#I can't tell if i love the ignorance or not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerd-party · 3 days ago

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ill try to answer them all:

genevieve, and I like it!

Yep! I can't draw but I do acting and singing

Yes unfortunately

be on stage as a job

Will Campos waved at me once

not right now, my legs are too fucked

being overlooked: seen but ignored for someone else who is just as good/worse than me

Barret Wilbert weed

I can sing, do card tricks, and I can walk incredibly quietly (ninja style)

absolutely fucking not, just TRY waking me up before 10am at the weekend

Only for bf/gfs but I am down for a nickname

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHA YES

I don't watch shows so I'll list one show and movies: good omens, red white and royal blue, the princes bride

not really lol

Me and my friends from all across my friend groups sitting in an oak tree eighty feet high, smoking weed and passing round a bottle of wine that never emptied. We watched the snow fall and the sun rise and it was literally perfect.

nope

nope again

nope x3

unfortunately I am a social butterfly but I wish I could just be on my own sometimes fr

yep! Never used to be but I guess I'm popular now

bite my nails

I always forget I have mascara on so I rub my eyes and I look stupid- I feel open to attack.

Jon if it's a boy, Elisa if it's a girl, and backup name of Ollie/Yasmin/Jasmine

dont have one but DAMN Andrew Garfield fine

music

Dogs but I do love cats

Literally tumbles my only social. I guess ao3?

@valkzzheart

brother, sister, mum, dad. Pretty standard shit

chocolate 🤤

Yep!

YES I LOVE ROLLERCOASTERS

yep, quite well

I have a. DETAILED PLAN. if y'all want me to tell it exactly lmk and I'll divulge my master plan.

yes, a few

Yep!

Pink/blue!

England!!! TOP BINS MATE OAYYYY

Any musical theatre artist!! Or Conan Gray

yes!! It's a big dream of mine but I don't wanna be super famous

Yes I love dresses but I wish it was warmer where I live so I can wear them more

popular from wicked / astronomy by Conan Gray

talking about it in person yes (especially with parents) online no, actually doing it would be a no

like 12?

Yes I do it all the time, Im in a shooting club

Nope!!

i love horror!!

According to my friends yes and I think I'm good too

one time I got really mad at my parents because I was sent away from the dinner table in my old home so I went upstairs and flushed a whole toilet roll down the bog

pretty exhausted

Yes I was actually

i never used to be able to dance but I can now

Biting my nails again

Yes!! I bleached it just so I could dye it

Blue

ferret

Onstage once yeah but it wasn't my fault (mic cut out, I got made fun of)

Yes!

lots!

My main friend group is GAE 🏳️‍🌈

drama

None

sometimes? It varies

pet sematary (1989) FANTASTIC

Not on TV but in podcasting: Normally 'Ly Oak-Swallows-Garcia-Li-Wilson-Marlowe-Swift-The-Unworthy is just like me fr

need to be at the top and extreme competitiveness I force myself not to think about, plus my extreme feelings about fairness

hiking the mountains and going around the world to beautiful places

If I would never die I would start committing crimes

singing aloud onstage and around the house to practice

who I became friends with would change ASAP and my class too

yes absolutely

Late October

My room with all my DND stuff

Did my singing competition auditions!!

an astrophysicist

A stable career and a consistent home life

I usually speak up, I don't think I have a moment like this

I have to get better at everything.

I feel like that already with how many extracurriculars I'm doing bruh 😭

seeing the sights bro

Houses for me and my friends/family, stable education funds for me, my friends, my kids, my family and all our kids. Keep people safe from bankruptcy

The past, instantly. Live in the 80s and 70s forever

a love of acting and helping others

same one from earlier- hanging with the boys committing crimes!!

The woods would be nice but if get bored. The city

Nope. There's no afterlife. It just ends.

my year 6 teacher was the GOAT

playing Lego with my friend from nursery, Aoife.

Einstein so I can get his last words

I don't really know yet. I've laughed so hard I've cried but it's not the same

that some people are gonna think others are better than you and you just have to deal with that. Favoritism is everywhere and fairness is irrelevant.

Nothing.

kill some people probably /hj

run away/defy authority unfortunately

yes, because no matter what people say, looks matter especially early in life. If youre pretty at school you aren't bullied and people like you. I want to give my kid the best chance. (not saying this is a good thing, I hate this but it's the truth)

idk just kinda happened one day

impending doom and my immense hopelessness and just. General sense of emptiness and failure.

exist.

hey that wasnt 100 you skipped 2!!

100 Questions!

Thought these might be fun? Ask me some and I’ll try(I can’t promise) to get something up for you later! these questions aren’t my own

1. What’s your middle name, and do you like it? 2. are you artistic? 3. Have you had your first kiss? 4. What is your life goal? 5. Do you have any expieriences with a famous person? 6. Do you play any sports? 7. What’s your worst fear? 8. Who’s your biggest inspiration? 9. Do you have any cool talents? 10. are you a morning person? 11. How do you feel about pet names? 12. Do you like to read? 13. Name a list of shows that have changed your life. 14. Do you care about your follower count? 15. What’s the best dream you’ve had? 16. Have you ever kissed someone of your same gender? 17. Do you have any pets? 18. Are you religious? 19. Are you a people person? 20. Are you considered popular? 21. What is one of your bad habits? 22. What’s something that makes you feel vulnerable 23. What would you name your children? 24. Who’s your celebrity crush? 25. What’s your best subject? 26. Dogs or cats? 27. most used social media besides tumblr? 28. best friends name 29. who does your main family consist of 30. Chocolate or sugar 31. have you ever been on a date? 32. Do you like rollercosters? 33. Can you swim? 34. What would you do in the event of an apocolypse? 35. Have you struggled with any kind of mental disorder 36. Are your parents together? 37. What’s your favourite colour? 38. What country are you from/do you live in? 39. Favourite singer? 40. Do you see yourself being famous some day? 41. Do you like dresses? 42. Favourite song right now? 43. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? 44. How old were you when you first got your period? 45. Have you ever shot a gun? 46. Have you ever done yoga? 47. Are you a horror girl? 48. Are you good at giving advice? 49. Tell us a story about your childhood. 50. How are you doing today? 51. Were you a cute kid? 52. Can you dance? 53. Is there anything you do that you can’t remember ever not doing? 54. Have you ever dyed your hair? 55. What colour are your eyes? 56. What’s your favourite animal? 57. Have you ever made a huge fool of yourself? 58. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 59. Do you have good friends? 60. Are you close with anyone of the lgbtq+ group? 61. What’s your favourite class? 62. List all the tv shows you are watching. 63. Are you organized? 64. What was the last movie you saw? Opinion? 67. Which tv character do you relate to most? 68. What are some things that stand between you and complete happiness? 69. If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing? 70. What would you change about your life if you knew you would never die? 71. What would you do differently if you knew that no one was judging you? 72. If you could start over, what would you do differently? 73. Would you break the law to save a loved one? 74. When was the last time you travelled somewhere new? 75. When you think of your home, what immediately comes to mind? 76. What have you done to pursue your dreams lately? How about today? 77. What did you want to be when you were a kid? 78. If you dropped everything to pursue your dreams, what would you be risking? 79.When did you not speak up, when you know you really should have? 80. Describe the next five years of your life, and your plans, in a single sentence 81. What would happen if you never wasted another minute of your life, what would that look like? 82. If you could live forever, how would you spend eternity? 83. How would you spend a billion dollars? 84. If you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future? 85. What motivates you to succeed? 86. What dream that you’ve had has resonated with you the most? 87. Would you rather live in the city or the woods? Why? 88. Do you believe in life after death 89. What teacher inspired you the most? How did they? 90. What’s your fondest childhood memory? 91. If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would they be and why? 92. What would you have to see to cry tears of joy? 93. What is the hardest lesson you had to learn in life? 94. What do you think happens after we die? 95. What would you do if you would be invisible? 96. What’s something you can’t do no matter how hard you try? 97. Would you want to choose the sex and appearance of your offspring? 98. How did your first crush develop? 99. Is there a feeling you are trying to ignore? What is it? 100. Do you live or do you just exist?

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suguann · 2 days ago

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✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.

tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy

featuring. simon

It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.

You don’t like parties, really.

Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.

So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps.

And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.

"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.

Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."

“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”

You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”

"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”

(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)

"Ow! Shit!"

You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.

"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"

Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."

You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."

You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.

Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."

You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”

She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”

"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.

"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."

You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."

Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late."

“Oh?”

She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."

In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."

"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold."

Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.

You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.

But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.

There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.

Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.

Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.

You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.

How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?

He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.

You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.

"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.

"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."

The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.

"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"

It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"

"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.

"It’s cute."

Cute?

You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”

"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.

"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.

You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"

"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."

"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.

"Um, a pumpkin..."

You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.

"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."

You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"

"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."

"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.

"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."

You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.

His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."

Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.

When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch.

You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”

"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.

And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.

You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.

"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."

That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.

And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.

"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"

You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."

Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube."

You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.

Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.

You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times.

And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.

You’ll be fine, Finn said.

Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—

A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.

"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.

Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."

Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.

But he keeps walking.

"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."

You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.

It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.

“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.

And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty.

"Hey," you repeat dumbly.

Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.

After a moment, you meet his gaze again.

"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"

Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."

Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"

"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"

"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.

A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.

And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.

masterlist

#.things i write #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod imagine #cod x you #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #fem!reader

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exhuastedpigeon · 21 hours ago

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please don't go 8x08 code - 646 words

"Don't go."

The words are trapped in a cage at the back of Buck's throat. Every time he's opened his mouth in the last week he's had to speak around them. He feels like a tiger pacing his enclosure, like he's going to snap at the bars if anyone gets too close.

"Stay."

He smiles when Eddie shows him house listings in El Paso. Smiles when Eddie invites him to the virtual tour. Smiles when Eddie tells him he's flying down to see the house in person. Smiles when he shows up at Eddie's house the night before his flight with another basket of scones because he baked and baked and baked but the words are still there, clawing at the bars trying to get out.

"Don't go."

His jaw hurts with how tightly he's clenching it when he slides into the driver's seat and starts the car to take Eddie to the airport. He's worried that if he opens his mouth at all he won't be able to stop himself from saying it. Won't be able to keep the constant thrum of "Don't leave me. Stay. Don't go. Please don't leave me" from passing his lips.

"Don't go."

He manages to say goodbye without the words tumbling out. Manages to watch Eddie walk through the departure doors. But then someone else must take over his body because he's parking his car in the tow away zone and ignoring the airport employee's yells that he can't park there and he's running.

"Don't go."

He surprises himself when the words actually leave his mouth. He clearly surprises Eddie too, because he turned around with wide eyes and looks at Buck like he's seen a ghost.

"Buck..."

"Eddie," Buck walks forward and pulls him into a bone crushing hug. Tries to put everything he's kept caged at the back of this throat into the hug. "D-don't go."

"I have to. Buck I have to get him back," Eddie says into his neck. Buck can feel a wet patch on his shoulder and he knows he's not doing any better.

"Please. Please come back," Buck says instead of what he wants to say which is "let me come with you."

"I will," Eddie pulls back enough that Buck can see his face. "I swear, I'll come back."

And Buck kisses him. He's a tiger that's escaped it's enclosure and is finally free after years of being trapped. He's a man standing in the middle of LAX kissing the love of his life, begging him to stay.

He's an idiot because Eddie is straight.

But then Eddie is kissing him back - Eddie. Eddie Diaz. His Eddie. - Is kissing him.

"I can't stay, but - but you can come with me."

"I've got to move my car," Buck laughs, a rush of relief and joy exploding out of him. He doesn't have any clothes except what he brought to Eddie's last night, but that doesn't matter.

"Okay," Eddie grins, soft and so fucking fond. It feels like all Eddie was waiting for was for Buck to ask him to stay and all Buck was waiting for was for Eddie to ask him to come with him.

By some miracle Buck doesn't have a ticket on his Jeep when he walks back outside. He doesn't bother driving to one of the lots, just spends the frankly insane amount of money on the valet and manages to get the last seat on Eddie's flight.

That night, when they're checked in at a hotel near the El Paso airport it's Eddie's turn to say it when Buck rolls out of bed to go to the bathroom.

"Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Inspired by @lonelychicago amazing art.

#911 #buddie #buddie ficlet #911 spoilers

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motomamita · 19 hours ago

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loser!könig × female!reader

warnings: +18, smut, cunnilingus, sex!

loser!könig

a simple photo of your breasts was enough for könig to become the most submissive and needy being in the entire universe. And how to blame him? It was the first time that a girl agreed to have a conversation with him without leaving him in seen or blocking him.

from that moment on, not a day went by when könig sent you a good morning message or a photo of his fat cock showing through his jeans. sometimes you ignored him or took a while to respond, but he always answered instantly. könig didn't mind staying up late talking to you or having to look at his cell phone constantly waiting for your response, he loved the little attention you gave him.

some nights he would surprise you by sending you videos of him masturbating while moaning your name and telling you in an agitated voice how much he needed you there with him. he set your photo as his wallpaper and, sooner rather than later, asked for your bank account information to send you money every time you delayed responding.

soon könig proposed that you meet him in his city, he wanted to meet you in person. you hesitated at his proposal but soon changed your mind when you noticed the amount of money he had sent you, it was enough to pay for a plane ticket to his city. it was all paid for, so how can you say no?

you met könig in a hotel room that he had reserved for both of you. in photos he looked huge and in person it was even more so. he covered almost the entire door frame, his muscles were visible through his t-shirt and his face expressed absolute desire. in his hand he carried a bouquet of roses that he had bought especially to receive you and a bottle of champagne.

you both didn't talk much. there was no need either, you both knew what you were going for.

könig had you under him, hugging your bare legs preventing you from escaping while his big cock entered and exited you. your pussy stretched deliciously with each thrust while your clitoris rubbed against his skin. könig breathed close to your face, fixing his gaze on every expression of pleasure and how you desperately asked him to slow down a little.

"cutie, i can't stop, i can't..."

könig increased the speed of his thrusts, sinking you into the mattress and approaching your face to kiss you desperately. your tongues played with each other and his alcoholic breath invaded you completely.

"are you going to cum? uh? i can feel your pussy squeezing my fat cock. come on, cum in my mouth."

könig pulled out of you and brought his mouth to your wet pussy. he licks and sucks every part of your folds like he's wanted to do it for a long time, and he did. he brought his large hands to your thighs and squeezed them tightly, preventing you from closing your legs.

you pulled his hair hard as your orgasm hit. könig moaned over your pussy and tried to collect all your flavor with his tongue.

before you could react, he sat up and positioned himself on top of you jerking his cock quickly while moaning your name. in a matter of seconds his abundant warm cum fell onto your belly and a moan of relief left his mouth.

"fuck, cutie... now, can you let me cum inside you, please, please?"

with a face like that, how can you refuse? :(

#könig cod #könig call of duty #könig smut #könig x reader #konig x reader #konig smut #konig call of duty #cod smut #cod x reader #konig cod #loser!könig #loser!konig

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lovelytayforce · 13 hours ago

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I agree with this comment here so hard, I remember getting blasted for calling readers who don't comment "leeches" on R/Fanfiction and I'm glad people are seeing that for what it is even if it's four years late

So, I'm gonna share my own little story here because discord has actively ruined communities for fanfic (and art too I'm not gonna leave y'all out cause my bestie @zoetiger-1106 is an artist who deserves way more praise than she gets!!) The reason why authors and myself see the "I'm shy" shit as an excuse is because the same people will type long ass tirades on Discord without a single thought. YOU CAN EDIT AO3 COMMENTS PEOPLE! If you make a mistake, read it back over and edit it. I've watched it happen in real-time with one of my favorite commenters on my one-shot where they left a short gushing comment and then came back and wrote more, you have no excuse much less reason to go "Man fandom keeps telling me to not critique and I might make a mistake so I will say nothing and consume like the average TV and Streaming consumer who thinks there doing something!" YOU have a lot of power with comments and even those bookmark tags hell just copy-paste what you put into those bookmark tags as a comment I DON'T CARE AT THIS POINT USE THAT LIL BOX TO VOICE SOMETHING!!!! God this is all over the place idc but I read back at those bookmarks, and saw people call my works the best and super cool and I APPRECIATE THAT but tell me! Stop taking the easy route, I been blasted for misunderstandings over comments multiple times cause people take my "tone" terribly cause it sucks being black and emotive online yay and for some reason people think !!!! Is bad? yes, I've been hit with that but I keep on trucking cause fuck whatever some weirdo thinks about exclamation points! Anyways back to discord and why I hate it now, I was in a small fandom, KFP got invited to a discord cause ONE person commented on my works and saw they talked about my fic, and at first, I was happy and people TALKED about my chapters at length in the fanfic channel. I basically was the ONLY ONE posting consistently in that channel and it was great but also I wanted that on my fic to show I improved so guess what I did? I went all in trying to one-up myself to be noticed, to have the acclaim my peers did so it would evolve outside of discord channels but it never happened. And Imma tell y'all now; it never will. Readers prefer convenience over your hard work, they are not gonna take time for you no matter how much you improve. People told me over and over while I looked for solutions for this; "We can't make commenting look like an obligation." "Add more prose, space these paragraphs better" all this just for no one to take the initiative and say something SINCERE towards a work they love on it. I've had to tell my own ex-friends now to go leave comments on works they called Masterpieces while ignoring me. Despite the fact they wanted Gen content in which I WROTE. Or met people who have very weird "I don't review" rules for themselves despite getting motivated by reviews themselves!! We're in a shitty time for creatives much less community cause we don't see each other as humans much less want to treat each others as we desire to be treated. Fanfic readers want to treat authors like showrunners and I hate it. But then your peers will tell you 'not to worry about engagement" and no I am because why is my hit count going up every day but ain't no one saying shit? Make it make sense!! I sat in that community commenting as much as I could, especially on long fics; it wasn't all perfect but I TRIED. I didn't expect shit back but hey it would have been nice but it never happened and again I learned; it never would. That's the real issue, no one wants to give no more; just take and take and take til you're sucked dry of passion worse than any corpo out right now. It's why I thankfully switched fandoms. I got ONE consistent commenter and they are better than that ENTIRE SMALL CLOSED COMMUNITY!! So, to any discord reactor for fanfic you better skip on to that message you made and copy and paste it in this box right here and never utter "I'm shy" ever again cause we see you, our friends tell us about you. You are not as anonymous as you think! 🫵🏽

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

#fanfiction #fanfic #god I hate talking about that ol fandom shit #i sound like a vet whose seen some shit #but im sick of other writers and readers downplaying how we feel #taylor talks

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dreameryfics · 2 days ago

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JJ MAYBANK x READER

Summary: The Kooks show up on the beach and JJ defends you

I was with the Pogues all day, like any other day. The sun was shining and the waves were awesome. We woke up that morning and quickly went to the beach. It seemed like everybody had that idea, the beaches filled up within ten minutes it seemed. We got the Twinkie to the beach, well John B did, but not without almost crashing since he was drinking. I tried to tell him to stop, but there was no telling that kid what to do.

I never really was taught how to surf, but that didn't stop me from going out there and just sitting on my surfboard. JJ has tried to help me, but I'm just not very coordinated, to say the least, but he still loves me. I watched everybody surf for a while before deciding to go back to the beach. As I was walking back to the Twinkie, I saw a Jeep start driving over my way. I knew it was Topper and his goons as soon as I saw the vehicle. I sat down on one of the folding chairs we had set up before going to the water, trying to ignore them. I watched as he parked next to us. "What the hell is he doing?" I heard someone ask, looking to see Kie walking over to me.

"I have no clue," I replied, "I just hope no drama happens. It's a nice day and I would hate to have it ruined by them.” I looked over to see Topper, Kelce, Rafe, and Ruthie. I've never liked Topper, but I don't think he's a bad person. I think he's so focused on Kooks versus Pogues, that nothing else matters. It's always been a competition between the two. "I don't understand how he goes from Sarah," I gesture over to Sarah, still surfing, "to Ruthie." I look over to where the Kooks are and see Ruthie glaring at us.

"Well, it's simple," Kie started, "he had the best with Sarah, and now he's just, well, desperate." We both chuckled. I looked over at Kie and saw her grabbing a beer from the cooler, she raised one up to me and I shook my head. I know that there should be at least one of us sober to drive home. "Kie, we're being real mean girls-esque right now," I pointed out. She shrugged her shoulder before responding to me, "Trust me, she's said way worse about us." Kie came over and sat next to me. We sat there for a while before we heard someone walking over to us.

"Hey, can you tell your asshole boyfriend to stop hogging all the waves?" I look up and see Ruthie talking to me, not even acknowledging Kie. I look out and see JJ standing up on his board, noticing Topper doing the same thing before jumping off into the water due to JJ getting in front of him. If it was any other situation I would mention something, but I also know JJ wouldn't do that to someone else. "Ruthie, I can't control what he does," I look up to her hovering over me, "he's out there and I'm over here." She rolls her eyes at me, "You're such a bitch. Can't you just do something for once in your life?" she asks me, it was more of a statement than anything.

"Ruthie," I stand up and walk in front of her, "if JJ comes over here, I'll say something, but until then, how about you go back to your friends and leave us alone." I turned around and started to walk over to the Twinkie, looking at Kie and rolling my eyes at the whole interaction. I didn't get too far before I felt hands on my back, pushing me forward. "What the fuck," I heard Kie shout before coming over to me. I looked back at Ruthie and rolled my eyes at her. “Can't believe you were ever a Kook," she said with attitude before walking away from us.

Kie started to go after her, wanting to protect her friends, but I pulled her back, "Kie, it's not worth it," I told her, "they'll just turn it into our fault if you do anything." She tries to argue with me, but I just sit back down in the chair, trying to forget the interaction. I'm fiddling with my nails when I hear someone ask, "Hey, you good?" I look up to find a shirtless JJ jogging over to me with his board under his arm. I look over and see Sarah and John B getting some drinks from the cooler. I didn't even notice they were back. I nodded my head at JJ and gave him a small smile. He came and squatted down to be level with me, he took my hands, "What happened?"

"Ruthie," I replied looking back down, "she came over and was talking shit. Normal Kook behavior." I looked up at him before I heard Kie, "She pushed her, but your girlfriend over there decided to take the high road. Wouldn't even let me go after her." I looked over at Kie and gave her a look, not wanting her to have said anything. I look back to JJ who is looking over at the group of Kooks. "JJ, it's fine," I tell him placing my hand on his cheek, trying to calm the storm that is forming. He quickly stood up and started walking over to them. I quickly got up and went after him to stop him, but not before Topper yelled over at us, "Oh, look who it is, the Pogue prince and princess."

I took JJ's hand in mine, trying to calm him down. I felt him squeeze my hand tighter, letting me know he was fine. "Topper, let's cut the bullshit," JJ said in an annoyed voice, "all we wanted to do was enjoy the waves and the nice weather but you always seem to be right there, ruining it; your girlfriend too." Topper chuckles at JJ and gets closer to him, "I'm not the one ruining it. You pushed me off my board, and Ruthie here was just defending me."

"I didn't push you off your board, you jumped off," he stated with a small smirk on his lips. "Plus, you had been getting in front of us every other time, I thought it was a competition." Topper scoffs at JJ. I had only seen JJ get in front of Topper that one time, but it didn't surprise me that they had been getting in front of JJ beforehand. "Yup," Topper dramatically throws his hand up in the air, "it's always the damn Kooks fault with you guys."

"Seriously Top," I interrupted getting closer to him, "You've always hated the Pogues, don't act all high and mighty. You've started shit with them so many times I can't even remember. Even when we were friends you were an asshole to them." He looks at me with wide eyes, "I can't imagine what Sarah ever saw in you." As I turn my back away from him, I'm quickly pushed to the ground. "What the fuck!" I hear JJ yell before helping me off the ground. I wipe the sand off my legs and turn to face them. Ruthie was smirking at me, proud of herself. Topper was staring at her with a hint of anger in his face.

"Don't ever fucking touch her again," JJ said to Ruthie, but it was directed towards the entire group. I started walking away, not wanting to even be on the beach anymore. I overheard JJ add, "Don't even come near her or I'll fucking end you."

I heard his feet shuffle in the sand to catch up with me. He took my hand and faced me towards him. "I'm so sorry princess," he said before he engulfed me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around him and he placed a kiss on the top of my head. "If they ever bother you again," he says and places his hands on either side of my face, looking at me, "please tell me." I shook my head at him before he put his arms around me and pulled me into another hug. I've never felt more safe than when I'm in his arms.

We walk back to where the rest of the group is standing. They started asking questions about what happened and we told them. "How was I ever with him before you," Sarah asks looking over at John B. He shrugs his shoulders before we all chuckle at her, trying to in fact imagine what she saw in Topper. We packed up our things and left soon after, not wanting to be on the beach any longer.

We drove home and quickly unpacked our things before we went to the house. We were stopped at the door by Pope, with bloody hands. The atmosphere taking a drastic change from earlier.

I started this with a different ending in mind, but it didn't go in that direction so here we are... Not my favorite but it's what I got lol

#masterlist #fanfic #request #requests open #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #obx #jj x reader #outerbanks jj #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx x reader

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willowsnook · 3 days ago

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I can't come with you

Can I request chicken, veggies and wrap 😝

Lewis hamilton x coworker!reader

I still love you

—----------------------------------------------

After five years as Lewis Hamilton's PR manager, the rumors of something more between you two never stopped. Honestly, you understood why—your relationship was far closer than that of most drivers and their managers. Despite being 10 years his junior, you were one of his closest confidants. The two of you just got each other.

Managing Lewis’ PR was easy; he rarely caused controversy, which gave people more reason to fixate on your relationship. You’d even seen TikTok edits and conspiracy theories speculating on "the way Lewis Hamilton looks at Y/N." Sure, Lewis was attractive, and you sometimes thought you’d make a good couple, but Mercedes’ strict no-fraternizing policy meant that line wasn’t one you could cross. Instead, you chalked up his red-carpet invites and social media posts of the two of you as purely professional—there in case anything went wrong.

As his friend, you were well aware of his frustrations with Mercedes. He felt unheard, and his growing outspokenness only made your job busier. But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

You stood shivering outside Lewis’ London flat after knocking on the door. The January air still stung your face from the walk over. When he opened the door, his warm smile was a welcome contrast to the cold.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi yourself,” you replied, pulling him into a tight hug. “Did you have a good holiday season?”

“Of course. Spent time with the family,” he said, leading you inside. “Wine?”

“Sure,” you said, watching him carefully. Something felt off. The usual confident Lewis seemed replaced with someone more anxious. As you chatted, you noticed his avoidance of eye contact and how he fidgeted with his rings.

“Okay, what’s up?” you finally asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked weakly, but you raised an eyebrow.

“You’re being weird.”

Lewis sighed, motioning for you to join him in the living room. “So… you know how things escalated with Mercedes last year,” he began, and you nodded. “Well, I think it’s time to say goodbye after this season. I’ve spent the last week in Italy with Ferrari. I’m going to sign with them for 2025.”

You froze. You knew he was unhappy, but the thought of him leaving Mercedes had never crossed your mind.

“Who knows?” you whispered.

“Just you,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours.

“When are you announcing it?”

“I’m not sure. Obviously, we’ll work on it together, but I didn’t bring you here as my manager. I’m telling you as my friend.”

You set your wine glass down, staring straight ahead. Ferrari. Italy. Lewis leaving you.

“Well, if this is what you want, then I’m happy for you,” you said softly, meeting his gaze.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

“I want you to come with me,” he said, and your head snapped up in shock.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m Lewis Hamilton. If I tell Ferrari I’m only coming if Y/N joins, you’ll have a job there,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Lewis, I don’t want to leave Mercedes,” you said firmly, watching surprise flash across his face.

“But I’m leaving,” he countered.

“And I’m happy for you,” you said, exasperation creeping into your voice. “But I have my own career here, and if you were really my friend, you wouldn’t ask me to start over somewhere else for your sake.”

“I’ll double your salary,” he offered, but you stood, grabbing your coat.

“You just don’t get it,” you said, frustrated. “Call me when you’re ready to talk logistics for the announcement.”

His voice called after you, but you were already halfway out the door.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of months later, the cracks in your friendship were impossible to ignore. After Lewis’ decision became public, the team shifted focus to George and Kimi, leaving you to manage the younger drivers. Meanwhile, Lewis seemed to grow resentful, constantly complaining about Mercedes to you despite your efforts to remain neutral.

It all came to a head during the summer. After laughing with George over a TikTok challenge, Lewis confronted you as you walked back to the garage.

“Not even gone yet and you’re already replacing me,” he said bitterly, catching you as you walked back to the garage.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, clearly confused.

“I didn’t realize that George was so funny,” he commented and you stopped walking to look at him.

“Are you jealous right now?” You asked, somewhat amused, somewhat annoyed. “Should I just be a brick wall around him?”

“That’s what you’re doing around me,” he bit back and you crossed your arms.

“Sorry I’m not going to jump in and complain with you when this job treats me pretty good,” you retorted.

“Oh yeah I forgot, you’re choosing them over me,” he said and you took an angry step towards him.

“This friendship is not going to last if you keep blaming me for the consequences of your own choice,” you argued.

“Then maybe it shouldn’t,” he said and you froze. Blinking away the tears you walked away, mind reeling at how someone could throw five years of friendship away over this.

You and Lewis pretty much avoided each other after that which the media picked up on easily. Most of the speculation was spot on, him leaving Mercedes broke you up. Fans noticed his change in demeanor at events and your absence.

—------------------------------------

Seeing Lewis for the first time in red was jarring. You were at pre-season testing and couldn’t take your eyes off your old friend. It had been months since you last spoke, and your heart ached seeing him again. During the winter break, you started questioning whether you and Lewis had been more than friends because the separation hurt you badly. You missed him.

Don’t get you wrong, you loved Kimi. He was a breath of fresh air, eager to be great, and honestly adorable. But your relationship with him was so different. He was like a little brother to you while Lewis was, well, Lewis.

“Going to talk to him?” George asked, coming out of nowhere to stand beside you as you watched Lewis talking with Charles.

“Probably not,” you replied looking up at him. He gave you a knowing look.

“I feel like I am a child of divorce,” he complained and you laughed lightly.

“Sorry you got stuck with me then,” you joked and he smirked.

“He misses you,” George said gently and you shook your head.

“He made his choice,” you countered and George grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him.

“He chose to leave Mercedes, he didn’t choose to leave you,” he said.

“It feels like he did though,” you said softly and George wrapped an arm around you.

“He brings you up casually every single time we talk y/n. Always wondering how you are and what you’re doing.”

You didn’t say anything to that, just mulled over it. As if his ears were burning, Lewis looked over to where you were standing, meeting your eyes. Your heart clenched looking at him and you turned around to walk away.

The next time you saw him he was talking with Kimi on the track as you were searching for your young driver.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need Kimi for media,” you said professionally and Kimi nodded, starting to say goodbye to Lewis.

“Please get dinner with me tonight,” Lewis said to you, interrupting the poor boy.

“No,” you replied and he crossed his arms staring at you.

“I made a reservation at the place you like here,” he said and you crossed your arms back.

“Then cancel it,” you said.

“Y/n.”

“Lewis.”

Kimi looked between the two of you, laughing nervously before you pulled him away.

“So what was that about?” He asked as you walked towards where the media was set up.

“Nothing,” you replied, focusing on the sight in front of you.

“Didn’t seem like nothing,” he hummed.

“Kimi,” you warned.

“Could cut the sexual tension with a knife,” he giggled before leaping away from your grasp.

Later that day, you were back in your hotel room, changing into leggings and an oversized Mercedes hoodie. Your stomach growled and you pulled up your maps looking for somewhere to eat. You saw the name of the place Lewis mentioned and you hesitated, it was your favorite. It was a hole-in-the-wall Indian place with only a couple of tables, so you had to make a reservation, which you and Lewis had discovered a few years ago. Maybe he would go elsewhere since you hadn’t agreed to join him.

Making it down to the lobby you stopped as you saw him waiting by the door as if he was waiting for you. He had a small smirk on his face as you approached and you rolled your eyes.

“Let’s go sweetheart,” he said opening the door for you.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped back. Paparazzi swarmed the front of the hotel as you stepped out and you forgot what being in public with Lewis was like. His hand found your lower back, and he protectively stuck an arm out in front of you while leading you to the car the valet had brought up. You ducked in and waited for him to join, inhaling the scent that you had missed so much.

He drove to the restaurant silently and you passed the time looking out the window until you arrived. You walked in front of Lewis, greeting the owners who knew the two of you by now and they showed you to your table.

“I have something for you,” Lewis said as you sat down and you looked at him curiously. He pulled out a box, and your breath caught, knowing what it was. He opened it to pull out a gold braided ring. Each year for Christmas, he got you something from the latest Cartier line and you felt yourself getting a little misty-eyed.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured as he slipped it on to one of your fingers. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” he said softly. “Even with things how they are, I had to.”

“What happened to us Lewis?” You asked miserably. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted. “I miss you.”

“Truce?” You offered and he gave you a slow smile.

“Truce,” he agreed. The rest of dinner was just like old times and you felt yourself start to heal from the pain him leaving had caused.

—-----------------------------------------------

Months later, you found yourself at Monza, the roar of engines and the sea of Ferrari red creating a buzz of excitement that was impossible to ignore. You’d been dreading this race—Ferrari’s home turf and the first time you’d be back in the thick of Lewis’ world since your truce. Your truce hadn’t changed much between the two of you besides the fact that you’d talked a little more at races, catching up but there was still a giant hole inside of both of you.

You were standing by the Mercedes garage, reviewing media notes with Kimi, when you saw him. Lewis leaned casually against the Ferrari pit wall, his arms crossed, sunglasses on, exuding his usual confidence. Yet, even from a distance, you felt the weight of his gaze.

“Go say hi,” Kimi nudged, breaking your train of thought.

“I’m working,” you deflected, pretending to focus on your clipboard.

“You’ve been working all weekend,” Kimi said with a smirk. “Go.”

Before you could protest further, Lewis started walking toward you. Your heart raced as he closed the gap, his presence as magnetic as ever.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft but carrying over the noise around you.

“Lewis,” you replied, offering a small smile. “Good luck out there today.”

“Thanks,” he said, glancing around before focusing back on you. “Can we talk for a second?”

You hesitated, but his expression was earnest, so you nodded. He led you a few steps away, just out of earshot of the bustling garage.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” he began, pulling off his sunglasses to meet your eyes. “I know we’ve been better, but I’ve realized there’s still something I need to say.”

Your brows furrowed in curiosity as he shifted nervously, uncharacteristic for him.

“I’m sorry for asking you to leave and come with me. That was wrong of me, and you were right. I saw you as an extension of myself and not a whole person. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on that, and I realized it was because I see you as a part of me. I’m not complete without you.”

He continued.

“My life is better with you in it and I thought that I would get over what we had once I had all the new shiny things at Ferrari but I still love you and I don’t think I’m ever going to stop loving you.

“Lewis…” you started, your voice faltering.

He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You don’t have to say anything now. I just needed you to know. I’ll wait—however long it takes.”

“You don’t have to wait that long,” you admitted and his eyes lit up. “It feels like I’ve been missing my other half.”

A slow, warm smile spread across Lewis’ face as he stepped closer to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with relief.

You leaned into his touch, your heart racing as you looked into his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, Lewis.”

“I’ve missed you too, more than I can even explain,” he whispered before closing the gap, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was tentative at first, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid, but it quickly deepened, becoming something that felt like coming home.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling, the tension that had lingered for months melting away.

“So…” he started, his grin turning mischievous, “does this mean you’re rooting for me today?”

You let out a laugh, playfully rolling your eyes. “Absolutely not. I’m still team Mercedes, always.”

He clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to be wounded. “You’re breaking my heart, love.”

“You’ll survive,” you teased, tugging lightly at the collar of his Ferrari shirt. “Besides, it’ll make it that much sweeter when we beat you.”

He laughed, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “We’ll see about that. But at least I know I’ve already won where it matters most.”

Your smile widened as you laced your fingers through his. “Good luck out there, Ferrari boy. You’re going to need it.”

And with that, you both headed back toward the paddock, the weight of the past replaced with hope for what was to come.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine

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wallabywhump · 2 days ago

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Post Episode 8x08 CODA/Continuation

Content: Light angst, Buck spiralling, Buck's abandonment issues/running thoughts/(has ADHD), BuckTommy hints at the end.

Word Count: 1,965

Started writing this when the episode ended, please enjoy!

---

The sign goes out front of Eddie's house two weeks later, Buck helps to dig the hole. Buck helps talk to the realtor. Buck talks Eddie down from a three-bed home with an attic office in a HOA suburb and helps him find a respectably sized two bed that will leave him with money to renovate the bathroom and add a ramp up to the door.

Buck bakes a million cookies and eats them while Eddie has meetings with realtors. He sets out sweet breads and muffins when Eddie has an open house, and he happily serves them to people, "yes, there is a gluten free option! I was playing around with xanthan gum, so it shouldn't- oh, you're too kind."

All through it all, Buck focuses on Eddie, and he tries to ignore the ball of panic that's growing and growing and growing, as Eddie calls his mom and dad, and talks to Chris, and they're discussing going to view the home together and-

"I'll be there in two days, buddy!" Eddie says to Chris, a smile wide on his face while he put the autographed picture of the Hotshots cast into a wallet to keep it safe. "I can't wait to see you; we can talk without it lagging."

Buck takes a deep breath.

"Buck's not coming, LA won't survive if we both are off work."

Buck takes the butter off the heat, starts mixing in the sugar.

"I was talking it over with Grandpa, and we can go to the aquarium while I'm there. I'll even get to cheer you on in your chess match."

Chris groans. "You don't cheer during chess matches, dad, you have to be quiet."

Eddie laughs, and Buck needs to savor that sound. Needs to bottle up the sound of his best friend, and the kid he loves to the moon and back, teasing each other because he doesn't know how long he'll have this for. "Well, okay, you'll just have to teach me what to do, Mijo. I've never been to a chess match before."

The flour comes out of the microwave and Buck mixes that in, the soothing fold-fold-fold making his raging heart beat easier to ignore.

"You've never played chess before," Chris teases.

Buck spares a glance at Eddie, and he's fondly smiling at the tablet, and he says, "Well, you'll have to teach that too. Need to understand how you're winning, kid."

Buck is trying his best to be happy for Eddie, desperately putting his issues to the side, he hasn't even mentioned Tommy with all the baking he's been doing.

Eddie, graciously, hasn't mentioned how Buck has gone back to how he was the exact week after Tommy dumped him.

Or perhaps Eddie hasn't noticed with all the preparation and the legal jargon and clearing out everything to make the house look pretty for viewings, and Buck-

Buck really wants to talk to someone.

Eddie's leaving, Bobby is busy building a house, Hen, Maddie, Chimney-

Everyone's moving forward towards something happier. And Buck's stuck trying not to tie his best friend to a city with his sad puppy dog eyes and a pout, all while missing his ex so much that focusing on Eddie leaving drowns out that pain and fills it with something different.

"Buck?"

Buck jumps, dropping his spatula into the bowl. "Huh? W-What's-"

"Chris hung up, he's got school tomorrow."

Buck picks his spatula up, continues mixing his cookie dough. It's as he folds a third time that he notices he forgot the chocolate chips.

"More cookies?"

Buck forces a smile on his face, ignores the floundering puttering in his heart that tells him he needs to call someone before this becomes unsustainable. Baking isn't distracting him, it's not-

He wants Eddie to stay, he wants Chris to come home, he wants a barbecue in Bobby's backyard with his family-

He wants to call Tommy.

"It's for the viewing tomorrow," Buck says, proud of how even his voice sounds, how it doesn't even sound like a lie.

Eddie sidles up to the counter, looking into the bowl. "You don't have to try buttering up potential buyers with sugary goods. I know you set a precedent for the first one, but I don't want you to feel like you have to."

Buck puts the bowl and spatula down and bumps his hip into Eddie's as he starts greasing up the pan. "If I sweeten them up, maybe they'll actually buy, and you can leave quicker."

The free-sounding tease is easy, it's easy to fake, it's been easy to fake since that day he picked up the tablet and saw the houses. It's been easy to fake since Tommy dumped him, and he had to crawl out of his home and go to work and look somewhat put together, so no-one was scared on their calls. It's been easy to fake since Abby left him at the airport, and with a home that wasn't quite his, and an uneasy feeling in his heart that she wasn't coming back. It's been easy to fake since he was sixteen years old, and Maddie was leaving and-

Maddie, Abby, Tommy, Eddie.

People leave, and that's okay, and it's selfish to force them to stay. No matter how much he wished they would choose to stay.

Buck scoops out a glob of dough and drops it onto his pan.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, bud, I'm gonna have a beer while you finish with...that."

Buck sets up the mixer to bake a cake after he puts the cookies in the oven.

---

Buck drops Eddie off at the airport and spirals.

The goodbye wave feels robotic, despite knowing that Eddie will be back in a week, even if it's just to start packing up his life to move it hours away. His phone sits in the dock on the dash, and Buck-

Buck doesn't have anything to distract himself from the yawning emptiness inside him.

Nothing to put his mind to, nothing to focus on, just a whole lot of nothing.

The nothing that has been eating away at every positive thought and coping skill he'd put into trying to ignore how much he missed Tommy. The way Tommy would rub his arm and pull him in for a hug when he was feeling low. How Tommy would sarcastically tease him when his anxiety spiked, until Buck couldn't even remember he'd been anxious. How they could sit in silence and not have to chat, and it was just peaceful, and it put Buck at ease, and Tommy wouldn't even mention when Buck's leg started tapping, he'd just put a hand on Buck's knee and lean his weight into-

Fuck.

Tommy would have been a rock through this, platitudes about Eddie not being dead, stop panicking. "I can fly a helicopter, babe, just say the word and you can visit."

Except, Tommy isn't his rock anymore. He's a hurricane that has Buck unmoored and swirling in an abyss of panic and loneliness and, fuck, shit, fuck, Buck has to talk to someone. Or bake something. Or go to the middle of nowhere, with no reception, and scream at the sky.

Everyone's busy. Eddie's on a plane. No-one...he has-

"Buck?"

Buck jolts, staring down at the phone now in his hand, Tommy's face filling the screen, his nose scrunched and looking confused, concerned and cold all in one expression.

So closed off.

"I-I didn't mean to call," Buck whispers, his voice weak and thready even to his own ears. "Hi. Uh, I'll just, uh, hang up."

Except Buck doesn't, he stares at Tommy and feels his heart stutter.

Tommy raises an eyebrow, and Buck watches the cold melt off Tommy's face, leaving only confusion and concern.

"What's happening, Buck?"

"I...just dropped Eddie off at the airport, and I'm sitting at the drop off spot in the taxi ranks, and-"

Tommy's confusion disappears, and his eyes soften, and he's openly concerned and it's like a knife in Buck's chest.

Buck lets out a hoarse laugh. "I've held it in for weeks, not calling, and my best friend leaves and it's like I can't help it- Jesus." Buck runs a hand down his face, he feels like a mess.

"Why did you call me, Buck?"

Because it was habit for six months straight, because every time Buck's been sad since the breakup he's had to physically remove himself from his phone to stop himself from calling Tommy, because Buck just wants to have Tommy as his, and he can't seem to move on despite everyone else seeming able to.

"Everyone else...is moving forward, making families and living their lives, but I'm-"

Buck should hang up, forget about this, say 'sorry, bye asshole', and block Tommy's number once and for all.

Except-

"I'm stuck, stuck on that day in my loft, wondering what happened and how that occurred, and all I've wanted since the day it happened was to call you and fix it or-or, I don't know...I just feel so incomplete here. Unsatisfied. Nothing-nothing makes sense."

Buck rolls on.

"And Eddie told me not to call, so I didn't, except then Eddie decided he wanted to move to Texas and I couldn't be selfish and ask him to stay, so instead I've been helping him, helping him leave my life, because then at least I helped control it."

Buck chokes up.

"Because he's an adult with different priorities, and he can make his own decisions and it's my job as a friend to support him, and I guess you'd know that too if you still talked to him, or hey, maybe he would have stayed for you." He's fucking it up, finally got Tommy on the phone and rather than giving Tommy all the reasons they could work, and he should stay, he's dumping all his fears about Eddie leaving. "And I- I'm not making sense, I'm all over the place, this is not what I wanted to say at all, I had a whole speech about how I love you, and I deserved better, and-"

"Are you safe to drive?" Tommy asks, his voice cutting through Buck's monologue.

Buck bites his lip and nods his head. Of course, Tommy doesn't want to hear about his problems, they're broken up.

"Yeah, yeah, I..." Buck sniffs, wipes at his face despite it being dry, and forces a smile on his face. "I'm just a little sad, sorry for calling."

Tommy shakes his head, and he looks like he's in physical pain, and God, Buck feels like an asshole. He's so selfish, and he should have just thrown his phone out and got a new number after the breakup if he knew he was just going to trample over boundaries.

"No, don't be s- I mean, okay, okay. This sounds like- Eddie left? No, this is a conversation for in person," Tommy sounds just as confused and lost as Buck, which isn't nice, because Buck expects Tommy to be a rock, to be steady, to be- well, that went out the window the night they broke up.

"In person?" Buck wonders aloud.

Tommy hums, and his nose scrunches up, and he puts a finger to the bridge of his nose. The video feed is shaking like the phone in his hand is shaking. Buck swallows and waits for whatever emotional turmoil Tommy is experiencing to pass.

"Drive yourself to mine," Tommy orders.

Buck stares at the screen in shock. "W-What? Tommy, I- no, I-" A taxi starts honking their horn behind him.

"Mine," Tommy repeats, sure, and despite everything it makes that emptiness in Buck feel a little smaller, like Tommy is filling it with just the promise of a conversation. "Sounds like you need to get going. See you soon, Evan."

Tommy hangs up, and Buck spirals, but he starts the car anyway and drives to Tommy's with a spark of something in his chest.

#911 season 8 #911 fanfic #911 spoilers #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #bucktommy fanfic #8.08 coda #911 8.08 #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #wallabywrites #my writing #i just keep thinking about Eddie leaving being a catalyst for Buck finally calling Tommy because he hates not having closure #he's done that once before and he refuses to repeat it #and with no best friend to steal Buck's phone or anything to put his energy into...habit kicks in #Tommy picks up because that is *his* habit - to always go when Buck calls #(i haven't localized this so if words like “taxi rank” are incorrect i apologize)#I don't even fully know what this is lol

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arabellasleopardcoat · 2 days ago

Text

God where to start! Daemon is clearly smitten against his will. I hate the idea, really, because I remember his attempts to murder her earlier (I SAW YOU, DAEMON. I DO NOT FORGET EASILY)

I was really rooting for the twins so I missed them a bit during this chapter. I feel sad for Erryk, ignored, though I understand reader's mood. I would be mad too. And sad.

AEMMA! Please tell me she doesn't day and this is not the heir's tournament. Don't break my heart so soon, I still have finals to complete.

As always, lovely writing! I missed reading you write (Is that even worded right?) smut, I find you very compelling because you manage to engage the five senses or at least most of them, which is something I find so hard in my own writing, so I am always in awe at you.

Me reading that scene:

Tourneys and favors are also my favorite thing ever, so this chapter felt like a lovely little treat. Can't wait to read more! (Only when you are ready, of course)

Tormented Spirit | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, biting, marking, mild choking) DD:DNE, violence/death, panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of pregnancy/labor, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo my high valyrian is probably wrong so if you know it is just roll with it. girl this fic doesnt want to end wtf i- if you like my work, please consider leaving a comment or reblog as I really look forward to them

@arabellasleopardcoat

You fall asleep in Daemon's arms as he walks back to the Keep. He cannot help himself. His lilac eyes go back and forth between your face and where he was going. There seemed to be nothing else. It was just him, the moon, and your breathing against his neck.

When he reached the door to his marriage chambers, and he was taken aback by the sudden galloping of a Cargyll twin. The knight opens the door then makes way. Daemon turns over his shoulder and realizes both brothers had been following him.

There is an angry annoyance that forces up his throat, but when you release an audible sigh, and he remembers it was he who had instructed them to retrieve you. He says two words before entering the room and kicking the door closed, "thank you."

Daemon lays you down and gulps at the sight of your body. Your brown hair falls over your face as you shuffle and reach out for nothing. He realizes then, as the urge to push your tresses away intensifies, that he's never witnessed you sleep before.

He removes your shoes, placing them at the foot of your bed.

And he never will.

Daemon walks off. He's five steps from making an exit when he hears the noise you make. He stills and waits a few seconds. You make the noise again.

With a line between his brows, he returns to you, peering over your body. Indeed, you were still asleep, but from the way your lips and forehead curled, you were dreaming of something unpleasant. He sighs, clasping his hands, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep.

There is a discomfort that spreads in his ribs as tears leave your closed eyes. He shakes his head "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He sits beside you, staring for a moment before finally brushing your hair back, doing the same with your tears. While caressing your soft skin, he finds his thumb itching to smoothen out the creases on your face that seem to only deepen. Under his breath, he speaks to you the way he would Caraxes when he's overcome with emotion. He forfeits the commanding tone however and whispers each word.

At some point, both his hands find your cheeks. He is so caught up in tracing your lips, he doesn't even realize you were no longer in distress, nor does he know of your consciousness until you lean into his touch.

He is frozen when his eyes meet yours. He starts slightly when you sit up, heart racing when you embrace him. His pulse thunders so loud that you pull away and examine his face in worry. Daemon's breath hitches when your hands clutch his cheeks. Your eyes rove across his face and again, your forehead curls. You speak in the softest of voices, "what's wrong?"

He thinks for a moment. He stares at you. You just had a nightmare, yet you ask him what is wrong? He shifts and rests his hand at the small of your back. He shakes his head as his expression falls. He whispers, "mirre iksis sȳrī, jorrāeliarza." All is well, beloved.

You do not understand him.

He repeats, "all is well."

Your features slowly relax.

His harden as he tests the word he omitted in translation, "beloved."

His belly flutters at the faint chuckle you release. His eyes begin to widen when you slowly lean closer.

Daemon pulls his head back, intent on watching what you, but he freezes when you kiss his cheek, again and again. You kiss his jaw, his jowl, his lips. Suddenly, he can smell you so clearly. Suddenly, he pulls you in.

You gather your skirts as you climb onto his lap. You sigh as you deepen your kiss him. He makes a strangled sound against your mouth when you grind on his crotch. He digs his fingers into your hips before pushing your dress out of the way to claw at your thighs.

He sighs when your hands brush his chest. His breathing grows heavy at your attempt to free him of his top. He helps you get him out of his garbs, and soon he is getting you out of yours. Once you're both naked, he pulls you in, pressing his skin against yours, unwilling to part from your body. Simultaneously, he has a strong urge to examine you, to commit to memory the hue of your skin and the curves of your flesh. Daemon, in all his greed, tries to do both at once.

With you still sitting on him, he squeezes your bum, securing you on his lap as he drinks in your visage. He shamelessly moans and pants as you continue to grind on him, and now he can feel your wetness on his hardening member. As you undo the tie of his hair and comb the silver strands back, he remembers the first time you'd ever fucked.

He is hypnotized by your confidence, by how unbridled and overt your desire for him is. Nothing remains of the timid little girl he claimed on the beach. You were lust incarnate, the goddess of sex. You scratch your nails up his nape and besiege him with open mouthed kiss. He returns your fervor, scratching his nails up down back, garnering out a shaky moan from your lips

He breaks away only to ogle at your breasts and he knead them. His breath grows heavier at your continued grinding and hitches upon catching your dazed reaction. He spews out a string of High Valyrian curses before capturing your ribcage. He sinks his face into your chest and you mewl at the feel of his hot mouth on your breast, feeling restless and needy.

"Daemon," you tug at the roots of his hair, "I need you."

You are uninclined to wait for him as you lean into his shoulder while your other hand grabs his cock. Your breast in his mouth muffles the noise that leaves him as sink down on him. You yelp when he nips your sternum, but it does not deter you from beginning to maneuver your hips up and down.

"Fuck, fuck," Daemon huffs against your chest. He looks up at you, going mad at the sight of your closed-eyed concentration. He licks a stripe of sweat building on the side of your neck and thrusts up in sync to your movements.

"N-ñuha dārilaros," my prince falls from your lips.

He moans at that. He straightens and traps you tightly in both his arms, "where did you fucking learn that?"

You squeak as his thrusts grow more vigorous, "I- mmm- in- uh- book."

Daemon licks your lower lip before biting it, "desperate hussy," he moans against your mouth, "iksan jāre naejot pryjagon ao." I am going to destroy you.

You gasp as he pushes you back like you were nothing. Your legs immediately lock around his hips as he comes atop you and your voice trembles when his hips thrust slower but deeper as he adjusts you to the center of the bed. He nuzzles into your neck, licking your jaw. He then pushes himself up and rubs your the curve of your ass.

You yield to him as he pushes your thighs back, bringing your legs over his shoulders. Using his weight to keep you down, he takes your wrists and pins them above you while the other tightens around your throat.

He fucks you thoroughly in this position and you can do nothing but whimper, arch your back, and feel your arousal drip onto the bed.

His hand brushes up your neck and soon he's tracing your parted lips with his thumb. You take him in and bite his finger. It stokes a flame in his belly, thus why he pulls away to push hand into the back of your knees.

You are helpless as he plows into you. Daemon, in his delirium, reverts back into his mother tongue. He sings your body praises in High Valyrian. He calls you dirty names as he slaps his hips into yours with a wet squelch. Your fucked-out expression pulls out an honest confession of how pretty he think you'd look stuffed with his seed.

Of course, you cannot understand a word he's saying, nor do you know how much calling him name is egging him on.

He watches you, his darling doe. The dragon in him relishes your screwed eyes and opened mouth. You throw your head back as you chase your building pleasure, meanwhile Daemon feels his stomach tighten as his own nears.

Fuck, you were beautiful. It would be a shame to waste his seed.

A deep line forms between his brows as he imagines the child you would bear him. Fuck. He does not want it.

He grabs your jaw and pushes your head to the side. It's enough to push you over the edge. He curses as he feels you tighten around him. You're so hot and wet and divine, he grits his teeth to build his resolve. Quickly, he quickly pulls out, gliding his cock back and forth your slick folds, sequentially finishing on your pulsing cunt and belly, just as he always does.

The image is nothing new, but it drives him no less wild. Behold, the Lord Hand's dearest daughter, all dirty with his molten come. It's a wicked, wet dream made reality. It was all his.

But there was something different. Daemon doesn't just pull away and roll over. He stares at you for a while, watching you catch your breath as he does the same. He stares at the mess he's made of you, and yes, you were filthy but you were also glimmering. He gulps, before grabbing his discarded clothes to clean you up.

He wets his dress shirt with water then wipes you down. He does the same to himself and catches you staring.

His instinct is to ruin the moment, to berate you for looking so dumbstruck and to praise the prowess of his cock, but he cannot find it in him to do so with how utterly enchanting you look in the afterglow of your love m— fucking.

You reach out to him.

His heart races.

"Stay," you whisper.

If there's one thing he hates, it's people telling him what to do.

... why then was such a simple word so compelling?

You fix the pillows on the bed as your husband crawls beside you. Daemon feels his throat constrict as you throw yourself on him. He is unable to move as you press your chests together and snake your leg over his hips. He does not know why he's become petrified by your touch. You trace your thumb across his face, "you're so beautiful."

Daemon does not reply. He cannot.

His brows furrow when he thinks he notices your eyes water. They furrow deeper when you smile and laugh out, "I wish you were real."

You feel sick after saying that.

He feels sick after hearing that.

Your prince shakes his hand and takes the hand you had on his face, "I am real."

You nod and laugh again. "I believe you."

Why then do your tears fall?

Daemon lets you curl into him. You latch onto him so tightly, he feels you would not be able to push you away even if he wanted. He doesn't want to though.

You fall asleep in his arms.

You wake up all alone.

You groan at the sound your servants telling you to rise. You brush your brown hair off your shoulder and knit your brows at the feel of your night gown. A pit instantly forms in your belly. Of course it had been a dream.

Hot tears that instantly rush down your cheeks. You hide underneath your blankets and manage to croak, "leave me alone."

You weep into your pillows for you did not know any better. You did not know Daemon had slept with you. You did not know when he awoke, he watched you sleep until the last minute. You did not know he put you into the clothes you wore because you shivered without his heat.

You hear your servants fuss over you. They ask if you're ill and in need of a maester. The only response you give are sniffles and groans. They ask if you will be able to attend today's tourney.

You moan, "what?"

"It will be starting soon, milady," one of the servants say, "do you not want to see your husband joust? He is quite good."

You know she says it to entice you, but it only makes you feel sick. After all, you did not know Daemon roused early, only because he needed to prepare for the tourney. You never will.

The same servant says, "and your brother? Isn't it his last day in King's Landing?"

You push your blankets down and stare at your two servants.

"Milady," the other says softly, "it would be good to attend."

"I do not want to behold my brother in such violence," you snuggle into bed.

The servants turn to each other, and one offers, "you can close your eyes upon collision, princess."

You sigh and shake your head. You think of Daemon. You think of how he'll surely hurt Gwayne if they face each other. Your think of how he'd done so in a tourney once before. You shake your head, "I do not want to go."

So you do not.

When the tourney commences, Daemon is most eager to make his entrance. One by one, the players are called, and upon his turn, he trots on his horse with a look of pride. He basks in the cheers as his eyes fall to the main balcony, where he quickly spots the king. His expression further brightens at the sight of his brother's smile and his niece's grin. When he spots your sister and your ugly father, he looks the crowd once over, looking for you. His lips flatten when he realizes you're not there. He awaits your arrival, forfeiting the first pick to witness your entrance, then he realizes, you wouldn't be coming. Suddenly, it was as though he never woke up in a good mood.

Meanwhile, you were aimlessly roaming the castle with one Cargyll twin trailing behind you. You do not know who it is, as you cannot find it in you to speak to him. You knew if you did, you'd end up asking him what happened after him and his brother found you in the temple. You did not want to be disappointed by the reality you'd dreamed up Daemon, so you hold your tongue.

You are torn from your lonesome trance when you hear wailing across the hall. You find yourself drawing near to the source, and you realize it was coming from Queen's chambers. Your feet falter when it dawns on you she was now in labor.

One of the servants spots you and curtsies, "princess. Have you come to visit the queen?"

You release a shaky breath, "I-"

"Who is it?!" Aemma snaps loudly then sighs.

You step back, heart racing. You gasp when you knock into Cargyll's chest plate. Another gasp comes when you turn forward and find the face of the queen. She looks distraught and yet she laughs, "your husband visited me just this morning."

You watch as she groans and rubs her belly, "he requires your attention more th-" she winces, "than I."

You cannot help but take her arm, "s-should you not be in bed, my queen?"

Aemma sighs, squeezing your arm in return, "walking can help speed-" she does not continue as her face curls in discomfort.

You feel your breath hitch as she squeezes you tighter, "sh-shall we walk to-together?"

She looks at you, a deep line between her brows, "Daemon was very excited for today's tourney. You should be there cheering for him."

"But-"

Aemma lurches forward as a particularly painful contraction hits her.

She is taken by the midwives and lead back into her chambers. You are so stunned by the encounter, your ward has to reel you back and shake you.

"My princess," he takes your shoulders.

You look at him, unable to speak. Your eyes become glassy but you manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

"Do not distress," he says, rubbing your arms, "the queen has everyone she needs at her disposal."

Your lips wobble, "her p-pain must be unbearable."

He cannot help the twist of his face nor how his face reaches out for your cheek, "you need not think about anyone else's pain. You have far too much of your own."

You do not respond to him until you find yourself in the gardens. You are grateful he did not think to lead you into the maester's ward, and guilty that you still do not know who it was accompanying you.

"Erryk?"

"Yes, my princess?"

You turn from the flower bushes to him, "did I get it right?"

He knits his brows and nods, "yes, my princess."

"Apologies for not speaking to you earlier. I... was not in good spirits."

"You needn't apologize for doing what is best for you."

You lower your head, "you are too kind to me."

"I really ought to be kinder," he says, taking your hand in both of his.

You look at him as he rubs your knuckles. You smile and cover his hands with yours.

"I would tell you to watch the tourney if I were kinder," Erryk says.

You laugh, "it is precisely because you are kind that you do not tell me to do such things."

Erryk thinks how inappropriate it was of him to act this way, to hold your hand, to impose his opinions upon you. If he was kinder, he would not be so apparent with his fondness. He mutters, "I am dutiful, my princess, but I am not kind."

You knit your brows at that.

He does not clarify and pulls away, "perhaps you would like to go out and pick flowers again?"

You smile at the thought, but remember your brother, "I do not want to miss my brother. He will leave today before sunset no matter what."

He nods. If he were kinder, he'd offer to take you to the tourney to see your brother while he is still here, but he also does not want to bring you to your husband.

You think of the tourney nonetheless, as well as the queen's words. You sigh and shake your head, "would it be inappropriate to watch the games at this hour?"

Erryk is surprised by your question.

"I do not want to appear as though I meant to make an entrance."

"I assure you," he shakes his head, "no one would think it. It is not your nature."

You chuckle to yourself, turning to your feet, "you're right. They'd probably assume I was subject to the horrors. As it is my nature."

"That is not what I mean-"

"A jest," you smile, "a mere jest."

When you arrive at the tourney, your father immediately assumes exactly what you said, and looks you over in concern. You simply agree with what he assumes to save yourself the trouble but reassure him you were better. You then assume the seat beside Alicent.

It's harder to reassure her, as her worry is more frantic than your father's. She secures her hand in yours throughout the event, and tells you which players she thinks will do poorly so you are not so shocked if they end up on the ground.

You are glad of it, but in truth you pay little attention to the violence. You let your mind wander, counting how many birds fly overhead. You daydream about flying on Caraxes. You daydream about embracing Daemon from behind.

You are only pulled back into reality when you hear your brother's name announced.

Alternatively, Daemon rolls his eyes as he dawdles around his tent, waiting for his turn to bash someone in with his lance.

You perk from your seat, watching the man with the Hightower sigil gallop across the stadium, all the way to you. Gwayne removes his helmet and smiles. He calls out, "I am glad to see you, sister. I was concerned you would not come."

Daemon stills when he hears this and looks out his tent.

"Cast away your concerns. Focus on staying on your horse," you call back.

Gwayne offers his lance, "perhaps your favor will keep me upright, princess."

You roll your eyes at your brother's teasing regard. Still, you stand and throw him a wreath, "do not dare fall off your horse, ser."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he puts his helmet back on.

As the Hightower twins were speaking, Daemon exited his tent and mounted his horse. Without even looking at the man who meant to go against Gwayne, the prince announce he have his turn and gallops off, leaving everyone nothing else to do but follow.

Daemon replaces your brother, huffing as he halts before you. He looks up at you and your parted lips, your braided brown hair, your terribly modest dress. Suddenly, his chipper mood returns to him. He licks his lips and grins, calling out your name.

Alicent turns to you, gripping your hand. Rhaenyra turns to you, chuckling under her breath. Otto turns to you, clenching his jaw. Viserys turns to you, smiling softly. You turn to Daemon, voice breaking, "husb-and."

Your husband releases a breathy laugh. His stomach feels fuzzy, "I am gladdened by your appearance."

Your throat tightens yet your jaw slacks. He is?

Daemon watches you. He waits for your response but receives none. It makes his brows furrow, but his smile remains. He points his lance, "give me your favor."

"I-"

"He's already given her favor, uncle," Rhaenyra says, leaning forward.

Daemon's eyes remain on you, "then she'll give another."

The princess laughs, "she cannot favor two knights. Especially not two knights jousting against each other."

Daemon finally turns to his niece. She smiles at him as he huffs, "fine," but the prince turns to Alicent, "if I cannot have my wife's favor, her sister's suffice."

Rhaenyra turns to Alicent. Alicent turns to you. Your eyes do not leave Daemon. Your sister pulls away and takes the wreath, dropping it on his lance, "I do hope fortune finds you, my prince."

Daemon nods at her.

Alicent sits back down, turning between her friend and her sister. The former looks sulky while the latter looks agitated. Your heart pounds as Daemon smiles at you once he is positioned opposite Gwayne. You misinterpret his expression. Alicent takes your hand, and this time you squeeze her tightly as you turn to your twin, "he will hurt Gwayne."

Your sister watches you gulp and rubs your hand, "it's a tourney."

You turn to Alicent with wide eyes, "precisely," you rapidly shake your head, "I should not have come."

Alicent lowers her head to offer you a solemn expression, "our brother is not made of glass. He is knight and a formidable player in his own regard."

You smile at your sister and nod, trying to find comfort in her words. You look back at Daemon, finding him already looking at you. His grin is renewed and you feel your stomach churn. You shift on your chair and avert your gaze to your brother. Gwayne is already faced forward with his helmet on. You mutter a prayer of protection under your breath.

Daemon's brows knit when you do not turn back to him. He tries to will you to look with his mind, but you do not, not even when the horses begin to run.

Gwayne manages to hit him, the cunt's lance colliding with his chest where his own misses. A point is called and the crowds cheer. Daemon turns to you and finds a look of relief on your face. It causes his lips to tighten. He barks as he charges the second time.

Gwayne hits him again, this time, nearly dismounting. Daemon skids on the railing but manages to get himself upright.

The prince huffs, eyeing his opponent darkly. His eyes trail back to you, finding you looking out to him in concern. Part of his anger dissipates, but then you turn to your brother, gesturing vaguely. Your twin gestures back and you roll your eyes at him. Daemon doesn't understand what it means, but it irritates him all the same.

He huffs and decides to be done with this bother. The prince is silent until the horses start running again. His lance expertly makes the hit, causing the horse to topple forward, effectively sending the ginger cunt flying off. The heavy crashing and loud gasps are music to his ears. Daemon looks back at his opponent and laughs. He chucks his splintered weapon to the side and entices cheers with his victory scream.

The only reason his celebration stops is because he hears shrill scream from the balcony. He turns and finds you standing by the railing, calling out to your brother. Your father and sister are stood behind you, trying to calm you down. You thrash against them and manage to slip away. Daemon watches you leave the balcony and the Cunt Hand gives an apologetic look to the king.

Erryk follows you as you make your way down the arena to Gwayne's tent. He is uneasy by how distressed you were, and though he knew your distress would not wane until you see the condition of your twin, he did not like the idea of you coming to him, lest it inspire the rage of your husband, who was rather happy to watch your brother crumple to the ground.

You find Gwayne laid on a cot, attended by some squires. His helmet is removed and his pained expression makes you run to him.

"Brother," you come to his side, finding relief in the maester that enters his tent.

You tense when your brother calls your name and worriedly wipe the blood that trickled down his philtrum with a towel.

He groans and you pull away, allowing the maester to inspect him. His bent breastplate is removed and you see bruises on his pale chest. The measter presses his ear against his chest and turns to you, "Lord Gwayne is strong. He will be fine."

You breathe a sigh of relief and nods, "thank you. Thank the gods."

"You should not be here," Gwayne groans as he sits up.

You glare at him, gripping your skirt.

"Get her out of here, Carygll," he motions vaguely. Erryk comes to your side on cue.

You scoff, "hypocrite. If you were in my place, would you leave if I asked you?"

"Please," he looks up at you with tired blue eyes, "I do not wish to quarrel."

"Then do not wish me away!" you shake your head, "I-"

Your attention is stolen when your name is called again. You, as does everyone else, turn to the man who walks into the tent. Daemon knits his brows, gaze lingering on your twin before turning to you. He brings his hands behind him and sighs, "See. I did not kill him. You needn't be so worried, darling."

The pet name makes you feel sick. Erryk clenches his jaw.

"Come," he reaches a hand out to you, "your heart will only heavy with worry if you stay here. There's plenty of space in my tent."

Anger builds in you at his callousness. Gwayne recognizes it and curses under his breath. He watches you intently, noticing the twitch of your face twitches and the very moment you resign yourself to your husband's whim. He stares at his lap, unwilling to witness the bitter tears he knew would come after you take his hand.

Daemon shoots Gwayne a shit-eating grin as he walks out of the tent, but the cunt does not even see it. Still, he is pleased as he brings you to his tent and immediately pours you a cup of wine. The prince freezes when he realizes you had been silently sobbing. You stand there aloof as tears wet your face.

The prince drops the cup he meant to offer you and captures your cheeks. He gazes at you in concern and repeats what he had already said, "I did not kill him."

Your eyes focus as he swipes your cheeks. The coldness in your gaze unnerves him, "you did not have to be so cruel."

He pulls his head back, "cruel?"

You say nothing.

Daemon chuckles dryly, releasing you, "we were both in a tourney," he chuckles again, "girl."

You flinch when he calls you that. Your father's face appears in your head.

The prince is riled up by your silence. His stomach is uneasy by the steady flow of your tears. He scoffs, "your brother lost, but your husband-" he enunciates, "won."

You sniffle and wipe your cheeks, "yes," you offer him a smile, "apologies. Congratulations, my prince."

He stills at your words. He finds no satisfaction in it. His jaw feathers and he scoffs again, "do not congratulate me. I've still others to defeat."

You nod and step forward, "yes," you place your hand on his shoulders, "you are not injured at all, are you?"

It's as though your hands were heating his armour. He flinches when you touch his face. You pull your hands away ready to apologize for the intrusion but then he barks, "I am not feeble like you and your twin."

His anger is familiar. It is no worse than that of your fathers, thus how you sustain your stillness.

Somehow it is worse that you do not react.

Daemon clenches his fists at your blankness, "say something, damn it."

You are taken off-guard by the desperation you discern, "w-what do you want me to say?"

"..."

"Do you have nothing more to tell me than I am cruel?"

The softness of his voice strikes a fear in you that you have not yet known. Your hands begin to tremble.

In a second, his softness is gone, and he snaps, "if you love that cunt so dearly, you should have married him instead."

You are stoic as Daemon storms off. The prince glares at Erryk, who had been waiting outside his tent the whole time, "get that bitch out of here."

Your ward's face contorts in contempt as your husband walks away. When Erryk makes his way towards you, he is unnerved by your stillness. He reaches for your arm, "princess?"

You turn to him and suddenly, you're laughing.

Goosebumps form underneath Erryk's armor.

"He said I should have married Gwayne instead," you turn to him.

He is tense at your eerily jovial expression. He mutters, "I heard."

"I do not ascribe to the unorthodox ways of his house," you shake your head. You laugh again but tears begin to flow after, "he thinks I'm stupid, doesn't he?"

The man gulps at your words and frowns, "even if he thought your skin was green, it would not make it so."

You laugh, but it is not so unsettling this time.

Erryk leads you out of the tent, "where to, my princess?"

"I... would like to go for a swim."

He takes a moment to think but then nods, "there is a stream that not many know of. We could go there. It is no very far."

As the tourney progresses, Daemon takes out his anger on his opponents. The is no satisfaction in any of his wins however, as each time, the looks over his shoulder to search for your face, and each time he is reminded you are not there.

At some point, he's so distracted that one vermin opponent manages to dismount him. He rages and screams for his sword. His foe grabs a flail. In the end, the prince is overpowered and forced to yield. It takes everything in him not to lunge at the stupid fuck as he walks towards the princess and her friend.

He storms to his tent, unwilling to be attended by anyone. He barks as a trembling squire, "I want my wife."

"S-she left with ser Car-"

Daemon kicks his table down.

"I-I— I will go call for her-"

He groans in pure vexation as he removes his armor. He looks down at himself, finding dirt, bruises, and small cuts on his body. His eyes water, but not in pain. You would clearly spare him no sympathy for his injuries. He did not even win. His breathing grows heavy in anger. It doesn't take long until he is overcome with emotion. Instead of drinking the cup of wine he poured himself, he slams it to the ground then proceeds to raze the other furniture in his tent.

#daemon targaryen x reader #cristi reblogs fics #from lovely people

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cheshiresense · 2 days ago

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Starrk time travels with Ichigo to TBTP is everything I never knew I needed! The pain of surviving again, of still being too strong to die- to give up and rest with Shunsui is chef’s kiss beautiful.

I have questions, ideas, thoughts- feel free to ignore any of them lol. First is do you think Hollows/Arrancars have pack instincts/pack bonds. I can imagine the horrible aching emptiness of reaching for friends and family who aren’t there anymore. Pack is forever, should be forever- but now they have to go on looking in the faces of people who loved them once and see nothing in their eyes. No pack bond or instincts that used to link them.

Second is do you think Starrk and Ichigo would eventually start napping together once they settle in a bit more? Starrk might be able to control it now, but I feel like there would be something reassuring about the fact that Ichigo could take it, wouldn’t buckle under the pressure. And then there’s the fact they’re the only ones who know, who understand the weight of it all.

Third is do you have an idea of who you’d ship Ichigo with in this au? I myself am partial to Koyonagi, but I can also see Shinji noticing something off and prowling around like the big cat he pretends he isn’t to investigate. I also imagine that not a few people would assume Starrk and Ichigo are in a relationship lol.

Lastly is I think it would be really interesting if Starrk and Ichigo ended up in the same division, especially since the draw to join the Eighth would be even more tempting. Do you think they’d stick together or try to spread out to be able to investigate/access more.

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! And I haven't even gotten to the ShunStarrk parts yet but the prospect of it is incentive to write more lmao.

This got a bit long so I'll shove it under the cut:

1) I haven't thought much on this particular aspect of Hollows, although I do see it around a lot, it seems a pretty common headcanon. I def do think they have pack instincts, because even in canon you see Harribel and Grimmjow and others forming "packs" but idk if I'd go all the way to pack bonds. For me it would prob depend on where I want to take that particular fic. In this AU, I imagine Hollows do have pack instincts (again, that's basically canon) and Hollows in general are more sensitive to the reiatsu of pack members, but Starrk's gone so long without them that he's used to the pain of not having anyone. Plus he's like part wolf so I think that makes it worse, but after a thousand years he's probably numb to it. Then of course he got Shunsui for a while, and I imagine he kind of adopted the Fourth as his own and probably a few other Shinigami he'd grown close to, and now all of them are gone. He's in the same situation as Ichigo and grieving that loss, but it prob also feels physically worse for him. He knows what it's like to have pack now, and then he loses them all, and yeah he can sense Shunsui's reiatsu signature halfway across the Seireitei, and half the Fourth is a comfortable bubble at the edge of his awareness, but at the same time, they're not the same and his instincts can tell that too, so it's basically just a constant reminder of everything he no longer has. But he has a thousand years of experience at ignoring this sort of thing, and it's easy to fall back on it, he has to fall back on it because it's not like he can do anything about it anyway. His people, his pack, are gone, and like all the other things he was never able to change over the course of his long life, he can only resign himself to it and shoulder it as best he can.

But Shunsui in particular is a relentless ache in his chest, at the back of his mind, in the pulse of his very reiatsu, like pressure on a bruise on the days he can force himself to ignore it, like a gushing wound when he can't. It's still okay when he's at the Academy and doesn't actually have to see the man. Then Ichigo goes and picks up a stray who just so happens to be Shunsui's family, damn you too Mimihagi may you suffer from carpal tunnel for the rest of eternity, and because his luck has never been what anyone would call good, Starrk's practically expecting it the first time Ichigo awkwardly pesters him into joining their tutoring sessions behind the Eighth Division compound because Ichigo's excellent at Shunpou but he's never quite managed Yoruichi's flawless execution of it, and even before they'd become allies, Starrk's Sonido had been her equivalent, which had seamlessly translated over to Hohou once he'd gained the ability to learn it. Fujiwara's decent enough at it for an Academy student, but still far too slow for Ichigo's liking and also stupidly clumsy and Ichigo can't for the life of him figure out why, so can Starrk please come take a look and see if he can spot the problem or just tell him that there is no problem and all Academy students are just hopeless like this. Starrk wants to say no, but for all that Ichigo gets irritated with his own family for not being able to take no for an answer, the kid himself is actually no better than them, he's just a little more self-conscious about it, but the family resemblance is definitely there beyond just the appearance. Repeatedly refusing would take energy Starrk doesn't have, and he supposes it's nice too to see Ichigo starting to make friends again in this time period, starting to look past his grief. Starrk knows if he really puts his foot down, Ichigo will back off, but he doesn't want to set the kid back in case Ichigo gets the idea to also return to being a perpetual shut-in just because Starrk is, and if that means indulging Ichigo's whims, then so be it. He'd been sent back to serve as babysitter anyway so he may as well do the whole thing properly. And because his luck is just like that, the first time he goes, he finds that Ichigo has already somehow managed to lure his nosy Shiba cousin, his cousin's captain, and the Eighth Division captain Starrk's Shinigami but no he isn't not really not anymore never again to the training grounds even though it's the middle of the afternoon and they should all be at work. At least, judging by the disgruntled expression on Ichigo's face, this hadn't been Ichigo's idea of a good time either. Familiar grey eyes meet his from across the clearing, and for a moment, Starrk is certain someone's ripped his heart out again, leaving only an empty gaping hole in its wake once more, but a thousand times worse than it had ever felt when he'd still been just a Hollow and had never known anything else.

2) Honestly Ichigo already spends like 70% of his time in Starrk's room, his own is there just to gather dust and like fake out Kaien cuz the guy either hasn't thought to or at least still has enough manners to refrain from invading Starrk's room too (for now). So like two weeks into the Academy and Ichigo spending five days out of seven crashing on Starrk's floor, Starrk just gives up and goes out to buy an extra futon (and even more pillows because he's a pillow fiend and you can never have too many in his opinion) and Ichigo basically moves in after that. It's definitely comforting for both of them to have the other close by, especially Ichigo because his reikaku abilities are still hit or miss some days. Starrk can relax because his control hasn't been anything less than perfect since his Aizen days but occasionally he still worries about slipping up, except Ichigo is one of the few who can bear the brunt of it so it wouldn't matter even if he does. And Ichigo can relax because he's never really been one for subterfuge, it's actually killing him a little that he can't just bust out his Bankai and either beat Aizen to death or beat some sense into him over the skies of Soul Society like the good old days, but there's nothing he has to hide from Starrk, and Starrk's one of the ones - the only one left now - who's seen Ichigo at his very worst, and likewise it would take a lot of conscious effort on his part to actually hurt Starrk. Lashing out in the midst of a nightmare would wake Starrk but otherwise wouldn't even make him blink.

They can lower their guard around each other in a way they can't anywhere else outside of their room, and with Starrk's habit of carpeting most of the floor with soft things to sleep on, it's only natural to go to sleep next to each other and wake up - in the middle of the night or in the early morning when dawn hasn't even broken yet because it's easier to stare at the ceiling than spend another minute dreaming of faces they'll never truly see again - the same way. Neither of them really moves much when unconscious, and their instincts mark each other as safe, so these days, they sleep best in each other's company.

(This aches too though, sometimes, even though Starrk won't ever voice such a thing out loud. But sleeping with someone else beside him, even when they don't touch beyond an accidental brush of shoulders or a nightmare-fueled flail of a limb digging into his gut, reminds him of another warm body he'd spent close to a decade sleeping beside, half-draped over him or plastered against his back or letting him curl around them in return. It's another thing he'll never have again, but that's hardly Ichigo's fault, and he knows the kid doesn't do well alone either - who in this world does? - so Starrk's hardly going to say anything that would definitely chase Ichigo away because the kid's stupid like that. He locks the sense-memories behind his teeth instead, even when it keeps him up all night or wakes him in the morning just to make him feel like shit all over again when he remembers where and when he is. And it's not always bad. In this era, Ichigo is the only truly familiar thing that doesn't make Starrk's instincts bristle, which means he can sleep more deeply than he would allow himself anywhere else, and that's a comfort in and of itself.)

3) This I actually don't know, even in SP I don't really have a ship for Ichigo. But ship candidates are a dime a dozen for him lol. Kisuke's always my go-to for him but I guess he hasn't really been that prominent, although I can def steer things that way. I've written a few KoyoIchi so that's def also a possibility. Shinji is equally likely, and if they could give past!Aizen future!Aizen's memories, I could even pull off AiIchi, although if they could do that, I'd just do the same with Shunsui and then we would have less angst lmao. And it might be weird but I'm not opposed to Ichigo/Asuka but in a platonic neither of us are interested in other ppl and don't want to be bothered by marriage offers so let's just get engaged and it'll even be good for clan politics close friends sort of way. They might develop feelings for each other sometime down the road, but arranged marriage AU would be how it would start (this is actually a wip idea I've had for a long time that I've just never written). Also I just feel like Starrk would be vaguely amused by how they both got attached to Kyourakus (or Kyouraku-adjacent I guess), like what is it about that family 😂 But yeah nothing really concrete yet. Ppl might assume that Starrk and Ichigo are a thing because Ichigo doesn't hang out with anyone else at first, and Starrk basically only leaves school grounds to accompany Ichigo somewhere, but I imagine that would clear up after like thirty minutes of watching them interact, esp once Rangiku and Asuka and Gin are more permanent fixtures in their group and Starrk's just trailing after them like a long-suffering dad, the generational gap would be pretty obvious.

4) Oh man I've definitely thought about this. So unlike SP where Ichigo's like It Is My Duty To Go To The Fifth Just To Keep An Eye On Aizen's Shenanigans Even If That Means Self-Inflicted Emotional Torture The Entire Time, Starrk puts a stop to that nonsense in this AU. He doesn't actually care where Ichigo wants to go, Ichigo can take care of himself even if Aizen breaks cover and goes all traitor on them a hundred years early, and he's not here to tell the kid what to do anyway, but when Ichigo's waffling between the Eighth or the Fifth, and it becomes pretty fucking clear that he only wants to go to the Fifth because he thinks he has to, because there's no other way to keep track of Aizen, and he starts getting tunnel vision the way he does when he's brooding and obsessing over protecting people, that's when Starrk steps in.

"It's one thing if you want to go because you want to," Starrk says, watching the kid pace their room like a caged tiger. "But I don't think you do, not with the way you behave around Hirako. Besides, are you even going to be able to get anything done when you'll be constantly stressed out by being so close to Aizen?" He pauses, then adds with a ghost of a smile, "And then there's the fact that you're a really bad liar."

Ichigo swings around to splutter indignantly at him. "I am not! I can lie!"

Starrk shrugs. "Good enough to fool Hirako and Aizen when they'll be right there observing you up close every single day?"

Ichigo opens his mouth, then closes it again. Good, at least he's self-aware.

Starrk lets him think it over for a moment, tracking the conflicted shift of emotions across Ichigo's face - and he wants to play spy in front of the likes of Aizen like this? - before continuing quietly, "This is it, you know."

Ichigo blinks at him, thrown by the non-sequitur.

Starrk sighs and leans back against the windowsill at his back, slanting his gaze to the sky outside, winter-pale but clear. "What we're doing--it isn't a job with an end date. We don't get to go back home once we're done. There's no home to go back to."

In his peripheral, Ichigo is suddenly very still.

"This is it," Starrk repeats without taking his eyes off the distant horizon. "And you gain nothing from focusing all your energy on one man who won't even be showing his hand anytime soon. If anything, finding out you're suspicious of him will only move up his timeline or cause him to do something drastic, and then we might not be able to predict him at all. And that's not even getting into what the Quincy might do if you show your hand too soon, with or without their king. But even that's beside the point."

He turns back to Ichigo, taking in the weary grief in the furrow of his brow and the bitter curve of his mouth, and he knows Ichigo already understands. Still, he finishes as gently as he knows how, "This is where we live now, and maybe it isn't home yet, but maybe it's time to start thinking about what it will take to make it one. How do you want to live, Ichigo? Once everything is over, what kind of life will you have built for yourself by then? Or will you let Aizen dictate that too?"

A minute flinch ripples across Ichigo's shoulders. Starrk presses on, as ruthless as he'd learned from Aizen, from Shunsui even more. "Will you let him hound you all the way to your final grave? Or will you let Yhwach do it again? Your mother died to save you. Your friends died protecting you. Is their love for you only worth yet another suicide run at a bunch of madmen and would-be-gods? Do you think that this was all you were worth to them?"

Ichigo flinches again, and for a split second, his expression scrunches like he wants to take a swing at Starrk.

Starrk waits him out, because Ichigo isn't an idiot, but sometimes, it's like he just can't understand certain things without them being spelled out for him. And some things, Starrk thinks, should be heard, should be said.

He wonders if anyone's ever told this kid that he's allowed to live for himself too.

(He also wonders how much of a hypocrite every word coming out of his mouth right now is going to make him in the future.

But it's different, with Ichigo. Starrk is over a thousand years old. At this point, going to his grave isn't a big deal. But Ichigo hasn't even reached three decades, and he's spent a solid ten of those years on one battlefield or another. If one of them has to die at the end of all this, it definitely shouldn't be Ichigo.

This kid needs to learn how to live. There's no time like the present to start, and if that means Starrk has to hit where it hurts, well, infections must be lanced sooner or later.)

At last, Ichigo's shoulders slump, and he deflates like a balloon, anger and hurt deserting him, leaving only exhaustion in their wake.

"Sometimes, you sound so much like Kyouraku-san it's scary," Ichigo informs him, flopping bonelessly onto a nearby pile of pillows.

Starrk says nothing. If that had been meant to hurt, well, he probably deserves it.

"Aizen does need to be watched," Ichigo persists, but he sounds almost relieved at the possibility that he won't have to be the one to do it.

Starrk grunts dismissively. "I can sense him from here. I know when he's in his office, and when he leaves a double and takes off for Rukongai. I think that's enough for now."

Ichigo's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "His hypnosis isn't affecting you?"

Starrk tips a glance at him. "The soul remembers. It doesn't affect you either, does it?"

"That's true," Ichigo concedes. "But wait, did he never show you his Shikai? Or you touched his blade somehow?"

"My reiatsu ate it," Starrk summarizes succinctly, then clarifies with a flicker of exasperation at the wide-eyed look he gets, "His hypnosis, not his blade. He never put much effort into hypnotizing the Espada, just enough to make sure we'd obey without too much fuss. And when it comes down to it, even Zanpakutou abilities is just reiatsu cast in a specific shape. It was easy enough to get rid of it after I was whole again."

He thinks of Lilynette and breathes through that particular ache, old now, more scar than open wound, but there all the same.

Ichigo makes a comprehending sound. "That's pretty handy. Can your reiatsu eat it if it's cast on someone else?"

Starrk nods. He'd done as much for Shunsui, and a few others as necessary. Aizen had never been able to affect the Captain-Commander again after he'd been let out of Muken. And for all that they'd been nominally on the same side, Aizen had actually tried a few times. Starrk thinks he'd probably just wanted to see if he could, because after each attempt, he'd turn and look at Starrk with something like amusement and something like contempt.

(Once, he'd remarked in private that Starrk certainly had a preference for kneeling at the feet of Shinigami masters, and he'd asked what made Shunsui the better one to serve, if perhaps he also should've forced Starrk to spread his legs for him, if that would've succeeded in breaking Starrk further, in making him even more eager to please, as much as Shunsui had clearly accomplished with him.

Shunsui had overheard. On hindsight, Starrk's fairly certain Aizen had wanted him to, had waited for him to get close enough to hear everything, though for what purpose even Starrk hadn't been able to figure out, because the resulting confrontation hadn't been pretty. It'd been one of the few times Starrk had seen his Shinigami lose his temper, his wrath a silent deadly creature no one would expect, and in that moment, the shadows around them had almost devoured Aizen whole. They'd certainly left their mark in the aftermath, Aizen's flesh cracked open with scars as black as the void. Even then, Starrk doesn't think Aizen had truly been intimidated, but he'd also never said another word of the sort to Starrk ever again.)

"I'd have to get closer to detect his more intricate workings," Starrk admits. "But I think between that and being able to sense him, it's enough of a safeguard without needing to join the Fifth as well. There isn't much of a point to that anyway. It's not like we don't already have a general idea of what he's doing, or where he's doing it. He isn't the sort to leave evidence lying around either so I doubt you'd be able to gather any."

He glances at Ichigo again, finally letting himself relax when he sees the kid nodding along, albeit with a rather grumpy expression.

"For now," Starrk concludes. "It's best to establish our presence here in this time, make connections, make allies, and eventually make sure we have enough people on our side to tip the scales in our favour. Aizen is one thing, but even the two of us can't take down the entire Wandenreich on our own. When the time comes, there must be people willing to believe us even without concrete proof of the Quincy's existence."

He catches Ichigo's eye, intent to get this point across, if nothing else. "No matter how powerful, there is only so much one can do alone. And you are not alone, Ichigo."

Ichigo's face crumples a little, and for a half a heartbeat, Starrk is terrified he's about to cry. Thankfully, that doesn't happen, and a moment later, Ichigo nods, his eyes a little brighter now, his shoulders a little less weighed down.

"Okay," Ichigo says decisively. "Then… I think I want to go to the Eighth." He smiles a bit wryly. "You're both bastards, but somehow, I like that about you guys. And if it's Kyouraku-san, it wouldn't be hard to work under his command."

He stops and grows more solemn, his gaze a little too sympathetic this time. "Will you join the Eighth too?"

"No," Starrk doesn't hesitate. He's already thought about it, had already made up his mind months ago, even before he'd met Shunsui again. His answer had only cemented further after meeting him. Besides, "I'm going to the Fourth."

He thinks of the agreement he'd hashed out with Mimihagi. He thinks of one of the things that had immediately come to mind when time travel of all things had been proposed to him. He thinks of the things he can do, the things he can create.

He thinks of the life he'd bargained for.

"Back in our time," Starrk only says in the end, meeting Ichigo's gaze calmly. "I was told by everyone who knew her that Unohana-taichou was the best healer in living memory. Now she is alive again, so that's what I want. I want to learn from her."

Ichigo snickers, oblivious. "Well, you are a huge medical nerd so I should've known. So long as you're happy I guess. Try not to take over the division again within the year. I wouldn't bet on your odds against Unohana-san."

Starrk rolls his eyes because honestly Kotetsu had practically gift-wrapped her division for him, he hadn't meant to take over, he hadn't even been a halfway respectable healer at the time, he'd just been strong, with the manpower to support the actual healers, and apparently, that'd been enough. He'd been horrified when Shunsui had sided with them.

Ichigo laughs outright, Starrk shakes his head, and with their choices made, the future begins to take shape once more.

#bleach #coyote starrk #kurosaki ichigo #shunstarrk #ichigo & starrk time travel verse #myscrap

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icarusredwings · 15 hours ago

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Thinking about old Worst Wolverine being called by each of the X men individually after they have a falling out because Logan injured a child very badly to the point the only reason they didn't die is because another classmates healing abilities all while he just... walked away.

Well- ran.. away... leaving a child to die. He's tried to explain thousands of times that he blacked out, that he didn't remember doing any of this. He tries to say that maybe it was someone else, that mystique did this shit all the time in his universe.

"Yeah, well!? This isn't your universe! Because the REAL Logan would never do this.." Scott screams at him as Logan leaves the Mansion for the last time. He doesn't come back. He didn't even get to tell his Xkits goodbye. It got to the point where Laura dropped out, taking Gabby with her, wanting nothing to do with the school anymore.

So now, here he is. In Maine, an old fisherman, part-time hunter, and the only people he lets around him have healing factors.

He lives with Wade, who still- by the way- doesn't have any grey hairs (maybe because hes bald but- yk)

One night, while Logan is out, making himself feel useful by feeding the small town they're in, providing for more poor families, feeding their children's hungry mouths and asking nothing in return but respect. (It gets to the point that the children cheer when they see Logan, wanting to hug him, but he growls at them to get off, too afraid of hurting them) Wade finally awnsers the ringing phone.

"What." There's vemon in his tone, but soon his eyes widden, and he frowns.

Walking outside he stands there a moment, knowing Logan can hear him.

He ignores him, looking at the fish, litsening, his breathing slowing as he skewers some with his claws. Its not exactly spear fishing but- close.

"What?" His voice is almost annoyed, as if knowing what his long time Husband was about to ask him.

"Logan.."

"No."

"Logan-"

He shakes his head. "Don't care."

"...She's missing."

He pauses, turning after scraping the dead fish into a bucket. "Who's missing?"

"There's a little girl missing."

"So?"

"Logan!"

"I'm not helping them, Wade. That's final." He growls.

For a moment, Wade frowns, but he didn't learn to obey thy husband like the bible said.

He never did.

"Logan, there's a 6 year old out there. All alone. Cold. Probably going to be eaten by wolves!" He shouts from the back porch, knowing his place enough to stay here and not come near his fish. Even after all these years, Logan was still finicky over his food. "And all because some old fart won't help her!"

The silence thickened as Logan thought about it, the hero side of his brain yelling 'We'll find her!' And the hurt old part of him saying 'That's not my buisness.'

".. You find her then." He compromises.

"I can't! And if anyone knows those Canadian woods, it's you! You said you knew those forests like the back of your hand!" Wade protests. "If I could smell someone through miles of freezing snow, I would. But I can't. So here I am, asking The Wolverine to go do what he does best."

He grunts, glaring. "And that is?"

"Helping a little girl get back to her mommy..." Wade says, knowing that he was sold. He knew he was sold the moment he told him to do it himself. "She doesn't have much time, Logan." He sighs, putting a cherry on top.

The greyed man huffed, grumbling under his breath for a moment. "Who will stay here with the dog?"

"Gabby can! She loves gabs." Gott'em.

"What about Laura? Why can't she find her?"

Shit.

"Logan, Laura has barley been in those woods. You've lived in them for years. So. What will it be. Pull up your panties and go save a little girls life? Or do it anyway when our baby girl gets lost too?"

Logan scoffs, disappointed. "..She wouldn't get lost.."

"She would if the scent kept being blown away.."

Wade adds, seeing the 'god damn it, he's right.' look on the old mans brow.

He lets out a large sigh. "...I don't want any help."

"Oh well too fucking bad bucko, I'm gonna go pack my snow suit!"

"No! I mean... I don’t want any help from THEM.."

"No promises. I'm not letting poor Susie die just because you have a grudge. Now put your fish in the freezer and lets go! They're coming to pick us up-"

"I ain't flying!!" Logan snarls, watching as his lover ran off, having a deep feeling that he would be in the air shortly..

#search and rescue #find her au #old man logan #old man wade #scott summers #what if #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool #wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadclaws #logan wolverine #worst wolverine

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cuckoldlifeofjosie · 2 days ago

Text

You like that she has a boyfriend. That she regularly gets fucked the way you know she needs and deserves. Even when she started to fall in love with him you still got aroused. So much so you encouraged her. You told her it is okay for her to have an emotional connection with him.

It was you who told her, if she really feels she loves him. She should tell him. She did the next time she saw him. Whispering "I love you too," while in bed with him. While his cock split her pussy and he slowly pushed it inside her and slowly pulled it out. They melted into each other when she said it. Kissing, dipping their tongues into each others mouths. It felt intoxicating. The desire she felt for him her pulse quickened. Telling him "I love you," made it real, it made her even love him more. To crave him. Crave his body, his touch, to be with him. When he filled her with his cum he pushed all the way in, farther than you have ever gone igniting her own orgasm. With a groan he clenched his ass as his cock throbbed and poured his fluid inside her moaning and twitching body under him. It wasn't fucking, they made love.

She told you she told him "I love you," and it aroused you so much, she watched as you had a powerful orgasm of your own and it made her feel good that you approve of her loving another man. That it arouses you too and gets you off.

You still have sex but it feels different. Like your little dick no longer belongs inside her. You can't reclaim her. She is no longer only yours so you reconnect. Sex outside her feels so much better for both of you. You rubbing your little dick on her clit, her jacking you off while she tells you about their weekend together out of town. How she told him "I love you" like a thousand times.

Both of you teased and fantasied together. She told you that you feel so much better out of her pussy. Maybe that is where you belong. Her pussy reserved for men that can fuck her the way she needs. Men like her boyfriend. It got you hot and got you off. Again she saw you orgasm in her hand harder than you ever have inside her.

Your married though, a married couple has to have sex right? So you go through these cycles. You having sex with her, then both of you fantasizing again about you only on the outside. Your angst got the best of you. That jealousy, the fear of her leaving, the feeling of inadequacy. One morning she came home to you after a long weekend vacation with him and you weren't excited. You felt hurt, even betrayed, sad and alone. You blew up at her and you had a fight. This wasn't the first time. It is like a rollercoaster of emotional and sexual highs. Then your angst hits and it comes crashing down on both of you. She didn't want to see him anymore to save your marriage. You make up and have sex. You think how hot it was that she spent a romantic weekend with him, that she didn't call, ignored your text. You wish you didn't lash out at her.

Alone you masturbate. You think about that pain she caused you. About her with him telling him she loves him like a thousand times. You are eager for her to do it again. You don't want her to leave him to save your marriage. She does do it again. They see each other to talk about what happend between you and her. They can't resist and make love. Only this time she doesn't tell you. You snoop and find out though and it feels like she cheated on you. Again the angst hits like a car hitting you head on, or someone reaching into your body and pulling your heart out.

You tell her you know. You forgive her though. Encouraging her to keep seeing him.

One day you go on a website. A website you never thought you would be on. There are so many choices. Micro, short, small sized cages. Rings that hold it into place. You do it. You order a micro chastity cage for your tiny little sissy dick. So you can lock it up.

It feels so arousing when it arrives. You try it on. It feels tight around your balls and restricting around your dick. But you like it. You wear it all day and it reminds you, you are a cuckold, a sissy. It feels submissive, it feels right. You want your wife to openly cuckold you. Even cheat on you if she wants. Your dick swells but it can't get hard. A feeling that is hard to describe, blood is flowing to your dick. It is a warm pleasure a feeling of humiliation and arousal. You show your wife and she laughs. "It is so cute, you really are tiny." Her words should humiliate you but they arouse you too. So much so you make sure you tell her it is a micro cage. It helps, she spends the night with him and you feel the pleasure and pain of the cage all night. Like she is giving you a gift, being at another mans house and making love. The cycle goes on and on. She takes it off. You slip inside her, then you unintentionally slip out and she laughs. "Your little dick isn't made to stay inside me, that is what my boyfriends cock is for." Again you should feel humiliated but it gets you harder. You rub your dick on her pussy and cum so fucking hard your toes curl. You both want it but you can't admit it as fact, not fantasy. You want to be pussy free and she doesn't want your dick in her pussy anymore. She fantasizes and masturbates about having sex with other men, she craves and desires sex with her boyfriend when she cums on her vibrator.

You fantasize about and masturbate thinking about her getting fucked like a slut by other men. you crave for her to see her boyfriend again and make love to him so you can be and feel like the sissy cuckold you are. You want to accept it. You understand she might leave you, you don't want her too but it is an arousing thought. A fantasy you don't want to come true but accept that it might. Her leaving you for another man she loves. You are now being emotionally cuckolded. Uncertainty is part of life. It is time. To lock it up, time for permanent chastity. Time for her pussy only to be for other men.

#so hot 🔥🔥🔥#sharing wife #submisive sissy #wifeinlove #badwife #cheatingwife #emasculated #feminine sissy #emotionalcuckolding

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atleastpleasetelephone · 3 days ago

Note

I just want to say how good your stories are and I really love them they are so detailed and good!.. I wanted to request a fic. Nympho reader trying to get Elvis's attention ata family and friends dinner (the memohis mafia, their wives yk) but he denies her until he can't take it anymore and drags her off to the bathroom and fucks her hard and makes her be quiet. 🙏🏼

Maneater

A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long! I've been thinking about it on and off for a while now, and finally got something written down.

Pairing: Elvis x nympho!reader

Word count: 2.3K

TWs: Infidelity, name-calling, spanking, rough sex, mirror sex, reader is gagged, degredation kink, praise kink, a handjob, p in v sex, also probably should mention the appearance of Lamar's dick, might need a warning...

Elvis fixes you with a stern look as he tells you yet again that this is a nice dinner and you’re not to do anything to mess it up. What he means by that is that he doesn’t want you winding him up at the dinner table. He’s never met a girl like you. You’re desperate for it, all the time. He can’t keep up. Perhaps he could have, in his 20s, but not now he’s 34. He gave up trying to please you with his hands and mouth and dick all the time - his jaw started to ache and he’s getting worried about his fingers anyway from all the karate. The less said about his dick the better. He’d eventually caved and bought a vibrator, something to make you cum a few times in a row and hopefully shut you up. When that stopped being a guaranteed cure he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and broke up with you. He’s never broken up with a girl before (they usually do the leaving) and it was difficult. Made even more difficult by him finding you sucking Jerry off, not more than an hour later. So he’d taken you back, out of jealousy really, he supposes.

“You’re going to be a good girl, right?”

You twist a few strands of hair around your finger and tilt your head to the side. It’s not that you don’t want to be good. You just have these urges, and they don’t really seem to be stoppable.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He walks the few steps between you and pinches your cheeks with his fingers. “Right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’m going to be a good girl.” Already you’re squeezing your thighs together. He really needs to learn that you find all of this such a turn on that it’s just making the whole situation worse.

“Good. Let’s go downstairs.”

***

You manage the first course without incident, but by the time the main dish is on the table you’re thoroughly distracted again. Elvis sat you to his left so that he could keep an eye on you, and he’s been careful not to touch you or even really look at you directly that much. But there’s so much sauce he keeps having to lick his lips, more than usual, and you can’t help but think about all the other places that tongue has been or could go… You wriggle about a little in your chair, getting some friction between it and your pussy, thinking about him eating you rather than the meatloaf.

Elvis notices your tell-tale movements and reaches one hand beneath the table to pinch your thigh, hard. You squeak, but you get the message and stop moving. He clears his throat and moves his hand back to the table, returning to his conversation with Joe. You take a few deep breaths and try to get your head back in the game. Eat dinner, ignore Elvis, be a good girl.

“How’s it going, pipsqueak?” Lemar asks, from your left.

“‘M not a pipsqeak,” you hum, fluttering your eyelashes and putting your hand on his thigh. So much for being a good girl.

Lemar grins. He doesn’t usually get a lot of attention from the ladies, but you’re the exception. And he likes you because you treat him just the same as you do everyone else - as a potential ride.

“Look like one to me,” he teases. “Enjoying your meatloaf?”

You shrug, putting down your fork. “Can think of some meat I’d prefer…”

Your hand wanders a little further up Lamar’s thigh, and then you chance a look over to Elvis, who is still studiously ignoring you. Well, if you can’t get his attention you’ve sure as shit got Lamar’s.

Lamar actually blushes at your words, looking nervously over at Elvis now himself. He’s going to get into trouble for this but it’s turning him on so he’s not sure if he cares. Elvis is deep in conversation with Joe and his wife and hasn’t noticed anything, so the other man doesn’t stop your hand as it continues its journey up his thigh, finally reaching his dick and giving it a friendly squeeze. He’s playing with fire now, but he just takes another mouthful of meatloaf as you unzip him one-handed and dip your hand into his boxers, starting to stroke him.

He tries not to choke on the food in his mouth at the sensation. Your little hand is very skilled, even at this weird angle, and suddenly he realises that you could make him cum at the dinner table. And you probably will, since consequences don’t really seem to bother you. Not that surprising, since all the guys know you sucked Jerry off and Elvis took you back anyway.

You’re already moving quickly, and you don’t bother trying to cover up what you’re doing that much. No-one notices though, busy chatting and eating and drinking, not paying any attention to you. You pout, almost to yourself, and then decide you have to do something to get some attention. You hate to be ignored.

“Elvis?” You drawl, lazily.

Lamar freezes. Why on earth are you doing this? This is worse than just making him cum at the dinner table, this is making him cum whilst Elvis watches. It’s a miracle no-one has noticed what you’re doing, and you want to Elvis to notice, of all people.

“Yes, honey,” Elvis replies, coldly, rolling his eyes.

Your hand is still working Lamar’s dick and he’s getting closer and closer to release. Now Elvis has turned to look at you, he knows he can’t try to pull your hand off him, that’ll make it too obvious. But he can’t let you keep going, that’ll make it even more obvious. He panics and so he does nothing, feeling his balls getting heavier as you keep jerking him. There’s no way that this ends well.

“Are you enjoying your meatloaf?” You lick your lips teasingly.

Elvis frowns a little, thinking that something about the way you’re sitting looks weird. Your shoulder keeps moving and… something about Lamar looks weird too. Suddenly it snaps into focus and he realises what’s happening. Around the same time as Lamar cums with a barely disguised moan.

“You little slut.”

He stands and grabs you by the arm, dragging you out of your chair and then behind him as he marches up the stairs. Lamar. Lamar of all people. And at the dinner table! He’s not sure he can keep seeing you but he can’t break up with you without teaching you a lesson first.

Lamar zips himself up and tries to look innocent, although it’s not long before the other guys figure out what happened, especially when they see the stains on his pants. It’s only the presence of the wives that keep them from really ribbing him at the table, but they can barely believe it. That girl Elvis is seeing really is some kind of nymphomaniac.

Your stomach flips and you feel yourself getting wetter as you struggle to keep up with him, first up the stairs and then into the en suite. He slams the door and then rounds on you, fury etched into his face.

“Ya really just gave Lamar a handjob at the dinner table? In my house? With me right next ta ya?”

You bite your lip. “‘M sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.”

“You need to learn,” he growls.

And this is the problem. He thinks this is a punishment, but you’re just excited. You want to be taught lesson after lesson. You like it when he gets like this, a little out of control. You want him to fuck you like an animal and keep going way past the point of enjoyment. You want it to go on and on until you beg him to stop, and even then he continues.

He spins you around to face the big mirror over the bathroom sink, pushing you so that you bend at the waist, your little skirt flipping up to uncover your ass. Pulling your panties down and off, he stuffs them in his pocket and looks briefly at your reflection. You look back at him, big doe eyes and pouting lips.

“Maybe this’ll teach ya.”

He spanks you, hard, and you yelp. So he carries on, over and over again. You can feel his rings against your skin, making each slap sting even more. Little squeals fall from your mouth as he keeps going, your ass getting redder and redder.

“Shush.”

“Sorry Daddy,” you coo, trying hard to clamp your mouth shut and not make any more noise.

But he doesn’t stop hitting you, and it’s starting to get really sore, and you can’t help yelping again and then wriggling a little, a half-hearted attempt to get away.

“I told ya to shush.”

He grabs the panties and stuffs them into your mouth. You can feel your arousal running down your leg. Jerking Lamar off was worth it for this reaction.

He spanks you a few more times but he can see how turned on you are and he can’t pretend his dick isn’t aching right now too. Dragging a finger up the inside of your thigh, he brings it up, wet, to his lips and lets you see him lick it.

“Dirty little girl,” he hisses.

You moan around the panties, drool pooling around them and starting to spill out of the sides and into the sink. He looks into your eyes and… you look… happy? He can’t understand it. After that spanking, the way he’s humiliating you, the panties in your mouth… how can you be happy? He unzips his pants and takes out his dick, pushing it inside you hard and fast. You groan at being so full so quickly but your wetness means he slides in no problem, you’re so ready for him. Even more than usual.

He grunts as he starts to thrust into you, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, bunching it into a makeshift ponytail. Your hips bump the sink with every thrust and you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. You’ll probably have a bruised ass, too, with the beating he gave it. You moan again, pleasure rippling through your body as he pulls your head up and arches your back, his dick hitting somewhere delicious inside you.

“Nasty little slut,” he groans, pulling your hair some more. “Look at yourself.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair everywhere, mascara running down your red cheeks, saliva spilling over your chin. Then you look back at him and his eyes look wild, almost black with lust and fury, his face flushed and his lip curled into a sneer. He briefly lets go of your hip to pull the panties out of your mouth, letting them fall into the sink.

“What d’ya look like?”

“A nasty little slut, Daddy.”

His eyes roll back in his head as he starts to pound you, wanting to somehow fuck this out of you. You’re such a damn frustrating little girl. So obedient when you’re taking his dick, and so goddamn wayward when you’re not.

His dick keeps rubbing that place inside you that you like so much, and you know you’ve got to be almost there now. But you can’t just cum without permission. You could jerk Lamar off without permission, but cumming was a whole different story.

“Daddy, I need to cum.”

“Ya always fuckin’ need ta cum. That’s the problem with ya.” He snaps.

“Mmmm. But now. Please. ‘M so close.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and the result is almost immediate, your walls are pulsing around him, squeezing and squeezing.

You scoop up the soggy panties from the sink and put them back in your own mouth, so that the noise you make as you cum on his dick is muffled. But he still hears it, and still sees your face contorted in ecstasy in the mirror, and combined with the way you’re squeezing him there’s nothing he can do but cum too, hard and deep inside you. He groans, staggering backwards and then managing to sit himself down on the toilet lid, legs spread, head thrown back. Fuck. That was good. You were a damn good fuck.

You spit the panties out of your mouth then straighten, legs like jelly, before turning around. Seeing him there with his dick still out of his pants you can’t help yourself. You kneel down between his legs and start to lick him clean. His head slowly moves forwards and he stares down at you, incredulously.

“What’re ya doin’?” There’s a softness in his voice now, and he finds himself stroking your cheek with his forefinger.

“Bein’ good,” you tell him, licking a final stripe up him and then looking up at his face. “Hoping for round two,” you add, more honestly.

He shakes his head. “Little girl, you are insatiable.”

You nod. “I know. Sorry, Daddy.”

He sighs and pulls you up into his lap. “What am I gonna do with ya?”

Your arms slip around his neck and you look at him with those big doe eyes again. “Spank me? Teach me a lesson? Fill up all my little holes?”

Elvis blushes at your filthy mouth, even after the things he’s just said and done to you. He shakes his head again.

“It’s this big hole,” he says, pinching your cheeks with his thumb and a finger, and then pressing his forefinger to your lips. “That keeps gettin’ ya in trouble.”

You nod sagely. “I know. Probably best to fill that up too.”

He can’t help giggling. There’s something adorable about you, even if you are the filthiest girl he’s ever met. You giggle too. You like this, this attention from him. Even though he’s not fucking you or spanking you, you like him up close and intimate like this.

He kisses your temple and then makes a decision.

“Alright. To hell with this dinner. Get on the bed and I’ll shut ya up properly this time.”

***

Taglist:

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