#LIGHT THE WAY WITH A FLEETING SPARK

[lightthepathwithalantern]

someone killed mage

......what...?

.......

Y-you're joking.... you're joking, he's not dead!! He's my brother, I know him too well, he would never let himself die!!

This is some sort of sick prank isn't it!?

........

....Bob... Bob will know where he is... I'm going to Bob.....

*They walk away*

[sourvers]

GHOST WHO runs his calloused fingers through the fabrics of the clothes you folded for him: now gingerly placed in his duffle bag for another month of service. Neat and compact just the way he liked it.

GHOST WHO has to push the delectable taste of your cooking another plate away as his taste buds prepare for stale food kept in plastic bags, despite the ache festering in his stomach.

GHOST WHO always drops you off to work the day or two before he leaves: admiring the radiance of your face amongst street lights and the upward curve of your smile like the delicate bend of a crescent moon. He'll squeeze your hand before you slip through his fingers, not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, not before the wind whirls and spins; taking him away.

GHOST WHOSE tongue festers bitterness because he knows you're assistant and students will smile and laugh at your jokes and come to you for support because of your tenderness to the world: to which he has learned was your highest virtue, a weapon of undoing to his bruised soul. He'll clench his fist and furrow his eyebrows because he knows the cafe's barista will ask you more 'How are you?' than himself, he knows the youth living down the road will banter with you more as you share a cake you can't finish on your own, he knows the woman walking her dog every Saturday will acknowledge you more than he has in a month. He knows he won't be part of the small moments scattered about your life. He knows it damn well.

GHOST WHO seldom mentions you around anyone, even t141. Initially, it was all about your security: to keep the spark in your eyes aflame, it always is of course. However, amongst the dim lights of a bar, the rest drunk on the fleeting rush of victory and memoria, he'll make sure to silence the thrashing beat of his heart and the desperate desire crawling up his throat to join in on the drunken yearning and say: "I miss my wife."

GHOST WHO returns home to either your waking body or sleeping flesh. The cycle repeats anew.

cod masterlist. / similar posts

⤷ omg! first post of the blog. got a little angst out here... hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

[dmitriene]

cw: age gap (legal but not specified), mentions of readers virginity, just two people in love.

simon ghost riley doesn't think he's ugly outside, but he does think he is inside, too rotting comparing to you, so much more sweeter when you flutter your eyelashes at him and brush your fingers against his biceps in fleeting touches, trying so sweetly to gain the attention he doesn't let himself give you.

you're younger, it's visible in the lines on your face and cheerful smiles you flash him, in polite behavior that you keep up when you talk with elders, not yet on the same line of age with them, in how you call him sir and make his whole body shudder as it slips from your plump lips, and it's shouldn't make his cock chub up.

simon knows you're not a baby, you're a capable young woman, and even his friends date girls looking like you, but he feels like his hand are too dirty, bloodstained and calloused from the years of military service, his face is rugged and he can't even keep his stubble shaved properly, a mess of a man.

but you gaze at him with heart shaped pupils and trail around him like affectionate kitten, rubbing yourself all over him for at least one bit of attention, and the way you erupt in giddy smiles and sincere giggles when he garners you these bits.

pats at your head or accepts some baked treats you made, and there's something acidic behind his ribs, little sparks that instead of smoking erupts in licking flames, burning scorching hot across his whole body, and he's so addicted it's embarrassing to voice out, forbidden fruit is always sweet.

you were throwing yourself willingly at simon, and when he accepts your shy invitation to keep you an evening company in some town pub, where you sit under dim light on plush leather couch, body adorned with tight fitting dress that is too revealing for your usual attires, simon let's himself snap.

he knows it's all for him, the fabric ridding up all the way your plush thighs, pressed together when you squirm and tug it down, just so you won't sit with you ass bare on the leather, simon fists his hands until they whiten on his thighs as he tugs at his jeans, suddenly too tight.

all for him, the way you lean against the table, as if to hear him better, teasing your teeth at the plump flesh of your lips, warm breath mingling with his, smoky, made to make you push away, but your eyes grow heavy, swallowed dark by dilating pupils, and simon is fucked up badly.

he barely makes it to the front door of his apartment, you're feisty, nipping little teeth's at his stubbled jaw, rubbing sloppy kisses against his skin that grows hot and itchy from want, from the feeling of your body pressed against his tightly, legs wrapped around his hips, for him, all for him, his.

your body is soft, welcoming his touch with small goosebumps and small shudders, supple under his fingers that he traces too carefully across your curves, shedding every piece of clothing off you, like a kid with christmas present, hands trembling when he tugs your panties to find them sodden.

you're wet, wanting, squirming on the cold sheets that soothe your burning flesh as you spread your thighs to trail your hand down beneath your navel, simon feels like a virgin, breath hitching loudly when you spread your glistening folds with obscene squelch, chanting that it's all his fault.

for neglecting your affection, making you fuck your pussy on your own fingers every night, dreaming of being stretched around his cock, of granting simon your virginity, your flesh and bones, everything he'll please, you'll give him, just as you show him your dripping hole that clenches in need.

simon is a fool for making you wait so long, for depraving himself from you, because you feel heavenly, thin skin stretching around his fat, veiny girth, dribbling precum that mixes with your cloying slick, easing the glide, letting him stuff you, inch by inch, plugged with fat cock that throbs inside.

you clench with each drag, with each shallow thrust simon gives you because he can't make it faster, not because you'll be hurt, but because he shudders at the feel of your gummy walls latching around his meaty shaft, because he wants to enjoy every second of this encounter.

to hear your punched mewls, to watch the way you knead at the sheets below you like a docile kitten, meeting his languid movements with careful rolls of your hips, chest to chest with him, his breath burning against your ear as he showers you with sloppy kisses.

you're sopping wet between your legs, supple flesh coated with saccharine slick, splayed on his bed with simon's scent so heady around you, with his tongue toying with yours, his palms pawing at your hips and tugging, making you bounce towards his pounding hips, rumbling when it makes you arch.

simon loses himself in you, he listens to your pitched, garbled chants of want to be filled up with his seed, and he grits his teeth until veins pop on his jaw, increasing his movements to jab his tip against your sweet spot, make your walls clutch and pulse rapidly with bubbling magma in your belly.

you purr in delight when he fills you, coating your velvety walls with spurts of warm, thick cum, leaking past your clenching muscles, with simon's cock drived impossibly deep, enough to feel full despite how it dribbles down in creamy mess to stain the sheets.

pleased enough to let your body drift into drowsy state, sated to the point of your eyes slipping shut from minute to minute, enough time for simon to ease himself from you and go fetch a warm cloth to clean you both, just a bit to be comfortable while curled in each other during night.

simon ain't sure to which point this sex had drove you both, but he doesn't want to push you away, he enjoys the feeling of your naked body pressed against his, cradled against his brawny chest, soft breath tickling his skin and your eyelashes quivering in peaceful slumber, and he wants to remain there.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Easy Access

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, canon-typical swearing, oral sex (female & male receiving), F/M/M/M/M, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, group sex, praise, restraints/restraining

Word Count: 3.7k

A short dress is your idea of an invitation for a bit of fun.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Under the shade of a tree, you inhale deeply, savoring the fresh spring air.

This is a party. A gathering. A break. A reward for a job well done.

But it’s not like you’re the one in the line of fire. That isn’t your job. Your one and only endeavor at work is making sure Kate Laswell has everything she needs while at the office. Field work is not your specialty, and you’re thankful for that.

You make phone calls. You bring Laswell her coffee. You keep her appointments and meetings. It’s office work. Clerical. But it keeps you safe, fed, and paid.

Amongst the crowd are familiar and unfamiliar faces. There has to be at least sixty people here in total, and yet the space doesn’t feel cramped. You were given an address, and this has to be someone’s backyard, but you couldn’t say who. And if anyone knows, they aren’t saying.

To your left is a large wood patio. It expands across almost the entirety of the back of the house. Most of it is covered by two connecting pergolas. Underneath the pergolas is a massive buffet and open bar. People loiter there, talking and laughing. The patio opens up to a large green space with a small pond and garden near the back fence. The majority of the space is open but there are a few tables and chairs set up. Music comes from speakers you can’t see, and lights line the fence.

It’s all very pleasant, but crowds are not your thing.

You scan the crowd but no one is looking in your direction. Bringing your plastic cup up to your lips, you scan the crowd one more time. Your gaze falls on Captain John Price. He’s having a conversation with someone you don’t recognize, and out of uniform, he’s even more handsome.

There is no silly, floppy hat or beanie. No windbreaker or boots. Price wears a button up shirt, the top two undone and slightly open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He appears so casual and calm, a cool sexiness that instantly sparks heat low in your belly.

Your cup is almost to your lips, pausing as you gaze at him. In this moment—this fleeting second—Price’s gaze finds you. He winks. Smirks. Returns to the conversation.

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you nearly drench the front of your linen dress with red punch.

Glancing away, you only find the rest of Price’s team. Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, and Simon Riley loiter near the deck. Kyle and Johnny talk, their faces animated and engaged. Simon stands with his arms crossed, but he’s not listening.

He’s staring at you, those dark eyes of his piercing you down to your marrow.

It’s silly, really, how all four of them make your stomach flip. How they each in turn seem to awaken something dark and primal in your blood.

While it doesn’t shame you in the least, you have flirted with all of them. It’s hard not to. Price is the one you see the most, and always makes an effort to stop by to see you if he has business with Laswell. Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all have to go out of their way to see you, but they do it. Often.

And it’s not just the flirting or sultry glances. You’ve allowed them each a touch or two. Of the four, you gave Johnny permission to kiss you. It was chaste. Quick. Nothing that curls the toes. But it turned his face beet-red.

But being with any of them is just a fantasy. It’s unprofessional. And you don’t need to know what Laswell might think of you for taking any further action with them.

Sighing, you turn away from Simon’s penetrating stare. You knock back the red punch, the alcohol in it hardly registering on your tongue. Removing yourself is the best solution. Perhaps you could hide in the bathroom for a bit. Splash some cold water on your face.

Depositing the empty plastic cup in the nearest trashcan, you head for the patio, passing the buffet and open bar, striding inside through the open kitchen doors. You nod in acknowledgement to a few people there, and they match it, but they immediately return to their conversations, not all that interested in your presence.

The nearest bathroom is just off the kitchen, but you want to hide. You aim for the hallway with the intent of entering the bathroom at the very end. No one is really using it, and it’s the perfect place to catch your breath.

As you reach out for the golden bathroom handle, a large hand shoots out, encasing your wrist, haling all movement. You turn sharply, ready to bite back at the man who decided it’s okay to touch you without your permission, only to freeze.

Your eyes widen as you realize who the hand belongs to.

“John,” you whisper. You didn’t even hear him approach. He completely snuck up on you.

“Where you off to?” he asks softly. He looks a little concerned, but there is something else under all of that.

While you want to answer his question, to give in a bit, you don’t enjoy being grabbed.

“Is that your business?” you reply, arching one eyebrow, chest heaving slightly as your heartrate quickens.

John’s head tilts slightly, his gaze assessing for a moment. The two of you are locked in, and you’re not sure if you’ve completely fumbled the exchange. John releases you from his stare but he doesn’t release your wrist.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder, and you follow the movement. Right there, in the hall, are three familiar people.

Kyle and Johnny casually lean against the wall while Ghost stands in the middle, watching the opening of the hallway.

You’re not frightened. Not afraid. If anything, you’re becoming slick between the thighs. There is a reason they’re here, and you want to explore what it is.

Price’s gaze returns to you and his gaze is soft. “Do you want it to be my business?”

You press in a bit, and Price’s mouth forms into a self-satisfied grin. “Does it include all four of you?” you counter.

“It can.”

His grip tightens slightly. The hold is almost desperately possessive.

What the hell. You should just do it. Have some fucking fun for once. If anything, this will be the one and only time. Get this ridiculous need out of your system all at once and be done with them.

“Then make it your business,” you murmur.

Price’s grip remains firm as he pulls you away from the bathroom door. He spins you around, his free hand reaching out to open the door that’s across the hall from the bathroom. You hear the creak of the hinges as it swings inward, and then you’re walking backward into the room, Price herding you along.

Behind him follows Kyle. And behind Kyle, Johnny. Then, finally, Simon. He’s the last to enter the room and the one that shuts the door, locking it without even glancing at it. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Once the door is shut, you expect Price to release you. But he doesn’t. He keeps hold of your wrist, drawing you against him, pinning your arm to your chest. With his other hand, Price clasps your chin between thumb and forefinger, keeping your face pointed in his direction.

“You want to back out?” he asks. “Just say the word. We’ll stop.”

Do you want to stop? No. Your blood is buzzing, nearly burning beneath your skin. You want to see where this goes, and how much you can take before you’re unable to understand reality.

“Nervous, Captain?”

He laughs, throaty and low before his lips come dangerously close to yours. “No, love. I like that you’re willing to share.”

Someone shifts behind Price’s shoulder. Your gaze starts to drift but he jerks you back to attention.

“You’ve been teasing us with that dress,” murmurs Price.

Releasing your wrist, Price drops his hand to lightly tug on the skirt of the linen dress you wear.

It’s incredibly comfortable. The color an off-white. It stops at about mid-lower thigh, a bit above the knee. The top of the dress is solid fabric back and front except for the straps which are crisscrossed, leaving your shoulders and arms mostly bare.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you reply just as softly.

Price makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to your pussy. “Somehow I believe that,” he chuckles, fisting your dress even tighter. It only pulls you closer, and even like this, you feel his hardness.

You’re so focused on Price that when another pair of hands join his, you almost jump. Price eases his hold on you a bit, and your body twists in the direction of these new hands. It’s Johnny. He has one hand on the back of your neck while the other plays with the hem of your dress. It’s just a gentle toying, one you don’t entirely notice until his fingers are slipping under it, brushing against your bare thigh.

“You want this? All of us?” Johnny sounds skeptical.

Your lips part at his question, the very image of them taking you one after the other only making you slicker.

You nod, chest heaving. “Yes.”

Price’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, drawing your attention back to him. There is a pause—a second of breathing—and then he releases you. He walks backward toward the door as Simon moves away from it and Kyle closes in.

Johnny sidesteps, placing himself directly behind you. His hands slide over you, finding new homes. He wraps one around your waist, hand splaying wide over your pelvis. His other reaches down to dip beneath the hem of your dress just shy of your left leg.

You believe that Johnny is going to slide his hand between your clenched thighs. But he doesn’t. His arm hooks under your thigh, pressing up, lifting your foot from the floor. You’re forced to balance on your right foot. You instinctually reach up, grasping the back of Johnny’s neck.

But with Johnny’s support, you don’t topple over. His strength keeps you grounded.

With his hand on your pelvis, Johnny begins to bunch the fabric in his fist, lifting it away from your body. It is slow, almost agonizing in how all of their gazes are fixed on that one point.

You don’t need to see to know when you’re bare. You feel the air against you.

You are open for their inspection, and they do not appear disappointed. If anything, they’re fucking hungry.

“She’s wearing fucking nothing under there,” growls Simon, almost like he’s upset but doesn’t want to be.

“Teasing us on purpose,” says Price not to anyone in particular but to reiterate what he said early, that the dress is a tease, and this is just one more thing to add to it.

Simon moves, striding toward you like a predator. Slowly, his hand clasps the front of your neck, and you instinctually arch into Johnny. Kyle sinks to his knees before you.

“Gaz is gonna eat that pretty pussy,” murmurs Johnny in your ear. His breath is a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. “And then we’re all going to fuck you. One after the other. Fill you with our cum. You want that, love?”

You crave them like a nourishing meal. Accepting won’t hurt. It’ll only fill the gap, satiating the thirst that boils in your blood.

“Yes,” you affirm, putting all the control in their hands now.

“Good girl,” growls Simon, gently squeezing, those dark eyes of his locking in on your parted lips.

Kyle’s hands are on your thighs. They rotate. Squeeze. Slide toward your hip bone.

“Look at that,” he says, absently. Kyle’s fingers lightly brush over your sex. Then, he is parting you with two fingers, and in that glide, you can hear just how wet you are.

“Hardly touched you,” croons Kyle, his mouth dangerously close to what’s aching for him.

He leans in, and goes in for a taste. It’s tentative. Testing. Just a little touch of his tongue against flesh. But it’s enough for your pussy to clench, for you to whimper as if he’s completely pressed his mouth to you.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Johnny. He nuzzles your neck, gaze downward.

You’re watching too. Everyone is. There is no point in hiding anything. You are spread open.

Kyle’s tongue dips again, this time tracing a line between his two fingers. He starts at your entrance, teasing it before moving upward to circle your clit slowly. He is languid about it. Taking his time like there isn’t a party happening just outside the door.

“Oh, you’re sweet, love,” he murmurs before going in fully.

There is no tracing of his tongue. It is only steady strokes and gentle flicks against your clit. Kyle knows what he’s doing. He knows to stick to a specific pace. To not change course. He feasts until your legs shake and it is only Johnny’s strength keeping you aloft.

The clench comes, shuddering outward. Your breathing intensifies, becoming desperate gasps as Kyle continues to work your clit. Simon still holds onto the front of your throat, and he does not let go.

“Look at me,” croons Simon, tilting your head in his direction. “At me. My eyes.”

Johnny murmurs sweet nothings against your throat as he watches Kyle lick and then suck your clit into his mouth.

Your hips buck against Kyle’s mouth as your orgasm consumes, absorbing all your strength, turning your muscles into sticky goo.

There are lips pressing against your inner thigh, and then Kyle’s voice drifts up from between your legs. “She’s ready.”

“But we aren’t,” replies Simon.

Johnny guides your leg down until your foot is flat again. From there, he presses on your shoulders, and you automatically sink to your knees.

“Be good and suck Gaz’s cock,” commands Simon as his hand slides from the front to the back of your neck.

Johnny steps back, his presence evaporating as Kyle undoes the front of his jeans. You are hungry. Feral. Desperate. The moment Kyle’s cock his free from his jeans, you’re reaching for him, sucking him down.

Kyle groans loudly, head tilting back as you throat him to the root.

“Fucking beautiful,” comes Johnny’s voice somewhere behind and to the right of you.

Simon grunts in agreement, his hand still firmly planted on your neck. His fingers dig into your hair, and even though you have some control, Simon has the rest.

He keeps you on your knees and your head still as Kyle thrusts shallowly into your mouth. You are wet between your thighs, the skin there rubbing against itself. Your hands rise to grab the front of Kyle’s jeans, but Johnny tuts, grasping both arms and holding them behind you.

“Breathe through your nose. Good girl. Like that.” These praises are all Simon, and you desperately want to please him.

You’re nearly still as Kyle claims your throat. But he’s careful. Thoughtful. He’s fucking your mouth yet he knows your limit. When your throat contracts, wanting to gag, he retreats until you’ve caught your breath, only to return to his pace from before.

“Fuck,” he mutters, abruptly pulling out of your mouth. You cough, saliva and cum coating your lips and chin. “Bend her over the edge of the bed.”

Johnny releases your arms and Simon is the one that helps you to your feet.

“Look at me,” says Simon, drawing you attention to his face. “You good?”

This can all end if you want it to, but you don’t. You’re not full. Not whimpering. You want them inside.

“I’m good,” and your answer is a bit raspy.

Simon nods and then he’s turning you around, his hands pressing on your back until you’re completely bent.

The bed is a bit high, and you have to go up on your toes. Your hands dig into the comforter, but you don’t feel stable. Not really.

There are hands on your thighs. They drive upward, flipping your dress up to expose your ass to the room. One of those hands comes down on the right cheek. It isn’t hard, just enough to bounce it.

“Open for us,” says Simon. You wiggle your hips, sliding your feet outward slightly. “More, love. Yes. Perfect.”

Simon shifts partially into view, and then he’s grabbing your forearms, holding you down to the bed itself. You have no idea who is behind you, but you feel the head of their cock at your entrance.

There is no condom, and you do not give a fuck. You want to feel each of them in turn, to feel them fill you up, to fuck each other’s cum deeper into you.

The head presses in. Enters. And then you’re being filled, being fed more and more until you’re stuffed. You moan loudly.

“Taking me so well,” groans Johnny as you clamp around him. “Bloody hell you’re tight.”

Johnny squeezes your ass, guiding your hips up slightly as he starts to drive in. The angle is deep, and your feet slide against the floor. He isn’t soft, but he’s not rough either. Johnny is steady, rolling his hips deep enough to hit that sweet spot.

You are soft. Pliant. Smiling against the comforter as Johnny fucks you. His soft grunts become gentle groans. Then his hips stutter, thrust forward, creating a seal. You feel his release flood your pussy, and you purposefully tighten those muscles, encouraging him to stay inside.

And Johnny does, for a moment.

He lightly pats your ass before withdrawing. The loss of him is immediate, and yet there is another ready to take his place. Simon does not move from his spot. You turn your head and find Price still leaning against the door. There is an apparent bulge in the front of his pants.

It is Kyle that settles behind you, and like Johnny, he finds the same rhythm. While Johnny felt girthy, Kyle is absolute perfection. The stretch is good but not too tight, and even though every stroke is pointedly deep, there is nothing but pleasure.

Kyle’s hand slips between the bed and your body. He finds your clit. Toys with it. Plays. You’re still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, and the next one comes up suddenly. You cry out, squeezing on him as he finishes.

In that blissful state, you don’t notice Simon removing his hands from your forearms. It isn’t until he’s driving inside that you realize it, and you nearly come off the bed. Simon is absurdly large, and your back arches, fingers digging into the comforter as your groan into it.

Simon is not as gentle as them. He fucks their cum into you like he’s made to do so.

And Price is still off to the side. Still watching. Almost indifferent except for that outline in his pants.

Simon’s only tell is a low grunt before he too is finishing inside you.

You are overly stuffed. Full. Simon removes his cock from your pussy as their mixed cum begins to drip out onto your thighs.

You think Price will come. That he will take Simon’s place. Instead, you’re being moved, flipped onto your back. Your legs are brought up, and then Johnny is back, sliding home again. Simon stands to the right of him. He reaches out, runs his hand over your stomach before delving down to find your clit.

Simon circles it as Johnny’s cock pistons in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours sharply with each thrust. It isn’t long before the muscles in your body seize and then relax. Johnny doesn’t find his end until Simon has you clenching a second time.

Johnny steps back, a pleased grin on his face as he stuffs himself back into his pants. Your legs are weak noodles and you’re thankful for the bed beneath you.

Price pushes off from the door. He walks casually, his hands slowly undoing and then removing his belt. You push up onto your elbows, adjusting. Price observes you. His gaze is on your face and then it drops to your pussy.

Reaching out, Price runs his fingers through the mess between your legs.

“Mind if I add to that?” he asks, gaze returning to your face.

You smile and spread your legs wider.

“Good fucking girl,” he croons.

Price grasps your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. Shoving his pants down enough to free his cock, he rubs the head over the mess, coating himself in it.

He lines himself up, and then buries himself to the hilt. Your fingers dig into the bed and then reach for him. Price adjusts his grip on your thighs, pressing them up a bit and toward your chest.

You are at his mercy as he drives into you. The only sounds in the room are your breathy moans and the obscene wetness that is your pussy.

All those flirty invitations and teasing smiles has led to this. And you don’t entirely mind if this is all it is. That the five of you are just working it all out of your systems. You’re completely satisfied.

As Price’s thrusts becoming erratic, he lets go of your thigh only to grasp your throat. He leans forward as he brings you up off the bed. You are scrunched, and when his lips meet yours, you come undone just as he does.

You hang. Suspended. And then you’re melting into the soft comforter.

Someone is cleaning you up, wiping away the excess mess. And then you’re brought to your feet. Everything is unsteady as you focus on who it is holding you.

“Good? Or you need a minute?” Price’s palm runs over your hair, smoothing it.

“I need a minute,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all start to file out. With the balaclava you can’t discern Simon’s expression. But Kyle is smug. Content. Johnny is almost sheepish, his cheeks slightly flushed as they leave.

It is over. Done.

Price runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you ever want this again, you know where to find me.”

He leans forward as if to kiss you but instead brushes his lips against the curve of your cheek. He gives your hand a squeeze. A silent goodbye.

Then he too is gone. The door shut.

You place your hand over your chest and laugh as a trail of cum slips down the inside of your thigh.

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[chimcess]

Unparalleled || jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other tags: Idol!Jungkook, Photographer!Reader Word Count: 6.6k+ Genre:  One-shot, established relationship, PWP, long distance relationship AU, smut Synopsis: You had only met him once, a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, and the fact that he was on the other side of the hotel door felt surreal. Or, after being in a long-distance relationship for over a year, you and Jungkook are finally meeting up. Warnings: This is literally just porn, there’s a plot but it’s just filth, soft-dom JK, he calls reader “baby,” oral (m&f), d*ck piercing, tatted jk, jk wears glasses (the entire time), dirty talk, desperate sex, couch sex, they barely made it inside tbh, protected sex (wrap it up babes), multiple positions, light begging, light body worship, light praise, some teasing, reader cums on his face, multiple orgasms, nipple play, nipple sucking, some nipple biting, hair pulling, aftercare cuddling, sweet ending, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I’m still getting used to writing smut, so I’m sorry if this is a bit awkward in some spots. Found this in my drafts, so I fixed it up a little bit and decided to post it. Thanks for reading.

Staring down at my fidgeting hands, I felt like the taxi was closing in on me, every tick of the clock amplifying the sense of claustrophobia. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity, dragging by as if time itself were taunting me. I stole another glance at my phone, re-reading Jungkook's last message like it was some sort of magic spell. 

Kookie: 324

It was surreal to think he was right here in California, just a short drive away, no oceans or time zones separating us. My leg bounced nervously beneath the table, the excitement swirling in my stomach like butterflies in a frenzy. Each moment felt charged with anticipation, a thrilling energy that made my heart race. I quickly typed out a response, adding a heart emoji before sending my location. Jungkook always said sharing my location made him feel closer to me, bridging the gap between our worlds, even with his whirlwind schedule that rarely left room for anything else. Being one of the biggest pop stars had a way of pulling a guy in a million directions.

I couldn’t help but smile as I recalled our first meeting. It was right after the lockdown ended, during his band’s visit to California for a concert and the Grammys. I still vividly remembered standing by the snack table, nervously clutching a half-empty cup of soda, when our eyes met for the first time. There was an electric spark in that moment, something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. His grin was infectious, his playful nature shining through, and my heart had skipped a beat at the sound of his laughter. It echoed in my mind like a melody I wanted to play on repeat.

A few months later, we had entered a long-distance relationship, navigating the challenges of his demanding career while trying to keep our connection alive. Late-night video calls, flirty texts, and the occasional surprise visit were our lifelines, but nothing could compare to the rush of being together in the same room. And now, the thought of finally seeing him in person again sent a rush of warmth through me, a blend of hope and nervous energy that was hard to contain.

As I waited, I replayed our conversations in my mind—each one a thread weaving our lives together despite the distance. We shared dreams, fears, and whispered secrets, laying the groundwork for something beautiful and profound. The thought of being in his presence again, of feeling his warmth and the comfort of his touch, made my heart race with excitement.

I glanced at the clock again, biting my lip in anticipation. Each minute stretched into hours, the seconds crawling by. Would he still feel the same? Would our chemistry translate into real life as effortlessly as it did through screens and messages? Doubts flitted through my mind, but I shook them off, focusing on the joy of the moment. Jungkook was just a heartbeat away, and soon, I would be in his arms. The very idea sent a shiver down my spine.

My phone buzzed, startling me out of my thoughts. I scrambled to open the notification, my heart racing. If Jungkook messaged, I had to respond quickly. Our conversations were a race against time, a way to squeeze moments of connection into his packed schedule. Phone calls were our only reliable lifeline, but the language barrier complicated things. We were both trying, though Jungkook's English was much better than my Korean.

Kookie: 나는 신나요

Giggling, I typed back a response.

Y/N: 나도

Kookie: Good job, 자기~

Nothing made Jungkook happier than seeing me try to improve my Korean. He always insisted it was adorable, his smile brightening every time I stumbled through a phrase. Yoongi was usually the more honest one, quick to point out my mispronunciations, but Jungkook wore that supportive boyfriend badge with pride, even if it meant telling me little white lies.

As the taxi pulled up to the hotel, my heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I thanked the driver, tipping generously as I stepped out into the warm night air. The moment I did, the fragrant scent of blooming jasmine wafted around me, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. I had only packed a small bag for our two-night stay, not knowing how much time we’d actually have together. Remembering that, I hurried up the steps, my footsteps echoing against the marble tiles.

The Sunset Hotel was unlike anything I’d imagined. I had envisioned a quiet, almost sleepy place, but instead, it was alive with activity. I couldn’t believe it was two in the morning; the lobby was bustling, a vibrant mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the faint notes of live music drifting from the bar area. The energy crackled in the air like electricity, and I felt an exhilarating rush. Yet, amidst the lively atmosphere, a wave of inadequacy washed over me. Just a few moments ago, in the taxi, I had almost forgotten about Jungkook’s status as one of the biggest pop stars in the world, but now, beneath the sparkling chandelier that cast shimmering patterns across the polished floor, it was impossible to ignore.

As I walked through the brightly lit lobby, I caught glimpses of elegantly dressed guests, their conversations animated, their laughter ringing out like musical notes. I felt like a fish out of water, dressed in a casual sundress while they flaunted designer attire. Who would have thought my years in the service industry—working late nights and juggling demanding customers—would lead me here, about to meet someone who could afford such luxury? The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

At the front desk, the staff shot me quick, assessing looks. Their eyes were sharp, as if measuring my worth in this lavish setting. One of the hosts greeted me with a forced smile that felt far too wide for comfort. “Welcome to the Sunset Hotel! How can I assist you tonight?” Their voice dripped with that practiced hospitality, but I could sense a subtle skepticism beneath the surface.

“Um, I’m here to check in,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. I fished my phone out of my bag, ready to show them the reservation I’d made, but the host raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the computer screen as if evaluating my very presence.

“Name?” they asked, still wearing that unnaturally bright smile.

“Y/N,” I replied, and I held my breath as they typed it in. A brief moment of silence stretched between us, the bustling lobby fading into a distant murmur as I waited for their response. 

“Ah, yes! We have you right here,” they said finally, their tone shifting to one of mild surprise. “You’re the other half of 324, correct?” They looked at me again, and I could feel the weight of their judgment, as if I were a puzzle they were trying to fit into a larger picture.

“Right,” I said, attempting to keep my tone light. “Should just be for the weekend.” 

The host’s smile remained, but the glint in their eye suggested they were piecing together the details, perhaps even recognizing my connection to Jungkook. As they handed me the key card, I felt a rush of anxiety. What if they didn’t think I belonged here? What if Jungkook didn’t feel the same way about me once we were together?

I took the key, my fingers brushing against the cool surface, and turned to head toward the elevator. I was acutely aware of the looks I was receiving, a mix of curiosity and skepticism from both staff and guests alike. The air was thick with expectations, and I could almost hear the whispers in my mind, doubting whether I was truly worthy of this moment. But I pushed those thoughts aside. This was about Jungkook and me, our connection. And soon, I would be in his presence, feeling the warmth of his smile and the excitement of our reunion. 

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind me like a protective barrier from the outside world. As the car ascended, I clutched my bag, heart racing with every passing floor. This was it. In just a few moments, I would be face-to-face with the boy who had ignited something within me, and no amount of uncertainty could overshadow that truth.

I shifted from foot to foot in the cramped elevator, the anticipation eating away at me like a swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach. Each second felt like an eternity, stretching my nerves thinner and thinner. I took out my phone, biting back a smile as I contemplated the moment. It was so surreal that I was just a few moments away from seeing Jungkook again after what felt like an eternity apart.

In a burst of excitement, I snapped a quick picture of the elevator doors opening, the sleek metallic finish reflecting the soft glow of the lobby lights. I sent it to Jungkook with a playful caption: *“Almost there!”* Watching the little blue ticks appear, I felt a rush of warmth, knowing he’d see it almost instantly.

Once inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the third floor with a mix of hope and trepidation. It only made sense that the 300s would be located on the third floor, right? Still, the absence of any signs directing me left me feeling a bit disoriented. The elevator hummed softly, its gentle movement barely easing the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.

The walls felt a bit too close, almost as if they were closing in on me, but I took a deep breath, willing myself to relax. I replayed the memories of our conversations, the laughter we shared, and the longing I felt every time we parted. The excitement pulsing through me was intoxicating, a vivid contrast to the anxious tension coiling in my chest.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my hand, jolting me out of my reverie. I glanced down, my heart skipping a beat as I saw Jungkook's name flashing on the screen. 

Kookie: I’m going to kiss you so much.

I couldn’t help but smile. I hoped kissing would be just the beginning of what would happen tonight. After a year of building up tension, I didn’t want to wait anymore. I wanted him.

Y/N: 또?

Kookie: I can’t think of it in English.

Rolling my eyes, I groaned. That was his way of avoiding a question. I knew he understood, but it amused me more than anything. Slowly, my nerves eased, and I felt more confident about seeing him, even if we were hiding away in a hotel I could never afford, lying on expensive sheets while the world outside spun with sharp eyes and curious gazes.

As the elevator dinged softly, signaling my arrival at the third floor, I felt a surge of adrenaline. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing a dimly lit hallway lined with plush carpeting and framed art pieces that whispered of elegance. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps as I moved forward. The anticipation hung in the air like a charged atmosphere before a storm, and I could almost feel Jungkook’s presence drawing me closer.

I glanced at the room numbers, scanning for his. As I walked, I imagined what it would be like to finally be face-to-face with him. Would he look the same? Would that boyish grin still light up his face when he saw me? The thought sent my heart racing as I turned a corner, catching sight of the numbers I had been searching for. 

Room 324. My breath caught in my throat, and for a fleeting moment, I hesitated, overwhelmed by a wave of nerves. What if things were different now? What if he had changed? But I quickly shook off the doubts; this was Jungkook, the boy I had laughed and shared secrets with, the one who had kept my heart fluttering even from a distance.

With a firm resolve, I approached the door, my heart pounding in rhythm with my steps. I held my breath, the moment stretching out like a taut string ready to snap. Would he answer? Would he be excited to see me? I could hardly contain the anticipation, my heart racing as I waited for that door to swing open. The air crackled with anticipation, buzzing with the weight of what was about to happen. 

I raised my hand to knock, but before my knuckles could even touch the wood, the door swung open. And there he was—Jungkook.

He was everything I remembered: pitch-black hair tousled in a way that was both effortless and enticing, metal glinting in the light, thin, silver rimmed glasses, and a thin white t-shirt clinging to his muscular frame. It felt surreal, like stepping into a vivid dream, but this was no illusion. This was real, and it took my breath away.

"You," I whispered, the word slipping out like a gasp. 

His dark eyes widened in surprise, delight flickering across his features. My heart raced as I watched him take me in, his expression shifting from uncertainty to something deeper, more intimate. Had he been waiting for this moment as much as I had? Was he just as happy as I felt?

All my doubts faded when that eyebrow, heavy with steel, raised in appreciation instead of scorn. He stepped into the hallway, and my heart pounded wildly, the space between us charged with an unspoken promise.

"You," he echoed, his voice low and husky as he took my hand in his, guiding me back into his room. 

He kicked the door shut behind him. The air thickened as he moved closer, inches separating us, electric and intoxicating. I inhaled the scent of him—soap and laundry detergent—sending shivers down my spine. A soft whimper escaped my lips, desire pooling in my stomach like a spark waiting to ignite.

With an air of confidence, he advanced, and I leaned back, the weight of his presence drawing me in like gravity. I stopped when my back hit the couch, the world outside fading away as we paused, our breaths mingling in the charged silence. My fingers, betraying me, reached up to trace the row of piercings in his eyebrow, trailing down the line of his jaw to his lips. They were soft and rosy, a striking contrast to the rough stubble that scratched my palm.

In that moment, he darted his tongue out, the pointed tip brushing against my fingers, and I moaned softly, the sound echoing in the intimate space between us, igniting the fire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

And then he was on me.

He seized my hand, guiding it into the tousled mess of hair I had longed to touch. It was softer than I had imagined, and I lost myself in it. His mouth descended on mine, a fiery torrent of passion and urgency. My body responded instinctively, arching into him as our breaths mingled, his desire palpable against my stomach, the taste of longing lingering on his lips.

His palm traced a path down my arm, firm and possessive, sliding over my shoulder and back again. He tugged at the buttons of my cardigan, peeling the fabric away to reveal the inked skin beneath. I shivered at the roughness of his touch, a thrilling contrast to the softness of his kiss.

Breaking away, I pressed my mouth against the line of his jaw, trailing wet kisses toward the piercings in his ear, letting my tongue tease them as my breath washed hot against his skin.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” He whispered against my lips.

I panted, my fingers tangling tightly in his hair.

His hands tightened around my arms, pulling us together, the weight of our bodies colliding in a desperate embrace. “Every single day,” he swore, his voice rough yet melodic. He began a slow, deliberate exploration of my neck, the heat of his tongue tracing my pulse and making me shudder. “Every night that you called me, whispering sweet nothings in that voice. It drove me insane. I just wanted to hop on a plane and have you in my lap.”

“God, I wish you would have,” I gasped, feeling the bite of his teeth just below my collarbone, a thrilling blend of pain and pleasure that made me clench around nothing. “Why didn’t you?”

“You make me nervous,” he murmured, teasing aside the cup of my bra.

He took my nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the bud with reverence. I whined in pleasure, arching into him. Emboldened, he bit down.

“Self-conscious, huh?” I teased, winded and shaking from pleasure, even as my nails dug into his back, urging him closer. “I have a hard time believing that right now.”

He pulled back, capturing my face in his strong hands, kissing me fiercely as a low growl escaped him. “Believe it.”

We kissed with a fierce intensity that made me feel like I was on fire, the heat radiating off him, his glasses pressing against my face. He shifted to remove them, but I caught his wrists, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” I growled. “I like them.”

A primal sound erupted from his chest, desperate and raw. He lifted me effortlessly, settling me against the back of the couch, our bodies grinding together, my thighs aligning perfectly with the hard heat of his jeans. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure surging through me, my head falling back as I teetered on the brink of ecstasy, feeling weightless and electric, consumed by a desire that felt like it could set us both ablaze.

But he caught me. Just as I was about to tumble backward into dizzying, white-hot pleasure, his arms wrapped around me, firm and unyielding, pulling me against the solid expanse of his chest. My breath came in quick, frantic gasps, my heart racing like a wild animal as I clung to him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer.

“Careful, pretty girl,” he breathed into my ear, a soft murmur that sent shivers racing down my spine. I grasped at his back, fingers digging into the taut muscles, anchoring myself to him, afraid of being swept away in the tide of desire threatening to pull me under.

My hands roamed from his back, gliding over his shoulders and down his arms as he stroked his fingertips along my thighs, mapping a path from my knees to my hips and back again. His skin was warm, electric under my touch, and I traced the intricate black curls of ink adorning his pale flesh—an abstract tapestry resolving into a lion on one arm and a lamb on the other.

“You’re beautiful,” I gasped, the words spilling out before I could stop them, but he silenced me with another heated kiss. 

My fingers fumbled at the hem of his t-shirt, desperate to see what those curls of ink transformed into beneath the fabric. He shifted me closer, his grip on me unwavering, even as his hands momentarily released me to lift his arms above his head. Seizing the opportunity, I tugged at his shirt, peeling it away to reveal the canvas of his torso, the intricate lines of ink telling stories I longed to hear.

I barely had time to take in the intricate Sanskrit lines etched along his side and the lone kanji character hovering over his heart before he was lifting my shirt, pulling it over my head. For a heartbeat, I was enveloped in darkness, blinded by the fabric. My hands scrambled behind me, fumbling to unclasp my bra, and he kissed a heated trail along the bare skin of my shoulder as the straps slipped down my arms.

“I love this,” he murmured against my skin, his lips trailing softly across my collarbone, down my ribs, and back to my breast, igniting every nerve in my body. “And I love it all the more because of this.”

His tongue brushed over the small butterfly tattoo on my ribcage.

His fingers roamed lower, and when he pulled away, I let out a whimper of protest, longing for his touch. The light-headed sensation returned, reminding me just how long it had been since a man had touched me—since I’d felt filled.

I braced myself with one hand against the edge of the couch while the other tangled in his tousled hair, relishing its softness as it slipped through my fingers. His mouth found my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, tracing a tantalizing line toward my most sensitive spot. I gasped, an overwhelming hunger igniting deep within me. I had been yearning for this, for him, and the desperate need flooded my senses.

With deft fingers, he teased apart the button of my fly and drew down the zipper, revealing delicate black lace beneath. He licked and sucked his way to my hip, his hand lingering on my abdomen, thumb skirting under the edge of my underwear before descending lower, finally finding bare, glistening skin. When his fingers grazed my clit, pleasure surged through me, and I nearly cried out at its raw intensity.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping,” he cursed, his voice rough with desire as he buried his face against the joint of my hip and thigh.

“For you,” I groaned, my body arching instinctively. “I’ve been wet for months just thinking about you.”

A low growl escaped him, and in a blur of motion, he tore the hem of my jeans down, ripping them from my body until I was left in nothing but my panties. He pushed my naked thighs up and over his shoulders, positioning his head exactly where I craved him to be.

I struggled to contain my frantic breaths, fast and shallow, echoing my absolute need to feel his hands, his mouth, to be consumed by him entirely. He inhaled deeply, reverently, his nose brushing against the lace where my body met my thigh. The sensation sent shockwaves through me, rendering me breathless.

He wrapped one hand around my leg while the other snaked behind me, gripping my ass firmly, anchoring me as he pulled the soaked fabric aside, exposing my bare skin to his hungry gaze. His thumb descended onto my clit, and I gasped, waves of need crashing over me as pleasure radiated from his touch. I cried out, the sound escaping me like a prayer, my body arching toward him, desperate for more.

And then he kissed me, his mouth capturing my clit with an intensity that sent me spiraling.

The moans clawing their way from my chest were unrecognizable, a desperate symphony of need as I became a writhing mass of pure, unadulterated hunger. Unlatching himself, his thumb worked expertly at my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. His tongue darted out, teasing the edges of my entrance before plunging inside, and I felt the pressure building, the storm that had been gathering finally reaching its peak until I exploded, my thighs clenching around his face as my body ignited into a searing inferno.

I teetered on the edge of ecstasy, and then I actually fell over, the world spiraling away.

When I regained awareness, I was sprawled across the back of the couch, my neck twisted awkwardly, the top of my head grazing the seat cushion. My arms draped limply above me while my thighs remained anchored to his shoulders. He gazed down at me, a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction etched across his face, his mouth glistening—a testament to our fervor.

With a wicked smirk, he wiped his mouth with his forearm, leaving me in my awkward state as he peeled my panties down my body, rendering me completely exposed and unable to rise. His finger glided along my opening, my body still thrumming with aftershocks from one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever experienced. When he dipped gently inside, I gasped.

“Is this what you want, Y/N? My hands inside you?” 

I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of emotions; I craved this intimacy with him more than anything, yet it felt like just a fragment of the whole picture. The sensation of his fingers deep within me was intoxicating, but beneath that, there lingered a yearning for more—more than just his hands. I ached for him—his body hovering over mine, the heat radiating from him as I traced the ink etched across his skin, my tongue teasing the silver piercings that adorned him.

“Yes. No. God, I want you,” I gasped, my voice a mixture of longing and desperation.

He raised a pierced eyebrow, still kneeling before me, his fingers buried deep inside me. “Want your cock.”

“You want this dick?” he asked, his tone both teasing and serious.

“Yes,” I panted, the word slipping out as both a plea and a command.

“Where?” 

I knew exactly where I wanted him; the desire burned brightly within me. “Everywhere. My hand. My mouth. My pussy. Just… everywhere.” 

A low growl escaped him, reverberating through my body, raw and hungry. But just as quickly, his fingers slipped away, leaving me aching and empty. He gripped my hips, securing me against him and the back of the couch, rising to slide my slick core against the hard line of his body. The urgency of his arousal pressed against me, igniting a fire within. 

He leaned down, gathering me into his arms, kissing me with such fervor that I felt dizzy, his hardness grinding against me—a promise of what was to come.

I pushed him away gently, his expression shifting to one of confusion, but all I needed was a moment to slide off the couch and drop to my knees. He groaned as I ran my nose along the thick outline of him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in response to my teasing. With trembling hands, I tugged his pants and boxers down, revealing him—long, thick, and glistening with anticipation.

The chrome piercing at the tip caught the light, gleaming enticingly. 

Looking up, I found him hovering above me, his body bared save for those damn glasses. His intense gaze locked onto mine, a silent plea reflected in his brown eyes. “Y/N,” I breathed, letting my warm breath wash over the tip of him. He groaned, his fingers tangling in my hair, urging me forward.

“God, I want to feel your mouth on me,” he implored, igniting a wild hunger within me. 

I opened my mouth, eager and wet, my lips closing around the head of him, my tongue tracing the underside, the cool metal against warm flesh sending shivers down my spine. 

“Y/N.”

I pulled away before I could take him too deep, trailing my mouth down his length, savoring every moment as I buried my nose into the soft hair at the base of him. He was practically whimpering, and I couldn’t resist the urge to pump him twice with my hand, the slickness gliding over him before I took him into my mouth, relaxing my throat to envelop him. Yet even with all my efforts, I couldn’t fit him completely, and I rubbed my thighs together, craving the moment he would finally fill me.

I moved my mouth up and down his length, achingly slow, feeling the tension coiling within him, his hips twitching, restrained. He wanted to thrust, to take control, but I held him back, guiding his movements while keeping him still. I could sense his legs trembling, teetering on the edge, so I pulled off, leaving him panting, his length throbbing, a testament to our shared desire.

Kissing the sharp bone of his hip, I pulled his pants the rest of the way down as he kicked off his shoes, the fabric sliding away like a whisper in the night. Just as I was about to toss the jeans aside, he stopped me, his voice low and husky. “Back pocket.”

Curiosity piqued, I glanced up at him through narrowed eyes and retrieved the little foil package from his back pocket. I noticed at least two more tucked away, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had remarkable recovery time or if he was planning a very long weekend with me. Both notions sent a thrilling rush coursing through me

I held the condom up between two of my fingers. Jungkook snatched the package from me, tearing it open with a deft motion, rolling it over his cock from tip to base. He pressed his sheathed length against my hip, our bodies brushing together with a desperation that left me breathless.

“Turn,” he commanded, gently pushing at my shoulder. I obeyed, and his hands shoved me down, bending me from the waist, positioning my elbows on the back of the couch. When he was satisfied with my submission, he settled his hands firmly on my shoulder blades, a searing presence that felt as though it might melt through my skin, branding me with his touch.

His hands glided down my sides, over my ribs and hips, finally settling on my ass, rubbing it appreciatively. The edges of his fingers grazed my lips, parting them, and I jerked backward, feeling the heat of his cock resting against my back.

“Wider, baby,” he cooed, his fingers sliding over my trembling thighs. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation, and obeyed, spreading my legs for him. His knees bent between mine, the tip of his cock gliding tantalizingly from my clit to my entrance, brushing against me but not penetrating.

“Please, Jungkook,” I panted, desperation clawing at my throat as I felt myself teetering on the edge of begging.

Even he found himself pleading. “Please let me inside you,” he whispered, his length teasingly tracing my wet flesh, dipping slightly to part my lips but not filling the aching void within me.

“Yes,” I groaned, finally feeling the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, slipping into me inch by glorious inch. Nothing had ever felt this intense. “Fuck, yes,” I moaned, his grip hot and possessive at my hip while the other hand cradled the back of my neck, steadying me.

It was maddening not being able to move, even though all I wanted was to rock back and pull him deeper. 

My body stretched as he pushed forward, achingly slow until he was fully seated within me, his hips flush against my backside. I gasped as he filled me completely. The sensation was electrifying, and I felt him rock back slightly before surging forward again, the combination of his length and the hot tip of metal against my walls making my eyes roll.

“Please,” I urged, my mantra of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck me’ spiraling from my lips as he finally began to thrust with abandon, our bodies locked in a passionate dance. 

He tightened his grip on my hip, the other hand sliding to the middle of my back, pushing down. I could feel his movements becoming erratic, less steady—so close to coming inside me.

But I didn’t want it to end like this. Not after all this time. 

“No, stop,” I breathed, the words barely escaping my lips before he froze, a pained sound erupting from him like a wounded animal.

“Please, Jesus, Y/N, you can’t—”

I glanced over my shoulder at him, squeezing him tightly inside me. The resulting moan from his throat sent a jolt of electricity through my body. The rejection and frustration etched across his face twisted my heart. “After all this time missing you,” I whispered, locking eyes with him, “I need to see you. I need to see you come.”

In an instant, he withdrew, turning my body roughly until I felt the couch pressing against me once more. Supporting my back with one hand, he parted my thighs with fierce urgency, stepping into them and plunging back inside me. I screamed, the sound echoing through the empty corners of the room.

His face was close to mine as he began to move again, quick, short thrusts finding a new rhythm. Our sweaty brows collided, the metal hoops of his piercings scratching my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His name spilled from my lips as we captured each other in another fiery kiss, a moment so intense I thought I could lose myself entirely in the swirl of our bodies, his ink swirling around us like dark tendrils of smoke.

His patience began to fray as he kissed me harder, his body pressing into mine with more urgency. I felt the fiery bloom of pleasure building again, hot and electric, and I craved him hard and fast—a deep connection stripped of all restraint.

He must have sensed my need, too, as he quickened his pace. “Hold on, baby,” he instructed, and I complied, wrapping my arms and legs around him tightly. I let him brace himself against the back of the couch as he drove into me, his pubic bone hitting my clit with each thrust, the metal piercing hitting deep within me making me mewl.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Fuck,” he moans, the raw desperation in his voice igniting something primal within me. 

His face contorts in a beautiful, twisted expression of pleasure, each thrust deeper, harder, as if he’s trying to etch this moment into my very soul. The intensity of his words washes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me into a realm of oblivion. My body pulses in rhythm with his, a white-hot light flashing behind my closed eyes, merging with the vision of him—so fully present in my arms, lost in the sheer ecstasy we’ve created together.

As the world around us faded, time seemed to suspend, leaving only the two of us in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. I could feel the weight of our shared moments pressing against us, every sensation amplified in the silence that enveloped the room. Slowly, we began to come back to ourselves, his body still pressed against mine, a gentle reminder of the electrifying connection we had just shared. The feeling of him lingering inside me sent shivers down my spine, and our breaths intertwined in a rhythm that was both calming and exhilarating.

We exchanged soft kisses, each one delicate and filled with unspoken promises, contrasting the raw passion that had ignited between us moments before. It was a tender kind of intimacy, one that held the power to ground us in a whirlwind of emotions. 

After a moment, he pulled away, slipping out of me with a reluctance that made my heart ache just a little. The sudden emptiness was palpable, a gentle reminder of the closeness we had just experienced. Jungkook reached for the condom, his movements careful and deliberate, disposing of it in the wastebasket beside the couch. When he turned back to me, the soft glow of the room caught the contours of his face, illuminating him in a way that made him look almost ethereal.

“You’re really here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the magic of the moment.

“I’m here,” I replied, unable to suppress the grin that broke across my face. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and this moment felt surreal.

Jungkook walked back over to the couch, his gaze roaming over my features as if he were trying to memorize every detail. “You look even better than I remembered,” he said, his smile soft and genuine, lighting up his eyes.

“And you look exhausted,” I teased, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and busy days.

He laughed, the sound brightening the room and melting away any remnants of anxiety I had carried with me. “It’s been a crazy week, but seeing you makes it all worth it.”

A smile broke across my face, the tension of the past months finally beginning to dissolve. For the first time since I had arrived, I took in my surroundings. The room felt both elegant and cozy, drenched in soft light, with tasteful decor that radiated warmth. A large bed dominated the space, its crisp white sheets looking impossibly inviting, and I found myself wishing we could make our way over there. It seemed far more comfortable than the couch.

“How was your flight?” Jungkook asked, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead, sending warmth flooding through me.

“Long,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited.” The truth was, anticipation had been buzzing in my veins like electricity ever since I’d set foot on the plane.

He settled next to me on the couch, his hand finding mine, our fingers intertwining in a way that felt instinctive. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, his thumb tracing small patterns on my skin, making my heart flutter in response.

“I’ve missed you too,” I replied, squeezing his hand tightly. “It feels like forever.”

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the city lights twinkling outside like a constellation trapped within a glass jar. The reality of being here with him began to sink in, settling deep in my bones. No more video calls with choppy connections or hurried texts exchanged amid the chaos of our lives—just us, flesh and blood, finally in the same place.

Breaking the quiet, Jungkook’s tone turned serious, slicing through the warmth that enveloped us. “How are you holding up? I know it’s been tough.”

I took a deep breath, weighing my response. “It’s been hard,” I admitted, the truth heavy on my tongue. “But knowing we’d have this, even just a couple of days, kept me going.” 

He nodded, understanding etched on his face. “It’s the same for me. The craziness of the tour and the constant traveling—it’s all worth it knowing I get to see you.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold night, soothing my weary soul. We talked for hours, drifting through a sea of conversation that felt both substantial and light, catching up on everything and nothing. His stories from the tour spilled out with infectious excitement, his eyes alight like fireflies in the dark. I shared my own experiences, and with every word, the distance between us began to melt away until it felt like the space of a single breath.

Eventually, exhaustion crept in like a gentle shadow, heavy yet comforting. Jungkook stood up and held out his hand, a playful glimmer in his eyes. “Come on,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Let’s move to the bed. It’s way more comfortable.”

I took his hand, allowing him to guide me across the room. The large bed loomed before us, inviting and cozy, the crisp white sheets beckoning like a sanctuary. As we settled into the plush comfort, I felt a wave of contentment wash over me, a feeling that we were finally exactly where we were meant to be. We lay side by side, fingers intertwined like threads in a tapestry, the world outside fading into a dull hum, the city’s chaos a distant memory.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (4)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC ✨

word count | 4k words

summary | reader becomes lost in her thoughts. viserys dies, discussions with helaena, alicent, and aemond

tags | blood, violence, death, angst/no comfort (cuz no one knows she's a vampire), vampire powers, tensionnnnn, reader lowkey supports rhaenyra's claim, but she loves team green as if they're her family sooooo.

note | REMINDER: reader is just a teenage girl who wants her mommy, but is forced to be a blood-sucking vampire. also I haven't thought about the mikaelsons in a while and I just remembered how finn mikaelson was my favourite. #justiceforfinnmikaelson. he's so overhated for what?!!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

You were engulfed in confusion—terribly so. Confusion swirled within you like the smoky shadows of the Keep's halls. The unexpected kiss from Prince Aemond echoed in your mind, a fiery spark that ignited a torrent of thoughts as you navigated the labyrinthine passages of Maegor's hidden passageways heading towards Flee Bottom. Cloaked in shadow, you traversed the dimly lit tunnel—one you discovered long ago during the cold, shadowy days of your arrival in King's Landing. But as you slipped through the ancient stone corridors, your thoughts remained anchored to that fleeting moment when Aemond’s lips brushed against yours—intense yet tantalizingly soft.

The kiss was a sudden tempest, and the weight of it left you breathless. His strong, musky scent lingered in the air, a potent reminder of his presence, while his calloused fingers cradled your face with an unusual gentleness. You couldn’t help the unbidden smile that crept across your lips. drawing you further from the gravity of your circumstances. In those fleeting seconds, you felt like a simple girl, unburdened by the Mikaelson curse. You imagined yourself as the heroine of a fable, where a gallant prince would pursue his beloved, proclaiming his devotion before stealing a kiss—precisely as Aemond had done.

As you pressed on, a tavern's raucous laughter and the unmistakable aroma of ale and smoke guided your steps. It loomed ahead, a warm beacon against the chaotic backdrop of Flea Bottom. You pulled back your hood, exposure blossoming as you emerged into the dim light. Almost at once, a rather rotund man stumbled out, his unsteady gait hinting at the heaps of wine he’d consumed inside. Fat and flush, with a beard flecked with remnants of his last meal, he teetered on the brink of inebriation, blissfully unaware of the trap that awaited him. With a bleary gaze, he locked eyes with you, his drunken smirk betraying the more unsavory intentions that lurked beneath his merry facade.

Your heart raced—not with fear, but with mischief. Blood would be spilled tonight, but not yours. You softened your expression into a sweet smile, a mask of angelic innocence that belied your true intentions, as you approached.

His dull gaze sharpened upon your arrival, eyes widening as if you were a vision from the Seven’s very own realms. “You’re a pretty girl,” he slurred, the words tumbling from his lips like the last drops from an overturned flagon.

A soft laugh escaped you, a sound like wind chimes in a summer haze. “Am I?” you replied, your voice playful and melodious,.

The man nodded with fervor, his expression blissfully captivated. Beneath the dim lantern light, you could see the way his thoughts scrambled like rats, floundering beneath the weight of both drink and desire. With a teasing tilt of your head, you gestured toward a shadowy alleyway not far from the tavern's entrance. “Why don't you show me how pretty I am?” you beckoned, your tone flirtatious.

His swollen features broke into a foolish, drunken grin as he stumbled forward, entranced, unaware of the peril that followed too closely in your wake. Such was the way of men like him—lost beyond recovery in the coils of their own indulgences, ripe for the taking beneath the watchful eyes of gods indifferent to their fate.

As you entered the narrow alleyway, the shadows seemed to swell around you, encasing you in an ominous embrace. Before you could even turn around, the man's grimy hands, reeking of sour wine and desperation, were upon you, grasping and pawing at your garments.

A wave of revulsion threatened to rise within you, yet you steeled your resolve. Summoning your vampiric strength, with a swift motion, you shoved him hard against the damp stone wall, his body slumping in surprise.

He let out a raucous laugh, the sound echoing off the walls like a jester’s overplayed jest. You grimaced at the foulness of his breath, the acrid scent assailing your senses. “Oh, you’re a strong girl, are you?” he slurred, a foolish grin plastered across his round face.

“Indeed,” you replied, your voice laced with disinterest. Your gaze sharpened, intensity pooling in your crimson irises as you began to weave the threads of your compulsion. “Be silent and remain still.”

With each word, you could feel his will wavering, his body succumbing to your command as his laughter turned into a slack-jawed stupor. The stench of his unwashed skin assailed your nostrils, but it barely registered now as your fangs elongated, sharp and glistening in the hopeless half-light of the alley.

Leaning in close, you felt the rush of your animalistic urges surge through you as your fangs pierced the delicate flesh of his neck, finding the pulsing artery with ease. The man whimpered, his feeble sounds mingling with the night air, yet he made no effort to resist; he was a mere vessel now, a source of sustenance for your insatiable thirst. The bitter warmth of his blood coursed down your throat, igniting a mix of satisfaction and despair.

As you fed, your mind wandered unbidden to Aemond—the fleeting memory of the kiss you had shared igniting a spark of longing that warred with your harsh reality. In that moment, the illusion of being a normal maiden, one capable of love and tenderness, faded into the dark abyss of your existence. The truth clawed at you like a ravenous beast; you were a creature of the night, bound by a thirst that rendered your dreams of affection but a distant whisper.

A wave of sorrow crashed over you, its weight pressing heavy upon your heart. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as despair settled deep within your soul. In a fit of anguish, you tore your fangs from his flesh, the act frenzied and primal, as you ripped through his throat. A sob escaped your lips, raw and aching, as you stepped back and allowed the lifeless form to crumple to the ground. Blood smeared across your jaw, a grotesque mark of your nature, but your thoughts strayed not to the corpse before you.

How cruelly fate had woven your path; Aemond, with his fierce spirit and brooding whispers, was a world beyond your grasp. Yet every stolen glance, every shared moment between you only served to deepen the agonizing contrast of your reality. You cast the dead man one last glance, his stillness a haunting reminder of your actions, before turning your back on the grim tableau. As you made your way back towards the Keep, you felt a solitary tear trace a path down your cheek—one more sign of your unfulfilled yearning, echoing in the vast silence of the night.

As you crossed the threshold into your chambers, the heavy atmosphere of despair clung tightly to your spirit. You searched for a damp cloth to cleanse yourself—tinged with the vivid crimson remnants of the blood you had once savored, now leaving a bitter taste in the pit of your stomach. Though the vampiric curse bestowed upon you allowed for days without rest, weariness prevailed, drawing you like a shadow toward your bed.

You felt the weight of your heart, heavy with sorrow and longing for the comfort of sleep—a refuge where you could escape the chains of your reality. Tomorrow, the court would buzz with intrigue and whispers, but you doubted you would leave your chambers. In those fleeting moments between wakefulness and dreams, perhaps you could imagine yourself as someone else—a maiden free of bloodlust, pure and deserving of Aemond's fierce devotion. In those dreams, you could be free. In those dreams, you would be whole.

As the lingering echoes of the previous night's woes finally faded, you stirred, your senses slowly awakening from a slumber that felt both unearthly and heavy with dreams. With a deep sigh, you pushed your head from the pillow, blinking against the fading light that spilled through the window. The sun had dipped lower on the horizon, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls of your chamber—a stark reminder that you had now squandered the day sleeping away.

With a reluctant grace, you rose from the silken sheets that embraced you, and wrung your hands through your tresses, managing to tame the wild locks that had battled against the weight of sleep. Yet, as you got dressed, a sense of urgency gnawed at you. You drew closer to the heavy oak door, intent on rejoining the world beyond its threshold. However, your fingers merely grazed the handle to reveal that it was stubbornly sealed.

Furrowing your brow in irritation, you exerted a bit more force, pulling at the handle, only to find it locked. A huff escaped your lips, and with a determined glare directed at the obstinate barrier, you pressed your hands against the frame, using your strength and pushed. The wood shuddered against your might, yielding at last, the door swinging open with a reluctant creak that echoed through the silence of the guest wing.

When you stepped into the hallway, an unsettling quiet enveloped you, the stillness stretching like an unseen net. You advanced cautiously, each footfall a reminder that something was amiss. Yet, you dismissed the haunting unease that prickled at your skin, shaking off the chill while you made your way forward, resolute in your purpose, as you sought Helaena’s chambers.

The atmosphere in Helaena’s solar was suffused with the same unsettling. The last rays of sunlight filtered weakly through the stained glass, casting muted colors that danced across the flagstones, but they did little to dispel the heaviness of the atmosphere. Helaena, draped in a gown of pale blue, sat by the window, her gaze lost in the distance, and her delicate embroidery forgotten on the chaise, threads of gold and silver glimmering like fleeting memories.

“Princess,” you ventured softly, stepping closer, your voice barely a whisper against the weight of the silence.

She turned slowly, her features—usually serene—now marred by a deep frown that spoke of profound grief. “Where were you?” Helaena’s voice, though devoid of accusation, dripped with a melancholy that made your heart ache.

“Confined in my chambers,” you replied, concern creasing your brow.

Her eyes drifted downcast, fingers twisting nervously together like the tangled threads of her abandoned work. “I am queen now,” she murmured.

Confusion washed over you, a furrow forming between your brows. “I don’t understand.”

“Father died last night,” she revealed, her voice hollow, as if she were reciting a grim tale rather than sharing a wound that plunged deep into the heart of House Targaryen. “Aegon’s coronation took place at midday.”

“Oh,” was all you managed, the weight of her words pressing down upon you like a winter frost.

You had never anticipated this so soon; the insatiable hunger for the Iron Throne had prompted a brutal and ruthless usurpation. The whispers of civil war—so distant and abstract until now—had materialized into a bitter reality. You settled beside her, the familiar warmth of your presence a fragile comfort amidst the tempest of her sorrow. Gently, you took one of Helaena’s hands in yours, your fingers intertwining. She squeezed your hand tightly, her grip a silent plea for strength, and you could feel the tremors of her despair ripple through the fragile connection that bound you together.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across the Red Keep when you at last emerged from Helaena’s chambers. The weight of her weariness had pulled her into a restless slumber, leaving you with a restless heart. You meandered through the stone corridors, each echoing step leading you toward the chambers of the one whose counsel you desperately sought. Upon reaching the heavy oak door, you knocked gently, and a faint voice called from within, "Enter."

Pushing the door open, you stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The flickering flames of the hearth danced, casting a warm glow that played across the fine tapestries adorning the walls. Your eyes settled on the figure seated by the fire—The Queen, though perhaps now, the dowager Queen.

"Your Grace," you greeted, your voice laced with reverence.

Alicent turned, the light catching her features, her once bright eyes now shadowed with the weight of loss and duty. The depths of her large brown irises seemed to brighten with a flicker of comfort at your arrival, but the sorrow was unmistakable as she murmured your name. "I apologize for the constraints placed upon you. My father thought it best that all liege lords and ladies be confined to their chambers in light of recent events."

You nodded, empathy swelling in your chest as you took a seat beside her. "Helaena shared with me the tale of what transpired," you began cautiously, your gaze intent upon the queen's weary expression.

Alicent sighed, the sound heavy with grief. "The King," she spoke, pain sweeping over her like an ominous fog, “he spoke of Aegon, he named him as heir in his final moments.”

Your heart tightened at her words; skepticism gnawed at the edges of your mind. Could it truly be? "Yet, Your Grace," you ventured, a hint of disbelief coloring your tone, "the King had twenty-two years to declare Aegon as his rightful heir."

Alicent turned her gaze back to the fire, the flickering flames casting an ephemeral glow upon her face. The warmth that once radiated from her presence seemed dimmed, replaced with an aura of fragility. She drew a shaky breath. "Perhaps it is not a matter of time, but of choice," she murmured, her words weaving through the shadows of the room, "In that moment of despair, he grasped for certainty amidst the chaos.”

Certainty which embodied the drunken Aegon? A skeptical expression crossed your features, yet the desperation in the Queen’s gaze expressed to you that it was indeed the truth to her. Despite her conviction, you found yourself unable to fully surrender to her narrative. "Then why did Aegon’s coronation happen so quickly?" you challenged, the words falling from your lips like shards of ice.

For this, the Queen faltered. Her eyes slipped away, a slow shake of her head revealing the anguish that resided within. "If Rhaenyra were to ascend the throne, the lives of Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron would be forever in danger," she murmured, the words laced with the indoctrination of Otto Hightower.

You held a quiet disbelief in your heart. Rhaenyra, with her fierce spirit and benevolence, would not turn her blades against her half-siblings without provocation. Still, you understood the origins of Alicent’s dread. After all, Rhaenyra was married to Daemon, who was likely to see the children of Alicent as forever living threats to his wife's claim. Still, all thoughts of treachery were now ghosts in the face of Aegon's coronation.

“Will you accompany me to the Sept on the morrow?” Alicent's voice broke the silence, a quiet plea wrapped in a veil of vulnerability.

In that moment, you were swept away by a tidal wave of longing for your own mother. Before you embraced the demonic creature you had become, your mother had nurtured you with a love akin to that of a fallen star gracing the Earth. Now, you found solace in the fragile figure of Alicent Hightower, clinging to her presence as though she might fill the void left by your lost mother. With a gentle nod, you covered her slender hand with your own, "Of course, your grace."

The dawn’s light seeped hesitantly through the thick drapery of your chamber, casting a muted hue across the stone walls of the Red Keep. You stirred from restless dreams, where shadows danced ominously on the precipice of war. A chill licked the air, as if the very stones of Westeros mourned the blood that would soon be spilled. With a sense of foreboding, you rose before the sun had fully chased away the darkness.

Slowly, you donned a gown of soft lilac, the fabric whispering against your skin like the breeze that crept through the narrow window. You painstakingly braided your hair, arranging it delicately. Each movement was imbued with both purpose and trepidation, a ritual that anchored you amidst the chaos that brewed beyond the castle walls.

Before the winds of fate had cast you adrift in Westeros, you had known nothing of faith; the Norse gods of your childhood were mere tales spun by your parents, who were as skeptical of the divine as they were of the world outside their doors. In your past life, the gods felt distant, ethereal, and removed from the fervor of humanity. Yet here, in the heart of Westeros, how the world spun differently.

But within the regal presence of Queen Alicent, whose strength and grace reminded you of a lioness guarding her young, your skepticism began to erode. She embodied the devotion of the faith you had once dismissed; her prayers were filled with fervor as she sought to protect her kin and forge alliances among the houses of Westeros. In her company, you found solace in the faith of the Seven. To kneel before the Mother’s statue, adorned with offerings, was to partake in a ritual that tethered you to something greater, something almost palpable

You found solace in the quiet prayer sessions held in the Grand Sept, the flickering candles casting gentle silhouettes that danced like restless spirits against the stone. In the embrace of the faith, you discovered understanding of why mortals have always turned to religion: it was a way to combat the loneliness that often shrouded their hearts, a mechanism to find purpose and justification in their actions. Your fervent prayers often echoed the same request: a plea for safety—not only for the Targaryens, whose fates now intertwined with yours, but for the family you had left behind.

You prayed fervently for the Gods to soften Niklaus’ heart and lessen his wrath. You implored them to instill in Elijah the profound love he often failed to bestow upon himself. For Rebekah, you sought kindness; you yearned for her to see you not as competition, but her cherished sister. You called upon the heavens to grant Kol wisdom, challenging his rampant bloodlust that often clouded his judgment. And for your gentle Finn, trapped in the dark confines of a coffin wrought by Niklaus’s cruelty, you begged for respite—an end to his suffering and a chance to embrace his freedom at last. Your prayers extended toward your youngest brother, Hendrik, and for your beloved mother as well, who now resided among the stars in Heaven.

And even sometimes with a heavy heart, you whispered prayers for your father as well, pleading for mercy in the depths of his obsession, hoping that perhaps one day, he might find forgiveness before it consumed all the Mikaelsons.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock at your chamber door. Puzzled, you rose from your vanity, the delicate scent of jasmine lingering in the air around you. As you approached the door and opened it, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of Aemond standing there, his presence a commanding force. In that fleeting moment, your mind drifted back to the night years ago when a thirteen-year-old, tousled Aemond had appeared before you—so innocent, so unrefined. But now, the boy had transformed into a striking man, confidence radiating from him.

Time seemed to stretch as the two of you locked eyes, an unspoken weight hovering between you, memories of the kiss you shared two nights prior flooding your thoughts.

“May I come in?” he asked, shattering the spell that had enveloped you both. You nodded, albeit with a hint of hesitation, stepping aside to let him enter. His musky scent enveloped you, a wild and intoxicating aroma that stirred something deep within.

With a small pout lingering on your lips, you inquired, “What brings you here?”

“I came to see how you were faring,” he replied, standing awkwardly in the center of your dimly lit chamber, like the sun caught in the shadows.

You huffed softly, wrapping your arms around yourself, a protective gesture that belied your ancient nature. It was strange—centuries of existence coursing through your veins, a vampire of untold ages; yet here, in the presence of Aemond, you felt like a naïve girl enchanted by the shadows that danced between you.

You spoke with a raw honesty that felt both freeing and heavy, “I’ll confess,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration, “I’m both surprised and vexed to find myself confined to this chamber all day, only to emerge and learn that the King is dead and Aegon has claimed the throne.” A sigh escaped your lips as you cast your gaze to the side, memories of your family washing over you like a forgotten tide. “I was always the last to know in my family as well."

Aemond stepped closer, a teasing smirk finding his lips, clearly amused by your candidness laced with sass. “I must take my leave shortly to secure Borros Baratheon’s allegiance,” he stated, his voice filled with formality, yet laced with something unspoken.

Your eyes locked onto his striking violet one, and you arched an eyebrow, “So?”

“In exchange for his support, the council has arranged my marriage to one of his daughters,” he murmured, letting the words hang between you like a dark omen, scrutinizing your reaction with utmost care.

"Oh," in that moment, it felt as if your heart had splintered into countless shards. You forced a nod, turning away to shield the tempest of emotions brewing within you, striving for a façade of indifference, “Such is your duty, then.”

“It is,” he admitted, positioning himself directly in front of you, a palpable intensity radiating from his presence. Yet, you continued to avoid his gaze, perhaps in a desperate bid to escape this reality. And as you remained steadfast in your gaze away from him, he added softly, “But when I arrive there, it is Daeron’s hand I intend to offer instead.”

Your heart raced at his declaration, the pulse quickening against the cage of your ribs, yet you still refused to meet look at him, “Why?” you whispered, the question barely escaping your lips.

Aemond softened his stance, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he guided your face to meet his gaze. “Look at me, sweet girl,” he implored, his voice now a low, fervent whisper, compelling you to meet the intensity of his unwavering stare. “Because the only woman in this realm that I wish to call my own is you.”

Pain flashed in your heart, a flood of emotions crashing over you as you furrowed your brows, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “Aemond…”

He leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead, a benediction of sorts. “We will discuss this further upon my return,” he murmured, his breath warming your skin.

With that, he turned away, departing into the shadows that awaited him beyond the door. Alone, you pressed your palms to your mouth, constricting a gut-wrenching sob that echoed in the hollow silence of your chamber, a lament for the hope that quickly flickered out like a dying candle.

next up, Aemond coming back from Storms End

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @filmflux @esposadomd @littybeech

[hxxsxxng]

NEED YOU BADLY p.sh

「pairing 」 : boyfriend!sunghoon x fem!reader

「genre 」 : fluff, literal bare minimum smut

「word count」 : 1.1k

「synopsis」 : after dinner and a night out in the town, you and sunghoon drive up to your favorite spot

「warnings」 : established relationship, making out, pet names, clothed clit stimulation, clothed grinding, stuff done in a car

「authors note」 : i have been loving writing for sunghoon and all of my sunghoon stan followers<3 feedback is appreciated SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

「taglist 」 : @jakeflvrz

The city lights blurred past us as Sunghoon navigated his sleek black BMW through the streets. I couldn't help but steal glances at him, admiring his sharp profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. His hooded eyes were focused on the road, a slight smile playing on his lips. The soft hum of the engine and the gentle vibration of the car created a comfortable environment.

I shifted in my seat, the fabric of my dress rustling softly. The night air coming through the cracked window carried the scent of rain. contrasting to Sunghoon's cologne that filled the car with notes of sandalwood and citrus.

"Did you enjoy dinner, angel?" Sunghoon asked, his deep voice breaking through my reverie and sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes briefly flicked to me before returning to the road, but even that fleeting glance was enough to make my heart race.

I nodded, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "It was perfect, Sunghoon. Thank you." My voice came out softer than I intended, betraying the depth of my emotions.

He reached over and took my hand, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of his palm against mine sent sparks through my body. "Anything for you, doll," he said, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand.

As we drove further from the heart of the city, the buildings grew sparse and the roads darker. The transition was gradual but noticeable – fewer cars on the road, dimmer streetlights, and an increasing number of trees lining the streets. I knew where we were headed – our special spot on the outskirts of town, secluded and private. My heart raced with anticipation, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling in my stomach.

Sunghoon pulled off the main road onto a hidden dirt path, the car's headlights cutting through the darkness. The subtle bump as we transitioned from asphalt to dirt sent a jolt through me, heightening my senses. The trees parted, revealing a clearing that overlooked the twinkling city below.

He parked the car, the engine's purr fading to silence. The sudden quiet was deafening, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the city. Sunghoon turned to me, his eyes dark and intense, reflecting the starlight that filtered through the windshield.

"You look beautiful tonight, babygirl," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“Thank you” I said, trying to hide my face.

His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and desire flashing across his face. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the center console, capturing my lips in a kiss. The passion behind it took my breath away, making my head spin and my heart pound.

I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his soft black hair. My fingers tangled in the silky strands, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, our lips moving in perfect synchrony, a dance we had perfected over the years but one that never lost its magic. Every brush of his lips against mine sent shivers down my spine.

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mingled in the small space between us. He brought his fingers between my legs, over my clothed center. "Are you sure, angel?" he asked, his voice husky with desire but tinged with concern.

I nodded, unable to form words. The intensity of my desire for him overwhelmed me, leaving me breathless and needy. My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him back to me, our lips meeting again.

He circled his fingers slowly across my covered bud, cause me to quietly whimper in pleasure.

With a swift movement, Sunghoon reclined his seat and pulled me onto his lap. I straddled him, my dress riding up slightly as I settled against him. My hands rested on his broad shoulders, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. The new position brought us impossibly closer, and I could feel the rapid beating of his heart against my chest, as well as his length pressing against my core.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Sunghoon murmured, his hands tracing patterns on my waist. His touch, even through the fabric of my dress, sent sparks of electricity coursing through me. "Every day, I fall more in love with you."

"I love you too, Sunghoon. So much."

Our lips met again, this time slower, deeper. Each kiss was a promise, a declaration of love that words couldn't fully express. Sunghoon's hands roamed my back, pulling me closer, as if he couldn't bear even the slightest distance between us. I ran my fingers through his hair, down his neck, across his shoulders, memorizing every plane and curve of his body.

As our kisses grew more heated, I felt myself getting lost in the moment, in the sensations, in Sunghoon. The windows of the car fogged up around us. I subconsciously started to grind my hips against Sunghoon, creating friction for my needy core.

Time seemed to stand still in our bubble. I couldn't tell if minutes or hours had passed. The only measure of time was the steady beat of Sunghoon's heart against mine and the rhythm of our synchronized breaths.

Eventually, we pulled apart, both of us breathing heavily. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, trying to catch my breath. Sunghoon's hands rubbed soothing circles on my back, his touch now comforting rather than igniting.

When I finally looked up, I couldn't help but giggle. Sunghoon's usually perfectly styled hair was now a mess, sticking up in all directions thanks to my wandering hands. His lips were swollen from our kisses, and there was a dazed look in his eyes that I'm sure mirrored my own.

"What's so funny, doll?" he asked, a playful glint replacing the haze in his eyes.

I ran my fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth it down. "Nothing. You just look cute like this." I bit my lip, trying to suppress another giggle.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Cute? I was going for handsome."

I laughed, the sound filling the car and lightening the intense atmosphere. "That too," I conceded, planting a quick kiss on his nose.

Sunghoon's expression softened, his hands coming up to cup my face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he traced the contours of my cheeks with his thumbs. "I love you so much," he said, his voice filled with emotion. The intensity in his eyes took my breath away. "I hope you know that."

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.  

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.  

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.” 

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.  

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.  

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.  

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”   

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?” 

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”  

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.” 

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter.  “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.” 

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.   

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.” 

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours. 

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.  

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.  

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.  

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.  

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.” 

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.  

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”  

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

[utterlyotterlyx]

Starstruck

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Azriel had never wished upon a star, and after finding you, he wished he had done it sooner.

Warnings - FLUFFFFFFF, a touch of angst and sadness

There were thirteen stars that streaked across the skies during Starfall, Azriel had resound himself to noting each one as they made their journey across the same canvas each year, watching how they danced between one another and entranced the city with their show.

He sometimes wondered just how perfect someone had to be in order to be one of them, to shine so brightly and to be so adored that a whole city would wait an entire year to watch them for just a fleeting moment.

After watching for so long, Azriel knew each of them in his own special way, but he had always been particularly drawn to the singular star that always drifted to the back of the colony, like it was trying to stay for just a moment longer, and he could have sworn that he felt it watching him on more than one occasion, even when it twinkled idly in the sky and pulsed with pearlescent light.

One particular Starfall, Azriel gave in to his infantile wonder that perhaps wishing on a star would make all of his dreams come true, dreams that he had never spoken of to anyone. As silly as it felt, Azriel forced himself to close his eyes just as the stars began their dance; he inhaled deeply and wished, what for he'd never tell, but he did it.

In the days that followed, Azriel felt that tiny spark of hope evaporate within him, such showed in his tendrils of shadow who were feeling a little heavier than usual, less mischievous too. Cassian had noticed it, it was only small really and he was surprised that it was him who had caught it, but he knew Azriel better than anyone, he'd notice any slight change.

"What's wrong?" Azriel's chest was glistening in the last dwindling glance of sunlight, rising and falling rapidly as he worked to slow his breathing from his latest training session with Cassian.

Azriel spared Cassian a side-long glance and moved to unwrap his knuckles, the bandages winding onto the ground, "Nothing," he cast his eyes down to his knuckles, bruised and bloody and also throbbing from the impact of Cassian's abdomen, the feeling didn't do much to tempt his thoughts.

"Bullshit," Cassian cursed softly, "You're you but not. Tell me what's going on Az."

Sighing, slightly agitated, Azriel turned to his brother, noticing the stars leaking in from the distance, "I want my mate. I want what you and Nesta have, and Feyre and Rhys. I thought that maybe it was my turn next," his heart stung with the knowing of Lucien and Elain's accepted mating bond, he glanced behind Cassian, seeking comfort in something other-worldly, "I wished it."

Azriel hadn't meant to make Cassian feel guilty, he was glad that Cassian had found his mate, someone to love for the rest of his days., but it didn't stop him from feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life.

The raw emotion in his voice caused Cassian to stand speechless before him, "I'm going to go for a walk, clear my head."

Without another word, Azriel shrugged his shirt over his head and took off into the skies, unable to look back at the pained expression on Cassian's face. Part of him was ashamed for his feelings, he was Spymaster of the Night Court, anyone who loved him would be in constant danger, perhaps that was why he hadn't been gifted with a soul-bound other.

Landing on the cobbled streets of Velaris, Azriel began trapsing through the city with his head hung low, not particularly paying attention to anything until his shadows coiled around his arms and tugged at him. The Shadowsinger scoffed, pushing himself onward and choosing to ignore his companions, only barking at them when they swam over his face and restricted his vision; Azriel swatted at them, "What?"

One particular shadow, the one most prone to dancing and becoming lost in someone's hair, hovered before his eyes, waltzing into the night-kissed air and forcing Azriel to focus. He hadn't realised how far he'd walked until he took a moment to scan the area, he had wandered all the way down to the Sidra, so much being clear from the bubbling drifting from the riverbank as the water sang over the rocks.

Then he heard something that made his heart skip, a soft hum, no louder than a hummingbird, winding down the cobbled path to meet his ears. It was sweet and calm, full of life and serenity, and he couldn't stop himself from following it.

His shadows shivered with each step, each one becoming more active with every metre forward they were carried until they saw you, you were kneeling in the water that perfectly reflected the sky, fingers dipping beneath the surface whilst it swam by you. Your hair was unbound and kissing the surface in a way that sent small ripples through it whenever they would collide.

Azriel stood on the bank and watched you, not being able to place you in his mind, he listened to your song, unwilling to stop his shadows from drawing themselves toward it. Only when those tendrils of darkness grazed against your skin did the song halt, it was replaced by a soft giggle, one that could have made the darkness part to allow in the sun if it wished it.

"Can I help you?" The shadows shuddered at your question, convicted to dancing to the sound of your melodic tone, coiling around the finger you had raised to your eyes to inspect them closer, "How peculiar."

The drenched skirt of your pale blue dress pooled at your feet when you stood, but you didn't take your eyes off of the shadows. And, as if realising how potentially rude they were being, Azriel moved to intervene, to beckon them back to his side, "I'm sorry, they don't seem to want to listen to me today."

Turning to face him, Azriel lost every thought in his mind, the only one lingering in his consciousness being that you were easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, "It's alright, I don't mind," you told him with a smile as wide as the Sidra. His shadows continued to dance around you, slithering into every gap possible to just be as close as they could, "Who are you?"

Azriel was slightly taken back by the question, everyone knew who he was, and he didn't mean to feel egotistical when he thought that, most people were afraid of him, and everyone in the city certainly knew who he was. "I'm Azriel," he attempted to call back his shadows but they refused to leave you, he had half a mind to waltz right up to you and pluck them from your skin, but he stayed put, "Who are you?"

"Y/N." Beautiful.

"I haven't seen you here before."

The moon reflected off the surface of the Sidra,

Humming softly, you glanced about with a furrowed brow, like you were trying to find something familiar until your eyes dragged upward and settled on the sky, "And where is here?"

"Velaris. The City of Starlight."

"Starlight," your voice drifted, eyes unwavering in their upward gaze, "How pretty."

Perhaps Azriel should have been cautious of you, the beautiful thing with the long hair and voice as tempting as a siren's, but he wasn't, not even a little bit. If anything, Azriel had found a comfort within you despite only being in your presence for a mere few moments.

After a few moments, your wandering eyes returned to earth and you moved past him, up toward the cobbled path he had strayed from to find you, "Can I walk you home?"

Turning on the balls of your feet, you grinned at him and continued backward, "I'll be fine."

Azriel took a single step forward, "Will I see you again?"

"If you wish it," you told him with a knowing smirk, one that he didn't recognise, before turning from him and disappearing into the night, leaving Azriel wondering just exactly who you were to be able to cause his shadows continue to whisper your name into the darkness.

The next time Azriel saw you was in the Palace of Threads and Jewels, he had only caught a glimpse of you, but your scent of jasmine and pine lingered where you once stood. Azriel excused himself away from Nesta and Feyre, both of who glanced to his hurried form as he retreated from them.

Rounding a corner, he found you inspecting a bouquet of night lilies, your fingers gliding across the velvety petals with a genteel smile on your lips, one that widened when his shadows curled around your ankles, "Hello again," you called to them endearingly, beckoning them up to your fingers where they happily rested whilst you brushed the tip of your nose again them.

Azriel felt his heart clench at the action, and he only pulled himself from his entranced state when you graced him with your attention, "Hello to you too, Azriel," your hands were folded neatly behind your back, his shadows now resting on your shoulders.

"Hello," he took a step forward, and then he noticed just how small you were in comparison to him by the way you craned your neck up to look at him, "I knew I'd see you again."

A grin formed on your lips, "Did you wish it?"

"Perhaps,” Azriel folded his arms across his chest and drank you in, the pinned back hair and the baby whips that floated over your forehead, the white dress that hugged you in all of the perfect ways, and those bright doe eyes tinged with a touch of mischief.

"Then consider your wish granted,” the heel of your shoe clicked against the floor, the aroma of fresh roses and foliage filling the air, and you cocked your head at him slightly as if appreciating his beauty, “How have you been?”

In all honesty, Azriel had been feeling much better since that night he left Cassian after training, and that was because of you. Azriel couldn’t stop thinking about you, how lost you seemed but also not afraid, how gentle you seemed, and your voice, he couldn’t get it out of his head. Without wanting to admit it, Azriel had been looking for you, lazily, but with a hope he thought he had lost. And now there you stood, as pretty at the petals that drifted along the floor.

“I’ve been alright,” he leaned against the pillar of the stop, angling his body into you. It had been an age since someone had asked how he was, especially in the way that you asked, with genuine intrigue and care. “How have you been?”

Smiling, you answered, “I’ve been good,” you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and giggled softly as a shadow flowed through your hair.

“I’d like to get to know you,” he said with gentle conviction and you couldn’t help but blush, enjoying the sight of those soft eyes and rough exterior clad in black pants and a matching long sleeved cotton shirt.. “If you’d let me?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” you shrugged and took a step forward, close enough to scent the cedar on his clothes, “What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing,” Azriel internally cursed himself for responding so fast, showing his eagerness to spent more than a moment under the moon with you.

With a knowing smirk you huffed out a laugh, “Well, walk with me? I want to explore a little.”

Not needing another word, Azriel pushed himself from the beam and stepped aside for you to slip past him, slowly meandering through the market and observing everything that you could.

“Where is it that you live?” Azriel asked, happy to simply watch you scan the shelves and touch anything that looked soft.

Without looking back, you answered his question with a voice as warm as summer rain, “A little cabin by the streams,” the cotton of your bag brushed against your skirt as you swayed from side to side, craning your head and standing on your tiptoes to glance at the top shelves.

Azriel knew the place, he had always been drawn to it, the white window frames that turned yellow in the golden light that poured from insane, the thatched roof that was almost plaited in the finest of knots, and the tiny garden erected toward the back facing the forest where an array of flowers of all breeds bloomed and basked.

“And you? Where do you live?”

You led Azriel down the cobbled streets, picking up trinkets and admiring their beauty before placing them back on the shelves, “I live in the House of Wind,” from your furrowed brow, he knew that you didn’t know of it; Azriel placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you gently, reaching beneath your chin to angle your head upward, “Up there.”

“It looks beautiful,” you hummed, “You’re very lucky.”

“Yes, I am,” you missed how he looked to you when he spoke, captured by a gleaming stone resting on a plush cushion.

Closing the gap, you took the stone in your hand, resting it in your palm and letting the chain sway against your wrist, “It’s so beautiful,” you spoke in a tone a hush above a whisper, the rustle of a curtain begged your focus and you glanced up to see an elderly woman approaching you.

“A beautiful stone for a beautiful lady,” her voice rasped, but her kind eyes were fixated upon you, smiling in their own way.

“How much?” Azriel asked, appearing behind you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Azriel, no. It’s too much,” you protested, it was an ornately beautiful jewel, a white stone that reflected against the cloth of the ceiling that billowed in the breeze, “I can’t.”

Azriel, nodding his silent message to the shopkeeper, took the chain in his marred fingers and draped it around your neck, clasping it at the back and watching as your fingers reached to brush against it, “It was made for you.”

“Thank you,” you turned around to face him, and it took every ounce of willpower to not brush his fingers against your cheek.

The dropping sun cast its glow over your face, and Azriel gasped slightly, the sun turning your eyes molten and pristine, and felt the golden thread within him thrum into place. For a moment, the world seemed clearer, his senses heightened and your scent seeped into the foundations of his being.

From the look on your face, you had also felt it, your lips had parted slightly and your eyes were wide and glistening, “It’s you,” he was in disbelief, but his heart sang when you rested a hand over his heart, “You’re my mate.”

A gentle nod confirmed it, and Azriel couldn’t stop his hand this time from brushing against your cheek, his thumb dragging over your skin, “Yes.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever find you,” he whispered, “You’re real?”

“I’m real,” you entwined your fingers with his and brought them to your lips, kissing the marred flesh of his knuckles, “I’m here.”

Azriel struggled accepting that someone as perfect as you had been chosen to be his.

He didn’t want to rush you into anything, he wanted you to be comfortable, but he’d be lying if he said that every single part of him wasn’t irrevocably obsessed with you.

But when you met his family for the first time, and held Nyx and rocked him to sleep, did Azriel know that there was no one more made for him than you. Nesta and Feyre adored you from the moment they laid eyes on your sweet smile and large eyes, they had practically whisked you away to a separate sofa to probe and gossip with you. After you had spoken to Cassian and Rhys, his brothers moved to him with wide smiles, telling him that you were perfect.

Then there was Nyx who cried every time someone tried to take him from you, his nuzzled into your side, resting his head against your chest as he slept.

In the months that followed, his adoration for you only grew, and the night you had accepted the bond had been the most magical moment of his life. And not long after, he made you his wife in the most ornately warm ceremony the city had ever seen.

Each day was full of love and laughter, he moved into the cabin with you, and enjoyed every single moment of his life knowing that you were the one waiting for him at the end of the day.

Starfall had rolled around again, reminding Azriel that it was the same night a year ago that caused him to wish for you. He stood with you on that balcony, a stones throw away from the rest of his, and now your, family as the skies opened and the stars began their descent.

“I’ve never seen it like this before,” you uttered, hands resting on his forearms that were wrapped around your waist.

The stars soared, but their usual course was disrupted by their decision to fly toward the balcony. They hovered before you and Azriel and he felt your body leave his embrace, your fingers outstretched to float between the stars that waltzed around your body, “I’ve missed you too,” you told them, skin glittering with their kiss.

Bewildered, Azriel watched you have a conversation with the stars that painted the sky each night. Frowning, he counted the stars, noticing each one as the ones he knew and named, the same ones he created stories and lives for, to only find that one was missing, the last one who always lingered. Then his eyes moved to you and he wondered how he hadn’t realised it before.

The last star was you.

It made sense, you had always shone so brightly in comparison to others. Everyone had always felt settled around you, and Azriel had just thought that it was your serenity that caused it, but no, it was because you were a star.

“You’re a star,” that’s why you didn’t know where you were that night he had found you, it’s because you had fallen from the sky and landed his city, his home.

Smirking slightly, you walked into his open arms, sighing as the stars moved around you, “I prefer to say a wish come true.”

Azriel, chuckling at your words, hooked a finger beneath your chin and pulled your eyes upward, his breath fanned over your face. “If I’d have known then I would have wished for you a lot sooner.”

Authors Note

Just a little one from me 😚

[wandasaura]

— THE QUIET GAME

summary — nobody can beat wanda at her own game, but that doesn’t stop you from trying, and roping natasha into your little game much to her amusement

warnings — dom!wanda maximoff, flirting, dom/sub undertones, semi-public sex (nobody’s around), nipple play, finger sucking, face slapping (once), thigh grinding, fingering (r receiving), degrading, praise, slight begging, edging, aftercare, implied past relationship with natasha, smut minors/men dni

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Wanda was livid, you could tell from across the room, the dim overhead lighting just bright enough to create a million little rainbows reflecting off the sequins of her skimpy black dress and the kink in her jaw as she grinded her teeth together. It was rare to see your girlfriend so dressed up and out of her element — usually sporting a more masculine appearance in various shades of red — but tonight was a special night, and she always strived to outdo the company.

She became the most beautiful woman in the room the second you opened the double doors upon your arrival, hand and hand, standing shoulder to shoulder, both dressed to stun in dresses that left little to the imagination. She’d had no reservations about your scanty red dress, but her sage eyes had been hungry and dark with lust since the initial glance she stole of your put together look before you left the apartment. You’re her most prized possession and all of your friends know it, some more inclined to tease the hardened witch about her soft spot for you then others, but that didn’t quell her insistence to make your relationship known to every stranger who attended; proud to show off what was only hers. Throughout the night, she’d kept a hand on your your hip, whispering into the shell of your ear knowing how it looked and how it made your legs quiver. Throughout the night, she’d been working you up to the point of no return.

When you separated after too many cocktails and not nearly enough fancy horderves to keep up with your alcohol intake that left your cheeks flush and palms sweaty (not by any choice of your own or hers, merely Tony’s elaborate plan to trap his billionaire friends into donating to the Potts Project) your attention had been solely on her and memorizing the way that the light shaped to her sinful body, cleavage glistening and full for anyone to gawk at. And they did. You’d caught a handful of guests ogling the deep neckline of her dress too many times to remain unbothered and composed, and while you knew the only one she was even looking at beneath the yellow toned lighting was you, the offered drinks and fleeting touches to her waist from arrogant men that thought they could get a piece of what was yours, sparked a fire of jealousy you didn’t want to ignore.

It was no secret that these events led to some of the best sex you had in your relationship, a result of spending the long hours of the night too enraptured with each other's bodies to pay soft touches and patience any mind when you finally had the chance to come undone beneath one another, but tonight was different. Tonight you couldn’t play by her rules and watch from a distance as she floated around and socialized, no, tonight you’d play the long game of getting so beneath her skin she wouldn’t be able to wait until you returned home for a piece of you.

That jealousy was what ended you up in such a flirtatious exchange with Natasha, the redheaded widow painfully aware of yours and Wanda’s relationship (she’d walked in on you too many times to deem them all accidents), but she was more than happy to play along with your game, finding sadistic entertainment in the not-so-subtle expressions your otherwise unshakable girlfriend sent her way. With a possessive grip on your hip, chest flush against yours, nose only one accidental stumble away from yours, Natasha was playing with fire, and you were malleable to her every move. Your history with her was only an advantage in this situation as you stole glances at Wanda from across the room, not surprised to find that she was watching you intensely, clutching the stem of her wine glass so tight her knuckles had turned white, lips pursed into a thin line and when you caught her eye, you dared to smile innocently. When Natasha’s calloused thumb brushed against your bottom lip to draw your attention back to her, Wanda’s final straw snapped, and the redhead teasing your body with sensual touches merely chuckled darkly at the approaching footsteps of your possessive girlfriend.

You didn’t break eye contact with Natasha even when you felt the warmth of her body press against yours, her wine glass having been shoved into some poor unsuspecting waiter's chest during her pursuit. “Let’s go.” Her words were cynical, heavy even, but you’d only just started having fun, and Natasha wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

The redhead pulled you closer, so close that you could smell the mojito on her breath, creating space between you and Wanda who hadn’t been quick enough to grab the other side of your waist when she had the chance. “Look who finally has the time for me.” You joked with Natasha, running a wandering hand down the front of her chest where the buttons of her suit jacket revealed milky skin. She was always so pale, even in the summertime, but the deep color of her suit complimented her complexion nicely, and sharpened the deep green of her eyes and redness of her freshly dyed curls. She’d been blonde only three days prior, but her changing appearance wasn’t anything new at this point. Twirling a strand between your fingers, you bit into your bottom lip. “You have time for me, don’t you, Natty?”

“Always, detka.” The redhead smirked, leaning her forehead against yours, bold enough to slide her hands down your waist and grab at your barely covered ass. Wanda seethed behind you, green eyes flashing red as she glared at your best friend and grabbed your wrist before you could go exploring Natasha’s body again. You had the audacity to giggle when she started pulling you away and toward the exit, wiggling your fingers at the widow who sent you a knowing wink, stumbling over to Maria who had watched the entire scene play out behind a bottle of beer, lips upturned in a smirk. You’d get an earful tomorrow afternoon when you returned to the office, but for now, the only thing you cared about was getting your girlfriend undressed and beneath your touch.

“Hi.” You grinned sweetly, voice dripping with lust as you peered up at her clenched jawline and flared nostrils. She was pissed, and a pissed off Wanda was exactly the woman you needed tonight. Her hand was still tight around your wrist, grabbing at you not hard enough to hurt, but giving you no other choice but to follow after her as she dodged guests and furniture.

You’d never been to this specific venue, Tony preferring to host these events in the compound where the only liability was a broken vase that he didn’t really care about anyway, but still, she maneuvered you both through the building like she’d mapped it all out, footsteps only slowing when she had you confined to a single use bathroom down the hall from the main ballroom. In seconds your back was flush against the door, breath knocked from your lungs as you peered up at her with blown out pupils and a hungry smirk.

She didn’t give you the time to make a sarcastic comment, you’d made enough of them already if she had any say in it, but you would never complain about the feverish way she leant in to kiss you, and how her tongue tasted like your favorite cocktail as it brushed against yours. You fought for dominance as your teeth clashed together and your tongues danced to explore the others mouth, fighting to be the lead, but it was no surprise that she won. A heavy moan filled the echoey bathroom when her body warm pressed into yours, leaving you helpless to her assault that you truthfully didn’t really mind. You kissed her back just as aggressively, hands finding their way into her loose locks that fell down her shoulders in simple and natural waves, and you tugged on it in a desperate plea for something more. Anything more.

She chuckled darkly when she pulled away, bringing her decorated fingers toward your face. Her rings sparkled beneath the automatic lights, silver jewelry complimenting her midnight black dress. In any other setting, you would’ve told her she looked beautiful, but you were desperate to reach a high only she could give you, and she seemed to be taking her sweet time in working you up. Just like Natasha had, her calloused thumb brushed across your swollen and wet bottom lip, collecting the wetness that had gathered from your kiss before she forced it into your mouth. The digit felt heavy on your tongue, but not unfamiliar, and without hesitation you began to suck, eyelids fluttering closed at the warm feeling the sheer dominance of the action sent through your body and straight to your already sopping core. You could feel your arousal soaking through your panties, thighs wet and pressed together as you sought out any kind of relief. Wanda gazed at you with stars in her eyes, but her delicacy didn’t last long before she was forcing your legs apart with her thigh, pressing right up into your needy core. The pressure on your clit felt heavenly, your hips grinding to find the right friction without her permission.

She didn’t stop you, letting you hump her leg like a needy slut, instead focusing her attention on the way you hollowed out your lips around her thumb and kitten licked around her ring, eyes pinched shut as your breathing became heavier. “You think you’re so funny.” She sneered, using her pointer finger to tilt your head upward, revealing your unmarked neck. She’d change that. Her red lips didn’t waste a second, and her teeth weren’t gentle as she nipped and licked at your sensitive skin, working her way up toward the shell of your ear where you were the most reactive. You shuddered violently when she licked a bold strip up the side of your neck, blowing out cold air that made goosebumps prick the skin of your arms. Your grinding only became sloppier as your clit pulsates with need, pathetic whines vibrating her thumb and fueling her actions. “You think you can let Natasha touch what’s mine. Think I don’t know what you’re doing. I know everything, malyshka. I know what makes you moan,” She bit down on your earlobe, tugging at it gently with her teeth, and unable to help yourself, you arched into her chest, moaning desperately.

“I know what makes you whine,” The hand that wasn’t occupied snaked between your bodies, and sought out your barely hidden nipples, pebbled from the cold and your turned on state. Your whines were music to her ears as she tugged and twisted at your sensitive buds overtop of the thin dress, not bothering to shove it out of the way like you wanted. Your nipples were always so sensitive, it was one of Wanda’s favorite ways to work you up to a quick orgasm when you didn’t have the time to be fooling around, but that wasn’t her intention tonight. Just like you’d decided to do, she was playing the long game.

“I know what makes you gasp,” Her thumb made an obnoxiously loud sound as she pulled it from the warm confines of your mouth, but before you had time to process the loss, her palm was colliding with your cheek and the sting on your flushed skin replaced the weight of her heavy digit. You gasped, just like she expected you to, peering at her with wide eyes and an entirely fucked out expression despite not actually being touched yet. Her thigh was saturated in your arousal, the scent thick in the air but it couldn’t be blamed on only you. Her own panties, black like the color of her dress because she was ever the meticulous woman, we’re so drenched they stuck to her folds, but her attention was on you right now, because clearly that’s all you wanted, and who was she to deny you anymore?

“What? Did you just need me to pay you attention? Is that it?” She cooed mockingly, pulling her thigh away from your core just as you found the perfect rhythm, disrupting your climbing high before you could fall over the edge into bliss. You whined pathetically, hips frantically searching for her again. “Are you such a desperate little slut you couldn’t get through one evening without needing this little pussy fucked?” You gasped when her hand cupped your mound, skilled fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties and toying at your sensitive clit. “You spent the last hour mouthing off to Natasha, when you could’ve just told me what you needed.”

“P-Please.” You stumbled over your words, breathy moans like music to her ears as she sank two fingers into your willing hole, feeling just how worked up you’d gotten yourself since arriving. You squeezed at her fingers, walls fluttering with desperation as her thumb set a brutal pace on your clit, entirely to soft and slow to bring you to where you wanted to be.

Attempting to take matters into your own hands, you pushed on her fingers that worked at scissoring you open, caressing your velvety walls like she was trying to study you. “Oh no, you don’t get to rush me now. You lost that privilege the second you let her touch what belongs to me.” Wanda’s other hand held your hips flush against the door you were pinned against, keeping her pace slow and torturous and entirely unsatisfying. “We’re gonna play a little game.”

“N-No.” You shook your head frantically, your hands scratching at her exposed shoulders, trying to wrestle them down her arms to free her breasts that had been taunting you all night. Even in her aggression, she still looked beautiful, and you cursed the tight fabric of her dress for holding her in so perfectly. “Wanda please, p-please.” You moaned loudly when her fingers found that perfect spot inside of you, pressing into it teasingly, before they were pulled away. She let them slip past your lips, filling your mouth with the taste of your own juices that glistened on her palm and smeared against your chin.

“Unless you want someone to hear how desperate you sound, you’re going to stay quiet. The second you make a noise I stop, do you understand me?” She pulled her fingers out of your mouth, satisfied with how you’d cleaned them off only for her to get them dirty again. You nodded frantically, desperate to have her back where you needed her most. Your walls fluttered around nothing, that deep ache in your belly nearly unbearable as you’d been left right on the edge twice already. “Good girl. What do you say if you need a break?”

Your heart melted at the tender care she showed, a crack in her facade as she let the both of you exist in a single gentle moment of care and respect. She may be rough when she’s pissed, she may slap you around and drag out your pleasure for her own amusement, but she made sure that you knew you were really the one in charge during these exchanges. The second you asked her to stop, she would. But you trusted her enough to never go there. “Yellow. Red if I want you to stop, I know Wands. I trust you, just please touch me.”

She smirked sadistically, letting her hands roam your body filthily. You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress the moan that threatened to escape when she pulled at the neckline of your dress and revealed your sensitive nipples to the cold air abruptly. Her hot fingers were skilled in many ways, and still slightly damp from your mouth, they moved over your skin easily, tugging and pinching at your nipples with a practiced perfection. She knew exactly what you liked and what made you go crazy, and she was using every skill in the book to get you to break. When her mouth found your left breast, kissing all over the warm and silky skin that she’d spent twenty minutes fondling before you’d even left for the event, you almost broke. Your knees weakened, your belly quivered with need as she kissed and sucked at every inch of skin beside where you really wanted her. When her lips finally encased your erect bud, a wave of relief crashed over you, but was replaced in seconds by an unmet desire. Her teeth bit ar your nipple, tugging until you didn’t think you could take it anymore, but she knew what you could take, and before you could tap at her shoulder, she was letting go and soothing the ache with her skilled tongue. A shaky breath escaped your lips before you could help it, and immediately she was letting go of you completely, leaving you to stand by yourself against the door.

“What did I say?” Her green eyes that were black with lust glared at you, her words sounding so far away as you arched away from the door and tried to persuade her to come back.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please. Please Wands, just touch me.” Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, head spinning as you pined for touch. The long game had definitely come back to bite you in the ass, nobody fucked with Wanda Maximoff and won, but you were too drunk on her touch to care about how you’d walked yourself into this.

“You make another sound and we’re going back out there until the end of the night.” She laid out her ultimatum, words slurring together with the faintest hint of her accent coming out to play as she admired your frantic stare and flushed cheeks, looking absolutely ravenous as you anticipated her touch. You nodded frantically, desperate to win her over, although you both knew she was going to resume either way. Natasha could only work you up so much, but she was the one who made you come undone with the lightest touch, and that was enough to motivate her into continuing.

This time when her fingers returned to your core, she wasn’t as gentle, thumb heavy on your clit as her fingers teased around your entrance, not daring to fill you up how you wanted without making you earn it. She pulled at the waistband of your thong until it snapped, flimsy purple fabric falling down your sweaty thigh to be forgotten about on the tile floor, and finally without the tight barrier that only gave her so much room to work in the way, she set an unforgiving pace that had your head spinning and thighs shaking as she reached the deepest part of your pussy with ease and talent that Natasha never had during all of your hookups. The wet noises that came from your center should’ve been embarrassing, but you couldn’t think about how anybody that happened passed by the door could definitely hear them, focused solely on the way her palm slapped against your clit at just the right pressure and pace, her breath tickling your lips as she leaned in close and rested her forehead against yours. Your hands reached out for her, desperate to have something to ground yourself to as you felt the spring in your core begin to tighten immensely. Her red hair was tousled and frizzy from your desperate pulling, and it only got messier as one of your hands tangled into it again.

Wanda didn’t deny you, grabbing the hand that wasn’t in her hair, and holding it against her chest as she worked you through your orgasm, smiling sweetly as your chest rose and fell in quick succession, bottom lip bitten and flush from both the alcohol and your high. “You can make noise, it’s okay. Let me hear you, it’s just us. It’s just us, malyshka.” Her gentle eyes flashed red, strong tendrils of magic encasing the room im her own makeshift sound barrier. The noise from the party quieted down, leaving only the sounds of your intimacy to be heard. With her permission to moan, you did just that, whining and gasping as you rode out your orgasm on her fingers, hips stuttering to both find a steady pace and pull away from the overstimulating sensations shooting down your spine.

When she pulled her hand away, fingers dripping in your juices, your cheeks flushed, only growing darker when she let them sink past her cherry red lips and weigh heavy on her tongue. She moaned at your taste, eyes twinkling as she made sure you were looking straight at her. When she was satisfied, she leaned in for a kiss, gentle and endearing as she let you work out whatever you needed, pulling back the reins of her dominance for the time being at least. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you looked up at her glassy green eyes.

“I love you, Wanda Maximoff.” You giggled, pecking her lips that your arousal clung to. The taste of yourself wasn’t something unfamiliar at this point in your relationship, but it never failed to make your belly tighten with gratitude that after everything in life, you found your way to her.

“I love you more.” She leaned up to peck your nose, smiling goofily. “We should invite Natasha over again.”

You laughed loudly at the suggestion, remembering the last time the redhead ended up in your bed when you were still living at the compound. She’d limped around for hours afterward, glaring daggers at Wanda from across the room every time she went to sit down.

“You know, she’s equally as guilty as I am.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief, a teasing smirk on your lips as you thought about the unstoppable Black Widow being forced to her knees by your giggly girlfriend.

“Watch it, or I’ll let her spank you with the paddle next time.” Wanda quipped, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to her lips, where her gaze lingered for a few seconds before looking back at you. “Maria’s going to be all over you tomorrow.”

“I guess I’ll just have to have something to brag about then.” You smirked, leading her out of the bathroom and out into the cold of winter. Your breath floated through the air as Wanda wrapped her arms around you, long coats forgotten about as you began to trek toward the car, eager to get home and help her reach her own high.

[verstappensrealwife]

Casual (Part 2 of 2) - Max Verstappen x Reader

fluff, angst, smut

approx. 3200 words

warnings: ex!fwb!lando x reader (Part1), Austria GP '24, crash into lando, small smut at the end.

lando norris masterlist - here. max verstappen masterlist - here. f1 master list - here.

PART ONE HERE

Previously…

“Maxverstappen1 has requested to follow you.” “Maxverstappen1 has requested to message you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Max, with his quiet confidence and genuine smiles, was a stark contrast to Lando’s fleeting attentions. You thought back to the brief conversations in stores, the way Max's eyes seemed to hold a depth of understanding, a kindness that Lando never showed. He had always treated you with respect, even in those short interactions, and now he was reaching out.

Curiosity and a spark of something you hadn’t felt in a long time—hope—bubbled up inside you. You hesitated for only a moment before accepting his follow request and opening his message.

“Hey, I hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee sometime?”

The simplicity and sincerity of his message were refreshing. Max wasn’t playing games; he wasn’t hiding you or keeping you at arm’s length. As you read his words, you realized how much you craved that kind of straightforward, genuine connection.

In that moment, you knew you’d rather be with someone like Max—someone who saw you as more than just a fleeting distraction. You typed out a response, feeling a sense of anticipation and relief wash over you.

“Hi Max, I’d love to. When are you free?”

...

You continued to ignore Lando for a week before your date with Max.

Was it a date? You weren’t exactly sure.

Max looked incredibly handsome sitting across from you in the cozy corner of a cafe in Monaco. Outside, the rain poured down, casting the sky in a grey and gloomy shroud, while the warm lighting inside gave him a soft, inviting glow. You sipped from the mug in your hands, savoring the comforting warmth as you stole glances at him.

The cafe was a charming little place, filled with the comforting aromas of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries. The walls were adorned with vintage art and photographs of Monaco’s picturesque coastline, while soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the quiet murmur of other patrons. The rain outside added a rhythmic percussion, making the inside feel even more like a warm, intimate refuge from the world.

Max's eyes, a striking shade of blue, seemed to reflect the dim light, making them look almost ethereal. You couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers drummed nervously against the table, a small but endearing gesture that made your heart flutter.

“So, uhm, does your boyfriend know we’re here?” Max asked, breaking the silence. You almost choked on your drink at his question, frowning in confusion.

“B-boyfriend?” you repeated, setting the mug down and staring into his eyes.

He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. God, you were pretty. “Lando? Is he not your boyfriend?”

You shook your head quickly, almost too quickly. Max hummed thoughtfully, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Is that a good thing?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“Well, I’m glad, so I suppose it is,” he replied, his smile widening slightly.

“Oh, so you asked out a woman you believed was taken, Max?” you teased, a laugh escaping your lips.

Max chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I guess I just couldn’t resist,” he said, his voice low and sincere. The sound of the rain pattering against the windows created a soothing backdrop to your conversation, the world outside forgotten as you both basked in the warm glow of the moment.

Conversation flowed effortlessly between the two of you, each word drawing you closer. Max listened intently as you spoke, his eyes never leaving your face, and when it was his turn, his stories and laughter held you spellbound. Time seemed to slip away unnoticed in the warm, inviting glow of the café.

By the end of the evening, around 5 pm, the rain had eased to a gentle drizzle, casting a magical shimmer on the streets. Max walked you back to your house, the quiet of the evening amplifying the lingering tension between you. The city felt almost enchanted in the soft twilight, the air fresh and clean after the rain.

When you reached your door, you turned to face him, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “Thanks for, uhm, walking me home,” you said sincerely, your eyes meeting his.

Max nodded, waving off your thanks as if it was nothing. “It’s fine. It’s on the way to my apartment anyway,” he said. You knew it was a lie—his apartment was in the complete opposite direction—but you didn’t call him out on it, appreciating the gesture. “This was nice…” he added, clearly reluctant to let the evening end and searching for a way to extend the moment.

“Yeah, it was,” you agreed, your lips curving into a grin. “We should do it again?” Your voice lifted at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Yes! Ahem—yeah, totally,” he coughed, a flush creeping up his neck. “Sorry—erm—you could come to a race… if you’d want that—obviously no pressure but—”

“I’d love to,” you interrupted, placing your hand on his chest to stop his nervous rambling. The feel of his firm, muscular chest beneath your fingers sent a thrill through you. “Just text me any details, and I’ll be there.”

He nodded hurriedly, his excitement barely contained. “Of course, I’ll send you everything. The next race is in Austria,” he managed to say, his words tumbling over each other.

“See you later, Max,” you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek gently. His skin was warm under your lips, and he immediately went bright red, his flustered expression making you smirk. “Text me,” you repeated softly.

With one last smile, you turned and disappeared into your apartment building, leaving Max standing there, staring at the spot where you had been. His cheek tingled from where your lips had touched, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how he wanted that feeling every day, forever, with you. As he walked back to his apartment, his mind raced with thoughts of you, replaying every moment of the evening and imagining the possibilities of what could come next.

— AUSTRIA, RED BULL RING.    SUNDAY, 30 JUNE 2024.

Race day had finally arrived. You’d just gotten to the paddock that morning, the familiar roar of engines and the scent of burning rubber filling the air. It felt strange being back, especially without someone rushing you away from prying eyes, trying to hide the fact you were there with Lando. This time, you walked freely down the pit lane, no longer shadowed by secrecy.

You caught a glimpse of the back of Max’s head up ahead, his distinct figure standing out among the flurry of activity. But before you could call out to him, you heard your name being shouted from behind. Startled, you spun around to see Lando jogging toward you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You got my texts?” Lando asked, slightly breathless as he stopped in front of you. “I thought you wouldn’t come, but… anyway, do you wanna go away from here? Talk?”

For a moment, you just stared at him, processing the unexpected encounter. No, you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but seeing him again like this, especially in such a familiar setting, was still a bit of a shock. His presence stirred memories you thought you’d left behind.

“I—uhm,” you stuttered, searching for the right words to tell him to leave you alone, to fuck off, really, but the words tangled on your tongue. “Well—”

“Come on,” Lando urged, his voice softer, almost pleading, as he took a step closer. His hand reached out, as if to gently guide you by the arm, but you instinctively flinched backward, the movement sharp and defensive.

“Y/N?” Lando frowned, confusion clouding his features. He dropped his hand, the space between you suddenly feeling like a chasm. The familiarity in his tone, the way he said your name—it tugged at something inside you, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt or the reasons you were no longer together.

“I’m not here with you, Lando…” you say quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I was invited by someone else.”

“Someone else?” he stutters, his expression flickering with disbelief. “You… who?”

Before you can answer, Lando’s eyes shift behind you, catching sight of Max Verstappen approaching with purposeful strides. The realization seems to dawn on him just as Max reaches you, his hand naturally resting on your shoulder as if it belonged there.

“When did you get here?” Max asks, his tone warm and completely ignoring Lando’s presence. It’s not malicious, but his focus is entirely on you, making Lando seem like an afterthought.

“About three hours ago,” you reply with a smile, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you.

“I could’ve picked you up,” Max offers, his concern genuine, though you quickly wave him off.

“Don’t be silly,” you say lightly before turning to Lando, who is still staring at the two of you, visibly confused and almost… jealous. “Yeah—Lando—Max sort of invited me.”

Lando’s brows knit together, his confusion deepening. “What—huh—sorry, what?” he stammers. “When did you two get so close?” His eyes dart between you and Max, searching for answers he can’t seem to find.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual. “Erm, like a month or so ago…”

The connection clicks in Lando’s mind—the timeline of when you stopped speaking to him and when you started getting close to Max. The realization seems to sting, his lips pressing into a thin line as he hums in acknowledgment before shaking his head and walking away without another word.

“That was… weird,” Max mutters, watching Lando’s retreating figure for a moment before his attention snaps back to you. He quickly changes the subject, eager to make you feel at ease. “Come on, let me show you the garage. It’s the best place to watch the race.”

“The garage?” you ask, confused by his offer.

Max frowns slightly, equally perplexed. “Where else would you watch it from?”

“I—well, usually in the drivers’ room,” you admit with a sigh, memories of hidden moments flashing through your mind.

Max scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “Of course, he would do that,” he mumbles under his breath, before focusing on you again. “I mean, you can if you want to, but here is fine by me. You’ll be right in the heart of everything.”

You nod, silently agreeing to watch the race from the garage, knowing full well that all the cameras would catch you there, recording every move and fueling speculation about who you were. But this time, you didn’t mind. Max’s presence beside you made you feel secure, as if you belonged right there in the spotlight with him.

After the race, the atmosphere in the paddock was tense, the energy electric with the aftermath of Max’s crash into Lando. Lando made it painfully clear how furious he was, his frustration palpable in every gesture and word. Max, on the other hand, seemed remarkably unfazed by the whole ordeal. He’d still managed to finish in the points and, in his mind, had taken a small victory by ruining Lando’s race in the process. For Max, it was a win-win.

As the crowd buzzed with post-race excitement, Max spotted you standing by the edge of the garage, waiting for him. Despite the chaos around him, seeing you brought a smile to his face. He didn’t have much time before he had to face a swarm of interviewers, but he made a beeline for you, nudging your arm gently to grab your attention.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“Oh—hey!” You turned, grinning up at him. “P5 is good,” you said, your eyes sparkling with pride for him.

“Maybe for Lando’s standards,” Max jabbed jokingly, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You laughed, the sound light and infectious, easing some of the tension that still hung in the air. “You’re terrible,” you teased, shaking your head, but the warmth in your voice made it clear you didn’t mean it.

Max chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his tone playful. The way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat, and for a second, the noise of the paddock faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

He glanced over his shoulder at the waiting throng of journalists, his smile dimming slightly. “I’ve got to go handle those vultures,” he sighed, nodding toward the waiting press. “But I’ll find you after?”

You nodded, your heart swelling with anticipation. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” he said, giving your arm one last, gentle squeeze before turning to walk away. As he headed toward the media, you watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and excitement. Even after everything that had happened on the track, Max was still the same—unflappable, confident, and now, undeniably connected to you in a way that felt both thrilling and right.

-

After the whirlwind of interviews, Max finally managed to break away from the paddock's relentless pace. The sun had set by the time he made his way back to his hotel, the darkening sky mirroring the calm that was beginning to settle over him. His thoughts, however, weren’t on the race or the questions he had just faced—they were on you.

When he entered his hotel room, it was quiet and dimly lit, a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic energy of the racetrack. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he closed the door behind him. He had texted you on his way back, a simple message asking if you’d come over. Now, as he stood in the middle of the room, his nerves started to creep in. There was something different about tonight, something he couldn’t quite put into words, but it was there, lingering in the air.

The knock at the door came just as he was running a hand through his hair, trying to settle his thoughts. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, opening the door to find you standing there, a soft smile on your face. You were a sight for sore eyes, the tension he’d been holding onto dissipating at the mere sight of you.

“Hi,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in.

“Hey,” you replied, slipping past him into the room. You glanced around, taking in the minimalist decor and the soft, ambient light that bathed the space in a warm glow. “Nice place,” you commented lightly, but your eyes soon found his, and the room seemed to shrink around you.

Max didn’t respond immediately; instead, he just watched you, his gaze intense and unwavering. It was like he was seeing you for the first time all over again, but this time, with the clarity of everything that had happened today. Finally, he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere.

You looked up at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Me too,” you admitted, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with unspoken tension. Then, as if some invisible line had been crossed, Max leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss. It was slow, unhurried, as if he was savoring the moment, the taste of you, the feel of you against him. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he confessed, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

You smiled against his lips, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “So have I,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of the admission.

Max’s response was a low, rumbling laugh that you felt more than heard. He kissed you again, this time with more urgency, the restraint from earlier slipping away. His hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss deepened, becoming a desperate, hungry exchange that left you both breathless.

Without breaking the kiss, Max began to guide you toward the bed, his movements careful but insistent. When the backs of your legs hit the edge of the mattress, he paused, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. There was a question in his gaze, a silent request for permission, for reassurance that this was what you wanted too.

You answered him by tugging him down onto the bed with you, your lips crashing back into his as you both fell into the soft sheets. Max let out a soft groan as he followed your lead, his hands finding your hips as he pressed against you. The world outside the room faded away, leaving just the two of you, lost in each other.

Time seemed to blur as clothes were discarded and soft whispers filled the room. Max’s touch was reverent, his kisses trailing down your body, worshipping every inch of you. There was an urgency in the way he held you, a need that had been building up ever since that first kiss in the paddock.

When he finally moved to join your bodies together, he did so with a slow, deliberate push that left you both gasping for breath. His name slipped from your lips in a soft moan, a sound that drove him wild. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he began to move, each thrust deep and measured.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, his voice strained with the effort to keep himself in check. “You feel… incredible.”

Your hands found his hair, tugging gently as you arched into him, meeting his movements with equal fervor. The tension that had been building between you all day finally reached its breaking point, and with one final, desperate thrust, you both finished together, your cries mingling in the stillness of the room.

Afterward, as you both lay tangled in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat, Max pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he never wanted to let go. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion but laced with a quiet plea.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. “I wasn’t planning on leaving,” you replied softly, earning a tired but contented smile from him.

Max kissed the top of your head, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. “Good,” he whispered, his eyes drifting closed. “I don’t want this to end.”

As you lay there in the quiet of the night, wrapped in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel the same. Whatever this was between you and Max, it felt right, like something that had been a long time coming.

-----

tags :

@herexpertcollector @bingussthirdtoe @boady27 @some-girl-lost-in-this-world @iangelofmusic @abq654 @issi-loves-dannyric @f1fantasys @smoooothoperatorrrr @prudyhoo @0rrphiic @gaypoetsblog @bloodymug @tpwkstiles @forza-dolce @piceous21 @iforgotmynames @jzr201

[theetherealbloom]

CLOSE TO YOU

Summary: A commute crush turned meet cute with Pedro Pascal

Paring: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Warnings: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Commute Crush, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Meet-Cute, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Alcohol, Club/Bar Setting

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Close To You release day! I’ve waited for this song since 2018 LMAO. Usually, I don’t write about real-life people, but I really can’t help it since this song is SO Pedro Pascal-coded. Just know that this is fictional and if this isn’t for you, you don’t have to read it! Keep scrolling :> And for those who stay to read this delusion of a fic, hey girlieeee I see you <3 

P.S. I’ll be doing a bunch of fics related to Gracie’s new album that comes out next week!

Song: Close To You by Gracie Abrams

| Main Masterlist |

It all began as a harmless crush on your morning commute. The New York subway was your daily stage, a bustling backdrop as you headed to meet a client. As a social media coordinator, your days revolved around managing high-profile partnerships, coordinating with celebrities and Instagram influencers to craft campaigns that seamlessly blended their brands with consumer appeal. 

But today was different. And of course, you recognized him. 

You noticed him immediately – Pedro Pascal, seated right in front of you. Lost in his book, with a iced quad espresso in a venti cup with extra ice and six shots cradled in his hand, he exuded an effortless charm. His dark, curly hair framed those whisky eyes that glanced up and met yours. Just for a second, you were frozen in time, captivated by his gaze. You quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude, yet feeling the familiar flutter of a crush brewing.

Did he smile? You swore he did, and your heart skipped a beat. The train doors opened, announcing your stop. Reluctantly, you stepped off, joining the throng of commuters spilling onto the platform. As you ascended the steps, the city's vibrant energy washed over you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Walking towards the restaurant for your client meeting, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. The way his presence ignited a spark within you, a longing that seemed almost irrational. Here you were, burning for a man who didn't even know your name. And yet, in the anonymity of the subway, a fleeting connection had stirred something deep inside you.

It had been a few weeks since that subway encounter, the memory of Pedro Pascal’s whisky eyes lingering in your mind. In the meantime, you had started managing social media for Sarah Paulson, whose busy schedule had her juggling multiple projects and interviews.

Sarah's latest project, a Broadway play titled Appropriate, was garnering critical acclaim and several award nominations. Your job was to promote her involvement, ensuring every post captured the essence of her talent and the play’s success. Though you hadn't been working with her long, you were pleasantly surprised when she invited you to watch one of her performances.

That night, you arrived early at the Belasco Theatre, adorned in your favorite long dress and practical flats, mindful of the commute back to your apartment. Ushered to a seat close to the front, you settled into the plush red velvet, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. As the audience trickled in, you busied yourself with casual texts to friends before putting your phone away, taking in the theatre's intricate architecture and the stage's grandeur.

Moments later, an usher guided someone to the seat next to you. Curiosity made you glance to your right, and there he was—Pedro Pascal, settling in beside you. Your eyes widened in recognition before you quickly looked away, a quiet panic bubbling in your stomach and tightening your chest. You fidgeted with your fingers, a nervous habit, trying to quell the flurry of emotions and resist the urge to stare.

As the house lights dimmed and the show began, you couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at him. The man who had unknowingly captured your heart was now mere inches away. The performance on stage was captivating, but you found yourself equally entranced by the man sitting next to you. In the soft glow of the theatre lights, you wondered if he remembered that brief moment on the subway, and if fate had just given you a second chance to connect.

When the show ended and the cast took their bows, the theatre erupted in applause. Pedro, sitting right next to you, cheered loudly when Sarah stood with the rest of the cast on stage. His genuine enthusiasm for his friend made you smile, and as you glanced at him, he looked down at you with a radiant grin. 

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you felt a concrete connection that was almost tangible. Both of you opened your mouths to speak, but just then, an usher cleared their throat, drawing your attention.

“Mr. Pascal, Sarah Paulson is asking for you backstage… if you would follow me, please,” the usher said, causing Pedro to hesitate, torn between staying with you and fulfilling his friend's request.

“Uh,” Pedro began, glancing between you and the usher. Seeing his dilemma, you made the decision for him. Gathering your things, you offered a polite smile to both Pedro and the starstruck usher.

As Pedro glanced back at the usher, you seized the moment to make your getaway. You might have heard him call out, "Wait!" but you didn't stop. Stepping out onto the bustling street, the city lights of Broadway twinkled around you, a stark contrast to the growing ache in your heart.

The possibility of what might have been gnawed at you, the fleeting connection slipping through your fingers. A voice in the back of your mind echoed doubts, whispering that you didn't quite belong in this world of beautiful, glamorous people. You tried to shake off the feeling, but the bittersweet sting lingered.

You begin to walk away from the theatre, weaving through the crowd lined up for autographs by the backstage door. Just as you're about to cross the street to catch your subway, your phone vibrates in your clutch. Stepping aside, you see Sarah Paulson’s name flashing on the screen.

Shit. 

You quickly answer, praying your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "Hello?"

"Hey!" Sarah's voice is warm and enthusiastic. "How are you? Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yeah, I did! You were absolutely incredible," you say, offering genuine praise and shifting your weight to your other leg.

"Thank you so much! Oh, where are you right now? Are you still nearby? I had told the usher to bring you backstage with Pedro, but it seems like they forgot."

"Oh, um, yeah, I'm near the backstage door," you reply, glancing at the crowd still waiting for autographs.

"Perfect! Some of us are going out for drinks later, and you are welcome to join us!" Sarah’s excitement is infectious.

You stammer, "Uh, I..."

"It'll be great! I promise. I'll introduce you to everyone. You're my best social media manager by far."

Taking a deep breath, you muster, "Okay, yeah, I'd love to come."

"Great! I'll send you the address of where we're headed. We'll meet you there!" Sarah says, her smile practically audible.

"Alright, see you soon." You end the call with a click, clutching your phone tightly as you take another deep breath to steady your nerves and keep the world from spinning.

A ping alerts you to a new message. Glancing at the notification, you read the address and know exactly where to go. With a mixture of excitement and anxiety, you put away your phone and head towards the bar, the city's lights guiding your way.

It took you a while to figure out how to get there, but eventually, you arrive at the bar. As you step inside, a warm hum fills your body, the lights and the pulse of music thrumming through the room. The smoky, dark atmosphere feels electric, bodies moving in a rhythm that seems to make the air itself burn. 

Under the soft pink light, everything seems slightly surreal, yet oddly perfect. You spot Sarah, who immediately pulls you into a warm hug, which you happily accept. As you exchange pleasantries near their table, you feel at ease, enjoying the camaraderie. 

Then, suddenly, you sense a shift. You glance up and see Pedro looking right back at you. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes meet, and in that instant, the crowded room seems to fade away. 

There he is, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart, his gaze steady and intense. As Sarah guides you over to introduce the rest of her friends, castmates, and of course, Pedro, you feel a pull between the two of you.

You muster the courage to speak, telling him your name, and even through the loud speakers and endless chatter, you hear him say your name with a breathless relief. Finally meeting the mystery girl he saw on the subway seems to have stirred something within him.

When you shake hands, there's a lingering touch, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. You can't help but duck your head a little, feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. 

"Nice to finally meet you," Pedro says, his voice soft yet filled with warmth.

"Likewise," you reply, your own voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

In that brief exchange, you both sense something unspoken, a silent understanding that this meeting is more than just chance. And as the night unfolds, amidst the laughter and music, you find yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of fate.

As Sarah goes to mingle with the rest of the group, you both stand there, caught in a moment suspended in time. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can't shake the feeling that if you asked him to, he'd give up everything just to be close to you.

"You have a way of lighting up a room," he says, his voice low and full of sincerity as he leans in closer.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his words, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "And you have a way of making me feel like I'm the only one in it," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the night wears on, you find yourself completely enchanted by Pedro. His easy charm and quick wit captivate you, and it's as if the two of you are in your own little world, separate from the chaos of the club.

He tells you stories about his acting career and his passion for music. You share your dreams and aspirations, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence that you've never experienced with anyone before.

Throughout the night, there are moments where your hands brush against each other or your eyes meet in a lingering gaze. Each time it happens, a spark of electricity shoots through your body, igniting a fire within you.

At one point, he leans in closer to whisper in your ear over the loud music. "I have a confession to make," he says, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You turn to face him, your heart racing with anticipation.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "I can't deny that you've caught my attention since the moment I saw you on the subway."

The admission sends your heart racing, and you can't help but feel a surge of boldness. "Funny, because you've been on my mind ever since," you confess, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence.

His eyes light up with a mixture of surprise and delight, and you can't help but be drawn to the way his lips curl into a playful smirk. "Is that so?" he teases, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, feeling a rush of exhilaration coursing through your veins. "Absolutely," you reply, unable to tear your gaze away from his captivating stare.

Before you can say another word, he takes a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a dance choreographed just for the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand brushes against your neck, sending tingles of anticipation racing across your skin.

And then, in a moment that feels like it's been plucked straight from a romance film, his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. Time seems to stand still as you melt into his embrace, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the two of you.

As you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, a sense of euphoria washes over you, like a chemical override in ultraviolet. "I just wanna be close to you," he murmurs, his words sending a thrill through your entire being. A smile dances at the corners of your lips as you revel in the electric connection between you.

"And you could be mine tonight," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tinged with a hint of playful flirtation.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with affection as he leans in closer. "I think I could get used to being yours," he says, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, melting away any lingering doubts or fears.

He can't wait to fall in love with you.

[stellarbit]

Do Not Look Away

Tech x fem!reader

2.7k words NSFW - eye contact kink, unprotected sex, light dom

Tech never really paid mind to eye contact. Finding you staring him down, however, changed that completely and working him up more than he expected.

Notes: 'Sarad' means flower in Mando'an, cute nickname. This gif makes me feral. Just think of that on top of you.

Tech absorbed the details of his surroundings with a meticulous eye, viewing the world around him as an intricate web of data to be analyzed and understood. Eye contact, though useful for evaluating intentions and planning strategies, wasn't his primary focus.

This preference shifted unexpectedly during a routine briefing in the Marauder. While Hunter and Echo discussed the mission's terrain, and Wrecker and Omega showed their usual enthusiasm, Tech was busy ensuring the mission data on his datapad matched the verbal instructions. Satisfied, he pocketed the device and prepared to give Hunter his full attention.

That’s when he inadvertently met your gaze.

You were watching him intently, your eyes steady and revealing nothing that he could easily interpret. Surprisingly, it was Tech who broke the gaze first, a rare moment of vulnerability for someone so controlled. He quickly looked back, his interest piqued by the challenge you presented, and noticed a small, confident smile playing on your lips. It was slightly disconcerting yet undeniably captivating.

This momentary exchange unsettled Tech in a way he hadn’t anticipated. The directness of your gaze stirred something within him, igniting a flurry of thoughts that were less about data and more about the curious look you had. He found himself eager to understand the enigma of your steady eyes and the subtle confidence they conveyed.

For the first time, Tech felt an urge to maintain that connection, to hold your gaze and engage in a silent conversation only the two of you could comprehend. This newfound fascination made him want to explore this interaction further, to understand why you seemed so intent on him and him alone.

Tech had assumed that, under the circumstances, your attention would be squarely on Hunter as he discussed the mission details. Yet, when he glanced away for a moment to check on his brothers and Omega, and then back to you, the intensity of your gaze was undiminished.

As he held your eyes this time, a warmth spread across his face, an unusual sensation for him. His chest tightened, a physiological response that was both puzzling and intriguing.

The way the light caught in your eyes seemed to draw him in deeper, binding him to the moment in a way that data and analysis never could.

He had rarely seen you so intensely focused, and it felt as if he was discovering a new facet of you. Being the exclusive focus of your attention was absolutely fascinating. It sparked a curiosity in Tech - did you frequently watch him?

The thought that you might often watch him with such focus sent a thrill through him, stirring a newfound eagerness within. Though he could never be certain of your habits, one thing crystallized in his mind—he would not overlook such moments again.

When your gaze finally shifted away, Tech continued to watch you, his thoughts now revolving around how he might recapture your attention. His mind raced through potential conversations and shared tasks that could bring your focus back to him. It was a new kind of strategy, one that involved personal connection rather than battlefield tactics.

Over the course of the next few rotations, as the mission unfolded, Tech found himself increasingly attuned to your presence. He noticed each time you looked his way, though these instances seemed to become shorter and less frequent.

With every brief glance, Tech felt a mix of anticipation and dissatisfaction grow within him. Each fleeting moment left him more restless, his mind constantly toggling between the mission data and the enigmatic patterns of your attention

As the mission drew to a close, you were under Echo's care, receiving treatment for a leg injury. Hunter and Omega were at the controls, piloting the ship, while Wrecker had retreated to his bunk for some much-needed rest. Tech stood a short distance behind Echo, ostensibly engrossed in finalizing mission details on his datapad.

Echo was busy tending to your wound, periodically dictating observations for Tech to cross-reference against their medical logs. Despite the important task at hand, Tech found his focus drifting.

When you, perhaps growing weary of the silence, looked up, your eyes met his. Tech’s head was angled towards his datapad, but his eyes were fixed on you.

You stilled at the sight. His gaze lingered with his earlier impatience giving way to a quiet intensity.

The room filled with the soft hum of the ship and the low murmur of Echo's medical updates, but you couldn’t notice anything beyond Tech.

You were the one to drop your eyes first, searching the rest of his face for a clue as to what he was thinking. The sight of a slight smile pulling at his lips sent warmth crawling up your neck and straight to your core.

Just then, a cool touch on your leg snapped you jolted you back to present.. Echo's concerned face came into view as he applied bacta cream—a detail you would have noted had your attention not been so thoroughly captured by Tech.

“"Did that hurt?" Echo inquired, mistaking your reaction for discomfort.

With a nervous laugh, you shook your head. "No, no! Just cool, that's all." As Echo completed the bandaging, your gaze drifted back to Tech. He had turned his attention back to his datapad, fingers tapping away with a renewed sense of purpose.

The rest of the ride back to Ord Mantell was uneventful. Upon landing Echo, Wrecker, and Omega quickly filed out to head to Cid’s. Hunter paused to speak with Tech before following them out.

"Make sure the systems are fully functional. We took fire before we made it offworld; I’d rather be prepped to go rather than make repairs later."

From behind his helmet, Tech nodded, albeit with a bit of exasperation. “I was already on it.”

Hunter gave you a pat on the shoulder as he turned to leave. “Keep him on track, will you?”

Tech had already moved to the control boards by the time you caught up, his back to you as he deftly navigated through the various system checks on the displays.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between the memory of his intense gaze earlier and the task at hand. With a deep breath, you started to walk past him toward the bunks, trying to focus on anything but him.

But as you passed Tech, the sound of the Marauder’s door sealing shut echoed through the hold. You turned, instinctively looking back over your shoulder.

“Sarad,” his voice stopped you in your tracks. The tone, soft yet certain, made you turn fully towards him.

You felt his stare before you saw it.

Slowly, you turned to face Tech, who now stood between you and the door. The sight of his eyes, clear and penetrating behind the frame of his helmet, sent a thrill through you.

He moved towards you with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze fixed intently on yours. "It seems that you have been watching me," he stated, his voice calm yet carrying an undercurrent of curiosity. As he removed his helmet, revealing his full expression, the room seemed to grow smaller around you. "Without my knowledge."

A nervous smile briefly crossed your face, words struggling to form as you met his piercing gaze. "What can I say? You’re easy on the eyes," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a few more steps forward, reducing the distance between you. Instinctively, you stepped back, your back almost brushing against the bunks. Tech paused, adjusting his goggles as he noted your movement. His eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Does this make you uncomfortable?" he asked, his tone softening, indicating his readiness to step back if you indicated any discomfort.

“Not in the way you might imagine.” You answered, referring, whether he realized it or not, to the ache growing between your legs.

The slight raise of his brows indicated he understood precisely what you meant.

Without breaking eye contact, Tech raised his forearm and activated his comm. “Hunter, diagnostics are showing this may take some time. If you want this done in short time, keep the interruptions to a minimum.” His tone was firm, ensuring no further disturbances would interfere.

It took only one more step for Tech to close the distance between you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure to guide you gently. Your body responded instinctively to his touch, moving backward until your legs hit the cot, prompting you to sit.

Tech towered over you momentarily before he angled his head back, taking in the sight of you sitting wide-eyed before him. His gaze was intense, yet there was a hint of wonder in his eyes as he processed this unusual situation.

With a gentle touch, he tilted your chin up with his forefinger, the air thickening between you. “If you wouldn’t mind…” His voice was low, almost a whisper as he moved to crouch, bringing himself to eye level with you. “Remove your pants, Sarad.”

His hand slid over your thigh, his thumb grazing perilously close to the apex of your legs. “If I am correct, I may be able to help with the discomfort you are feeling.” A confident smile played across his lips, adding to the mounting tension. With a teasing glint in his eyes, he added, “And I am seldom wrong.”

You swiftly removed your pants, and with Tech between your legs, he assisted as much as he could. The feel of his gloved fingers on your skin was unexpectedly intense, the fabric of his gloves somehow amplifying the heat rather than muting it.

Dressed only in your panties, you felt Tech’s focus shift as he noticed the wet spot forming on the fabric between your legs. His head remained still, but his eyes lifted to meet yours, his hand traveling up your thigh again.

His thumb brushed lightly over the wet spot and then slipped between the fabric and your skin right to the source of your wetness. His finger paused and his eyes widened slightly. “Just as I suspected.” It was all he said before he pushed his thumb into you.

A low whine escaped you and your head tilted back, overwhelmed by the sudden pressure. Noticing your reaction, Tech adjusted his approach, replacing his thumb with two fingers into the tender area, drawing your attention back to him sharply.

“Do not look away,” he instructed, his fingers moving with a deliberate, slow curl that echoed the steady cadence of his voice.

You inhaled sharply and found yourself gripping his shoulder. “Then give me more,” you managed, your voice a blend of challenge and plea.

Tech’s eyes widened again, his focus intensifying as he registered your reaction. He pulled his fingers from you, leaving you empty and wanting.

Using your knees for leverage, he shifted his position with the fluidity born of his training. He crawled on top of you, maintaining eye contact as you adjusted beneath him. You lay back with your spread legs on either side of him.

Tech lowered himself on top of you. Caging you in with a forearm resting next to your head, he ran a hand up your neck to lightly grip your face. “I assume you know what I’m going to do.”

Your hands move between you, pulling away his gear as your only response. “Don’t make me wait, Tech.”

A noise came from him, acknowledgement mixed with hunger, and he nodded. You worked him free of his pants, hand grazing over the length of him. He flinched at your touch, momentarily looking between you to where your hand worked on him.

He pulled one of your legs to hook around him and angled his hips to line up with your entrance. Feeling the tip of him rubbing against you, you tried for a view of it, but Tech’s hand found your face again. His thumb pulled at your lip, working your mouth slightly open.

“I already told you,” he grunted as the head of his cock pressed into you. “Eyes on me.”

When your eyes met again, Tech rolled the full length of himself into you. He filled and stretched you out, pushing into you even after being fully sheathed. The pressure he forced into you made you see stars and your hands gripped at his neck, working into his hair.

When he moved, it took everything in you to maintain the eye contact demanded of you. You wanted to lose yourself completely, but you stayed present, jaw opening more at Tech’s grip on your face.

“That’s a face I have not seen.” Tech commented, his voice slightly breathless as he increased the pace. “Show me more.”

As he worked deeper and faster into you, you convulsed around him and in response you felt him throb. Your eyes, that focused look that had entranced him so thoroughly, drove him into long hard thrusts to control his mounting ecstasy.

Your breathing became labored with his steady, relentless thrusting. You drug your nails over the back of his neck, pleading to him, “Tech, wait.”

“Negative,” he panted and, with a groan, changed his angle. His cock hit a soft spot into you, wracking you entirely with pleasure. The grip of your leg tightened around him, matching the squeezing grip you had around his cock.

For a moment, your eyes fluttered shut. The break in eye contact flared something in Tech. He needed your eyes on him. In the moment he thought he may never be able to stomach you looking at anything but him again.

Tech slammed his hips into you harder than before. Shoved deep inside you, he stilled and you arched at the ache of his cock rammed against your cervix. Your eyes flew back open and back to Tech.

“Tell me what you did.” Tech murmured, making you suck in a breath.

“I closed my eyes.”

He moved his hips back only slightly before ramming back inside of you. You moaned loudly against him. “What were you supposed to do?” Tech moved your face side to side, watching as your eyes stayed steady on him.

“Keep my eyes on you.” You said, practically on the verge of tears. You’d wanted this for so long, although this was more than anything you could have imagined. Barely able to keep a coherent thought, you worked your muscles tighter around him.

“Excellent.” He whispered, delighted at the submission you displayed. Tech receded from you and filled you again - over and over. He hadn’t missed the changes in you, the heightened pitch of your moans and the tension rippling through you, when he shifted his hips.

Maintaining that splendid angle, Tech pounded into you. A bit of your saliva dripped onto his thumb at your lip. Curiosity driving him further, he dipped his thumb into your mouth and roamed over your tongue.

The softness of your mouth around him and the moan it elicited from you drove him over the edge. He hadn’t anticipated you’d drive him into a near delirium.

“Sarad, I’m-”

“Do it,” You begged, already knowing what was coming. Your own release ready to unleash. “Please, Tech. I need you.”

Those three words sealed it. His thrusts became rapid and shallow until he grunted against you, completely losing himself inside of you.

You felt him spilling against you, each pulse of his cock releasing another wave of his seed. Your own orgasm squeezing out every desperate ounce of him until he went slack against you, his forehead resting against yours.

The look between you changed, softening. All the tension built up over your mission dissipated as you both relaxed into each other's arms. When his eyes roamed your face, you finally were allowed to do the same to him.

Pulling yourself up, you moved your mouth against his. The softness of the kiss almost working you up for another round.

Releasing your face, Tech pushed up to position himself upright. He righted his goggles on his face and fully took in the sight of you splayed out for him. His own fluids seeped out around his cock still buried inside of you. A satisfied smirk rested on his lips.

"Judging by your relaxed state, I'd say that was effective as anticipated.” He said, wiping the sweat on his face away with the back of his hand. “Comfortable now, aren’t you?”

The pleasant, delirious hum you managed told him all he needed to know. “We can always go again to test that theory.” You purred.

He chuckled, extending you a hand. “After we finish the diagnostics.”

[misswynters]

Fragmented Memory

[warning: pure angst and sadness, jace crying

[note | this is my first time writing pure angst… i think 💭 that’s crazy -anya

You woke up in the healer's tent, your head pounding and the world a blur. Faces hovered over you, but none of them sparked recognition. One face, however, stood out—a man with eyes filled with worry and pain.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, his voice trembling.

You searched your mind, but it was like grasping at shadows. "I... I don't know you," you stammered, guilt twisting in your chest as you saw his face fall.

"I'm Jacaerys," he said softly, tears brimming in his eyes. "We've been through so much together."

Despite his words, there was nothing—no spark of recognition, no comforting memory to hold onto. "I'm sorry," you whispered, hating the blank slate your mind had become.

In the days that followed, Jacaerys tried to rekindle your past by sharing stories and moments you had once cherished. He spoke of moonlit dances and whispered promises, but none of it brought back your memory. You tried to listen, to grasp at the fragments of your shared history, but it all felt distant and unreal.

One evening, as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of sorrow, Jacaerys sat beside you, holding your hand. "Even if you never remember," he said, his voice breaking, "I'll love you. I always will."

You squeezed his hand, a small gesture of comfort you couldn't fully comprehend. You wished you could be the person he remembered, the one he loved. But all you could offer was your presence, a shadow of who you used to be.

As the stars appeared, Jacaerys rested his head on your shoulder, the warmth of your body a bittersweet reminder of what you both had lost. He whispered stories of your past, of your first kiss under a starlit sky, of the promises you made by the roaring sea. His words were filled with love and longing, each one a dagger to your heart.

You could see the pain in his eyes every time he looked at you, the hope that flickered and died with each passing day. He spoke of your bravery in battle, of the way you held him when he cried, of the laughter you shared. But it all felt like someone else's life, someone else's love.

The next morning at the break of dawn, as the moonlight streamed through the tent, Jacaerys broke down, tears streaming down his face. "I miss you so much," he sobbed, his voice filled with anguish. "I miss us."

You held him, feeling his pain as if it were your own. You wished you could remember, to give him the solace he so desperately needed. But all you had were empty promises and a heart that ached for something you couldn't recall.

As the nights grew colder, you watched Jacaerys's hope slowly fade. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a deep, unrelenting sorrow. He stayed by your side, his love unwavering, but you could see the toll it took on him.

As the hours passed by, you looked at Jacaerys, his face etched with the lines of sleepless nights and endless worry. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice heavy with regret. "I'm sorry I can't remember."

He smiled weakly, a tear slipping down his cheek. "It's not your fault," he said softly. "I'll always love you, no matter what."

You pulled him close, wishing you could be the person he deserved. As you held him, you felt a faint flicker of something—perhaps a memory, or maybe just the ghost of a forgotten love. But it was enough to hold onto, even if it was fleeting.

In your mind, flashes of the battle came unbidden, chaotic and jumbled. You had ridden into the fray beside Jacaerys, your swords cutting through the enemy forces. The clash of steel and the cries of the wounded filled the air. It was in the midst of this chaos that it happened—a heavy blow to the back of your head. You had been thrown from your horse, the world spinning into darkness.

When you woke up, the memories of who you were, and who you loved, had vanished. Now, as Jacaerys held you, the echo of that fateful day lingered in your mind—a ghost of a past you couldn’t grasp, but one that had forever changed your future. Your heart aches and is missing something however you don’t know what that is. All you can hope is for your memory to come back, if that’s even possible.

[a/n: i let out a tear…

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @spn-obession @beebeechaos

banner: @cafekitsune

[catcze]

#WRIOTHESLEY — Butterflies

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

[ Typing… ] I will be so honest rn... if you don't like sappy lovesick shit you are going to cringe but if you DO like sappy lovesick shit 👀 say no more. He might be ooc but i do not care because i love him and I want him to love me 2 <3

“Hey Wrio?”

“Yes, my love?”

You’re not even sure if he’s fully awake. You don’t blame him if he isnt— it’s probably two-something in the morning and the both of you are neck-deep in the sheets of your bed. If anything, it’s a wonder why you’re still up.

“Nothing important, sorry,” you mumble, face buried in his chest. “Just… wondering about some things.”

“Like?”

Wriothesley’s hand rests on the expanse of your back, drawing slow, soothing shapes into your skin. When you glance up, his soft and sleepy expression greets you.

“Like… Like if you also get butterflies in your stomach and all that when you see me like... the way it is when I see you,” you admit quietly, snuggling closer, hoping to hide the expression on your face from his keen eyes.

There's a pause, and for a moment you wonder if you offended him somehow. An apology is hastily on the tip of your tongue, thinking that you'd crossed some unspoken line and had jeopardized everything.

But Wriothesley pulls you up and up before you can speak— far up enough on the pillow that you're now seeing him eye-to-eye instead of hiding in his chest. There's no anger or apprehension in his face, only a gentle fondness and the sweetest smile.

One of his hands cups your cheek and the other wraps around you, keeping you flush against him. His hands are so warm against you— so at odds with the alignment of his vision. Even his cool blue eyes are warm and soft when they connect with yours, enraptured by the sight before him.

Wriothesley's voice is a low murmur when he speaks, softened by affection. "My love, every time I see you, even in passing, it feels like my heart will beat right out of my chest. It's like the whole room just lights up and I can't see anything else but you, you know? You're in every one of my thoughts, every crevice of my heart, you wonderful thing. I take one look at you and I can never get enough."

He presses a kiss to each eyelid. His words are sweet like honey as he holds your face so gently in his palm. "I'm so devoted to you, darling. I could stare into these eyes for the rest of my life, and I would know the meaning of peace."

With one hand, he twines his fingers with yours, lifting your joined hands to his lips with reverence, and placing a kiss on the back of your hand. "Whenever I feel you under my palms, no matter how fleeting, I feel every single part of me come alive— as if you've sent sparks to me through your very finger tips."

Wriothesley's hand untangles from yours then, just so that he can guide it to rest on his chest, right above his heart. Even through the cotton of his sleep shirt, you can feel it racing under your palm. You glance up, and nearly buckle at the expression on his face. He is so, so in love with you— in every definition of the world, in every way that one person can fall in love. He smiles.

"My whole heart is yours. It beats and it sings and it aches all for you. Whenever you're nearby, I feel like I can't breathe and I can't think. All I want is to make you happy and to make sure that you are loved, and to offer you the world, should you ask me of it."

"So to answer your question—" With a grin, he ends with a peck on your lips, and his forehead pressed against yours. Under your palm, you can feel his heart skip a beat.

"Yes, honey. I do, in fact, get 'butterflies and all that' whenever I see you."

Taglist registration [ ! ]

[maryangelex]

Good for Me

Captain Price x f!Reader

Summary: You work in intel for Task Force 141 and work very closely with Captain Price. You’ve had a crush on the man for ages and he knows it. He’s turned you down many times knowing he’s way too old for you, except this time he give into temptation.

Warnings: nsfw, age gap, praise kink, p in v sex, fluff to smut, mutual pining, soft dom! price, creampie, smut with plot, unprotected sex, super long and not proofread, huge warning for extreme corniness.

A/N: me, personally, I’m a Simon ride or die bitch I literally only read Simon fanfics… but the abundance of price fanfics made me cave and now I finally get it, so I made this. Enjoy!!!!

You had been working as an intel officer for Task Force 141. This position granted you the pleasure of working with Captain Price very closely. The two of you made a good team and would even say you had a sort of friendship going on besides just being coworkers.

This proximity made things more intimate between the two of you, though. And you would be lying if you said you hadn’t sparked a crush pretty early on into your career with him.

Can anyone blame you, though? John was the full package; tall, handsome, occasionally made you laugh with what would be considered ‘dad jokes’, and he had a perfectly masculine and burly appearance that complimented his kind nature. All of which made you enamored, naughtily pining for him like a schoolgirl crushing on her teacher.

He knew this, of course. Not because he could tell but because you personally told him and continued to make passes at him, hoping he would change his mind and give you a chance. The first time you told him, he was taken off guard by it. A mix of surprise and disbelief, he thought you were kidding at first but you insisted you had no reason to lie. From then on, you two stayed on amicable terms and your crush became something he teased you about and that the two of you bantered together about. But you still clung to that crush, your feelings were never fleeting.

“‘Afternoon, Cap” you announced cheerily as you entered Price’s office with two mugs in hand “Brought ya tea!”

Price sat at his desk, head deep in paperwork, and returned the greeting with a sigh, barely looking up at you.

“Come on, lighten up and let’s take a break. Rome wasn’t built in a day and you sure as hell aren’t gonna finish that stack anytime soon.”

He plopped the file down to the side of his table, away from his sight as he let out a sigh and reclined in his chair, finally looking at you he said “Cheers, doll” as he took the mug in his hand. He took a sip of the contents in the cup and let out a satisfied hum along with a chuckle.

“Just how you like it,” you said taking a sip of your own.

“You just know me so well,” he smiled.

You chatted lightheartedly with him, the usual for how your conversations went with him unless there was a professional matter to discuss. Somehow the conversation came to be about how Price had never been married at his age and you playfully teased him about not settling down.

“I was almost married once,” he sighed, “but my work got in the way, she couldn’t handle the time apart and I don’t blame her for it”. He shrugged it off, a subject that was way in the past for him so no use dwelling on it.

“Well, I work with you so not much distance to worry about” you teased leaning forward to put your elbows on his desk sitting across from him on the other side of it.

“Plus I make you the perfect tea! I’m basically the perfect candidate to be your wife”

“You’ve got a point” he said with a light chuckle, followed by a sigh “I’m just too old for ya, kid”

The room fell silent as you looked down at your fingers rimming the now empty cup. You felt his gaze on him, as if he knew what you were thinking and was waiting for your response.

“Just give me a chance, John” you said looking back at him, meeting his gaze with your slightly pleading one. You knew you looked desperate and naive, but it had just been too long a game of cat and mouse and it wasn’t lighting up for you. You had tried getting over this crush for months, sleeping with other soldiers on the base, going out in various one-time dates. But all you could think about was Price, how it should’ve been him all along, how he’s the right one and all the others felt just so wrong.

Truth be told, Price secretly reciprocated the feelings. He had come to terms with it months ago after he realized you really were perfect and that a connection between the two of you very much existed. You had been occupying his thoughts a bit too often on a daily basis, and there had been times when he had given in on his late night temptations but felt guilty right after.

“It’s 10 years apart, love” he gave you a pained look.

“Who cares, John? I certainly don’t. Hell, my parents are years apart as well and no one gives a shit,” definitely not 10 years apart but you withheld that information from him.

“I’m your superior, doll, and I’m much older than you. It’s just not right.”

You stared at him with wide, beseeching eyes, as if you were gonna start tearing up. But you let out a sigh and shook your head at yourself. You smiled at him, feigning happiness and moved on from the conversation. He returned the smile knowing you were showing him a sign that you wanted to pretend that never happened, same as always, same as all the times he had turned you down before for the same concern about being too old for you.

The next morning was like every other morning. You had let the subject hide at the back of your mind, ignored it as best as you could. As always, it lingered and haunted you, but you continuously evaded it in your mind. Waiting for it to pass like a light cold.

You entered your office ready to start your day, to deal with papers upon papers, report to Price, and have the same chats and laughs with him as every other day that had gone by. Except as soon as you entered your office, an arrangement of flowers stood out like a sore thumb in the center of your work desk.

Asters, baby’s breaths, begonias, and dark pink carnations. You rolled your eyes as you approached it, thinking it was probably one of the soldiers you had most recently gone out with trying to get your attention after a mediocre date. You took the note that stuck out from the bouquet and read:

See you tonight at 8? Meet me in the parking lot.

Dress pretty for me, doll.

Check ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

Return to sender.

-John.

You read it over and over again, feeling like your eyes were deceiving you. Well, you only knew of one John that called you ‘doll’, and you only knew one John who would do something this corny. But that same John was the one that had frequently expressed platonic feelings for you. Still, you clung onto hope that it really was from him. You ticked the box labeled ‘yes’ on the silly piece of paper, and couldn’t help the beat your heart skipped or the red staining your cheeks as you did so.

Later that day, you walked down the hallway of the base, heading to Price’s office to drop off the files you needed to report to him, and the note rested snug in your pocket. You debated whether you should bring it up, maybe it wasn’t him after all and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself to him more than you did on a daily occurrence. You entered his office and greeted him like always, placing the files on his desk. He greeted you and acknowledged you with a smirk plastered on his face.

“Thanks, love.” Price cleared his throat, “You got anything else for me?” He looked at you with raised brows expectantly.

So it was him, you thought. Your eyes lit up and your face turned scarlet. An involuntary smile crept up on your face, and you dug into your pocket for the note. You placed it on the table face down and without saying anything to him, you turned on your heels and walked speedily out of his office.

Price chuckled to himself and shook his head as he read the contents of the note.

You followed his written commands that night: dressed up at 8. You wore a satin slip dressed that hadn’t been worn to any of your previous rendezvous, as if it had been tucked away in waiting to be worn just for him. You waited in the parking lot like he instructed you and you were checking every second that ticked on your wrist watch, your breath hitching with each one. Until you saw him approach you, dressed in his civies; tight-fitting black shirt and jeans. The shirt contoured every bulging muscle in his body, solid and toned; his jeans fitting like a glove, a little too well in certain places.

He raked his eyes along your body in the light colored satin dress that clung to your body in all the right ways, eyeing you like you were a finely carved sculpture at a museum.

“You look stunning, love” he cooed, then extended his arm for you. “Shall we?”

You laced your arm around his bicep letting him escort you, your smile never leaving your face.

He took you to a bar you both had visited before with the rest of the team. This time it was just the two of you sitting in an isolated, dimly lit booth; a more romantic atmosphere than you had experienced previously the times you had been there with a group of drunken men.

The liquor you two ingested throughout the night was abundant, and it’s effects definitely reflected on you more than him. Your cheeks were burning red with alcohol and your movements were loose and fluid with him. You were carefree and loud and he loved every second of it, definitely getting a good amount of laughs from him. Although you two already had a fair amount of chemistry, courage was a real thing with you; you didn’t feel the slightest bit of shame or shyness with him tonight.

And he was enjoying himself just as much. The thought of how much he had been missing out on for rejecting you sporadically crossed his mind. He thought about how good you were as company, cherished you two’s daily routine, about how much he had been depriving himself of by not letting himself admit to you how he really felt.

Towards the end of the night your table was adorned with evidence of how much you two had drank and a sign that it was time you got back.

“Alright, that’s enough for ya,” he said sliding out of the booth, reaching his hand out for you to follow him. “Don’t want you getting too pissed, yeah?”

You laughed, taking the hand he held out to you and stepping out of the booth. You were tipsy but had control over yourself.

Once you exited the bar, you and Price idled outside before going back to the base, as he put a cigar to his lip and lit it. You watched him intently, observing how the cigar clung to his lips, how his lips wrapped around it.

“What made you change your mind?” You asked as you leaned against the wall next to you. He looked at you, taking a drag and exhaling it.

“Dunno,” he began “wanted to give you a chance, like you said.”

“What’s your verdict?”

He took a moment as he gathered his thoughts, taking another drag and looking into your eyes. He reached his arm to you, his knuckle brushed against your cheek. You leaned into his touch.

“Been missing out on how good you can make me feel. Denied myself the joy of having you around like this…closer than when we’re in the office” He spoke earnestly, taking the cigar from his lips and maintaining it in his hand as he gazed into your eyes.

You took a step closer to him, your eyes never diverting away from his. He stepped closer to you as well.

In his mind, a voice told him this was a mistake. He was your superior, he was much older than you, this would never work out, and you were going to end up hurt. But a louder, more indulgent voice told him to get closer and closer to you, to place his hand on your waist and pull you closer.

Your eyes were dilated in the dimly lit back of the bar and his were dark blue pools that drowned you. You were pulled closer to him, snaking your hand up the arm that pulled you.

“So what happens next?” You asked in a soft and anticipatory voice.

“Do you want this?” He asked, almost a whisper.

You nodded, still not breaking eye contact. Your bodies were flush against each other by this point and your palms laid on his burly chest.

With that confirmation, Price leaned forward and his lips graced against yours. They were plump and soft, his beard and mustache caressing your soft skin as he pressed his lips with yours.

The kiss was longing yet tender and shy simultaneously. He pulled back slightly and leaned back in, this time his lips were slightly parted, hugging yours when they joined again. Your hands slid up his chest to around the back of his neck, entwining into the hair on his nape. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his body melding with yours, one of his hand snaked up your back as the other shifted slightly lower towards your hips, towards the small of your back.

He pulled back, face still centimeters from yours and his eyes meeting yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours. One of his hands came up to cup your face, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone, before his lips clashed against your own once more. This time, it was more filled with passion, more desire and less reservation. You held your breath as he kissed you, gripping his hair between your fingers and kissing him back just as fervently.

He took another step towards you, guiding your body against the wall behind you. His lips massaged against yours, opening your lips slightly as his tongue pried into your mouth. You welcomed it with the tip of your own, a pleased hum escaping your throat at the feeling.

His body was pressed against yours and your body was against the wall as he held you close and gripped your body, as if you would disappear if he didn’t hold you any tighter. The two of you broke away momentarily to catch your breaths before you leaned back in with force and desperation, this time he was the one letting out a pleasured groan. Both of his hands ran down the side of your body as if you were a piece of clay being sculpted on a pottery wheel, then reached for your ass, tightly gripping it, and making you moaned within the kiss.

The sound increased his desire for you, and you could tell not just by the force of his movements and his kisses, but because of the stiffness in his jeans. A hand now slid up your thigh and under the hem of your dress, slightly lifting it against him with a firm grip.

“John…” you moaned between his lips, your hand ran down his front and in between the two of you down to his crotch. You palmed his stiff manhood through his jeans and he let out a groan in response.

“Fuck, baby…” he exhaled, breaking the kiss momentarily “Not here.”

You looked at him puzzled, blown pupils and out of breath.

“You deserve to be fucked properly, sweetheart, not here in this alley. I need to fuck you right…in my bed” he whispered sultrily against your lips before planting a gentle kiss.

He took you into his room, barely able to take his hands off you on the way there. He kissed you deeply and sloppily, too desperate and hard by this point. You couldn’t complain, though, your panties felt soaked and uncomfortable, your pussy desperate for him to touch it.

You stood with him at the foot of his bed. His kisses were messy and wet, his hands groping every bit of your body. He kneaded your ass and slid up your front up to your breasts, cupping each mound of soft flesh in his large calloused hands. His fingers ran under the thin straps of your dress and he slid them down your shoulders and arms, letting the dress fall to the floor with ease, and leaving you in nothing but your white lacy panties. He pulled back to admire your bare body. God, the amount of times he had imagined what it looked like under your clothes, how many times he had fucked into his fist in the late nights that he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head no matter how hard he tried. He devoured you with his eyes, then his hands returned to cup your breasts, gripping them with care and adoration, your nipples being taken between his index and middle finger.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. Your perfect tits…you’re so fucking perfect” he cooed, his words eliciting a moan from you and a palpitation in between your legs.

“Lay down for me, yeah?”

You complied, letting yourself onto the bed behind you. He palmed himself through his jeans as he looked down at you. He had you right where he wanted you, splayed out in his sheets ready, inviting him to fuck you. He crawled on top of you, your hands reaching to touch his torso. Your hands gripped at the hem of his shirt and hiked it up, silently signally for him to take it off, and he complied, kneeling over you as he tugged the shirt off his back.

Fuck, he was something else. He was godly and sculpted, he belonged in an art exhibit. As he sat back on his haunches and in between your legs, you ran your hands down his toned body, from his chest down to his abdomen and lower to his v-line, arriving at the waistband of his jeans.

“I need you, John,” you practically moaned. “Please”

“You need me, huh?” He smirked. “Go on then, love, ‘s all yours.”

You bit your lip and fumbled to unbutton his jeans, your hands shaky with a mix of shyness and excitement. He took your hands in his and helped you slide the zipper down, then helped you tug his jeans down and maneuvered himself out of them, now staying in his boxers. His length was explicitly contoured by the fabric of his underwear. It was obscene how big and girthy he was, your mouth and pussy watered at the sight. You stroked him through his boxers and he rutted against your hand.

“Come on, sweetheart, take it” he encouraged you, placing his hand on yours and rubbing it on himself, a low groan escaping his lips.

You pulled his boxers down, his cock springing free, and your heart skipped a beat. You had no idea how you’d be able to take that length. He smiled as if he could read your thoughts.

“Stroke it, love, go on.”

And you complied, wrapping your dainty fingers around his cock, making him sigh and cuss under his breath at the feeling of your gentle hands.

You tugged at it, stroking your hands up and down from tip to base. Your thumb rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock, smearing the precum emerging from his slit. His eyes were on you the whole time, his breath ragged and his hips moving rhythmically with your slow strokes.

He reached down to you and took each of your thighs into his hands, spreading your legs open for him to accommodate himself between them. He leaned his body down, his face close to yours as he collided his lips with yours once more. He trailled his tongue from your lips, down to your chin, neck and sternum. His hands moved from your thighs to your breasts, kneading one in one hand, and took the other in his mouth.

He alternated between lapping at the sensitive buds and sucking the mounds, making you mewl and throw your head back at the sensation. The hand that was stroking him joined the other one at tugging the hair on his head to ground yourself.

His hands were all over you before they returned to grip your thighs; his mouth followed the same route, running down your abdomen before he settled cozily between your legs. He looked up at you as he left kisses and nips on the sensitive skin in your inner thighs. His eyes were dark and gleaming with pleasure. You looked like a mess wiggling under his touch, you couldn’t wait for him to finally take your panties off and taste you.

“You wore these for me, hm, baby?“ he rubbed your pussy through the lacy fabric as he looked up at you. “Were you thinking of me fucking you the whole night?”

You nodded shamelessly and it elicited a chuckle from him. “You’re a little slut, aren’t you? Wearing these for me, anticipating for me to fuck you.”

He tugged the panties down your legs, gripping them in his fist as he smelled and tasted the saturated crotch. He let out a satisfied hum before settling them on the other side of the bed. His hand now reaching for your bare pussy, running his thick fingers between your slick wet folds.

“So fuckin’ wet f’me and I’ve barely gotten started”

You moaned desperately at his slow and teasing touch, wiggling your hips to get more friction, but he stopped you by gripping your hips with his other hand.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart, you’re gonna be a good girl and stay still for me” he scolded you as he moved his fingers painfully slow, coating himself in your slick. You obeyed him, like the good girl he wanted you to be for him.

Because you were so obedient and docile, he rewarded you by rubbing his index and middle finger over your throbbing clit, making you suck in a breath and let out a moan. He rubbed the bundle of nerves with his wet fingers, slowly yet with the perfect amount of pressure, it made your eyes shut and your pussy flutter, getting impossibly wetter.

Price was watching every movement you made, his eyes alternating between looking up at you and back down at the sight of your glistening pussy and how his fingers looked on it.

He slid both digits inside your hole at a burning slow pace. The sensation of your hole stretching at the entrance and your walls clenching around them once he was in there made his dick twitch.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby, your pussy’s taking my fingers so well. So fuckin’ warm and tight.” He pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, at first slowly and then increasing his pace little by little. It made you moan in blissful pleasure, your back arching off the mattress, making Price’s grip on your hip increase.

“Remember, doll; be a good girl for me and I’ll reward ya, ‘kay?” He warned, stilling his fingers inside you “Don’t make me have to punish you”

You nodded complacently. “ ‘M sorry, John” you pleaded.

He let out a small chuckle as he kissed your inner thigh again, whispering “that’s my girl” against your skin. He returned to pumping his fingers inside you, his pace increasing. His fingers curled inside you, pressing the spot within you that made you see stars. He played with your pussy so expertly, as if he knew his way around your body like a map he had memorized. He whispered praises as he fucked his fingers into you. You moaned like a madwoman overwhelmed with pleasure, your walls clenching and pulsating against his fingers.

He watched you unravel for a bit, before moving his face close to your pussy, sticking out his tongue to lap at your clit with his fingers slowing down their pace in and out of you. His tongue was flat, lapping at your stimulated clit at the rhythm of his fingers. It made you borderline scream and clamp down on his fingers.

“J-John, please!” You pleaded, not knowing at what, maybe pleading for him to have some mercy on you and grant you release. It drove him crazy to hear you say his name, sending a shock straight to his cock, motivating to lick and suck on your clit and his fingers fucked you harder and faster.

You were right there, right there, right at the verge of cumming. His other hand that once had a firm grip on your hip now loosened and let go, migrating to play with one of your breasts.

Now free, you rutted your hips against his mouth, his beard and mustache were coated in your juices that you smeared the more you moved on him. He moaned against your pussy and at the sensation of one of your hands tugging at his hair. Your other hand found itself gripping the sheets next to you. You were a mess of moans and begs for John to let you cum.

“Cum for me, darling, come on. Be a good fucking girl and cum for me, princess” he said against your pussy before returning to devour it.

You felt the pressure in your stomach well up, overwhelming you until you snapped and broke euphorically. You choked out a final moan as your back arched up against the mattress, your thighs closing around Price’s head; pussy clasping around his fingers and juices spilling out onto his face. You let out a sob as you came undone.

Price looked up at you, leaving kisses on your pussy as he removed his fingers from you.

“Atta girl,” he said softly. “You’re so perfect when you cum for me, love”

You were breathless and your mind was in a haze. You felt Price scale up your body and place his wet mustache against your cheek, planting a gentle kiss on it. You faintly heard him praise you, how good you did for him, how perfect you were.

“Look at me, darling,” he said as his hand grasped your jaw and turned your face to look at him, your eyes fluttered open and gazed at his with blown, dazed pupils.

“Will you give me another one, baby? You gonna let me fuck you once more?”

You nodded drunkenly and exhausted, “Y-yes… fuck me, John”

He smiled at you kindly, stroking your face with his hand and whispering “you’re so good for me, sweet girl”

He reached down to pump his painfully hard cock with the hand that was coated in your slick, letting out a soft moan, and aligned the tip at your entrance. His body weighed on yours, the two of you perfectly snug against each other. Your hands rested on the sides of your head on the bed and your legs were spread open for him, his body nestled between them. Slowly, he pushed his thick length into you, splitting you open. Your mouth fell open with a slow moan emerging from you. He moaned in unison with you at the feeling of your cunt encapsulating his yearning cock.

His forehead rested against yours, and the hand on your jaw moved to your neck, comfortably resting on it as he bottomed out into you, slowly and steadily. Once he was completely inside you, his pelvis flush against your clit, he stayed still for a moment, feeling how your walls fluttered around his cock.

Then, he began to thrust and gyrate his hips into you, at first slowly and then picking up the pace. You were still high off the first orgasm and your cunt was overstimulated by the new intrusion of Price’s cock. You were in overwhelming pleasure, clenching your cunt with every thrust from Price. Your eyes were locked with his, listening to his soft panting breaths that matched your own. You laid there taking his cock, feeling like you had died and gone to Heaven.

As you regained more of your conscience and strength, your arms rose and rested on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and holding him close. His free hand grabbed your thigh and wrapped it around him, granting him a deeper angle within you, making you moan as his cock hit that spot inside you once more.

You already felt the second wave washing over you. The feeling of him thrusting his cock inside of you was euphoric. The way his body moved against yours, how his hands held your body so tightly and bruising, the sound of his pants and choked out moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin. This is all you’ve been wanting all this time. You had been waiting for him to fuck you silly since the moment you met him, since you realized how desperate and infatuated you were with him. And now you had him, chasing his release, fucking you perfectly and hungrily. It made your heart race and your ears ring, your skin covered in goosebumps, your stomach tying into a knot as another orgasm built up inside of you.

“I’m close, baby,” he moaned against your lips, hands firmly gripping your hips as he pound against you.

“Cum inside me, John” you begged breathlessly “make me yours, please”

It drove him crazy to hear you beg like this, making him ram his cock into you relentlessly.

“You’re mine, Y/N” he growled “You’re only fuckin’ mine, my perfect girl”

His words and the speed and depth of his fucking made you see white again. Your second orgasm hit you like a truck as you clenched around his cock firmly, moaning against his mouth, legs shaking in his grasp.

The tightness of your pussy made him snap, shooting hot shots of cum into you. He moaned in unison with you, trembling and hips faltering as he flooded your insides.

The two of you came in tandem, holding each other tightly as you came down from your mutual highs. He kept slowly and messily pounding into you, stuffing his cum into you.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he sighed “so full with my cum. My girl takes my cock so well, so good for me.” He said as he peppered kisses over your sweaty face, stroking your hair with the hand that once held your neck.

You hummed at his words “all yours, John, ‘m all yours”. You were breathless and cockdrunk, your limbs going limp on the mattress. He chuckled softly at your words, his cock falling out of you and his fingers reaching down to stuff his escaping cum back into you, making you wince at the sensation.

He got off the bed, heading to the en suite bathroom to clean himself and coming back to wipe in between your legs with a damp wash cloth. You let him take care of you giving him an appreciative hum. He smiled at you as he did so, whispering praises. When he finished you rolled into a comfortable position in the bed, feeling the bed sink as his body came to join yours. He big spooned you, embracing you tightly against him. His hand pet your hair, fingers tucking the loose strands behind your ear. You fell asleep under his touch and he watched you, feeling smitten with you in his arms.

A/N: this word count is fucking CRAZY!!! I’m sorry for the length yall I got carried away. But if you’re here, hope you enjoyed!!!! Love ya <3

P.S. for funsies, look up the meaning of the flowers in the arrangement for extra corniness.