part? He stops questioning it. He stops wondering if he's doing enough, if you're satisfied. The sneering voices in his head simmer down, ebbing away to the corners of his mind.

All because of you.

One night, well into witching hours, Logan remains half asleep, stroking seemingly nonsensical words on your back as you're tucked beneath his chin. Yet, the shape of the letters become more and more obvious.

My home. My home. My home.

Tender kisses land along his jawline as you whisper. "You're my home too, Logan."

He won't reply. But, the prettiest shade of pink settles across his cheeks, and it stays there forever.

[seattlesellie]

Jealous. 🎀

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

cw: mean dom!ellie sub!reader, jealous kinda toxic ellie, eating it through the panties, orgasm denial, spit play (literally spits down ur panties like), exhibitionism, some dude named michael.

an: pls be gentle, i haven’t written in a long time! 💗 credit to angel gbc for the mod used in the picture above <3

something we can all agree on is the importance of aftercare — right?

Ellie is big on that obviously, as she should. Caressing her slim fingers down your body, planting wanton kisses on your shoulders, running her palms across your shaky thighs, whispering words of encouragement in your ear;

“Did so good for me, babe”

“I love you, so much”

“Need anything? hm?” She’d murmur against your skin whilst cradling your body from behind.

And she always insists on cleaning you up. She consistently renders you nothing but an achy mess, dried up juices staining your wobbly jelly thighs, combined sweat on your breasts and ribs, back of your neck. The ritual of bringing a wet towel to bed, swiping it’s fabric across your inner thighs, your face, your behind — is a sacred one for her. Not solely because she loves hearing your sweet, exhausted sighs of relief as she cleans the soil away, but also not solely because she gets to see your naked body in all of its glory again.

It’s the act of taking care of what’s hers. In a way, when she wipes your cum away, she’s taking care of herself — too.

Here, lays a solid proof that she can break things apart and put them back together again. She’s not a total fucking fuckup.

The ability of making you scream and cry, then moments later have you whisper in that saccharine voice of yours an airy “love you s’much, Els…”

It’s fucking exhilarating.

She loves it every time, she does it every time.

But today… today you pissed her off. You poked the bear, for real this time.

There’s this new Michael guy in Jackson. He’s handsome, tall, has coal black curls that somehow stay soft and shiny even in this apocalyptic hellscape. He told Ellie and you where he was from, what he did, why he came. Ellie didn’t listen to a thing he was saying. It was like he turned into a fly and started loudly buzzing in her ear. He kept looking at you weird. Smiling at you, smirking, laughing at your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. She knows you have this affect on people, that damn charm, hell — you have this affect on her.

And she’s usually just playfully jealous, manages to keep it relatively tame and simple by tightening her grip on your waist.

But you just wouldn’t stop bringing him up. “Michael” this, and “Michael” that, “Michael invited us for dinner”, “Michael said this funny thing earlier”,

For all Ellie knows Michael could die in a ditch and she wouldn’t give a fuck.

You're on your way back home from the Tipsy Bison on a chilly Thursday night. Jesse was there, Dina, Maria... and Michael. She thinks of his name and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, tart, pungent.

"Meh, I'm more of a Tequila girl, Whiskey tastes like shit" you announced with a giggle. Michael rested his hand on your thigh, and agreed with a nod and a chuckle. For you, it meant nothing.

For Ellie, it meant everything.

Her blood pressure was usually low, steady, healthy as a bull. As of now, Ellie felt like she just ran a marathon. The blood rushed to her head and her brows furrowed without intention. She cracks her neck and moves it left and right, takes a long and burning sip out of her Whiskey and shuts her eyes. She repeats a mantra in her head; "I'm not angry, I'm not angry, It's fine."

But you're so damn intuitive.

"Els? y'tired?" you murmur towards your auburnette girlfriend. She suckles on her bottom lip and considers saying no, but she lies.

"Exhausted"

You leave the humble bar hand in hand, wrapped up in her big coat that smells of mint and wood and Ellie. She prays you won't mention his name, prays you could just go home and forget about this whole thing, but you do, innocently.

"Oh, Michael said one of the horses is sick, I'm thinking of helping out in the barn tomorrow an—"

She stops you mid sentence with a scoff and a tightening grip on your hand. "Oh, mhm, Michael said that?"

Her voice mocks your own a little.

You stop and shift your gaze towards Ellie who has her lips tucked in a tight line. Internally, she's cussing herself out. You don't deserve her anger, but she can't help herself. Your answer is an unsure hum. Her grip tightens even more, and it hurts your palm but you keep on walking side by side, quietly. Five minutes manage to pass with no words being muttered by no one. That's until she shakes her head and lets go of a husky chuckle.

"Did I do something?", you mutter doe eyed. Ellie stops in her tracks and inhales. She grabs you by your waist and walks towards you, making you have to clumsily pace backwards until your back meets a cold grey brick wall with a resounding thud. "Uhg!" You hiccup, breath catching down your throat. You even sweetly giggle, thinking in your head that this could possibly be just a sweet attack of PDA.

But her eyes are dark, gone from emerald to pine, pupils pitch black as big as a button. Her warm whiskey breath meets your nose and your top lip, you gulp. Why isn't she laughing? teasing?

"El?" your voice is still candied, always. Ellies mouth is agape, scarred eyebrows scrunched and furrowed as if she's confused, or pissed, or provoked. Her forehead meets yours so automatically, you attempt to connect your lips with a kiss but she backs away meanly. Albeit her taunting position, how intimidating and truly scary she looks whilst you're caged within her frame, your'e still smiling, you're still thinking she's just teasing.

You're not used to this, she knows, but god knows she yearns to teach you a lesson.

You don't fuck with what's hers.

She licks her bottom lip before she starts speaking.

"Take off your skirt"

Her voice nearly renders you drunk, It's huskiness, gruffness, it's depth, and really, you've only had one shot. Your cheeks heat up and your ears feel as if they're nearly burning. Her lips are so damn close to yours and she still won't let you kiss her.

"Wh... we're in public, we can't—" you stutter, eyes shifting downwards towards the knee she has shoved near your barely covered crotch. When she brings it upwards just to brush delicately on your inner thigh, you let go of a small gasp.

She responds to your gasp with a barely audible "Mhm?", her eyes sharpening with intent.

"Yes we can", she tsk's, and her voice taunts. Her eyes graze over your face, and you expect her next sentence to bite like the last one did, but her voice goes softer. "For me?", she cocks her head to the side.

And it simply pushes you over the edge.

You peel your skirt off of your body, asscheeks plastered over the brick wall as her body squeezes you further back, and you're left half naked with a piece of fabric scrunched below your knees, resting on your shoes. She eyes your body up and down, meeting your pleading and still confused eyes — and for a moment, thinks of just carrying you home and taking care of business once you get there. No jealousy, none of that.

But it's still bitter down her throat, and she can still picture his disgusting hand meeting your soft thigh, her soft thigh — as your body is hers, so that thought is ever so fleeting. It's either now or now.

Her cold as ice finger traces faint circles on your lower tummy, making the fine hairs of your body rise like soldiers. You whimper quietly as her finger snaps the elastic band of your panties and lets it smack down your pelvis. You rub your thighs together, but you're ever so pliant as she makes your legs spread wide with a boot covered foot opening up your calves like a gate.

She whispers in your ear. "Are you wet?", it makes you shiver.

"M'cold" you whine.

She scoffs.

She kneads your bra cup with her palm, squeezing an erect nipple with her thumb and middle finger. "Didn't ask that"

Her eyes meet your gaze and again she reconsiders this whole thing — because you truly look so needy, and your lips are so pouty and sweet and red with cold, you look as if you'd die if she didn't kiss you right now so how can she even be worried, let alone be jealous?

She knows how much you love her, how much you yearn for nobody but her, how her touch leaves you speechless time and time again.

But it's like something takes over, a dark figure, a figure that's thirsty and starving and wants to prove a thing it already knows.

It's an internal struggle, she doesn't want to be possessive,

She can't help it.

Your panties are striped with pink and white, and she looks at them as if they're the most expensive lace in the whole entire world. Her breathing gets heavier as she curls her fingers inside the cotton fabric, pupils darkening when she notices a sweet clear string of your arousal clinging from the entrance of your cunt to the bottom of your underwear.

She chuckles, followed by a sigh of relief that you notice. You are wet, right in the middle of the street where an innocent soul could catch you at any given moment. "Didn't answer cause you're shy?" She knows you so well. You bite your lip and nod, butterflies fighting in the pits of your stomach. A chaste kiss on the lips is all you get from her, and you deeply whine into the air. "At least kiss me!" you beg, — god, you're so cute when you're pissed.

Before landing on her knees, Ellie looks from side to side in order to check that there's truly nobody around, and no — not because she's scared to get caught, but because she'd die before she let someone see her girlfriend half naked with her skirt down her thighs.

Ellie is face to face with your quivering, pantie covered cunt. A wet patch greets her — a fuckin' pleasure, one she can't help but swipe her tongue across. Your choked up, terrified sound of a moan is a symphony to her hears, fuck Mozart. Her eager muscle of a tongue is so warm against your pussy you nearly forget it started snowing yesterday.

You buck your hips inwards, she groans. "No moving", she warns — simply to assert a dominance that has already been asserted. She kisses your little clit, coo's at the way it slightly pokes out of the fabric, erect and pumping on her tongue. "Ellie... Ellie... Ellie", you babble like a prayer, which she nods to. "S'my name, that's fuckin' right", she groans as her husky voice is muffled by your soaked panties.

"Ellie..." you repeat, thighs beginning to ache as you try and spread them further apart, almost sitting on her face.

Ellie, not Michael.

She smiles, greedy, triumphant.

She flicks her tongue on your clit, once, twice, three times before biting on your meaty pussy lips. You bite your knuckles in order to keep your voice down, but she glares up at you. "Do that again n'I swear to god I'm stopping" she growls.

You're not used to this side of her at all, but her voice makes your hole leak a small stream from deep inside. She feels it's wetness on her tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy as she audibly suckles your sweet, tangy, heavenly juices from the now sheer fabric. Her own spit runs down her chin, she doesn't even bother to wipe it off. All you can hear are your breathy, whiney moans, tiny begs of "take 'em off, please", regarding your panties, and Ellie's throaty groans. You're so wet from your own juices and her saliva it nearly gets uncomfortable, but then again you're so goddamn close to cumming.

You try taking matters to your own hands, attempting to peel off your panties from your waist with a shaky hand but she snarls and slaps your wrist away.

"Nuh uh, pussy's fuckin' mine, don't touch it"

With relentless sucking on your drenched clit, and soiled panties, she opens her eyes to merely glare at you again with a warning look. "When you're close, you let me know" she bites.

You don't respond.

A stinging slap meets your pussy, which makes your thighs shake, whole body jolt, and throat ache with a high pitched yelp.

"You're not listening" Ellie warns.

"You listen when I talk" she warns again. Her tongue meets your clit and it pushes it further and further up. You shake, eyesight gone blurry, you're close, you know it by the way the coil down your stomach threatens to snap, and by the way it tickles down there so damn bad.

"M'close" you brokenly wail.

She grunts deeply and stops completely. your heart nearly breaks, no no no no no. "Ellie, Ellie, Els, no!" You try and buck your hips forward but she holds you in place with an iron like grip. You buck them again and she peels off the fabric of your underwear, slightly rising up as she stares inside at the mess she made of you. There's a devilish smirk that creeps up from her lips, apple of one cheek rising. You let out a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps she'll actually fucking eat you out properly instead of letting you suffer inside a warm, wet material of a mess that truly doesn't look like something wearable anymore. Instead, she audibly spits inside with a "Ptu'", letting the band snap shut. Her saliva mixes with your warm sleek. You're so confused she nearly feels bad, but she's such a cunt that she really doesn't.

"Were going back inside," she murmurs so casually as if she didn't just fuck you up in the middle of the street, as if her chin isn't shiny with your precum. "N'if Michael puts his hand on you again, I'm eating it in front of him"

[huntingingoodwill]

aren’t you gonna tuck me in? (j.m.)

masterlist

pairing: brat!reader x joel miller

prompt: goodnight kiss

a/n: a lil sumn for @janaispunk’s 1.5k kisses challenge!!! with a bit of a grumpy x sunshine dynamic smirk smirk... congrats babes 💕

“You crazy old motherfucker!” Your screams were tinged with laughter as Joel slung you over his shoulder, carrying you out of the Tipsy Bison. 

“Who’re you calling a crazy old motherfucker?” Joel grumbled, locking his arm tight around your thigh and kicking open the door as he pointedly ignored your friends’ whoops and whistles. 

You blew them a kiss before they disappeared behind the swinging door, at which point you gestured to the desolate road Joel had carried you out onto.

“Don’t see any other crazy old motherfuckers around.” 

The slice of light that fell upon the road from the open door reduced into nothingness as it swung shut, leaving you and Joel awash in blue moonlight. 

“If I’m crazy, it’s only ‘cause you drove me to the brink-” He paused in exasperation, landing a smack to your thigh that prompted a delicious, ticklish pain to shoot up your leg, and peals of laughter to come falling out your mouth,“will you stop wiggling up there?” 

“Sure thing.” The saccharine words dripped off your tongue before you halted your movements, muscles slackening as you draped your dead weight over his shoulder. 

“Jesus,” He huffed, suddenly exhausted as he had to literally shoulder the burden of your lax body. “Y’know what, just get down.” He said, quickly lowering you to the ground. 

“Joel Miller, you are quite the party pooper.” You chuckled, stumbling to your feet. 

He had stormed into the Tipsy Bison, locking eyes with yours as he pushed past a crush of people, causing your lips to twist into a smirk and your heartbeat to quicken in time with the beat of the warbling song blasting from the jukebox. He had barely given you time to shoot off a sly remark before he tossed you over your shoulder and whisked you away, an act much more interesting to you than the drunken conversation you were enjoying with your friends. 

“I did not poop any parties.” He said, watching you stifle a laugh as you walked beside him. “Maybe you don’t recall, but we’re on patrol together tomorrow, and I am not gonna play nurse to you when you’re hungover on a horse.” 

When Tommy had first put the both of you on patrol together, he had thought his brother was pulling some sick joke. He probably was. You had taken a particular interest in Joel whenever you saw him around Jackson, never failing to deliberately bump into him and engage in some teasing that would render Tommy helpless with laughter as Joel stood on, unamused. 

As much as Joel hated to admit it, and as much as he felt he really was being driven crazy on his patrols with you, he had almost come around to it.

The gleam of your smile in those dark forests as you told him corny jokes around a crackling fire. Like sunlight peeking out from behind a dark cloud.

He pushed the thought away. Maybe you really were driving him to the brink. 

“Please,” you rolled your eyes, gait leisurely besides his focused march down the road, “I’ve been hungover on that horse before and you never had to baby me. I just think you hate fun.” 

“I do not ‘hate fun’.” He said, his monotonous drawl sounding pretty fun-hating, “...But maybe you were having too much fun. ‘Specially with that boy of yours.” 

He regretted letting the words slip as soon as he said them, but he couldn’t deny the flare of heat that simmered under his skin when he entered the bar to see you laughing your head off with one of the guys that always seemed to trail after you around Jackson. 

“Oh. My. God.” You said, a thin sheen of dust rising around your boots as you screeched to a halt. 

“What?” Joel said, heart pounding as he whipped his head around.

“You’re jealous!” 

“I am not-“ Joel spluttered, heat blooming across his collar. 

“I’m walking home with a green-eyed monster!” You grabbed him by the jaw, and Joel prayed you couldn’t feel the heat from his cheeks searing the pads of your fingers. You turned his head, prompting him to look in your eyes. He had to fight off the urge to melt against your touch under the intensity of your stare, his jaw clenching beneath your fingers.

“Nope. Not green. Still shit brown.” You said, killing the moment with a grin. 

Joel shook you off, quickening his pace rather unsteadily as you continued to walk beside him. 

“You’re obsessed with me. First, you’re carrying me out of the Tipsy Bison, and next, you’ll be carrying me over the threshold after our wedding." You laughed.

That made even more heat blossom in his cheeks, and he tried to push that image out of his mind as he cleared his throat, biting his tongue as he let you carry on.

“Don’t be too jealous, Joel.” You purred, slipping your arm through his, nuzzling up to him in a way that made blood roar in his ears, “That guy’s not really my type. I like older guys.” You placed extra emphasis on the last phrase, making Joel’s head swim. 

After making him squirm under your gaze for a couple seconds, you burst into laughter.

“As mean as you look, you get flustered so easily. It’s adorable.” You said, punctuating the sentence with a coddling pout. 

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” Joel grumbled, eyes trained straight ahead. 

“It’s hilarious.” 

Your footsteps trailed off as the both of you arrived in front of his house, staring at its squat silhouette in the dark. 

You turned to grin at him, Joel shooting a sideways glance at you, debating whether or not to take the bait. 

“What?” He mumbled, taking the bait. 

“Miller, you devil. You could’ve at least bought me a drink before bringing me back to your place.” 

He rolled his eyes, walking up the porch steps as you trailed behind him. 

“Your place is all the way on the other side of Jackson. So you can either sleep here tonight, or we’ll spend another hour walking around in the dark.” He said, opening the door. 

“Excuses, excuses.” You clucked your tongue, shaking your head with false disapproval, "As much as I'd like that long, romantic, moonlit walk, I am getting a little sleepy. I'll stay the night."

He held the door open for you, gesturing for you to head inside, a motion that you simply returned with an expectant stare.

“What?” He said, trying not to shift under your gaze.

“Aren’t you gonna carry me over the threshold?” 

“Get your ass in the damn house.” 

Your laughter rang, clear as a bell, through the sparse rooms of his house as you kicked off your boots, flouncing up the stairs as if you were right at home. 

He heard the sound of his shower turning on and the syrupy hum of your voice over the splash of water.

He reached for your shoes, overturned and muddied, before straightening them and placing them next to his. Staring at the both of them next to each other, your voice ringing in his ears as you sang a discordant melody in the shower, a flicker of strange emotion shot through him. 

The realisation he wouldn’t mind picking up after you, putting your shoes next to his. They would have a place next to each other, where they belonged, whenever you came home. 

The realisation that he wouldn’t mind if your voice filled up every room in the house, where once he thought he was content with silence. 

As he poured a glass of water for you and began carrying it up to his bedroom, he realised he wouldn’t mind bringing up a glass of water for you every night, and a cup of coffee every morning. 

“I’m going insane.” He muttered to himself, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. 

“You decent?” He called out, knocking on his bedroom door. 

“Hardly ever. Come in!” You sang. 

The scent of his soap hung in the air, clinging to your skin. You grinned at him, a soft glow haloing you from his bedside lamp as you towelled water out of your hair, one of his flannels hanging off your frame.  

“Is that mine?” He swallowed, the words flying out of his mouth so quickly they almost sounded accusatory. 

“Yeah.” You turned to look at his furrowed brow. “What? I can give it back to you if you want.” You said, beginning to unbutton it.

He averted his eyes, that familiar heat shooting under his skin again. “Jesus- just- you can keep it on.” 

You burst into laughter as Joel rubbed the back of his heated neck.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He mumbled. 

“Thank you, Joel.” You whispered, your sincerely grateful, soft voice sending his walls tumbling down.

He cut his eyes at you one more time, a vision in his worn, old flannel, before making a move to leave. 

You cleared your throat, the noise exaggeratedly loud in the quiet room. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

He looked at you, his deep brown eyes wide in confusion, a furrow set in his brow. 

“Aren’t you gonna tuck me in?” 

His cheeks reddened as he stared at you, swallowing thickly. 

Hiding his trepidation behind an exasperated eye roll, he crossed the room. His hand, the skin rough in contrast to the soft blanket, pulled the fabric over your body, covering you. You smiled up at him, that evil glint in your eye that drove him crazy shining up at him. 

“Goodnight kiss?” You whispered with feigned innocence, glancing up at him through thick lashes. 

“Christ.” He whispered, heartbeat pounding in his ears, his heart somewhere between wanting, annoyance and restraint. 

“Please?” You whispered, lips turning up at the corners into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. 

He felt his resolve crumble to pieces, and he couldn’t resist. He leaned in, heartbeat kicking in his chest as he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

He felt dizzy as he felt your hot breath against his ear, the soft skin of your cheek nuzzling into the scruff on his cheek. 

“Oh, c’mon,” you whispered, lips ghosting his cheek, “you can do better than that, can’t you?” 

He melted against your touch, barely able to formulate a smart retort before he felt your teeth digging into his cheek. 

“Jesus!” He recoiled, the bite radiating with a dull pain. 

“That’s for pooping my party, Miller.” Laughter bubbled from your lips as you watched him run his fingers over the grooves your teeth left in his skin. 

“You’re fucking crazy.” His wounded tone just made you even more amused, your smile growing on your face. 

“Don’t sulk.” You pouted, hand reaching up to skim a thumb across his cheek, and he couldn’t help leaning into your touch. “Let me kiss it better.” 

He let you press a kiss to the quickly fading bite mark, his head swimming as your tongue darted out, giving him a playful lick before you laughed against his skin, breath fanning out over his cheek. 

He turned his head, forehead pressed against yours as his nose brushed yours, his eyes screwed shut.

“You’re driving me crazy.” He mumbled. 

“I know.” 

He pressed his lips to yours, that strange, floaty feeling he had felt downstairs washing over him. You held him close, fingers entangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck as you pulled him onto the bed. 

Lying on his back, he let you press your palms against his shoulders. He stared at the ceiling, feeling barely there, as if he could have just slipped away, your hands the only thing pinning him to earth. He felt it with every kiss you pressed to his lips, when your lips ghosted the line of his jaw, his neck. You were everywhere, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

“All better?” You said, voice barely audible over the roar of blood in his ears. 

“Yes.” 

“Y’know,” you whispered, tracing the line of his jaw with your lips, “I just realised something.“ You looked down at him, the smile that meant trouble returning to your face. “We have a really early morning tomorrow. Goodnight, Joel!”

Just like that, you had rolled off of him and turned off the light, plunging the both of you into darkness. He laid there, barely registering what had just happened, his body already missing your warmth. 

He turned to look at you, your face slackened with sleep as your breath evened out, completely calm in the embrace of sleep as his heart still pounded in his chest, giddy as he turned back to stare at the ceiling. 

He was definitely going crazy.

[thekinslayed]

Give You My Lovin’

summary | It takes little effort for your boyfriend, Aemond, to drive you insane.

pairing | modern aemond targaryen x girlfriend!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, blowjob, naughty thoughts, aemond is So Fucking Hot, attempt at drunk sex, alcohol intoxication, spit kink, daddy kink, unexpectedly fluffy at the end!

wordcount | 3.3k

note | a little something to start your week! i need modern aemond astronomically bad. in ways concerning to feminism.

song rec | Give You My Lovin - Mazzy Star

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! i am open for fic requests <3

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

When you first started dating your boyfriend, Aemond, you had never felt so greedy for someone the way you did for him. You just couldn't get enough of him– his hair, scent, innate confidence, and that face, gods, that was a face you would certainly go to war for. You were insatiable, and so was he. Many dates had been cut short because both your hands started wandering a little too much, or a look from him would immediately have your skin on fire and end up with you pulling him out the door to rush home. 

And after 3 years of dating, it was safe to say this man still had you feral from every little thing he did, even without the intention of doing so. 

It was early, too early even, to be feeling this way. You both had just woken up in your shared apartment, having a slow morning on your day off. With having lived together for more than a year now, you and Aemond had established your respective routines at home. At this time, both of you should have been out on a morning run, but your activities from last night left a terrible ache in your thighs which had you both staying in that morning. You were still in bed, leaning on the headboard, watching Aemond do pull-ups on the bar by the doorframe. He was only clad in his plaid pajama bottoms, and his back was turned to you, giving you a perfect view of the way his back muscles rippled with every movement. Your eyes watched as the veins on his forearms bulged every time he lifted himself. His arm muscles were well-defined and toned, waist trim, and shoulders wide. Years of calisthenics blessed your boyfriend with a lean, lithe form. He was tall, the tallest in his family, blessed with long legs and a model-like figure. There have been countless moments where girls would come up to your boyfriend in hopes of charming him, but sweet, faithful Aemond only had eyes for his girl.

He puffed out a breath of air with every rep, and droplets of sweat started to run down his back from the sheer exertion. You had lost track of how long he had been doing this, but you weren’t complaining. As he dropped back to his feet, he rolled his shoulders back, letting out a groan. The sound alone went straight to your core, which had been throbbing restlessly while watching him work out. He turned around to face you, and you bit your lip at the sight of his bare chest, sprinkled with light hair. His abs were incredibly well-defined, and you resisted the urge to run your finger down the bumps of defined muscle on his abdomen. How the hell does one even get an eight-pack? 

“Baby?”

“Hm?” You hummed, snapping out your trance. The corner of Aemond’s thin lips quirked up when he caught you shamelessly staring at him, and his eye didn’t miss the way you subtly rubbed your thighs together underneath the blankets.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked amusedly, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Mm… no,” you said sheepishly. Aemond chuckled, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your side.

You could smell the sweat off his skin, the heat radiating from his flesh warmed you through the blankets. Your cheeks blushed as you caught the sight of a lone droplet of sweat on the tip of his aquiline nose, right on the cleft. His hand rubbed the side of your thighs, sending a spark that ran up your spine. All of your sense were gone as your blood rushed to your cunt, rendering your mind cloudy aside from the fact of how much you want to fuck.

Shit, were you ovulating?

“Y’alright?” He asked, his good eye studying your face.

“Mhm,” you merely nodded, not trusting your own voice to form words at that moment. He smirked, knowing full well the kind of thoughts running through your head. Aemond leaned his face closer to yours, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Really? ‘Cos you got a little drool here,” He teased you, playfully wiping the corner of your mouth. You slapped his hand away, rolling your eyes as he bellowed out a laugh, though you couldn’t resist the way your lips tugged into a smile. You furrowed your eyebrows to feign anger, grasping his wrist to pull him on top of you.

“Enough of that, come here!”

It was half past 1 a.m. when Aemond opened the front door to the sight of you, drunkenly leaning on your friend who struggled to keep you on your feet. You had been out for girls’ night, and your boyfriend had patiently waited for you at home while you were out. He took you into his arms, thanking your best friend for safely taking you home, before shutting the door behind you both. 

“Aem,” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck. Through your drunken haze, you feel a kiss planted on your hair, smoothing out the strands that had gotten messed up.

“Hi, baby,” Aemond greeted you, rubbing the exposed flesh on your waist. “Did you have a good time?”

You hummed as you nodded, leaning on the wall while Aemond bent down to take off your shoes. You had a fun night with your girls, perhaps a little too fun. The lightweight that you were, it only took you a couple of cocktails to have you warm and loose. Though sometime through the night you had started to miss your boyfriend, the fuzzy feeling from the alcohol going straight to your core as you thought about what he was up to.

Aemond guided you through your home with a hand on your waist, slowly taking steps forward while you leaned your weight on him. As you reached the living room, you turned your body towards him, wrapping both arms around his torso, and looking up at him with your chin on his chest. 

You let out a deep affectionate sigh as you stared at him through dizzy, blurry eyes. He was wearing his glasses, having been busy reading while he waited for you to come home. The thin frames sat on his perfect nose, the sight sending a warm flutter across your chest. How he made glasses look so fucking hot, you had no idea.

“I missed you,” You confessed, rubbing a hand on his chest. Aemond smiled at your words, leaning down to plant another kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you too, darling. Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” he suggested, though you only whined and planted your feet on the floor.

“I need you, Aem,” You said, gripping on his bicep. Your nipples were hard against the thin fabric of your top, poking at Aemond’s chest as you pressed yourself against him. Your boyfriend only sighed, shaking his head slightly as he knew what you were up to. Truth be told, you were always needy for him. Your heart thumped heavily with yearning for his touch, his warmth, and that only amplified when you weren’t sober.

“No, baby, you know we can’t,” Aemond refused. It went against every fiber of his morality-driven being to take pleasure from you while you were intoxicated. His mother would be horrified if he did, reprimanding him that you were a woman, and every woman must be respected as she was the image of the Mother. 

But gods, you were irresistible when you were needy. 

You stomped your foot childishly at his refusal, grabbing his hand to guide it up your skirt. Your grip was surprisingly strong despite your intoxicated state, forcing his fingers past your panties where your cunt dripped with arousal, just for him.

“Please, Daddy, I need you so bad,” You cried out, hiding your face in his neck. Aemond could feel his resolve faltering as his cock jumped from how your slick coated his fingertips. He gulped, pulling his hand away from your core and wiping it away.

His large hands cupped your face, prompting you to look at him. Aemond’s heart twinged at the frown on your pink lips, your cheeks still adorably flushed from the liquor you had consumed. 

“It wouldn’t be right, with you drunk while I’m sober.” He explained, rubbing at your jaw affectionately. Some hair fell into your face, and his fingers tucked them behind your ear.

“I’m not drunk!”

“Okay, alright,” A chuckle fell from Aemond’s lips at your protest, before planting a kiss on your nose. “How about tomorrow, hm? I’ll spend the entire morning making it up to you if you still feel up for it.” A defeated sigh left your lips, accepting you won’t be able to convince him tonight. 

Damn you, Alicent, for raising such a perfect son.

You let Aemond guide you to the bathroom, where he helped you change into your pajamas before cleaning your face. He knew how much you would regret it if you went to be with a dirty face, so he clipped away your hair before removing your makeup himself. He held your hair back in one hand as you washed your face, a towel ready in the other. Your boyfriend patted your face dry and then applied your skincare products. The liquid felt cool against your flushed skin, your eyes comfortably closing as you let him take care of you.

The cold water on your face had helped you sober up a bit, and as you opened your eyes, the sight of Aemond’s concentrated face greeted you. The man took everything in his life quite seriously, even something so mundane as helping his darling girl clean her face after a drunken night out. You huffed out a chuckle, prompting him to meet your eyes.

“What’s funny?” he asked, but only getting a shake of the head as a response from you. Your hand grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand’s ministrations. You leaned forward to capture his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Baby,” Aemond tsked, pulling away from you. His good eye met yours, which shined with affection for him. His heart fluttered at the beauty that stood before him, giving you a small smile in return to your shy one. 

You were guided to your shared bedroom after brushing your teeth, sinking into the soft mattress as your exhaustion caught up to you. In the darkness of your home, your tired body turned to snuggle into Aemond’s arms. You let out a content sigh, whispering ‘I love you’ into your beloved’s skin.

The sound of Aemond’s breathless moans filled the room as they fell freely from his lips. He was sitting on the couch, boxers dropped to his ankles as your head bobbed up and down his length. Your hair was gripped tight into a ponytail in one hand while the other gripped the armrest of the couch tightly. The movie on your television was completely forgotten, only serving as background noise while you sucked your boyfriend’s cock. It drowned out the wet slick sounds coming from your mouth as Aemond continued to thrust his hips up, chasing his release. 

He cursed under his breath when your hand came up to fondle his balls, throwing his head back as you hurled him closer to his precipice. Before the knot in his stomach could snap, he pulled you away from his cock, hurling you up from your knees and onto the couch.

Aemond pulled off your shorts and panties in one go, before turning you around to drape your upper body on the arm of the couch. You could only gasp when he entered you in one swift motion. His hips pounded into you mercilessly, giving you no time to catch your breath as you moaned. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as his cockhead bullied your sweet spot deliciously.

“Aemond,” You wailed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. The sound of skin slamming onto each other overlapped with the movie soundtrack as the credits started to roll, though both of you still paid it no mind. 

Aemond let out a groan, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. Your cunt throbbed as you heard him pant and grunt in your ear. His hands clutched your hips with a grip that was sure to leave marks, while his pace was still relentless, never faltering.

“Ha, so fucking tight. Perhaps I should fuck this pussy more, hm? Give it more attention?” He grunted in your ear. You whimpered at his words, walls clenching in excitement at the thought. “Yeah? You like that, baby?”

“Fu- yes, Daddy,” You whined shamelessly. Aemond let out a dark chuckle, planting a kiss on your temple before sitting back on his haunches. He pulled out his cock to manhandle you onto your back, before thrusting into you again to continue fucking you into release. Your leg draped over the back of the couch while the other was gripped tightly in Aemond’s hand. You lowered your hand to rub circles into your clit, but your boyfriend slapped it away to rub it himself. His thumb drew fast, hard circles onto your pearl, making your toes clench as it tightened the coil in your belly. You were so close, and Aemond could feel it with the way your walls spasmodically tightened around his cock. 

You could feel your climax threaten to wash you over, and as your moans only grew louder in pitch, Aemond’s hips thrust into you harder and harder. A chorus of ‘uh, uh, uh’s helplessly fell from your lips as you felt yourself being sunken deeper into the plush couch. 

A hand came up to the armrest above your head to ground yourself when Aemond took both of your thighs and pressed them against your chest. Your tailbone lifted into the air as your body folded in half like a doll. Aemond watched your eyebrows furrow and your jaw fall open, before clutching your cheeks to spit into your mouth. He gave you a praising pat when you swallowed, and continuing to rub your clit once more. His good eye stayed on yours which had grown dazed as you lost yourself in the throes of your pleasure.

As his hips continued to thrust into you in tandem with the circles he drew on your pearl, your thighs began to shake when you felt the beginning of your release. You let out a long whine, clutching onto Aemond’s bicep as you spilled around his cock. The man above you groaned as your walls squeezed his length, prompting his release. Curses continued to fall from his lips as your spasming walls milked him dry. 

You felt boneless as you caught your breath after your climax. The weight of Aemond’s body was a welcome comfort as he collapsed on top of you, equally as breathless. His softening cock remained in your pussy which had only begun to slowly stop its spasms. The combination of your juices dripped around his cock, running down your slit and onto the couch. You reminded yourself to clean your mess later, but with Aemond still lying on top of you, you remained motionless as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

The glare of the television was still bright against your closed eyelids, which had redirected to the menu after long minutes of inactivity. You opened your eyes to the blinking reminder,

'Still watching?'

The sun shone brightly as you lounged by the courtyard in the Targaryen mansion. You and Aemond had visited for the weekly brunch organized by his mother as a chance to see her children. You loved driving up to their family home, relishing in the chance to get away from the bustling city for a moment in the quiet farmland the historic manor sat upon. Beside you, was Helaena, who indulged you with the latest gossip at the veterinary hospital she worked at.

“People saw them leave together for their break, and they were gone for more than an hour!” She exclaimed, wildly waving her martini glass around. Despite your interest in the juicy details Helaena divulged, you could only half listen to her words as you mindlessly sipped on your martini. Your focus was on a sight by the grass, where your boyfriend played with his nephews and niece. He let the children roughhouse him, rolling around in the grass as they climbed up on top of him. Aemond had always had a sweet spot for his sister’s children, while his own heart longed for babes of his own. Your heart warmed as gleeful laughter and shrieks echoed through the air, chuckling as you watched the tall silver-haired man fall helplessly to the children’s mercy. You hadn’t even noticed when Helaena stopped talking, your good friend only watching the lovestruck look on your face as your attention was fully on Aemond.

“Have you guys talked about it yet?” She asked. You tore your gaze away from the grass, turning to the woman beside you.

“About what?” you responded, clueless as to what she was referring to.

“Y’know, having kids, getting married,” she indicated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You blushed at her words, downing the cocktail in your hand before fidgeting with the stem of the glass.

“Uh, a little bit? I-I mean I want to have kids with him for sure, but… I don’t know if we’re ready yet,” You stammered, flustered with her abrupt question. Your gaze returned to your boyfriend, who had now risen to his feet, carrying all three children. Jaehaerys and Maelor clung to his legs, while Jaehaera was carried on his back. They all squealed in delight as Aemond trudged through the grass, slow and careful to not drop them. Your heart warmed at the sight, mind helplessly wandering to the thought of him being a father to your own kids. He’d expressed his want for children, often in the form of whispering his intent to breed you and leave you full of his seed during sex. But those are uttered in the heat of the moment.

Still, you can’t help but yearn for the moment when you would finally vow to be his forever and to have a family of your own.

Aemond managed to walk back to where his brothers stood without any of the children falling off. Upon seeing Aegon crouched with open arms, the boys let go of their uncle’s legs to run to him. The elder Targaryen managed to catch both boys, carrying them in his arms with no complaint. He turned to his younger brother, who shifted sweet Jaehaera from his back.

“Your girl looks like she could eat you any second, brother,” Aegon commented, eyes flickering to where you lounged with Helaena. Daeron snickered, covering his lips with the bottle of beer he held when Aemond shot him a look.

“You can’t say that in front of the kids, Aegon,” Aemond reprimanded. The children paid the adults no mind, having asked to be put down again to run off and play in their little playground. 

“Y’know Mum’s asking for more grandkids? Said she wasn’t getting any younger,” Daeron said, wiggling his eyebrows at his older brother. Despite his mother’s young age, Alicent loved being a grandmother and was constantly dreaming for more grandchildren, often directing the request to her favorite son every time she brought it up. She absolutely adored you and has been treating you as her own daughter since early into your and Aemond’s relationship. 

“Yeah I know, I’m working on it,” Aemond sighed wistfully, snatching Daeron’s beer to take a swig, despite the youngest’s protest.

Aemond turned to where you sat, giving you a wave when you flashed him a sweet smile. He felt happy to see you with his family, especially with his mother and sister, who were both the most important women in his life. It felt right, having you here. He could see a future with you in it, and babes of your own to play with. Truth was, Aemond was more than ready. He would take you down to city hall to marry you right away the moment you asked. He would give you the grandest of weddings, however you liked it.

However, it couldn’t be just up to him. If you needed time, he would respect it, and if you decided that marriage wasn’t for you, well, what else could he do?

Still, the longing weighed heavily in his chest, as did the ring that sat in his pocket.

[moominsuki]

12 DAYS and 20 HOURS WITHOUT YOU w/c: 5.1k - ; NAGUMO YOICHI x F!READER

✎ᝰ he’s a nuisance & you should be glad to be rid of him… so why does your heart ache for him so much? OR the part two in which you finally address your feelings for your hanger on ex.

࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap up ppl), cunnilingus, fingering, female reader, nagumo is sexy and you will fall in love so pls keep that in mind.

/ note. i should be revising for my exams but instead i wrote this for a man who is severely underrated. it’s gonna be a nagumo fall. enjoy this anywho :P (ps. can be read as a standalone fic)!!

13 days. that’s how long it had been since you had seen nagumo. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t eating you up inside.

after your small spat (if you could even call it that) you wrongfully assumed he’d be somewhere in your bedroom the next day when you hadn’t seen him on your couch. you were just about ready to scold him for having his feet all over your satin pillowcases.

only when you trudged upstairs, your bedroom was exactly how you left it. the door ajar, a small breeze from the window. pillows not askew. your sleepy kitten lounging on the covers.

at first, you considered yourself relieved. “good riddance,” you grumbled to yourself, falling atop the blankets and sighing, hands brushing at your pet. the chirp of the cicadas eats at your eardrums. has your home always been this quiet?

“whatever. knowing that idiot, he’ll be back in a day or two… now what to do…”

unfortunately for you, nagumo’s unprecedented drop ins had become part of your daily routine. you don’t become aware of the fact until it’s been exactly 4 days and he still hasn’t shown his face. it had already struck you as odd on the second day, let alone the fourth.

“why do you even care?” you ask yourself, standing under the hum of a sweltering shower. why do you care that your ex hasn’t come around to lounge in your home and bother you? in fact, isn’t this a good thing? the first few times it happened, you were irritated beyond belief - telling the man to get lost, locking your windows and doors only for nagumo to show up despite your barrage of insults, whether that’d be in your kitchen or on your couch or even in the shower (the image of seeing a naked nagumo after all this time was truly something, though you’d never admit it to his face, instead opting to throw a hard bar of soap at him and to which you then had to tend to his aching back after he so called “wept in pain.”) so why did he now decide to just ghost you?

“typical,” is all you can think, drying your hair off, eyes lingering on the razor he left on top of the toilet.

day five comes around. a good day at work with a cute man asking you out renders nagumo forgettable. you’re glad your brain decides it’s high time to forget about him. day six, seven, eight, nine. it’s extremely bearable. you start to see him in your dreams on the seventh day - exactly a week since he just up and left. “that’s normal,” you muse. you dream about people that aren’t in your life all the time. he’s no different.

the night of day ten falls. you’re incredibly exhausted, and you’re regretting making plans on saturday with that somewhat attractive man who works across the street. “it’s no biggie. it’s just one day till the weekend and i can cancel.”

you’re nodding off into your dinner. the warm smell of char siu and noodles doesn’t do much to keep you awake.

then you see him. dark brown eyes and a goofy smile to match. it makes you jump so hard you spill half the content of your meal down your shirt. nobody’s there. your cat sits at the leg of your chair, licking the sodden mess off of the ground.

the gravity of the situation dawns on you. you really really miss nagumo.

ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ

day eleven comes and goes and the twelfth drags, as do most fridays. that guy who asked you out the other day offers to drop you home when you’re standing outside. it’s warm out and you think a walk would be good for your head. you don’t decline his offer.

the man asks about you and confirms the details of your excursion, and you politely affirm, answering all his questions and asking them back just the same. “he’s not much of a talker,” you think. you’re not used to that.

by the time you’re home, you just want to pass out. you look around your kitchen, living room - heck, even the bathroom for safe measure, just in case you-know-who decided to drop by. the sound of metal clattering has you running to your bedroom, ventricles pumped. not that you cared… you’d act super cool and nonchalant if when nagumo drops by again. it’s all in vain, anyway. it was just your cat jumping onto your vanity. you shoo her away. your heart falls like a crescendo from loony tunes.

who exactly were you kidding? you had long dropped the facade that your heart wasn’t yearning for the idiot, and you wonder how he’s doing when you settle into bed. it would be unlike him to die in an unforeseeable accident, and he would never succumb to a death on the job. another looming realisation dawns on you.

he’s ignoring you.

you groan into your pillow. it’s not like you could really call him (you totally could, and it’s not because you noted down the digits of two of his burner phones, definitely not) without outing yourself. don’t forget the phone works two ways. forget it. you have a date tomorrow.

saturday comes. you get up relatively early. (un)fortunately for you, it’s a miserable day out, contrasting the beautiful weekdays that had passed.

your date texts you in teasing and sweet fashion and the pre-typed out message that consists of grovelling, apologies and more grovelling sits at your fingertips. fuck it. you can’t stay wound up over a man who probably didn’t want you in the first place.

you get ready very early, and you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, all done up in a silk to do and the accessories to match. it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper date. a few flings here and there, sure, but this seemed real. like a sure thing. similar to when…

!creaakkk!

your cat meowing and dropping things around in your bedroom has you standing up right, casting aside your lipgloss and running to shoo her away.

“honestly, ponyo, you’re such a drama queen-”

the words die on your tongue at the sight before you. nagumo sits at the edge of your bed, kitten fidgeting in his arms. he looks you up and down, and then he sends you an earth shattering smile, eyes crinkled.

“hey stranger. long time no see!”

your mouth opens and closes as he gets up, and ponyo leaps up and away when he places her on the ground.

“do you think she missed me? i think so. with the stuff you feed her, it’s inevitable-”

“are you serious?!” is all you can say, exasperated, gasping. nagumo’s eyes widen, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“don’t tell me you’re still mad at me? don’t make me get down on my knees and beg because-” the man gets cut off again as you all but throw your arms around his frame, face in his shirt, a little shaky. if nagumo feels the wobble of your body, he doesn’t mention it and a hand comes to rest at the small of your back.

“so can i assume that you’re not mad at me anymore?” you shake your head, and nagumo chuckles, nose pressed into your hair.

“i wasn’t mad at you,” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“oh? tell me more,” and you move your face slightly so your cheek is smushed against his shirt, eyes pointed away from him. though, you can already feel the expectant smile on the corner of his lips and you want to slap him. kiss him? both.

“i was mad at myself. and i was going to apologise for what i said but you basically ghosted me… for almost three weeks.”

it’s quiet for a moment until the man laughs, guffaws even and it emanates through his chest. you huff and step away from him, back turned away.

“ok, it’s not that funny. you can stop laughing now!”

“sorry, sorry. i’m done, i promise.” nagumo walks from behind you to step into your line of sight. “and technically, it’s only been… i wanna say 12 days and 20 hours.”

you deadpan. then you roll your eyes. “you were counting?! you’re unbelievable!” and he just pouts at you. eyes wide and shiny. you don’t admit to him that you’ve also been doing the same. that day’ll come.

“i mean, i would’ve come around sooner buttt! contrary to popular belief, i’m not so socially inept to not give you space. although, i was starting to think you were replacing me with that loser at that law firm. i want to say his name is hajime-”

“okay, not even close-”

“and what kind of idiot takes their woman out to a sushi bar on the first date. and he drives a toyota camri. he’s lame.”

“…first of all, i’m not his woman. how did you know i was going on a date tonight? and how do you even know what car he drives?”

“…let’s not sweat the details. that dress is new, right? haven’t seen it before. looks beautiful on you-”

“so not only were you spying on me but you were ignoring me?!” you fist the man by the collar of his coat and you just loll your head onto his chest. “were you always this crazy when we dated?” you hum and he laughs again. like he knows you’re addicted to the sound and how it makes your tummy ignite into something worse than flames. his hands find their way into his pocket and he shrugs.

“probably. but you liked it.” you don’t bother to contend. nagumo grabs you by the wrists, and takes a good look at you. his deep eyes follow the sliver of gold against your collarbones, all the way down to the hemming of your dress. it makes you feel hot under your heart shaped neckline.

“like the dress. like it a lot. wouldn’t waste it on some shitty sushi and cheap sake, though.”

“well it’s not you taking me out tonight though, is it? it’s…” you think for a second. you can feel the laughter blooming in his chest and you try to fight your way out of his grasp, though it’s in vain. nagumo laughs so hard that the pout on your face starts to pop into a smile and it’s infectious enough that you laugh too.

when the laughter inevitably dies down, you and the dark haired man share a look that you encompasses all the thoughts and emotions that have been swimming in your head the past long few days. he’s still holding you by the wrists, your fingers crinkling against the loose material of his shirt.

nagumo says your name, more so to himself as his tattooed hands stay wrapped from the width of your jewellery clad wrists down to your forearms.

“you’re being awfully touchy to a woman who’s supposed to being out on a date in a few hours,” you say, just above a whisper.

he hums at that, pulling you in further by the elbows. “i guess you’re right. you could always tell me to go away, though. wouldn’t be the first time.”

you groan audibly and he shoots you another grin that climbs its way into the wrinkles of your brain. “what do i have to do for you to not bring that up? and don’t make me get on my knees and beg-”

“damn, that was my first choice too!” you roll your eyes. he’s still holding you. your palms are flat against his chest. “i suppose i could call it even if…” nagumo pretends to ponder for a moment. you try to shove him with as much power as you can on the man.

“if you don’t just come out with it-”

“kiss me.”

the speed at which your eyebrows almost shoot into your hairline is unprecedented. you try to read his face for any sign of playful unfairness, but you’ve known him long enough to read the softness of his eyes.

your hands fist at his shirt again and it’s your turn to laugh at him, head thrown back. he pouts in response.

“you’re unbelievable,” and before he can retort, you lean up on your tip toes to do as he asked. he’s exactly how you remember, all those years ago. warm, sweet, slightly intoxicating. the sigh you release is shaky and he swallows it whole. the width of his palms immediately let go of your arms and find purchase on your waist and your hands travel all the same, resting on the planes of his face and neck.

the kiss is over before it started and you don’t even get a chance to breathe before nagumo is back on you, pulling you in by the hips, tongue slipping in comfortably like you’ve always been this way. and you give in, your body adapting to years old muscle memory. it’s like you’re almost a decade younger all over again, and your brain turns to mush when nagumo gropes you, grabbing all the parts he can to get impossibly closer to you.

you almost don’t notice the way he throws off his coat. and the fact that he’s trying to get you onto the bed. almost.

you protest in a breathy whine, breaking apart from locking lips. “we-i can’t. my date-”

“sucks. he sucks. i’ll take you wherever you want. buy you everything you want. just let me have you.”

you’re too out of it to even give a snarky answer, grabbing nagumo by the neck and pressing your lips to his own once more. he grunts, lightly pushing you both down onto the pillows.

he breaks apart from the kiss to lave more around your jaw, with one heavy hand resting on your cheek while he bruises on your neck, clavicle and the top of your breasts, all heavy and imposing. you writhe in his touch, and you can’t help the fact that your thighs start to rub against each other to soothe the heat arising in your core.

as perceptive as ever, nagumo quickly notices and makes fast work of placing his leg between your own, and you can’t help but breathe out a winded “yoichi.”

he groans, smirking against your collarbone. “missed hearing you say that.”

you huff, pushing his hands down the curves of your body. “don’t push your luck, nagumo.”

he chuckles, unfazed, and smooth, deft fingers climb under the hem of your satiny dress. he hikes your dress high enough to see a flash of damp cotton panties.

he presses a digit against your clothed clit and you can’t control the way your head falls against your pillows, mouth falling open as you whine out his name again.

nagumo halts all movement though, pushing himself backwards to lean further onto his knees off the bed. you practically jump up, confused and stupidly horny.

“strip for me.”

you narrow your eyes. he shoots you a saccharine smile, and you don’t bother to banter with him, getting on your haunches and pulling down a thin strap on either arm, and shimmying out of the garment. you can tell by the elated shock in nagumo’s eyes that he hadn’t expected you to comply but you throw the dress in his face, and he shakes it off faster than you can adjust yourself on top of the bed covers. he’s already crowding over you, face mere centimetres away.

“sorry, you can’t be the only one having your fun,” you tease, leaning up to kiss his nose and it’s his turn to not take your bait, but maybe it’s because he’s too enamoured at the sight of your naked body after all this time. a tattooed hand reaches up to grab a handful of your boob, pinching slightly at your nipple and the other makes it descent down to the hemming of your panties. his fingertips dip into the front, pushing the material to the side and he groans when he can see the way your pussy clenches over nothing.

“you’re so pretty,” he sighs, and you watch the way he touches you, featherlight and it has you writhing, inching closer to feel more of his touch.

“patience, baby.” nagumo throws off his shirt, and you take in the expanse of his never ending tattoos. your hand reaches up to touch the one on his stomach and he smirks, albeit warm and slightly teasing.

“got a few new ones a couple months back,” he all but whispers and you hum.

“i like them,” you state, matter of factly and he pushes your hand away to lay on his stomach between your legs.

nagumo’s face presses into your belly, and you push a few fingers into the dense strands of his hair. he kisses you at the belly button, paving a wet path down to your moist underwear.

he noisily smooches on your panty clad clit and you wordlessly protest in embarrassment, groaning and whining while he smiles against you. though, you’re quick to stop complaining when he pushes your panties to the side and breathes you in, kissing your uncovered pubis. now you’re frantically trying to push him away instead.

“you’re so shameless,” you fuss and nagumo doesn’t say anything. he only pushes your legs further apart to accommodate him.

“can i eat you out?” he asks and you raise a brow, face flushing. he shrugs, “i wanna hear you say it.”

you want to insult him for trying to fluster you in his own weird way but you’re also stupidly, ridiculously turned on right now that you can’t be bothered to play this cat and mouse game.

your hands cover your face and you mumble ever so quietly, verbatim: “please eat me out.”

“can’t hear you, sweetheart. come on, you can’t possibly be acting all shy. my face is literally in your-”

“just please eat me out!” you say, exasperated and incensed by the burning desire to have his mouth on you.

nagumo doesn’t mess with you any further but he can’t help the snicker that escapes him. you’re also ready to call him names and berate him, unfortunately being the hot head that you are, but it’s a useless act because nagumo already has your pants down your legs and strewn across the room somewhere, and he’s immediately pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your love button.

a strangled “yoichi!” escapes from your throat and you’re already helplessly weaving between the strands of his black hair. it only goads him on further, and your head struggles to keep itself up when he thumbs at the hood of your clit, lifting it up to suck at the bundle of nerves. you become one with the plush pillows beneath you once again.

nagumo’s tongue soothes and pokes around, sucking and kissing at all the sensitive parts of your flower. he lifts one leg up higher to allow him more access, and you lock your fingers on top of his hand that grips ardently at the tender skin of your thigh. you have no time to react when you feel two fingers press into your cunt hole, and you chant his name like a mantra, gasping and almost tearful from the way he feels.

you can feel his dark brown eyes on you, and he stops tasting you to bite your inner thigh. you yelp, and he lulls over where he indented you with his teeth.

“you’re close, right? want you to look at me when you cum,” is all he says, and you don’t get to reply when he’s back sucking your pearl into his mouth, pressing his fingers against a certain spot inside you that has your legs trying to close in on themselves around his head.

“f-fuck, ‘ichi, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, and per his request, your eyes stay on his own, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, the applied pressure stopping you from falling back and losing it.

“say my name like that again,” he groans, and you don’t fail to notice the way he grinds against the bed ever so slightly. “come on, baby, you’re almost there-”

“hnngh, fuck, right there ‘ichi, ‘m cumming-,” you gasp and a flash of white behind your eyes renders you temporarily paralytic, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opened in an ‘o’, and the grip on nagumo’s hair tightens. he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, and your heart would burst at the romantic gesture of him interlocking your fingers together at literally any other time, but he doesn’t stop his assault on the spongey spot inside you until you go limp and you practically have to pry the man off of you.

nagumo’s no sadist (to you, at certain times) so he stops, pulling back and watching the way your chest heaves and the way you glisten between your upper thighs. you don’t register that he’s next to you again until you feel nimble fingers touching on your lower belly. you open your eyes to look at him, and the full blown lust in his eyes makes you choke a little bit.

you grab his hand off your stomach to kiss his fingertips, and then you’re clambering on top of him, palms splayed against his decorated chest. you feel the thickness of his hard cock pressed against your wet core, and you grind against the strained material of his trousers. nagumo grunts, head falling back slightly as he immediately finds purchase on your ass.

“you’re hard,” you assert, and he laughs a little breathlessly and it breaks off into a moan when you press down on him a little harder.

“i guess i am,” he rustles, squeezing your lower curves to push you against his stiffness. “you should let me put it in.”

“oh? is that so?” you say, taunting the man as you slide up and down his neglected cock that’s begging to be released from its confines.

“yeah… wanna fuck you, baby.” nagumo’s all heavy eyelids and suave lips as he gazes up at you, hands all touching all over you. you’re heating up from his languid touches, and you’re cursing yourself for already being so raring to go after he ate you to his heart’s content.

“okay,” is all you say, and you shimmy backwards to undo the man’s bottoms, unbuttoning his pants and helping him kick them off till he’s left in tight gray boxer briefs. your eyes find the damp patch on the front of his shorts, and you softly finger the head of his cock through the cloth. nagumo grunts, sighing your name when you waste no time pulling down his underwear to reveal him in all his glory.

“didn’t that hurt?” you wonder out loud, more to yourself if anything, and nagumo realises you’re referring to the tattoo above his pelvis, only shy of the dark trail that nests above his erection. he places a hand over your wandering one and he chuckles.

“a little. nothing i can’t handle.” you make a noise of something, and you lean down to kiss him very gently and so very close to where he wants. nagumo groans, and he reaches down to pet your hair.

“another time,” you wink, biting your lip. nagumo smiles, raising a brow and he looks like he wants to ask you what you mean but you’re ahead of the curve and you’re settling back up on his lower body, your soaked heat brushing and sliding against his cock. he’s putty after that, head in the clouds as he feels the drench of your lips rub against the hardness of his cock.

“tell me you want it,” you say, and you stop looking down to where you’re almost conjoined to meet nagumo’s eyes; his face contorted to something readable only to you. “or, you know, you could just cum like this.”

nagumo moans at that, and he sets a heavy handed grab on your ass. “don’t remember you being such a tease, baby, sh-shit.”

you croon at his words. you don’t stop the ministrations of your grinding and the raven haired man beneath you barely puts out until the slick of your cunt hole catches the mushroom shaped tip of his cock.

“fuck, i want it, baby, want you to cream on me-” and you don’t let him finish his vulgarity because you grab him at the base of his cock and settle yourself right on top of him, inch by inch.

nagumo hisses, and his iron grip on your hips doesn’t subside until he’s all the way inside you. you both simultaneously moan in relief when he’s by the hilt, and you can practically feel him all the way in your throat.

“fucking missed this so much,” he keens, and you feel him raise his knees to accommodate to you better. you slowly get the rhythm going, grinding and gently bouncing on his dick and you’re delirious at the way his pubic hair brushes against your swollen clit, and how you can feel the slap of his weighted balls against your ass.

nagumo plants his feet on the bed, refusing to loosen his grip on you and you can’t even bring yourself to care about the bruises that’ll stay depressed into your skin. you move one of his number decorated hands to grab at your chest, which he complies with and the other stabilises you against him so that he can thrust into you at a steady pace.

“so, so good,” you whine, almost falling forward by the jolt of nagumo’s body. you plant both arms on either side of his head, tits bouncing in his face, going back and forth against his open mouth that tries to catch a pebbling nipple.

taunting words leave his mouth as he watches you try to keep up. “feel good, baby? shit. tell me how it feels, y-yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this, huh?”

you clench around him tighter. “hnnngh, so fuc-fucking good, ‘ichi.”

you lean down on your elbows, and while he bucks up into you, his eyes don’t stray, and when your lips follow the sharp lines of his jaw and press on his jugular, nagumo angles his head so you can sloppy kiss him on the mouth.

it’s like that for a few moments until he stops to throw you off of him, and you’re ready to whine and complain, but he’s already on you again, this time on top.

“gotta take my time with you,” he breathes, and he finds a new position, this time pulling your left leg over his shoulder and spreading the right one to fit around his hips.

“is that code for you were gonna cum too fast?” you giggle, and nagumo doesn’t grace your playful ribbing because he slips back into you and your once teasing laughter breaks off into a deep moan of pleasure.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeding his cock into you at an achingly slow rate, “hurts my feelings.” and you want to call him embarrassing and silly, you really do, but your heart is on your tongue and nagumo overcrowds every part of your senses.

nagumo leans over you, and grinds himself inside your compact walls. his face is in the crook of your neck and he teethes at the tender skin. you throw a callous hand in hand to satiate the hunger in your belly.

the unrelenting pace in which he fucks you is downright insane: all you can think about is him, all you can smell and taste is him. when you open your eyes, he’s looking down at you, holding and stretching you open, spitting not-so-sweet nothings at you. you worship him all the same, crying out his name, begging him to take you harder and faster, nails raking across the width of his back.

“you’re s-so, hah, shit, you’re so gorgeous,” he moans, “not gonna last, f-fuck.”

you’re almost there, teetering on the finish line, so nagumo ever so slightly adjusts his position, and he presses his cock head against that point inside you. you’re weightless in his hold, writhing when he reaches down to rub taut circles against your puffy pearl. it’s enough to make you sob, gasp and cry out a throaty “‘ichi!”, back arching, toes curling.

nagumo takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, bruising against the creamy flesh of your tits. his speed and movement becomes sloppy, rushing to the edge, the echoes of skin slapping against each other. your tearful face and your short winded begging (“cum inside me, yoichi” and “want you to fill me up”) in the midst of your intra-climatic hue are enough to get him to empty out hot inside of you, his eyebrows furrowed and an o-shape taking over the soft shine of his mouth.

you pull yourself up by the hand on the back of his scruff to kiss him wetly, tongue and all and he takes it, moaning and cursing out your name while pushing his seed deep inside you.

it’s quiet except for mingling, heavy breaths and the creak of your bed when nagumo falls on top of you. you squeak in protest, trying to push the lug of a man off.

“get off me you big idiot!” you squeal, and you feel his body shaking while he’s closed in on you.

“you’re nice and warm,” he sighs, “think i could stay like this for a good, couple of hours.”

you scoff. your hand reaches up to pet at his damp hair. nagumo smiles against your clavicle.

“do you think i still have time to go on that date?” you say, all forlorn and nagumo’s head shoots up, in which you laugh at the way his face contorts. he grumbles, and he eases out of you slowly. you hiss, but the grin on your face stays all the same.

“you think you’re so funny,” nagumo dryly contends and you sit up, kissing him on the nose.

“what can i say? learnt from the best,” you reply, just to the point where only he can hear you.

you think he’s so ridiculously easy (you won’t ever tell him that) when he returns your grin, and grabs your face to kiss you, all over you cheeks and lips.

“damn right, baby, damn right.”

EXTRA, EXTRA - read all about it:

“by the way, what did you mean when you said i owed you one?”

nagumo pulls his head from your chest, tv blaring and illuminating his puzzled, adorable expression, a piece of popcorn dangling from his mouth. his face turns blank as he ponders. then it’s like a lightbulb switches on above his head.

“oh, i fed ponyo and let her out onto the balcony but that old man saw me and i convinced him that he was seeing things so he wouldn’t call the cops… you’re welcome!”

“you did WHAT?!”

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2024. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[riverbends]

Hear me out pope takes readers virginity 😅he'd be so sweet about it (in a pope way)

he’s known you for quite some time now and you’ve managed to help him ease his guard down. he probably met you at the beach or deran’s bar or just anywhere that didn’t hold the accursed imprint of smurf. while it’s a complete mystery to pope, you were suddenly fond of him in the way you’re fond of strays.

he’s not sure what you are to him, but, no matter how much he tries to filter it out of his conscience, you’ve got this way of leaning into his space without really physically making contact. when you’re together, he feels phantom touches of your elbow whispering against his forearm or your knee barely brushing his. you are not privy to the goings-on of the cody family, so he tries his best not to rope you into the mess of it.

maybe one night he’s dropping you home and you stall in his car before he bluntly tells you to say whatever you’re trying to avoid.

“do you wanna come in?”

the question paralyses him. you know pope, he has to fully digest something sometimes before he can find his voice. except he just looks at you blankly and now you’re worried you’ve crossed boundaries.

“i’m sorry—”

you’re cut off by the sound of his belt buckle releasing. and then he’s out of the car.

he’s absolutely soundless as you lead him to your bedroom. i won’t go into too much detail here (i’m usually very descriptive about it though, trust me).

but it starts with soft, hesitant kisses, initiated by you, of course. other wise he’d stand there all night, waiting. you help him with his clothes and, at some point, he gently seizes your wrists. he can see the tremor in your hands under the low light. you tell him you’ve never been with anyone like this before, and he’s still holding your wrists between your bodies. eyes searching in the dark.

barely a whisper, he says, “we can stop.”

your heart shrinks in shame, “do you want to stop?” you ask. another pause.

“only if you do.”

and then you’re tangled with him in your sheets, your ankles crossing at his tailbone as his weight presses your body into the mattress. he’s not even inside you yet because he is being so agonisingly slow about it. almost too careful for your appetite.

he’s not holding out on you to be a tease or assert some kind of power of you. he’s really just trying to do this the right way. trying to make it as comfortable as possible. another part of him is also trying to process how and why you’re so desperate for him, practically squirming beneath him with want. he’s never really been desired.

and the moment he gives you what you’re asking him for, you’re both rendered speechless. while you savour the burn of your first breach, he’s relishing in the way you fit him so perfectly. at first, he’s consistently preparing himself to wrench his body away from yours every time you gasp a little too loud or dig your heels into his lower back. he learns, though, that he is not hurting you. you aren’t signalling discomfort through your intensity… you simply want him too much to contain yourself.

afterwards, he is as gentle as he was when he sank himself inside you. when you’ve excused yourself to go to your bathroom, he collects your discarded clothes and remakes your bed, despite knowing you’ll pull it apart once more in the depths of your sleep.

he’s fully dressed again because he’s expecting you to ask him to leave, but he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed. spine rigid with quiet apprehension. when you reappear, he braces himself for ruin. for rejection.

“can i stay?”

you don’t answer him.

instead, you drag him back into your bed and divest him of his clothes under the covers. not to go for another round, but to feel his skin against yours again.

this warmth he has found here with you, he thinks, is as good as it’ll ever get.

[glancingeye]

Render. Source glancingeye.com

[crimson-femme]

𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

table of contents: books; anthologies, history, novels, erotica, photography. films; movies, documentaries, shorts. miscellaneous; dissertations, articles, etc. note: everything (minus a few) has a link to access the media! if i am able to find the missing links i will attach them along with adding new content. there are a couple things that are not specifically butchfemme, but i kept them because i feel that they fit. enjoy!

𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 + 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜

୨୧ A Restricted Country by Joan Nestle

୨୧ Brazen Femme: Queering Femininity by Chloë Brushwood Rose, Anna Camilleri 

୨୧ Butch/Femme: Inside Lesbian Gender by Sally R. Munt, Cherry Smyth

୨୧ Butch is a Noun by S. Bear Bergman

୨୧ Femme/Butch: New Considerations of the Way We Want to Go by Michelle Gibson, Deborah Meem

୨୧ Femme: Feminists, Lesbians, and Bad Girls by Laura Harris, Elizabeth Crocker 

୨୧ Lesbian Culture: The Lives, Work, Ideas, Art and Visions of Lesbians Past and Present by Julia Penelope, Susan Wolfe

୨୧ On Butch and Femme: A Compiled Readings by I.M. Epstein

୨୧ Persistence: All Ways Butch and Femme by Ivan Coyote, Zena Sharman

୨୧ Render Me, Gender Me: Lesbians Talk Sex, Class, Color, Nation, Studmuffins... by Kath Weston

୨୧ S/he by Minnie Bruce Pratt

୨୧ The Femme Mystique by Leslea Newman

୨୧ The Femme's Guide To The Universe by Shar Rednour

୨୧ The Lesbian Erotic Dance: Butch, Femme, Androgyny, and Other Rhythms by JoAnn Loulan

୨୧ The Little Butch Book by Leslea Newman

୨୧ The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader by Joan Nestle

୨୧ Tomboys!: Tales of Dyke Derring-Do by Lynne Y. Fletcher, Karen Barber

୨୧ Tomboy Survival Guide by Ivan Coyote

𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

NOTE ⋆ there is more history content in the film section as well as historical fiction in the novel section!!!

୨୧ Appearances Can Be Deceiving: Butch-Femme Fashion and Queer Legibility in New York City, 1945–1969 by Alix Gitner

୨୧ Baby, You Are My Religion: Women, Gay Bars, And Theology Before Stonewall by Marie Cartier

୨୧ Becoming Visible: An Illustrated History Of Lesbian And Gay Life In Twentieth-Century America by Molly McGary, Fred Wasserman

୨୧ Before Stonewall: The Making of a Gay and Lesbian Community by Andrea Weiss

୨୧ Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold: The History of a Lesbian Community by Elizabeth Lapovsky Kennedy, Madaline D. Davis

୨୧ GLBT Historical Society: Museum & Archives ⋆ general LGBT archives, but a very important and great source

୨୧ Making History: The Struggle for Gay and Lesbian Equal Rights: 1945-1990: An Oral History by Eric Marcus

୨୧ Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers: A History of Lesbian Life In Twentieth-Century America by Lillian Faderman ⋆ I’m not a fan of this one, but decided to keep it in

୨୧ Uninvited: Classical Hollywood Cinema and Lesbian Representability by Patricia White

୨୧ Unsuitable: A History of Lesbian Fashion by Eleanor Medhurst

𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜

୨୧ A Crystal Diary: A Novel by Frankie Hucklenbroich ⋆ The razor-edged, compelling, often wryly humorous story hustles us from the blood-and-beer-drenched corners of her St. Louis meat-packing district '50s youth, through the sex-soaked Hollywood alleys of her '60s baby butch years, into the druggy metropolis of '70s San Francisco.

୨୧ Beebo Brinker by Ann Bannon ⋆ Beeboo, a butch 17-year-old farm girl newly arrived in New York after she is driven from her Wisconsin home town for wearing drag to the State Fair. Befriended by the gay Jack Mann, a father-figure with a weakness for runaways, Beebo sets out to find love.

୨୧ Departure from the Script by Jae ⋆ An aspiring actress meeting photographer, femme meeting butch in this light-hearted lesbian romance set in Hollywood.

୨୧ Doc and Fluff: The Dystopian Tale of a Girl and Her Biker by Pat Califia ⋆ Set in the bleak and not-too-distant future of a culture in its death throes, Doc and Fluff careens through the lives of a pair of outlaw women struggling to survive on the road.

୨୧ Feast While You Can by Mikaella Clements, Onjuli Datta ⋆ A fresh, queer spin on possession horror with a sharp focus on deeply complex small-town dynamics. A young queer woman who's lived her whole life in the dead-end mountain village of Cadenze finds herself violently possessed by an ancient, malevolent, memory-eating entity that inhabits the caves bordering her home.

୨୧ Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo ⋆ America in 1954 is not a safe place for two girls to fall in love, especially not in Chinatown. Red-Scare paranoia threatens everyone, including Chinese Americans like Lily. With deportation looming over her father—despite his hard-won citizenship—Lily and Kath risk everything to let their love see the light of day.

୨୧ Lucy and Mickey by Red Jordan Arobateau ⋆ Lesbian life in the late 1950s, early '60s; and a powerful romance & sexual drama between two females, Lucy & Mickey.

୨୧ Patience and Sarah by Isabel Miller ⋆ In an early puritanical New England town, a butch and femme fall in love and discover they can run a farm and live together away from the world that sought to limit them and their love.

୨୧ Satan's Best by Red Jordan Arobateau ⋆ volume #1 in the ten book lesbian biker series THE OUTLAW CHRONICLES. In this action-packed novel we are introduced to the gang of raunchy and glamorous biker women, including the 5 Warlords who run the Outlaws. Enter beautiful blond butch Angel–lone rider on the storm.

୨୧ Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg ⋆ The life of Jess Goldberg, a working-class Jewish butch lesbian in New York from the 1940s through the 1970s.

୨୧ The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall ⋆ The timeless struggle of a butch and femme couple to be accepted by "polite" society. This now classic was banned outright upon publication in 1928.

𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜

୨୧ Back To Basics: A Butch-Femme Anthology by Theresa Szymanski

୨୧ Breathless: Erotica by Kitty Tsui

୨୧ Hard Road, Easy Riding: Lesbian Biker Erotica by Sacchi Green, Rakelle Valencia

୨୧ Rode Hard, Put Away Wet: Lesbian Cowboy Erotica by Sacchi Green, Rakelle Valencia

୨୧ Set in Stone: Butch-on-Butch Erotica by Angela Brown

୨୧ Sometimes She Lets Me: Best Butch Femme Erotica by Tristan Taormino

୨୧ The Harder She Comes: Butch/Femme Erotica by D.L. King

𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚢 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍

୨୧ Butch/Femme edited by M.G. Soares

୨୧ Butch: Not Like The Other Girls by SD Holman

୨୧ Dagger On Butch Women by Lily Burana, Roxxie Linnea Due

୨୧ Love Bites by Del LaGrace Volcano

୨୧ Making Out: The Book Of Lesbian Sex And Sexuality by Zoe Schramm-Evans, Laurence Jaugey Paget

୨୧ Nothing But The Girl: The Blatant Lesbian Image by Susie Bright, Jill Posener

୨୧ The Butch/Femme Photo Project by Wendi Kali

୨୧ The Drag King Book by Del LaGrace Volcano, Judith "Jack" Halberstam

୨୧ The Femme's Guide to the Universe by Shar Rednour

𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚜

୨୧ A Complicated Queerness: Living Femme in a Dyke Community dir. Johanna Buchignani, Emily Hillman ⋆ short film: This film investigates the ways in which gender, power and sexism are lived and experienced within the San Francisco Mission dyke community. The documentary aims to promote awareness of and discussion about the prejudice and invisibility of queer femininity, in order to build alliances and healthier communities.

୨୧ Before Stonewall (1984) dir. Greta Schiller, Robert Rosenberg ⋆ documentary: The history of the Gay and Lesbian community before the Stonewall riots began the major gay rights movement.

୨୧ Bound (1996) dir. The Wachowskis ⋆ thriller/crime: Corky, a tough female ex-convict working on an apartment renovation in a Chicago building meets a couple living next door, Caesar, a paranoid mobster, and Violet.

୨୧ By Hook or By Crook (2001) dir. Harry Dodge, Silas Howard ⋆ crime/romance: A buddy film that chronicles two butches, Shy and Valentine, who collide by chance in the San Francisco streets. Shy is immersed in daydreams about the loving father they lost and Valentine is searching for the mother they never met. Like-hearted mischievous souls, the pair stumbles into a series of shambolic shenanigans — along with Valentine’s girlfriend, Billie.

୨୧ Dream Girls (1994) dir. Kim Longinotto, Jano Williams ⋆ documentary: Women join Japan's all-female Takarazuka Revue musical theater troupe, portraying men's roles. The film explores gender dynamics, desires, and complexities of female identity in Japanese society through these performers' experiences.

୨୧ Gay Tape: Butch and Femme (1985) by Cecilia Dougherty ⋆ short: The Gay Tape brings “a little fine-tuning” to the question of representation, honing in on the subjective particularities of the butch-femme dynamic as experienced by members of Dougherty’s local Bay Area dating pool. 

୨୧ Gender Troubles: The Butches (2016) dir. Lisa Plourde ⋆ documentary: What portrayals of lesbianism are acceptable and who gets erased? Butch lesbians from a wide range of backgrounds and ages provide a compelling exploration of society's assumptions and challenge ideas about what it means to be female. They show the rewards that come with self acceptance. Tender, funny, and thought-provoking. NOTE: after clicking the link, scroll down to the middle to watch where it is available with english audio and french, spanish, dutch, or portuguese subtitles.

୨୧ If These Walls Could Talk 2 (2000) dir. Jane Anderson, Anne Heche, Martha Coolidge ⋆ romance/drama: This anthology of short films tells the stories of three lesbian couples - who live in the same house at different periods of time - who are at a crossroads in their lives. The second story includes a motorcycle riding, leather jacket and tie wearing butch, Amy.

୨୧ Last Call at Maud's (1993) dir. Paris Poirier ⋆ documentary: Some genuinely wild women – and some more demure but no less lively types – take center stage in Paris Poirier’s vivacious documentary about the life and times of Maud’s, the longest running lesbian bar ever.

୨୧ Salmonberries (1991) dir. Percy Adlon ⋆ drama/indie: A woman (played by k.d. lang) who grew up in a small town in Alaska goes to the public library to try and find out who her parents were. She eventually befriends the librarian, an East German immigrant who lost her husband while escaping from behind the Iron Curtain. They help each other try to find closure to the events in their past.

୨୧ Shinjuku Boys (1995) dir. Jano Williams, Kim Longinotto ⋆ documentary: This documentary offers rich insight into gender and sexuality in Japan via a candid portrait of Kazuki, Tatsu, and Gaish, three trans masculine hosts working at the New Marilyn Club in Tokyo’s bustling Shinjuku district. As the film follows them at home and on the job, all three talk frankly about their lives, revealing their views on love, sex, and identity.

୨୧ Stormé: The Lady of the Jewel Box (1987) dir. Michelle Parkerson ⋆ documentary/short film: Through archival clips, Stormé DeLarverie, bodygaurd of a women's club and former drag king looks back on the grandeur of the Jewel Box Revue and its celebration of pure entertainment in the face of homophobia and segregation.

୨୧ Stud Life (2012) dir. Campbell X ⋆ romance/drama: JJ, a lesbian, works as a wedding photographer with Seb, a gay man who is her best friend. After JJ falls in love with a gorgeous diva, her friendship with Seb becomes strained, and she may be forced to choose between Seb and her lover.

୨୧ The Aggressives (2005) dir. Daniel Peddle ⋆ documentary: The Aggressives is an exposé on the subculture of masculine presenting people of color and their femme counterparts. Filmed over five years in New York City, the featured subjects share their dreams, secrets, and deepest fears.

୨୧ The Watermelon Woman (1996) dir. Cheryl Dunye ⋆ romance/comedy: An aspiring black lesbian filmmaker researches an obscure 1930s black actress billed as the Watermelon Woman.

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜

୨୧ A Butch Road Map by Ivan Coyote ⋆ spoken word

୨୧ A Dyke's Bike Repair Handbook by Jill Taylor ⋆ motorcycle care/repair handbook, this one is so random i just love it lol

୨୧ Are Butch and Fem Working-Class and Anti-Feminist? by Sara L. Crawley ⋆ article

୨୧ Butch Between the Wars: A Pre-History of Butch Style in Twentieth-Century Literature, Music, and Film by Karen Allison Hammer ⋆ dissertation

୨୧ Feminizing Theory: Making Space for Femme Theory by Rhea Ashley Hoskin ⋆ thesis

୨୧ Femme: Feminists, Lesbians, and Bad Girls by Laura Harris, Elizabeth Crocker

୨୧ Lesbian Identity and the Politics of Butch-Femme by Amy Goodloe ⋆ paper/review

୨୧ Lineage To My Femme Foremothers by A.N. ⋆ zine

୨୧ Lipstick & Dipstick's Essential Guide to Lesbian Relationships by Gina Daggett, Kathy Belge

୨୧ Narrating and Negotiating Butch and Femme: Storying Lesbian Selves in a Heteronormative World by Sara L. Crawley ⋆ dissertation

୨୧ On the Appropriation of Femme from Lesbians Over Everything, a discussion between four femmes ⋆ article

୨୧ The Misunderstood Gender: A Model of Modern Femme Identity by Heidi Levitt, Elisabeth Gerrish, Katherine Hiestand ⋆ study

୨୧ The Mythic Mannish Lesbian: Radclyffe Hall and the New Woman by Esther Newton

୨୧ To All the Beautiful, Kick-Ass, and Fierce, Full-Bodied Femmes by Ivan Coyote ⋆ spoken word

i was meaning to post this for when i hit 1k followers, but i somehow have already surpassed that. it is weird to think that i started this blog on january 27. thank you all so much for following and interacting. i hope you enjoy this list and my blog in general!!

much love 💋

[moyazaika]

squeaky clean;

yandere. non/dub-con. heavily implied nsfw. mdni.

“i’m sorry– m’sorry, please! swear i won’t–!” your thighs ache, pressed painfully against the edge of the bathtub, held in place by cold, firm hands that refuse to relent, despite your very best efforts. “i won’t do it again. promise.”

“oh, yeah?” you feel the tug of his lips; a cruel smile against your bare shoulders, which shake with sobs that wrack your whole body. he can feel them, you know he can. he’s got your back pressed right up against his chest; he just doesn’t care. “how sorry are you, baby?”

“very very sorry, i swear!” with wide teary eyes, you turn to face the apathetic man behind you. he only looks down at you levelly, appraisal in those eyes, crinkled with amusement despite the facsimile of a loving, if not remorseful, boyfriend’s expression on his features–when he is anything but. 

not loving. not remorseful. and certainly, if the way he keeps you all locked up and confined to the halls of his home serves as any indication of how little your opinion of his unwanted, unrequited affection matters; not your boyfriend.

and yet, you bend over backwards in an attempt to keep him satisfied. how unfortunate it is that all your efforts were undone by a single moment of carelessness; the cathartic release of a convoluted, complicated rage; hard work and pandering and pliant disposition rendered void by a few stupid tumbling past your lips before you could stop to just fucking think.

but you don’t voice any of that to him. it’s not what he would want or care to hear. “i didn’t mean to–to be so rude. please, please, please don’t make me do this…”

a noncommittal hum; “you can do better than that, surely.”

“i’ll never do it again–promise, promise i won’t.” your pleas inevitably fall on deaf ears, breathy voice echoing within the vast, bleak bathroom you’ve ended up in; awaiting the punishment your captor intends to dole out, begging in a lovely little futile attempt for a compassion that the both of you know he does not possess. “i didn’t mean to, i swear! m’so sorry, i’ll be good from now on. i-i love you. i love you.”

lithe fingers dig into your jaw almost painfully, as he kisses his teeth in mock sympathy. “oh, baby. you poor thing, i know you're sorry.”

hope, unfurling in your chest as you allow yourself to let out a relieved sob, mercy—

“but it’s just no good now, is it?” 

you freeze, rooted to the spot. your heart physically drops; a weight that sits low in your belly, alongside the fear of how he’s going to make you pay for your mistake.

“should’ve thoughta that before ‘ya called me ‘psychopathic bastard' you wish would 'do the world a favour by dying.'” he recites your words gleefully, a light and playful tone that contrats his far more forceful hand, as he angles your face forward; the hand that was at the back of your thighs reaching out, muscles taut, you realise–terrified all over again, with restraint. “but no matter. we can fix that.”

you shake your head, curl away from the soap; and right back up against his hard chest. “please don’t”

“hush now, sweet thing. i’ll show you what happens next time you run your little mouth like that later. first,” he reaches for the silky pink bar of soap that rests on the bath caddy, and you hear the sound of mellifluous laughter, low in the back of his throat. “let’s wash that dirty mouth of yours out with some soap.”

“i’m sorry.” it’s a pathetic, useless apology that carries no weight. you know it as much as he does, and yet, you're still a mess of nerves before him, "i love you."

“you weren’t so sorry and sweet when you told me to go ‘suck a dick.’” he grins cruelly. “now how ‘bout you quit whining and get some of these suds in your mouth, so you can think twice next time ‘bout tellin’ me what to put in mine.”

and you've always been good; so why should this time be any different?

it's the oddest thing, though; even after the mortifying ordeal, the overwhelming aftertaste of the soap doesn't make you feel cleaner, so much as it makes you feel dirtier than before.

even more so than when he will place something far less sweeter against your lips hours later, repeating your own words back to you whilst you look up at him helplessly through long lashes, weighed down by your tears.

"'ts not there to stare at, baby. you wanna prove just how sorry you are?" he runs a hand through your hair when you only nod in response; words failing you, mouth squeaky-clean. "good. you've already shown me what a dirty mouth you have today..."

"now," he mockingly taps the side of your face with a single finger, looking down at you a pleased little smile that has lingered on his lips since his fingers were in your mouth, hours ago, forcing the bar of soap onto your tongue. "let's see you put it to work."

[shockinglyangel]

PECULIAR PRISON WIFE - VI x reader

Warnings: Mature, Explicit language, Mentions of abuse, Mentions of substance abuse, Multiple parts, Plot (lots of narration)

SUMMERY: You’ve been locked up in Stillwater prison for a good few years, but only now have you been introduced to the one they all call “Pink”

PART ONE: Meeting her

(Vi is referred to as “Pink” throughout this as her name is not revealed — nickname based off the council archives)

Stillwater was a cold and desolate place, it felt as though it were an entity itself, a ghost of structure where even the warmest of hearts would struggle to find comfort. They would fight to keep the strength they had grown fond of over the years, their remaining positivity being ripped out after the dark corners of the haunting building possess any lasting hope they had, whispering words of violence and horror in mockery while they attempt to chase sleep on the floor where they had not been afforded a bed. Yet it had become a home for you, the walls so recognisable to your eyes that you could render yourself blind and still know the direction as if it were your labyrinth — you had become accustomed. Your body was trained to the sound of the guards' shoes as they padded against the stone floor, your ears piping up as you listened out for the cain that aided the oversized man in his journey. You knew you were done for when those heels sounded and the throat of the far too familiar guard could be heard coming towards you. Though lately he had not been for you, rather you found he would ignore everyone else to entertain the presence of the one known as "Pink."

Everyone knew Pink of course, she was an individual held of high regard in the prison, someone everyone knew to look out for and stay on the right side of. Though you yourself had never the chance to talk with her, you knew from the other gossiping women, that she was never one to mess with. So why was it the one so dangerous, a turbulence to the otherwise calm environment could allow themself to be slammed into the wall and used as a punching bag far too often? You had thought perhaps people lied, the isolation of their cells causing their hunger to grow, and the rebellion of a scandalous rumour was the only way to soothe the growl of their stomachs. But sometimes you could swear you heard a snarl after a high groan, followed by a cracking of delicate knuckles, a sound born from preparation to fight back the man feeding her punishment — and that was enough to confirm the untrustworthy words of those imprisoned beside you.

Many of these women had been here far longer than you, and Pink was one of them. It was said that she had joined only as a spout in her mid teenage years, though no one quite knew why or how, they found easiness in recalling the sounds of her shouts and pleas as she screamed out helplessly for the drugs her body had began to have restless withdrawals from. "Powder!" They said she cried out at the late hours of the night, the moon barely illuminating her cell as she begged for something her body couldn't live in the absence of. The other prisoners struggled to find common understanding with her, offering the powder she yelled for, only to be dismissed quickly with the violence of a threat or the quick fist of a punch.

It was late in the evening, so late in fact that the sun had already gone to bed in its wait of impatience for you to sleep in yours. You still couldn't quite recon with the thoughts running through your head, and you almost didn't need to when you heard the bars of your cell clatter with a sound of entrance, a pair of boots skidding against the ground as they were pushed inside.

"This is the last time we move you, Pink." A man in the shadows spoke, slamming the cell shut with hasty aggression before fiddling around with the jingling keys in his hand. "Let's hope you see fit in finding peace with your knew cellmate."

The man paid you no attention as he turned back on his heels as if he were not there prior. Had Pink really been transferred to your cell like he had said, and on the common occasion of beating up another of her cell mates? It was a wonder they didn't put her in a cell alone if she happened to be so insistent on causing harm.

Pink — or the woman with pink hair rolled her shoulders with a groan of dismissal before staring out between the cell bars. She held herself with good posture, her shoulders squared as her hands bunched up in an ironclad fists, always prepared to fight. But she didn't fight, she just let the guard push her inside without uttering a word from her scarred lips. She saw no use in putting up a battle which would end leaving her another night on the floor bruised and bloody.

Her face was adorned with marks she had come to grow fond of, whether it be fresh grazes from the talks she received from the guards, or those scars she wore proudly on her eyebrow and upper lip, a carved consequence of living life dangerously and picking fights with those she wasn't aware could fight back.

"What are you looking at?" She snapped, turning her head, a slight scowl painted on her face when she caught your attention boring into her presence as if she were a mysterious gem you found sudden fortune in. Her words slurred together quickly, like she had no desire on wasting the sound of her voice on someone as disposable as you.

You were quick to respond, continuing to study her even though she made it clear she had no interest in entertaining such intrigue as yours. "Not everyday a new cellmate is thrown in here with me, call it morbid curiosity."

"Well don't get used to it." She slumped against the wall on the other side of the cell, her legs spread as she placed her torn up hands on her knees, cuts and blisters worn into her knuckles as proudly as one would wear jewellery. "I'll be out of here before the morning."

"Planning on starting up a ruckus already? You just got here." You stated, your eyes still dancing over the figure in the shadows.

She looked back at you, one of her eyes covered by the tufts of feathered, vibrant hair, the other one a piercing blue that could still be seen through the darkness of the tortured cell. "Depends, you gonna cause me any trouble?"

"Wasn't quite my intention." You pushed yourself back in the top of your bunk, laying your spine against the harsh springs as they dug into your skin like a constant reminder of your unsavoury past. "Though I sure wouldn't mind a more intimidating nickname once I kick your ass. How do you feel about "Brass knuckles?"

The woman dipped her head lower as she let out a small entertained scoff, her hair shaking as she moved. "Better than the shit they stuck me with."

"Pink." You added, shuffling to place your hands under your head for a shade more comfort.

Vi huffed in approval before standing up again, her shoulders rolling with soft crackles and pops as she made her way towards the bunk bed you were on, already hogging the top as she sunk down into the familiar discomfort of the bottom. "It was the obvious choice, I suppose."

"What's your actual name?" You asked without a hint of hesitance or fear. Sure she was unpredictable, but would she really flip a table at the question of her name?

"Five-one-six." She responded faster than expected, her body collapsing with defeat as she allowed it to melt into the mattress below, the bunk shaking with the receptive movements.

You couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief. "You've reduced yourself to the number on your back?"

Pink shrugged in quick abandon before toppling over onto her side, her body hugged in the fetal position as her hands folded up under the profile of her head, playing the role of a pillow she had not been given. "No point trying to act human. The pilts see us as animals, the guards are no better. May as well play the part."

Your body stilled, eyes glued to the cavities dug far into the ceiling as you took a moment to ponder her words. The woman was clearly used to the pain inflicted on her in this place, whether it be physical or mental, but you didn't expect her to be so — emotional? "That's deep," you quickly shrugged off her vulnerability, not used to someone being so open while in an unforgiving prison cell. Everyone had walls built up to protect themselves, you could spend days, even months or years trying to tear them down with no avail. Pink was far too open for your faltering tough exterior, her words already welding themselves deep into the fragile parts of your mind as if she knew exactly what to say. "Bit sappy though, no?"

She smirked from the bottom bunk as she listened to you shift above her, repositioning yourself to mirror the position you were not aware she was placed in, your legs hugged close to your body as if you desired to be held. "This place is relentless and cruel, sappy or not, it's the only way to feel something."

You wanted to disagree with her, tell her she was wrong and that you and all others never needed to face your hidden emotions. You'd tried to abandon your feelings, they were of no use when you had to appear so strong to protect yourself and your pride in a place where everyone desired to hurt you. "Can't say I feel the same, quite used to this hellhole as it is, no use on dwelling on a past I can't change."

"You just did it." Pink scoffed.

Your eyebrows furrowed for a second as you pushed your body up to the place where a protective bar would have been had the guards cared about your conditions, your torso slumping over the side so you could hang off the edge to look down at the one under you. "What?"

Pink looked up, taking in the way your hair fell messily as you balanced off the bunk, your hands gripping harshly on the bars of your headboard. "No point dwelling on a past I can't change," she repeated your words as if they were engraved into the texture of her brain. "That was sappy."

You huffed, lifting yourself back up to roll over onto the opposite side of your body, your hands folded up under your armpits as you cradled yourself. "Was not," you denied, taking a moment before throwing yourself back over to the side of the bunk, resting over the edge again. "God, it's you, you're already fucking rubbing off on me."

"Guilty." Pink gave a weak smile, her teeth only just shining through the part between her lips. "You're alright."

"I'm better than alright, I'm like a damn prodigy." You slumped over the edge further, taking in the scrunch of her body as she lay on the lumpy mattress prior used by large and bulky men twice her size.

She scoffed again — that damn scoff. "Prodigy of what?"

Your lips upturned for a moment before slanting into an awkward grin. "Haven't decided, still a working progress."

Air left Pink's lips as she shuffled a little more, watching you bring yourself back up to the surface of your bed, your head no longer hanging close enough for her to pull your hair in a quick fit of aggression. "So long in here and still haven't made a name for yourself?"

You shook your head with a laugh. "Y/N."

The other woman tilted her head like a curious puppy navigating it's owners instructions before settling it back down onto her clasped hands. "Pink."

A groan parted from your throat as your back moulded into the mattress. "You're really not going to give me your real name?"

"Nope." Pink closed her eyes in hopes to drift off into a slightly less intense sleep than usual, the 'P' popping from her mouth with a tired push.

"Asshole."

[matsookawa]

Title: Graceless

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Summary: The great warlord stumbling over himself in the presence of a wine shop owner while his two housemates make it worse.

Word count: 1,604

Note: This was requested as a "short story". I clearly do not acknowledge the word "short" in any way.

The single lightbulb flickering above the mirror is beginning to irritate Dracule Mihawk. He stands above the sink, calloused hands gripping the sides, while he scrutinizes every one of his features. He double checks his hat is straightened, his long open coat sitting just right on his broad shoulders, and that his beard was groomed better than usual that morning. He adjusts Yoru, takes a step back, and moves the feather on his hat one inch to the left. He knows Zoro and Perona are impatiently waiting outside the front doors for him to join them, however he can’t bring himself to care. He has to look absolutely impeccable or this will all be for nothing.

It's ten minutes when he finally steps out of the bar, his protégé and their ghostlike counterpart following behind him until they come upon a shop next door, the storefront colored tastefully with gold and black. He takes a particularly deep breath and he can almost hear Perona beginning to smile behind him. ‘Why on Earth did I bring them?’ This is something he would much rather do alone, but alas, he couldn’t trust them not to burn down the estate in his absence. As he ascends the two steps, he considers abandoning them on this island. Once the door is open, he’s immediately welcomed with the scent of wood and herbs. If you asked him, he would say it’s his favorite smell in the world, right after a certain someone’s perfume. ‘Speaking of which’, he thinks. The wooden floors beneath him groan as he moves toward the counter to tap a call bell resting on top. Bottles behind him clink and he knows his companions have begun choosing what they’re going to bring home.

Just as every other time prior, he’s rendered speechless upon sight of her when she appears from the back. The woman, magnificent to behold and perfect in every way, smiles and his hands twitch with the desire to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her until she can no longer breathe. She hasn’t changed since the day he met her and he hopes she feels the same way about him. He’s always been very partial to that day in particular.

It was two years ago when he was stopping for supplies. He decided he should replenish their wine cellar, but none of the larger stores had his favorites in stock (truly a curse for a connoisseur such as himself). After speaking with a few locals, he was directed to a small shop on the outskirts of town. As soon as he entered and saw the selection, he knew he was home. Soon after, the most gorgeous woman showed him to a shelf of wines that were so rare, he had only ever heard rumors and not seen them. After giving her expertise and allowing him samples, he walked out of there buzzed and with plans to visit at least once a month. To this day, he believes that was an ascension into Heaven.

“And where have you three been? I’ve waited day in and day out for my favorite customers and for what? Two months of absolutely nothing?” Perona is the one to answer and an irrational part of Mihawk is angry he didn’t get to speak to her first. “Sorry, [Y/N]. We’ve been training non-stop for the past couple of weeks and haven’t been able to make it out here. We probably still wouldn’t have made it if our entire cellar didn’t run out of wine. Mr. Grumpy here has been sulking for days. We’re beginning to think he has an alcohol problem.”

He wants to kill Perona over and over again.

“Well, you’re in the right place for it then.” [Y/N] responds. Her gaze returns to the group’s leader (the group’s father, more like). She speaks in a low tone and Mihawk believes it is an attempt to spare any teasing from his companions. “For what it’s worth, I do wish you would come more often. I’ve missed watching you swing Yoru around on the shore.” Mihawk swears his heart palpitates for a moment. He longs to rip it straight out of his chest and hand it to her while frantically screaming “I want to spend every lifetime with you!” Unfortunately, no one will ever catch the warlord acting so out of character. “Thank you for your kind words. We have missed you as well.” Perona snickers and Mihawk quickly says, “Your wine, I might clarify. We have missed your wine.” [Y/N] giggles and it’s a sound Mihawk sears into his memory for the lonely days ahead of him. “I must say I’m disappointed it’s only my wine you miss.” She claps her hands together as his throat goes dry. “Alright then!” [Y/N] says loudly. “Let me show you what’s new!”

The two meander the aisles for an hour until they stand once more at the counter. [Y/N] is telling a story about a disgruntled customer from last week. “And then, do you know what he said to me? And I know you would have absolutely killed him, Mihawk. He said to me, ‘Well, don’t you think you’re on a bit too high of a horse to be such a bitch about liquor?’ As if I haven’t spent the last decade gathering the rarest and highest quality wines!” She’s correct. He would have indeed taken that man’s life. How dare someone speak to any woman, much less this one, like that? “Not everyone can appreciate the finer things in this life such as ourselves.” [Y/N] smiles and leans forward, resting her elbows on the countertop. “That’s why I’ve always been fond of you, Mihawk. You always hold your head high no matter what anyone says about you.”

The only thing he heard was “I’ve always been fond of you.”

And so it seems did Perona and Zoro. He feels a breeze as they rush to flank him on either side. “Say, [Y/N].” Perona starts. “What do you think about coming for dinner sometime? We’d love to have you.” Mihawk’s eye minutely twitches. “Yeah,” Zoro chimes in with a smirk. “I’m sure Mihawk wouldn’t mind. Quite the opposite actually. We’ve seen him writing a lot lately. Perona found a notebook where he talked about this beautiful woman who unknowingly has his entire heart. Not to mention how he yearns for her at night when-” The warlord raises his foot and slams it onto Zoro’s as hard as he possibly can. The younger man yells a “Hey!”. It makes [Y/N] laugh and Mihawk swears there has never been a sweeter sound. “Forgive him, [Y/N]. He’s been delirious the past couple of weeks because of illness. He does not know what he’s talking about.” The words are hurried and red creeps into his cheeks.

[Y/N]’s smile falters just a bit. “Oh, if you don’t want me to come, that’s okay. I-“ “No!” Perona and Zoro stare wide-eyed at his unusual outburst. His resolve is crumbling. “Of course we would love to have you for dinner. I- We don’t want to impose, is all. I know you mentioned not having a ship of your own.” [Y/N] tries to hide her smile by pressing her lips together. A beat passes. “Not to say that is an issue. Of course we could come get you, but then your shop would be closed for at least a day, you would lose income, and it could be foreclosed-“ “Mihawk.” [Y/N] places her hand on top of one of his that’s resting on the counter. “I would love to come, if you’d have me.”

The world stops. Perona and Zoro no longer exist and it is just he and [Y/N] holding each other’s hand. A blush explodes across his neck and he stares open-mouthed at her. She holds a soft smile and his skin burns where hers is touching. He can’t bring himself to speak so she does. “Do you have availability this weekend?” The man nods. “Good.” [Y/N] releases his hand and Mihawk wants to cry out for it like a child. “I’ll be at the docks at six.” He’s able to pick up enough scraps of his dignity to recollect himself in front of her. “We will see you then. Today has been a pleasure.”

The bell above the door chimes as Zoro and Perona exit. [Y/N] walks Mihawk to the door and they pause before it. “I meant it when I said you’re my favorite customers.” Now that they’re completely alone, he allows his lips to pull into a small, embarrassed smile. “I must admit, we have grown very fond of you as well.” He turns and opens the door. He begins his descent down the two steps. “Then do me a favor and lose the kids this weekend.” His body halts immediately. “I beg your pardon?” He turns to her while she stands in the doorway, his brows furrowed in silent question. “You heard me. Come on, Mihawk. All this talk of fondness, not to mention the only women you’re close to are Perona and me, so you journal entry could only be about me.” Mihawk’s mouth falls open and for the first time in his life, he begins stuttering.

“Besides,” she teases with a grin. “You’ve been here for the past hour and forgot to buy anything.”

Mihawk goes pale.

“Safe travels!” She shuts the door and he watches her figure disappear into the back of her shop. He hears cackling from behind him and as much as he wants to punish Zoro and Perona for it, he can’t bring himself to.

The only thing filling his head are wedding plans.

Note: Admittedly, I'm not super proud of the end result, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. It was hard to fight my personal headcanon that Mihawk wouldn't outwardly show his nervousness, but I now think it's a very humanizing trait for him to do so.

[leriexoxo]

ESCAPE

PART ONE

"You're always down to be a slut for the two hottest men alive..."

pairing: Chan x reader x Hyunjin

tags: m/m/f, man on man action, smut, 18+ MDNI (I won't ruin it by putting all the tags, let's have the element of surprise)

word count: 1.6k

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

next

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Chapter One

You fought the urge to slink around Hyunjin’s apartment like a scaredy cat.

I have the right to be here, you thought to yourself as you tiptoed down the hall from Hyunjin’s bedroom to the apartment’s bathroom, embarrassed by your own shyness.

You hated it when your friend with benefits had roommates. You’d much rather be breezing through the house in a silk robe and lingerie, waiting tits-out and shameless for your latest fling to come home from class.

College life, however, had stolen many joys from you, one of which was the luxury of complete privacy during your hookups. The only place you could have your tits out here was the shower, or in Hyunjin’s room with the door closed.

You couldn’t remember the last time you visited anyone your own age – regular friends included- with their own apartment. No; it was always some two-to-five-bedroom bullshit with communal bathrooms, standard dorm kitchens that were always a chaotic mess of protein bars and boxed mac, decor- if there were any- an ugly mixture of different styles and tastes.

Hyunjin wasn’t like that, though, you assured yourself. Besides the fact that you hadn’t stooped as low as fucking in a bunk bed since your friend with benefits arrangement started over a year ago, Hyunjin was a legacy alumnus at your university, which meant he was old money.

His apartment, unsurprisingly, was nice, for what it was -– it smelled like boys in there, and the fridge was barren save for several cans of beer and an ancient bowl of Kimchi, but it was pretty clean. The rooms were spacious, there was great lighting, the shower had fantastic water pressure which you made good use of once or twice, and he only had one roommate –- some studious music major who apparently was also a legacy student that you had yet to run into during your countless visits thus far.

All-in-all, Hyunjin’s place was a far cry from some of the absolutely wretched places you’d deigned fit to get laid.

Anyway.

You reached the bathroom, its door was slightly ajar, so you pushed it open with your phone and a towel in hand. A message from Hyunjin lit up the screen, the text preview gleaming with a handful of stupid, cute emojis and a private image attachment. You smirked – maybe waiting for him to come home won’t be so boring after all –

“Ah,” came a voice directly in front of you, from just beyond where your vision had tunneled onto your screen.

You yelped and lost your grip on your phone, fumbling until it fell from your grasp.

“Fuck!” you swore, panic rendering you at a loss for more eloquent words, because standing in front of you was –must’ve been – Hyunjin’s roommate. You’d caught him shaving in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, razor in hand, half his chin still coated in a fine white foam.

But it wasn’t his sharp pointed nose or cutting jawline that had you sputtering, seconds away from erupting in a nosebleed. It was the fact that he was not wearing a fucking shred of clothing besides an absolutely tiny towel around his waist – his freaking waist; lithe, v-line defined and prominent, pale in the light of the bathroom lamp, with beads of water shimmering at the curve of his hipbone, across the lightest dusting of brown hair trailing down his tight muscled stomach. That had to be a 6 pack or more...

“Sorry,” you said, quickly averting your eyes and backing out of the doorway. “Oh, my god...”

“No, no...” said the roommate, “I’m sorry, I-”

“Didn’t think anyone was in here, my bad-” you rambled on.

“No, I thought no one was home-” he said almost at the same time, looking comical with half his face covered in shaving cream.

“I’m so sorry, I’m gonna go...”

And you turned on your heels and ran, cheeks flaming with heat. Hyunjin’s room wasn’t far, and you slammed his door behind you with a panicked huff, your heart hammering.

Jesus Christ.

You were shaking, and it wasn’t as if you were a quaking virgin, or anything; the man in the bathroom wasn’t the first beautiful, almost-naked person you’d ever seen, or even the first person (or persons) you’d accidentally barged in on in a state of undress. It’s just that you’d been vividly picturing Hyunjin’s roommate as a scrawny, socially-awkward shut-in wearing ill-fitting cargo shorts and a polo – but definitely not a half-naked, unbelievably, sexy brunette.

“What’s your roommate like?” you remembered asking Hyunjin one evening as you lazed around in his bed together.

You had asked mostly to get his attention, not because you particularly cared. Hyunjin had rolled his eyes, casting his phone aside to intertwine his hand with yours, bringing it up to his lips, and kissing it.

“He’s, like, boring,” he’d said against the back of your hand. “A dork, to be honest. Very academic. He can be a menace when he wants to, though.”

And you, more than a little distracted by the feeling of Hyunjin’s lips brushing against the delicate skin of your inner wrist... then, your arm... then, your collarbone- you’d dropped the subject, opting instead to pull Hyunjin down for a sloppy kiss.

Your fucking mistake, because you were woefully unprepared for–

The gentle sound of a knock behind you cut off your train of thoughts,

You froze; eyes wide as you whirled around to face the door. You knew it was Hyunjin’s roommate.

What could he want? wasn’t he also embarrassed? Shouldn’t he have been busy flaming Hyunjin in a text message, demanding to know why he left his hookup hidden around the house like a land mine–

“Your phone,” came a muffled voice from outside. “You left your phone in the bathroom.”

Shit. You tapped around your empty pockets. Shit!

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, forcing your body to relax into a casual stance before you opened the door.

“Oh,” you said, feigning nonchalance. “Thanks.”

Hyunjin’s roommate, thank God, had dressed himself. He wore a crisp pair of gray sweatpants and a spotless white tank top that clung to the defined muscles of his chest. His hair was still damp; purposely mussed up in free curls at the top of his head, but neat. Faintly, you realized that he smelled good, clean and masculine and woodsy –you wondered what kind of aftershave he used.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he said, extending his hand and holding out your phone. Christ, he had fucking pretty and large hands -– elegant and strong-looking, like he played some sort of instrument –-

“I’m Chan. I know who you are, but we haven’t met. Here’s your phone.”

You took it wordlessly, slipping it into the pocket of your sleep shorts.

“Thanks,” you offered again, fighting to keep your voice from sounding strangled. “Chan. Sorry for barging in on you like that, earlier. You didn’t scare me, Hyunjin just didn’t mention you’d be here...”

“Oh, he’s bad at communicating,” Chan cut you off, smiling wryly. “I won’t hold that against you at all.”

You were momentarily taken aback, but you couldn’t deny that what Chan said wasn’t true –- you weren’t sleeping with Hyunjin for his superb communication skills. Other than what could only be described as dick appointment scheduling texts and the occasional filthy one-liners or tasteful nudes, Hyunjin wasn’t the best at keeping up a conversation. Not that you needed to talk much when you-

“Bathroom’s all yours, anyway,” Chan said, turning away. “It’s nice to finally meet you y/n.”

You were completely thrown off balance, he even knew your name? Just what had Hyunjin told him about you.

As usual when you met someone you found attractive, you had the raging urge to show off, unsheathe your charms, flirt a little. okay maybe a lot. But this was a bit too much -– you slept poorly (by choice, of course; Hyunjin didn’t sleep well either, given that you spent most of the night fucking each other senseless), you and Chan got off to an incredibly awkward start, and you hadn’t even had your morning coffee yet-

“Had breakfast yet?” Chan called from down the hall.

There was a pause in your racing thoughts. Breakfast?

Here?

You had planned to go hungry today, maybe swing by one of many campus cafes before your afternoon seminar, treating yourself with a cold brew and some indulgent, flaky pastry. You weren’t really the type to stick around for breakfast, nor were the people you hooked up with really the types to ask you to stay. Hyunjin, for all his charms, certainly wasn’t. You had only just started spending the night recently.

“Uh, no?” you called back, tentatively. Maybe he wasn't even talking to you. “Not yet.”

Now in the kitchen, Chan said something that you couldn’t quite make out. You heard the opening and closing of cabinets as you slipped out of Hyunjin’s room, clutching your towel and mulling Chan’s words over in your mind.

Breakfast?

You entered the bathroom, standing before the sink’s mirror which was still slightly foggy, you undressed and decided to shower as quickly as possible.

You felt your cheeks flush as the hot water hit your back, and you lathered up your hair with a pump of Hyunjin’s shampoo. You wanted to get back out there to see what Chan was up to. His behavior was mystifying. Great lays or not, you could count the number of people who had made you breakfast after a hookup on one hand.

Not that you had even hooked up with Chan.

Yet.

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Authors note: Hi! so, I'm doing it, I'm writing unit fics based on the latest tracks and what better place to start if not for Escape? heheheheh! if you liked this then hold on for the next chapter, ill upload as fast as I can.

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