#and i have been pushed far past my limits for over a year

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

me: oh my god i have so much school stuff to do, it's so unfair that they dump an unreasonable amount of work on us and then expect us to be able to keep up with it when we simply don't have the time

also me: *spends an entire day watching youtube*

[moinsbienquekaworu]

The absolute indignity of begging uni administration for extensions and redos. The needle to thread between "I am doing so poorly please just give me this I'm at the fucking end of my rope" and "promise it's just right now though I'm going to get soo much better and be so normal for next time it's just this once". The way I'm sent into horrendous spirals about my self-worth and future every time I have a deadline.

[paarksunghoon]

Okay okay hear me out cuz I haven't stopped thinking about this. Sitting on boyfriend heeseung's lap and playing with his neck chain, giggling to yourself, telling him that you really like when he wears it. When he asks why, you shyly tell him that you imagine it dangling on your face while he's on top of you. And he loses his goddamn mind. ARGH

It’s kinda my dream for this to happen to me. bye

***

Neither you nor Heeseung are paying attention to the shitty movie playing on Netflix. You’re too preoccupied with chasing his lips and he’s too busy squeezing your hips to care that the film is halfway over.

It’s been like this for the past few minutes or so with your boyfriend, who you had been crushing on since the beginning of the year and him just a few months shy of that. It’s new, maybe only a week or so into this new relationship, but the newfound romance sparks curiosity within you.

His silver necklace has a small pendant in the middle and the chain against his skin makes him look like walking sex. Heeseung is far more experienced than you are, having gone through a phase in college where all he wanted to do was get his dick wet and make as many girls cum on his mouth, fingers, and cock before finally realizing all he wanted to do was settle down with one person.

His kisses are always so deliberate and calculated like he’s trying to prove something to you. His hands don’t wander for the fear of making you uncomfortable because he knows you aren’t as forward with your romantic past. Sex positivity and all of that; neither of you really care about how many or how little people you’ve collectively hooked up with because none of that matters when you have each other.

Still, thinking about how you paint yourself as some kind of saint makes Heeseung want to test your limits and it makes his dick jump every time he thinks about it.

The farthest you’ve gone was dry humping in his dorm room when his roommate was gone for the weekend. Again, this whole relationship is new and neither of you care to rush yourselves into it because you were friends before you became a couple. But even so, he has needs and so do you. It’s just a matter of pursuing sex when it feels right.

Heeseung feels your fingertips playing with the chain against the back of his neck. He smiles into the kiss and soothes your skin with his thumb, pulling back only slightly until his lips rest against yours.

“You like my necklace, baby?” he asks in a soft whisper, enjoying your plump lips against his. A giggle bubbles out of you and you can’t stop it. The sound reverberates against his mouth and Heeseung smiles wider, pushing his lips against yours. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head and peck him once. “Nothing. You look pretty with it on.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your fingers caress the metal and his skin at the same time. “I really like it when you wear it.”

“Why’s that, baby?”

“I dunno.” You lean back and look at him, shrugging your shoulders like you want to say something more but don’t. “I just do.”

“C’mon. There must be a reason.” Heeseung squeezes your hips and smiles at you lazily. He watches you bite your lip and avert his eyes. So fucking cute.

“I’m too shy to say it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Heeseung promises, leaning forward to kiss your cheek tenderly. He waits for you to look at him and encourages you to talk to him by nodding. That heat creeps up your neck.

“I-I imagine it dangling over me sometimes.”

Heeseung’s hands freeze and grip your hips. “What do you mean?” You look behind him before he beckons you to look at him again.

“I…think about you on top of me with your necklace in my face.”

He gulps. “What are we doing?”

“Having sex.”

You say it so quietly. It’s barely a whisper but the way you say it makes you sound like being fucked is something you think about often. The gears in his head turn and he’s thinking about all of the mental images he’s conjured up in his head when he touches himself to avoid putting you on the spot whenever he gets horny.

But now it’s as if the gates are open. His mind is flooded with different scenarios but he can’t stop picturing what you’d look like underneath him, specifically with his necklace dangling over your tits as he pushes his cock into you for the first time.

“Heeseung?” you ask tentatively, afraid that you might’ve taken things too far.

Your boyfriend catches you by surprise. He bucks his already semi-hard dick up into your clothed lap and a groan emits from the back of his throat.

“Fuck.”

He scoops you up in his arms and ignores your yelp in favor of carrying you to the bedroom with your legs wrapped securely around him. Neither of you care that the TV is still on. Heeseung can only think about what you’d look like with his pendant right next to your mouth.

“I need to fuck you right now,” Heeseung moans when he places you onto the mattress and pushes his clothed dick against your core. “Need to see that right now.”

You don’t complain.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[bloodibambiidoll]

What would happen if weird!girl was there during the scene with Hollis instead of Sophia?

(This is based off two asks I got. One about weird!girl finally clapping back & one about her being there during this scene. Also thank you for being so patient with me ik it’s been a while since I posted about them !!) Jealously/possessiveness, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, mentions of weird!girl & another man in the past, breeding kink 18+

You know it’s absolutely irrational to be as pissed off as you are right now. But watching Hollis bat her spider leg eyelashes and pucker her years full of filler smudged red lips at your fiancé while she leans over the table with her tits pushed out is making you want to rip her head off. At the beginning of you and Rafe’s relationship you probably would’ve ran in the bathroom and cried because you didn’t feel like you were right for him. You’re not that girl anymore. Rafe has given you so much confidence and security that now you’re walking toward them with a smug smile painted on your face. Everyone on the island knows you and Rafe are engaged and if she thinks you’re going to let her walk all over you like some scared little girl she can think the fuck again.

Your platform boots click against the stone floor as you march across the outdoor seating area with a purpose. Rafe’s scotch is clutched tightly in your ringed hand and the cold condensation on the glass is a welcome cool in comparison to the fire in your veins. Your tiny black dress whooshes as you walk, the slight breeze kicking it up just enough to almost show your ass that’s covered in Gucci fishnets. You’re sick and tired of everyone walking all over you. Men scoff at you and look down on Rafe for being with you. Women constantly flirt with him in front of you like you’re not even there and you’re at your limit. You slide your way under your fiancé’s arm and tuck yourself into his side before holding his drink to him.

“Here’s your drink, baby.” You look up at him with a devilish little smirk and he sends you one of those signature Rafe Cameron smirks right back. His eyes flash from your own to your lips to your tits before he grabs the glass from your hand and places a kiss on your temple.

“Aww, who’s this?” Hollis breaks you and Rafe out of your bubble, making you snap your head toward her with a look that could kill.

“You’re joking, right?” You scoff, and push past Rafe so you can get right up in her face. You paint a condescendingly sweet smile on your lips as your eyes roam over her form. It’s obvious her days as resident cougar are numbered, the build up of Botox is starting to make her face look puffy and that lipstick looks awful with her skin tone. She even has a little bit smeared on her teeth and you can tell she’s slightly tipsy.

“Not only have I lived on this island my entire fucking life, I used to fucking take care of your dogs when you and your husband - oops I mean, ex husband used to go on your little vacations.” You cup your hand onto the side of your cheek and lean in even closer to her so you can whisper-yell in her ear. “You know, before you cheated on him so much he couldn’t take it anymore. Such a waste really, he’s such a sweet, handsome man…”

“Excuse me?” Hollis quickly leans back and scoffs, her hand flying to her chest as if you hit her. Her eyes show a flash of hurt before hardening. “You really ought to learn some respect, young lady. I don’t think you realize what kind of pull I have around here. I could ruin you.” Her lips wear a sinister smile that you assume she thinks is threatening but it just makes you laugh.

“No, I think you need to learn some respect, actually.” You return her smile, but yours is far more sinister than anything she could ever muster up because the minute that Stanley Kubrick esc grin stretches across your lips the one on her own drops and she takes a step back. But you just take a step forward, staying inches away from her face while you tilt your head to the side. “Everyone on this goddamn island already can’t stand me. And they all know Rafe Cameron is mine. But only you and I know that Mr. Robison sought comfort in a young, tight, pussy when you first started stepping out on him.”

“You really are and always have been such a vile little girl.” She sneers down at you and you know you hit the exact nerve you were aiming for. “Jealousy really isn’t a cute look, by the way, dear.”

“It’s not jealousy. It’s possession.” Hollis has gradually been taking steps back from you as the conversation has gone on but you close the distance between the two of you so you can lean up and whisper directly in your ear. “Now get the fuck away from my man before I choke you so hard your eyes pop out of your skull.”

“Ugh! You are a psychotic little bitch!” Hollis stomps her red bottom heeled foot onto the ground with a low growl before turning and stomping off.

“Whose acting like a little girl now!” You yell after her with a laugh and it earns you a glare over her shoulder that you return with laughter. You’re still practically cracking up when you turn to face Rafe who is staring down at you like a deer caught in the headlights. “You good baby? Thought you’d be proud of me.” You pout and your boyfriend's expression hardens as he grabs your wrist and pulls your body flush against his own.

“Oh, bats. I’m proud of you for standing on business, but…” Rafe's large hand grabs onto the back of your neck as leans down so he can practically growl into your ear. “You have some serious fuckin’ explaining to do. Mr. Robinson, huh? You fuck him?”

“And if I did? That was literally years ago before you ever thought twice about me, I think you’ll live.” Your voice holds a hint of defiance that you know for a fact is going to get your ass handed to you very shortly but if you’re being honest, that’s exactly what you want. It’s been a minute since you got Rafe riled up enough to fuck you until you can’t walk.

“You are so fucked. Car. Now. Start walking.”

-

“Tell me whose fuckin’ pussy this is.” Rafe has you bent over the arm of your expensive leather couch while his cock pounds deep into your dripping walls and his large palm shoves your face into the cushion below you. He ripped your dress over your head and tore your brand new gucci tights open at the crotch the minute he got you through the door. Your ass is beat red and decorated with welts the shape of his designer belt, your drool is dripping down your chin and your vision is blurry from your mascara running down your eyes. He fucking loves you like this.

“It’s yours! My whole body belongs to you, daddy!” The attitude you had earlier on in the night is starting to slip and you’re getting to the point that all you want is to come on Rafe’s cock as many times as he will allow you to. And so far? He’s been edging you for the last forty minutes.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right. You’re my little whore.” Rafe’s fingers lace through your hair, his nails scratching your scalp as he gathers the strands between his digits and pulls them tight so he can yank your head back. He uses his grip for leverage as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. “Don’t wanna think about any other man touching you. Especially not some old fuck. As far as I’m fuckin’ concerned you were a virgin when we met.”

“Well, I wasn’t even close… Does that make you mad, daddy?” You let out a borderline evil chuckle as you let your tongue lull from your mouth while you look over your shoulder at him. His blue eyes are practically black from how dilated his pupils are, his nostrils are flared, and his lips are set into a snarl. You can’t help it that you love him like this. “Does it just drive you crazy that you’re not the only dick that’s been in this tight little pussy?”

“Shut your bratty little mouth, did I not beat that ass hard enough yet, huh? Do I need to pull out and make you watch me jerk off while I nut all over your dumb little face and leave you with nothing but a mess to clean up?” Rafe’s nails dig deeper into your scalp when his grip on your hair tightens. He pulls your back flush against his chest while his hips plow into yours, his thick cock stretching you out over and over with each thrust.

“What about you, huh?” You lace your arm around Rafe’s neck so you can drag your pointed nails down his skin. “Resident man slut? This all started because you were letting that dumb old bag fawn all over you with her tits in your face.”

Rafe pulls out of you and uses your hips to flip you onto your back. Your legs are dangling over the arm of the couch and your top half is bent flat against the cushion, propping your hips up so your pussy is on display to him. He lands a smack on your sopping wet cunt that verberates through the room and you barely have time to process before he’s dealing you with another one. His broad frame looms over you when he leans down to grip onto your throat and pin you to the plush leather.

“I was just appeasing her cause’ she was offering me a way I could make us more money.” He hits your pussy again before landing harsh smacks on your clit in succession. Rafe’s palm cups your cunt and he uses the heel of it to rub your clit roughly while he squeezes your throat so tight you see stars. He toys with your entrance with his thick fingers and then spreads your juices on his shaft. He pumps himself a few times before slamming back inside of you in one thrust. “You really think I’d ever trade this perfect fuckin’ cunt for anything in the world? You think you can go around talking about fucking men old enough to be your dad in front of me and not expect me to mark my territory? I’m gonna cover you in my fuckin’ cum.”

“Sounds like somebody is jealous.” You lick your lips and smile widely up at him while the hand on your throat makes your vision go fuzzy. The sound that leaves Rafe is near animalistic, he grips onto your thigh with his free hand and pins it to the arm of the couch. It spreads you wide and gives him the perfect view of his thick cock covered in your creamy juices as it slams inside you over and over again.

“It’s not jealousy, it’s possession.” Rafe mocks your words from earlier, his hand nearly cutting off your air supply before letting go and grabbing onto the back of your hair. He uses his grip to yank you up off the cushion and force your head down until you can see where you’re connected. His thrusts never falter as he manhandles you like a ragdoll.

“You see that shit? See your greedy little pussy swallowing my dick like it was made for her? Tell daddy again who owns that shit. Drop the attitude and tell me you’re my fuckin’ whore if you wanna come.”

“I’m your whore! Please let me come!” You whine as you writhe beneath him, your final resolve leaving you when he grabs onto both your wrists, suspending your back off the couch as he uses his grip on you to pull you back to meet his rapid thrusts.

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re my perfect little fuck doll. Mine to use, as I please, when I please.” You wrap your legs around his hips to pull him impossibly deeper and it has him growling and twitching inside you. “You gonna be a good girl and take my fuckin’ cum? Let me put a baby in you so all these bitches really know who you belong to?”

“Yes, fuck! Please give me your cum, wanna make you a daddy!” Rafe lets your body fall back down onto the couch so he can lean over you with his hands on either side of your head as he pumps his hips deep and hard into you. The angle has him hitting deeper than ever and each glide of his hips has his skin rubbing against your throbbing clit.

“Come on my cock, milk that shit, baby.” It’s like your body is programmed to listen to his words because that’s all it takes to have your walls pulsing around him as you gush around his thick shaft. You lean up and bite his chest before sucking hard on his skin, marking your territory. A few more rough thrusts of his hips and Rafe is coming right along with you. “Such a good girl, such a perfect, tight, pussy. Gonna give you a fuckin’ baby.” He babbles as his cock twitches inside of you and fills you with ropes of his cum. When he comes down from his high his body slumps against yours, his huge frame pining you awkwardly to the couch.

“Fuck.” You giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck and run your nails along his buzzed head. “That was so hot. But, you’re crushing me with your giant fucking body.”

“Yeah? I think you deserve it. I don’t think that was punishment enough for fucking Mr. Robinson before we ever got together.” Rafe groans dramatically as he lets more of his weight crush you.

“Well. I think you’ll be delighted to know that I never fucked him.” You say it in a sing-song tone that has Rafe’s head shooting up and his blue eyes locking with yours. “We just sexted. She found the pics on his phone and lost her shit.”

“Oh! You are such a little shit!” He pushes himself up off the couch and points down at you in mock accusation. “You let me think you fucked him so I would beat your lil’ ass, didn’t you?” Rafe chuckles and your hand flies to your chest while you look up at him with your mouth agape.

“What?!” You gasp. “I would never push your buttons for sexual gain. That would be insane.”

“You are such a fuckin’ brat, ya know that?” Rafe smiles as he pulls you off the couch and against his chest. “I ought to bend you over again, over my knee this time.”

“What was all that about giving me a baby?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he glares down at you. “Was that just horny talk or does somebody have baby fever?”

“You know what?” He grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder despite your protests. “I’m gonna spank you till you cry and then fuck you full of my cum until you’re begging me to put a baby in you.”

Tagging mooties & weird!girl lovers: @babygorewhore @cxrrodedcoffin @starkeysprincess @nemesyaaa @oceandriveab @munson-mjstan @cameronsprincess @rafeinterlude @sturnioloshacker @traceymbcm

Divider by @anitalenia

All things Rafe & his weird!girl here

[celestie0]

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

[awesumsaus]

cave

wc: 6.5k

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

part two of pretty when I cry

summary: Ever the man of his word, your boyfriend Joel finally fulfills your need to have him claim that secret little part of you.

a/n: welcome back besties. thank you so much to everyone that checked out part one, I seriously can’t believe the response it’s gotten. again please heed the warnings and skip of you don’t think this is for you. otherwise hope y’all enjoy my absolutely depraved writing 

warnings/tags: explicit 18+ (minors dni), no outbreak au, softdom!joel, very needy/emotional reader, joel can pick reader up (I’m convinced this man could lift anyone), smut smut smut literal porn (ok a TINY bit of plot), established relationship, age gap (not really mentioned in this one), so much daddy kink, dd/lg dynamics, tiny bit of degradation kink, whole lot of praise kink, joel tummy™️, spanking, unprotected pinv, oral (m receiving), plug use, ass eating (brief), anal sex, subspace, joel is still a consent king, fluffy aftercare (these bitches are in love)

It wasn’t until two weeks later that either of you brought it up. You’d been thinking about it, that morning, admittedly far too often. The way his fingers and tongue explored the very hidden spots of your body, pushed the limit of what you can and can’t handle. But you couldn’t ask him, couldn’t be the first one to bring it up. It was the game the two of you played, you being far too shy to voice this filthy little need, and Joel far too teasing to give it up without you asking.

But it was becoming unbearable, thoughts of him arising at the most inopportune times, whether that be when you were laying in bed at home, alone while Joel was working a double shift, or at work when there were millions of other tasks you should be focusing on, but all you could think about was your boyfriend finally claiming that secret little part of you. 

And so tonight you’d decided to put an end to your suffering, devising your own little plan to set things in motion, one that you were comfortable with, and that you knew Joel wouldn’t object to. 

The two of you were getting ready, having made plans to meet Joel’s brother for dinner at 7. It was already 6:30 by the time you finished your hair, still dressed in nothing but one of Joel’s t-shirts and a lacy thong. Usually, your lateness was just a result of you losing track of time, trying to tame flyaways, or pausing to belt out one of the songs that came up on your playlist. Little did Joel know that this time around you were stalling, working up the courage to present him with your latest purchase. 

You glance over to the open vanity drawer, and a tinge of excitement spreads up your spine when you see it. A small thing, silver all except for the red heart-shaped jewel at the end of it. You reach for it, the metal cold against your fingertips, a contrast to the heat that spreads up your neck at the thought of what comes next. 

Running your hands through your hair one last time, you exit the bathroom to see Joel, fully dressed and rummaging through one of his dresser drawers. The way the fabric of his dark green sweater stretches around his broad shoulders makes your stomach flip. 

You pad over to him, hands held behind your back, clearing your throat and he turns. He immediately registers the hesitance in your movements. “I um- I got you something.” You look up at him through your lashes, putting on your most innocent guise. 

“S’ that right?” He quirks an eyebrow, already holding back a smirk. His focus turns to his wrist, snapping in place the silver band of the watch you’d gifted him this past Christmas. It was a simple thing, nothing too fancy. You would’ve gotten him something nicer, something more high-end, but the year-end bonus you’d been hoping for never came. Still, Joel insisted that it was the greatest gift he’d ever been given, bullshit, but it still put a smile on your face whenever he wore it. 

“You promise you won’t laugh?” His smirk widens. 

“Why would I laugh?”

“Just promise!” You frown at him before giving his chest a little shove, but he’s quick to respond, grabbing your wrist and pulling, closing the space between you.

“Promise.” You say it softer this time, looking up at him, ignoring the way your thighs instinctively clench from how far you have to bend your neck just to meet his gaze. 

“I promise.” He plants a kiss on your forehead, his expression softening. “I won’t laugh.”

And he doesn’t. In fact, his smirk falls completely when you reveal what’s in your free hand, extending your palm to him. He takes it from you, turning it over in his fingers, something darkens in his eyes. 

“Dirty little girl,” he says under his breath, his attention still focused on the small metal plug in his hand. He turns away from you for only a moment to grab his phone from the dresser. 

“What are you doing?”

“Textin’ Tommy that we’re gonna be late,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No wait, I’ll be quick. I’m almost ready-“

“Uh-uh, baby.” He takes exacting steps towards you, forcing you to retreat backward, nearly falling over when your calves meet the edge of his bed. “Not goin’ anywhere yet.” He swiftly turns you, manhandling you against his chest, and dips his mouth to your ear. “Bend over.”

A shiver runs down your spine, yet you can’t ignore the heat continuing to spread across your face. “R-right now? Joel, are you serious?”

“You bet I am.” His hand comes down with a firm slap to your ass and you gasp, the arm he’s looped around your midsection keeping you from falling forward onto the bed. Wet drips from your core when he does the same to the other side. “Thought you were gonna get away with this, baby? F’ you’re gonna act like a fucking whore, I’m gonna treat you like one. Bend over.”

You shudder slightly at his words, but do as he says, slowly lowering your upper half, whining when he pushes you the last few inches, your brain already gone fuzzy from the roughness of his movements. A part of you expected this, knew that Joel wouldn’t accept your gift and just move on with the rest of the night. So it’s no surprise that when he pulls your thong to the side, your pussy is already glistening with slick. 

“Jesus, baby,” he lets out a breath behind you, running his knuckles along your seam making you shiver. “Always so fucking wet, so ready f’ me.”

“Just for you, Daddy,” you sigh against the mattress, rocking your lower half back, seeking friction. 

Joel lets out a strangled grunt from behind you, one hand squeezing your ass cheek. It’s taking everything in him not to ruin you right then and there, but he restrains himself, knowing that the two of you wouldn’t make it out the front door if he gave in. 

You suck in a breath when the cold metal presses against your cunt, slipping through your folds with ease, gathering slick. “Gonna be able to behave yourself at dinner, baby? Don’t want Tommy gettin’ suspicious.”

You whimper slightly as the tip presses into the cleft of your ass, squirming at the action and the almost belittling tone of his voice. “Don’t want him to know how much of a goddamn slut you are for me, huh?” He delivers another stinging slap just as the plug breaches your tight hole. “Answer me.”

“I-I’ll behave!” The words tumble from your mouth. “I’ll be good, daddy- p-promise.”

“I know, baby. Always such a good girl f’ me.” His words are so dizzying you don’t even realize that he’s fitted the plug completely inside of you until his knuckles graze your ass. It’s not what you had expected, not painful or uncomfortable in any way. It feels good, being this full, the slight stretch making your lower half shake with anticipation. 

“That feel okay, pretty girl?” His voice softens the same way it always does when he’s checking in with you. 

“Mhm,” you nod against the mattress, a content smile spread across your face. 

“Good. Now go get dressed ‘fore Tommy starts askin’ questions.”

He plants one last slap on your bottom, softer than the others, but the way it reverberates across your skin and through the toy now deep inside you makes you gasp, your senses now on high alert. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought.

You make it through the better part of dinner without any slip-ups, just a regular evening with your boyfriend and his brother who you’ve come to befriend over your time knowing him.

You’re barely paying attention, focused on the story Tommy is telling when Joel curves a finger through the back loop of your jeans and pulls. You choke on your water at the sudden feeling, the seam of your jeans digging into you, pressing tightly against the toy you’d nearly forgotten about at this point. Something white-hot shoots up your spine and settles in your lower belly. Tommy pauses and shoots you a worried look as you cough unexpectedly, obviously unaware of Joel’s actions. You notice Joel holding back a smirk from the corner of your eye. 

“Woah- hey, ya alright darlin’?” Tommy asks, looking to Joel who’s started patting your back softly, a forced expression of concern written across his features. It takes everything in you not to slap the look right off his face then and there. 

“I’m fine, yeah- sorry.” You try to ignore the obvious blush spreading across your cheeks, still attempting to catch your breath while also fighting against the growing heat pulsing through your core. 

“You sure, honey? You’re all flushed,” Joel says. 

“Said I’m fine,” you almost snap at Joel, immediately regretting your tone when he shoots you a warning look, a brow raised as if daring you to continue.

“Sorry, Tommy.” You turn to the younger Miller, disregarding the way Joel’s palm has started kneading the flesh of your lower back, only making your head spin more. “Please go on. I’m alright.” He looks between the two of you a bit hesitantly for only a moment before continuing his story. 

And suddenly it’s all you can think about, the feeling of the plug pressing into your most sensitive spots, the fullness of it all, only made worse by Joel’s continuous teasing, his seemingly harmless touching. 

When you finally make it to Joel’s truck after bidding Tommy goodnight, you’re an absolute mess. Practically soaked through your panties, squirming against the leather of your seat. And Joel knows, revels in it, confirmed by the shit-eating grin he exhibits the entire ride home, while his hand softly grips the plushness of your thigh, only deepening your need. 

You’re on him as soon as you pass the threshold of his front door, clawing at his chest, a rabid little thing. He appeases you almost instinctively, pushing you against the opposite wall and pinning your wrists by your head as he roughly presses his mouth to yours. You writhe against his grip, whimpering when he takes his free hand to angle your jaw upward, giving his tongue access to plunge deep into your mouth. You hook a leg around his waist, grinding against his thigh, and finally, a tiny ounce of your ache dissipates. 

But just as quickly as it started, Joel removes himself from you, turning away and walking into the living room. He plops down on the couch, kicking his shoes off and leaning back against the cushions. The look on his face is maddening, cocky son of a bitch.

“C’mere,” he says from his seat on the couch, his legs spread wide. If you weren’t so painfully desperate you’d refuse him for being so smug, but luckily for Joel, you need him about as much as you need air to breathe in this moment. 

You can’t help but eye the growing tightness in his jeans as you approach him, the sight making you a little dizzy in your movements. He stops you when you attempt to straddle him, placing a hand firmly on your lower belly, and looking up at you with a devilish smile. He toys with the hem of your shirt between his fingers. Off. It’s all the command you need before crossing your arms over your body and lifting the fabric from your torso. 

Your shirt’s not even pulled over your head before his deft fingers are unbuttoning your pants and tugging them along with your panties down to your ankles. He leans forward, gripping your calf, and helps you step out of them, popping your shoes off in the process, and quickly tosses your clothes aside. His hand travels up your leg, sending goosebumps across your bare skin. A small yelp escapes your lips when he pulls you onto his lap by the back of your thigh, but you quickly melt into him as your knees sink into the couch on either side of him. 

He runs his hands up and down your sides and you shiver. “So sensitive, baby,” he tsks. You can’t help the blush that spreads across your cheeks from your desperation. It was pathetic really, how much you need him in this moment, how much your body craved even his lightest touch. It was pathetic really, how much of your need now dripped onto his still-clothed crotch, soaking through the material. 

His hands move to cup your tits, thumbing your already peaked nipples through the thin fabric before expertly unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothing. You’re suddenly all too aware of how clothed Joel is, a stark contrast to your naked form, yet the image sends another wave of slick weeping from your core. You allow your head to fall forward onto his shoulder, mouthing at his sweater to muffle your cries, when he tweaks one of your nipples between his fingers. 

“Sh, I know. I’ve got you, little one.” He continues his slow torment, smoothing his hands along your bare skin, his smirk growing with each of your whines and whimpers. You’re like putty in his hands, completely at his mercy, a plaything for him to do with what he pleases. Your breath hitches when his hands travel to your ass, two of his fingers pressing lightly against the now exposed plug, sending a jolt through your whole body. 

He brings his mouth to your ear, nips at it, before whispering “You want me to fuck you here, baby?“ He says it like a secret, only for the two of you to ever hear. That’s when everything starts to ache, the feeling in your lower belly so warm and unfurling, that you fear you may start sobbing if he doesn’t end his teasing soon. 

“Please, daddy.” You sniffle into the spot connecting his neck and shoulder. “Want it so bad, please.”

“Such good manners, baby.” One of his hands slides up your back to the nape of your neck where he grips you, pulling you back to meet his gaze. “M’ gonna give you what you want, sweet girl.” Your heart rate quickens, excitement bubbling in your chest.

“But not tonight.”

And just like that your heart sinks, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes at his sudden declination. You’d feel foolish for it, overly emotional if it wasn’t Joel’s lap you were sitting on. He knows how you get, how reactive you can be, especially when you have your heart set on something. You shake your head and lean away from him, your eyes casting down to your lap, shame beginning to bubble in your chest. You have the sudden urge to cover yourself, wrapping your arms around your chest, a little voice in the back of your head telling you that it’s your fault, that you’d done something wrong to make him deny you, deny himself, of this. 

“Hey,” he says it so so softly. His hands run up and down your biceps, as if he’s attempting to pull your focus from the insecurities he knows are settling in your brain “I’m not doing this to punish you, understand?” You sniffle again, a tear threatens to fall from your lower lashes. 

“Look at me,” he says sternly. You reluctantly meet his gaze. “Tell me you understand.”

You want to shake your head no, want to beg him to change his mind, whine and pout until he gives you what you want, but as much as you know Joel’s a man of his word, you also know he’s nearly impossible to sway once his mind is made up. 

“I understand.”

“Good.” 

He gives you a moment to collect yourself, thumbing your tears away and pulling you back against his chest. You unwrap your arms from yourself, instead latching them around Joel’s neck. “I’m gonna give you what you want, baby. Just gotta have some patience. Want this to be good for you.” He rubs your back soothingly, kissing your temple. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You can’t help the huff that escapes your lips at his words, because you like the hurt. Like being subject to his each and every desire, surrendered entirely to his control. Joel knows this, knew this from the first time you’d slipped and called him daddy while he fucked you into his kitchen counter, knew this when the next morning he caught you in his bathroom mirror, smiling at the finger-shaped bruises burgeoning across the flesh of your hips. 

Joel knows you like the hurt, and part of him can’t deny how utterly irresistible he finds you when you beg him to push just a little further, to be a little rougher. But he also knows where to draw the line, never inflicting enough pain to outweigh the pleasure he brings you. He’s had experience with establishing this limit, but never in past relationships had he found anyone to be as persistent as you, as stubborn, as needy. And though it isn’t always obvious, he needs you just the same. It’s what frustrates him the most, not your neediness, but the way in which it clouds his judgement, makes him forget how fragile you can be. So he wouldn’t, not tonight, not until he’s certain you won’t break. 

“Poor baby,” he coos when you grind down on his bulge, the rough fabric against your soft folds making you gasp. “I know you’re not used to being told no, huh?”

You let out a squeaking whine when you feel the rough skin of his hand cup the entirety of your sex. You instinctively buck into his touch. 

“You want daddy to take care ‘a this for you?”

“Mhm, please,” nodding your head against his chest. You almost cry when the pad of his finger finds your clit, swiping two delicate circles before pulling away. 

“Sh sh, I’ve got you, honey.” He lifts you slightly off his lap, a strangled sound erupting from your throat at the loss of contact, but he makes quick work with his zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to free his fully hardened cock, red and pulsing in his grip. 

“Come sit on daddy’s cock, baby.” His eyes glass over as he pumps his length once, twice before urging you forward. He taps the wide tip against your clit a few times and you swear you could come just from that before he’s lining up with your entrance, coating himself with your slick. 

He lets you go at your own pace, loosening his grip on your waist as you begin to sink down on him, inch by inch. He’d usually stretch you first, make you come around his fingers once or twice before letting you take him in his entirety. But not tonight, not with the steady flow of slick that’s been gushing from your heat all night. 

You shudder once he’s fully sheathed inside you, your clit twitching against his pelvis. He lets you adjust, squirm a bit in his lap, before he’s bucking up into you, a bit of his own impatience beginning to show. 

As much as you’ve needed Joel all night, you know his teasing has had its own effect on him. He’s been itching to be inside you since the moment you presented him with your little gift, it was all he could think about the entire evening, so it comes as no surprise that his movements quickly grow hurried. He fucks up into you at a frantic pace, meeting your little bounces with increasing force.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. The combination of his cock pumping deep inside you and the toy sitting snug inside your asshole. It’s overwhelming, nerve endings you didn’t even know existed now buzzing within you. It’s only mere minutes before you’re clenching around him, right on the edge of release.

“Little cunt’s huggin’ me so tight, baby,” Joel pants, his movements stuttering. 

“Daddy-“ you gasp, “m’ ngh m’ gonna cum.”

“Fuck- that’s it baby,” he babbles, his fingers move to messily rub your clit. “That’s it pretty girl. Want you to cum on my cock then I’ll fill you up, yeah? So fucking full, baby. C’mon, cum for daddy.”

Your entire body convulses against him as you reach your peak, strings of curses and incoherent sounds slipping between your lips. Everything turns white behind your eyes, every inch of your skin on fire. He only fucks you harder, rubs his fingers against your clit faster. You don’t even realize you’re on the cusp of a second orgasm until he’s pressing his free hand against the heart-shaped jewel still sticking out of your ass, hitting something deep inside of you. Then you’re crashing down once more, sobbing as your grip tightens around his neck, completely enraptured in the feeling as he fucks up into you. 

“Good fuckin’ girl-“ a groan sounds from deep within his chest, a few more bucks of his hips before he cums, spilling into you with a slew of grunts and unintelligible praises. He only lets up once you’ve milked him dry, a combination of both your releases coating his length and further soaking his jeans. 

Joel comes back to earth first after he’s caught his breath and carefully pulled out of you. He stands and rids himself of his damp clothes, now just as bare you are, before wrapping his thick arms around you and pulling you from the couch. 

Later, after you’re both showered and Joel makes you a cup of your favorite tea, the two of you lay in bed, your head resting against his chest, tracing a finger along the broad expanse of him. You’ve committed just about every mark and freckle to memory by now from this exact spot. His hand lazily runs up and down your spine, as you mull over where things will go from here. 

A week. You talked him into a week. A week of doing exactly as he says, with no attempting to convince him otherwise. You’ll wear the plug when he tells you to, for as long as he tells you to. A week and then he’ll divulge that secret little part of you that he’s yet to claim. 

Joel lasts till Thursday. 

He’s done for the moment he arrives home from work to you sprawled across his bed, book in hand, with nothing on but a tight-fitting t-shirt and a barely-there thong. You knew what you were doing, knew it was exactly what Joel told you not to do, tempting him to go back on his word and cave. You notice his eyes darken the moment he enters the bedroom, his gaze falling to the red heart poking through the fabric of your panties. The same one he stuffed inside you before sending you off to work this morning, the one you were sorely reminded of every time you shifted too quickly in your desk chair. 

“Hey baby,” you smile sweetly at him. You swear you hear him grumble as he makes his way to the closet, pulling his sweaty work shirt off and tossing it into the hamper. You mark your page and set your book aside before stretching out across the comforter like a cat in the sun. The muscles in Joel’s shoulders tense when a soft sigh slips from your lips. 

You nearly skip over to him, wrapping your arms around his midsection before he has the chance to pull on a clean shirt. He lets out a heavy breath at the feeling of your small fingers splaying across his bare stomach. 

“How was your day?” you ask, pressing against him more firmly, your head resting below his shoulder blades. 

“Fine,” he responds, his tone suspecting. You feel his breath catch as you press small kisses to his spine. 

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today,” your voice goes softer, a hidden plea behind your words. 

“S’ that right?” His severity wanes, an opening.

“Mhm,” you hum against him, dragging your blunt nails across his skin. “Need you so bad, Daddy.”

“‘M right here, baby.” He pretends to not know what you’re talking about, unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops, acting like your fingers aren’t dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans. You know he can see right through you, has always seen right through you, his refusal to admit it in this moment only makes your need deepen. 

“Please, Joel,” you whine softly, errant fingertips dipping just below the waistband of his boxers. “I almost started touching myself in the bathroom today.” Your cheeks flush red at the confession, a low groan escapes Joel’s throat. “Every time I felt it, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wish it was your co-“

You let out a small gasp when he snatches your wrist. He pauses, so still you begin to worry you’ve upset him, that you’ve pushed him too far. But then something shifts. 

Fuck it. His mouth is on you in seconds, his tongue immediately gaining access as you melt into him. It’s dizzying, one of his hands grabbing you just below your jaw, the other squeezing your ass cheek roughly. Your knees buckle just as he’s turning you around and practically throwing you onto the bed. You don’t even have time to lift your head off the mattress before he’s yanking your panties over your ass and easing the plug out of your hole. He’s quick with it, your body shivering as the cool metal slides through you, leaving an empty feeling in its wake, but it doesn’t last for long as Joel licks a broad strip through your seam to your asshole. He presses his tongue there, gauging your reaction before he’s licking into you, spreading you with his hands. At first, you squirm away, the feeling of him eating at you like this entirely foreign. But then you're rocking back into him, completely lost in the rush of his mouth against your asshole. Sounds you never knew yourself capable of filling the room as his tongue repeatedly dives into the ring of muscle.

A strangled moan leaves your lips when he pauses, you crane your neck just in time to see a string of saliva drip from his mouth directly between your ass cheeks. He rubs it into you, pushing his thumb through the ring of muscle making you whimper. 

“What d’you want?” His voice is low. His thumb starts pumping in and out of you, fast and unrelenting. 

“Daddy,” you whine, burying your burning-hot cheeks into his pillow. 

“Gonna need better than that,” he tsks, rutting his bulge into your heat. “Or else I’ll have t’ take care a’ this myself. Tie you up and make you watch.”

“Ngh, Daddy,” you moan, face burning impossibly warmer. His thumb slows, giving you a moment of reprieve to gather your thoughts. 

“Want you t’ fuck my ass- wanna feel you.”

“Jesus-“ With his hand coming down to grip your neck, he suddenly pins you to the mattress, muttering a short stay before you feel his weight lift from the bed. You hear the sound of his zipper undoing and catch him fisting himself in the corner of your eye. Your thighs tremble with anticipation as he moves to the side of the bed, planting a knee by your shoulder. Then he’s towering over you, his weeping cock right at your eye line, your cheek still pushed against the mattress, ass in the air. He looks so powerful like this, so broad and so commanding, so when he tells you to open your mouth, you don’t even have to think twice. 

“Gonna get daddy’s dick nice n’ wet, baby.” Saliva pools in your mouth, threatening to drip onto the bed when you stick your tongue out. “Then ‘m gonna wedge my cock in this tight little hole. How’s that sound?” You jolt forward when the pad of his index finger pushes into you.

“Please Daddy,” you whine. He removes his hand, immediately wrapping it around the back of your skull, his fingers tangled in your hair. His other hand grips the base of his length, tapping the red-flushed tip on your tongue a few times before pushing all the way into your mouth in one swift motion, your nose scratching against the coarse hairs at his pelvis. It had taken you months to work up to it, taking him in his entirety. The first time you blew him you’d barely been able to make it halfway down his cock before you were gagging, but not now. Now you take everything he gives you, like he’s molded your throat to the shape of him. 

“This mouth-“ he’s cut off by his own moans, erupting from deep within his chest. “Fuckin’ heaven, baby.”

Tears quickly prick in the corners of your eyes as he continues his assault on your throat. A breathy moan slips from his mouth when you gag around his length after an especially forceful thrust of his hips.

His pace slows as he thumbs away your tears. “Daddy’s been so mean, huh little one? Makin’ you wait all this time.”

You whine around his dick, the vibrations making Joel’s breath catch in the back of his throat. 

“You like when I’m mean though, don’t you? Like when daddy treats you like the little slut you are?” He delivers a harsh smack to your ass just as he pulls away from your mouth, leaving you sputtering and gasping for air. He moves to open the nightstand drawer, quickly retrieving a bottle of lube before rounding the corner of the bed, towering over you from behind. 

“Don’t need it,” you whine, head still foggy from the lack of oxygen.

“Quiet little girl.” He softly swats your ass before you hear the disappointing sound of the bottle opening, followed by the cool sensation of the liquid hitting your exposed hole. He rubs it into you, letting out a satisfied hum when he presses his thumb into your asshole with ease. And then his cock is lining up with you, it’s so fucking big, so much bigger than the plug, a small part of you starts to worry it may not fit, may be too painful. 

Like always, Joel senses your apprehension, running his large palm soothingly down your spine as he leans over you. You feel his warm breath hit your ear. 

“You tell me if it’s too much, yeah baby?” He says it only slightly above a whisper. “M’ only gonna enjoy this if you do too.”

You nod against the sheets, immediately recognizing that the action won’t be enough for Joel. “Yes, Daddy.” You crane your neck to look at him, eyes hooded and dazed. Something flashes in his expression, beyond simple desire, a need suddenly so evident in his eyes that you’d sit up and kiss him until your lips were raw if he wasn’t pushing the tip of his thick cock inside you. 

It’s so much. Even just the first inch is blinding, your vision going blurred and your senses entirely rapt with the feeling. The hurt is overwhelming, the stretch all-consuming, but it’s so good, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

He pushes in another inch and the pain dissipates, in its place a euphoric haze, where all you can feel is him, his weight driving you into the mattress, his hips rocking against your ass. You see stars once he’s fitted inside you, never having felt this full. 

The noises Joel is making are almost pained, his cock throbbing from the tightness of your hole, all the restraint left in him keeping him from setting a brutal pace. No, instead he moves slow, focused intently on not blowing his load every time you squeeze around him, listening to your little moans and whimpers for any signs of unease. 

“It’s a lot baby, I know,” he pants. “But you’re doin’ so good.” His praises have you reeling, furthering your dazed state. “Look so goddamn perfect takin’ all a’ me like this.”

You don’t even know what to say, all you know is that you need more, entirely lost in the feeling. You’re always insatiable, greedy, whenever it comes to Joel, and he knows, revels in the fact that he’s the one that gets to have you like this, makes you feel like this. 

You’re not even sure what you’re saying at this point, what sounds are falling from your mouth, just that Joel takes it as a sign to pick up his pace. It brings you back to earth a bit, your lower belly going taught at the force of his body against your own. 

You’re crying out against the mattress, small fingers twisting in the sheets, tears forming a wet spot beneath your chin. 

“Fuck, baby c’mere.” He suddenly pulls out of you with a heady groan and wastes no time flipping you over. He’s pushing back inside you in seconds, resuming his vigorous pace. 

“Wanna see you when I come in this perfect fuckin’ ass.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head at his words, your entire body going limp against the mattress as he uses you. When his thumb finds your clit you’re done for. The messy circles he makes send you hurtling right to the edge. With a near-scream, every part of your body goes taut for a moment before your release is shattering through every inch of your body, bursting from your core like shock waves. 

“Fuck, fuck-“ he’s repeating over and over as his own climax hits him, but you can’t even hear him, can only feel him, his body thrusting into you, pushing you impossibly further into the mattress, his hands gripping the hinge of your hips, his warm release shooting deep inside you. It’s the only thing keeping you here, prevailing against the potent haze. 

With one final grunt, he stills, his breathing ragged and sweat dripping from his forehead. You can barely move, still dazed as he pulls out of you slowly, the emptiness in its wake further graying your awareness of reality. 

You lift a shaking hand, attempting to grab at whatever part of him you can reach. “Daddy-“

He leans forward, carefully caging you in his arms. “I’m here baby, you’re okay.”

“‘M okay,” you mumble sweetly. He brings one of his hands to your hair, gently running his fingers along your scalp in a way that makes your thoughts even more fuzzy. But the heaviness of his chest against your own keeps you there, keeps you present. 

“You did so good f’ me, I’m so proud a’ you.” A tired smile spreads across your face at his words. He knows the effect they have on you, which is probably why he says it. But the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell. 

“My pretty baby,” he kisses you softly, and you further melt into his embrace, inhaling his familiar scent, musky and woody with something distinctly Joel. The two of you stay like this for a moment, your arms and legs wrapped around his large form, what little remains of your strength focused on keeping him in place, chest to chest, a comforting pressure. 

“How do you feel, baby? You hurtin’ anywhere?” He says it against your neck, placing soft kisses to the skin there. 

“Mm”, you hum, denying, still detached from your own body, not fully registering the slight tinges of hurt spreading throughout your lower half, completely consumed with the man in front of you, the smell of his sweat still glistening across his chest, the weight of his softened cock still pulsing and twitching against your thigh. He’s everywhere, everything in this moment. 

He pulls away just enough to kiss the tip of your nose. “How ‘bout a bath yeah?” You hum in agreement, let him unwrap himself from your hold, and stand at the edge of the bed before he’s snaking an arm under your knees and back and lifting you. You instinctively curl your face into his neck, still wet with sweat but you don’t mind, nearly your whole body already covered in him. 

He sets you down on the toilet seat before moving to turn the water on, making sure it’s warm enough before plugging the drain. You sway a bit in place, thankful when Joel wraps an arm around your back to steady you. Usually by now the haze will have lifted a bit, no longer in this headspace, yet still your brain is a bit fuzzy, your thoughts and senses dulled. 

You look up at Joel when you feel his thick fingers card through your hair, unsure of when he’d gone to grab one of your hair elastics. As he gathers the strands together, you lean into him, your head resting just below his belly button, on the plush flesh of his tummy, smattered with course hairs trailing down to the base of his cock. You nuzzle into the spot, breathing him in, fully content in this moment. You feel the muscle tighten when you start to press small kisses to it. He firmly grips your now fully formed ponytail when your mouth wanders south, interrupting your descent, and you whine. 

“Settle.” You let out a short huff of breath and bring your gaze to his, resting your chin on his stomach as he loosens his grip on your hair. He shakes his head at you, holding back a smile as he finishes tying your hair back. 

He helps you step into the tub first, guiding you to sit, before he slots himself behind you with a grunt. He pulls you against him, arms wrapped around your tummy and chin resting on your shoulder. You giggle softly when the hairs of his mustache tickle behind your ear. 

He lets you sit against him for a moment before he insists on cleaning you up, lathering his soap between his hands and smoothing it along your soft skin. You start to doze off from the feeling, Joel keeping you upright against his chest. Only after the water begins to cool and your fingertips have turned pruney, Joel helps you step out of the tub, wrapping you in a towel before you start to shiver. He kisses you then, soft and slow like he could stay like this with you forever. And you would, if he wasn’t ushering you back into the bedroom, telling you to get in bed and that he’d be right back. 

He makes you drink a glass of water before taking his place behind you on the bed, his back to the headboard and the small bowl of your skull cradled against his chest. You slowly drift off to the steady beat of his heart. 

I have so many ideas for these two so lmk if we want to see more ;]

[lavender543]

Longing - Prologue

Yandere!Knight x (Evil?)Queen!Reader

Synopsis: You are a queen with a not so great reputation. He is your most trusted, and extremely stoic knight. Lets just say you don't know just how much he would do for you. (he's been secretly pining after you for awhile). Warnings: Topics of war, and violence

By many, you were seen as cold, Ruthless, some would even say evil. You were the queen of a large kingdom in the North, with a very widely known reputation for being cutthroat.  

Life in the North was not easy by any means. Resources were far and few, and the environment was cold and desolate. For that, you needed to rule with an iron fist in order to protect your people and keep them satisfied. You weren't afraid to use force if that was what was required.  

Many would say you were wicked, morally grey, power hungry...the list goes on. You’d like to think of yourself as dedicated.  

You were forced from a young age into the role of ruler and spent your whole life preparing to be Queen. It was your life's dedication to rule over your kingdom. You had no living relatives; your family was assassinated during the war.  

It was...hard, to say the least.  

The only person you could trust during those dark days was yourself, and eventually you learned you could trust him: The Grande knight. 

He was originally an orphan brought in by your parents when you were young. They trained him to be a loyal weapon to fight in the war.  

It was wrong, and it pained you to see him, similar in age to you, being pushed past his limits.  

You sympathized with him in a way. You yourself were forced against your will to be trained in order to become the next ruler; although your training was a lot less physically demanding than his (which is an understatement of what he had to go through).  

Despite both of you being terribly busy, there were small moments you both had together as children. They were nothing but a few words in passing, but the interactions meant a lot to two heavily sheltered kids tasked with adult responsibilities.  

Your fondest memory was when you had your first real conversation with him. Your only real interaction with him were moments of eye contact before then.

One day, when you were around ten years old, you managed to run away from your etiquette teacher and hid in the royal gardens. 

As you ran through the garden, searching for a hiding spot, you spotted a dark figure hidden in a small alcove between two bushes of winter daphne’s. They were one of the only flowers that could survive the cold climates of the north.  

You approached the figure, and realized it was him. Without really thinking, you sat beside him. He was huddled, panting heavily as if he had just run a marathon, (he probably was earlier to be honest).  

He stared at you, surprise and fear in his eyes, and your ten-year-old brain could only think of giving him a reassuring smile to show you were friendly. 

“I see that we had similar thoughts.” you said to the boy, a mischievous grin on your face. 

At that, he relaxed slightly, although still staying silent. And you decided it was safe to sit down beside him.  

He froze from the action, but didn’t protest.

“I managed to get away from my etiquette teacher, I know I shouldn't say this, but I'm convinced she’s evil. Must be why she doesn’t have any friends.” 

You were surprised when you heard a small laugh from him at your words, although it was more like a snort. This only encouraged you to go on.  

“Seriously! She was trying to make me put a book on my head! And she always whacks my wrists with a strap if I don't do something right.” 

With your casual words, he began to open up, speaking hesitantly at first. He seemed to still be quite nervous.  

“My trainer is the same way, evil I mean.” 

You giggled at that, and you looked at each other in mutual understanding. You sat together for a while, enjoying each other's company. Talking about whatever came to mind. Eventually you realized you didn't actually know his name. You had only ever heard him be referred to as “the boy,” or terms akin to that.  

You looked at him in curiosity.  

“Say, I guess I never asked, what is your name?” 

His face grew bitter, there was hatred in his eyes, and you were confused by the sudden mood switch.  

“Just call me what you want.” He said shortly. 

You looked at him in confusion. “Do you not have a name?” 

“I may as well not.” 

All you could say was “oh” in response.  

The mood suddenly got awkward, and you tried to lighten it.  

“Well, what would you like your name to be?” 

He visibly gave the question some thought and then shrugged nonchalantly.  

“I don't know, I've never really thought about it.” 

“I see....” You trailed off, not knowing what else to say. 

“What name do you like? For me I mean.” 

He said suddenly.

You definitely did not expect him to ask that. Looking to him in surprise, you replied: “You want me to choose a name for you?”  

He nodded casually, although you did not see the blush creeping up his face. This whole situation was a little odd, but you went along with it, giving it some thought. Finally, you came up with the perfect name.  

“Everett.” You said after a long pause.  

He looked up to you and smiled shyly. 

“It means brave in the old language. I learned the word today from my lessons.” 

You continued with excitement.  

The boy looked almost bashful from your words, a wide grin making its way on his flushed face.  

“It's perfect.’” he said with sincerity.  

You stayed like that for a while, but, like all good things, it had to end. Some guards eventually found the two of you, and you had to go your separate ways.  

After that, your father restricted you from seeing Everett (you’ve been referring to him as Everett now), so as to prevent any “distractions” as he worded it.  

From then on, you didn’t see much of Everett, save for small glances when crossing paths with each other. It was hard seeing him, all bloodied and bruised from training, and not being able to talk to him, or do anything to help him.  

Soon days turned into weeks, then months, then years. Your childlike naivety had long since been brushed away to reveal a cold and calculated woman. You were seventeen, and very close to being of age to ascend to the throne. Just in time for the war to begin you had thought bitterly at the time.   

The war began when your parents had had enough of neighboring countries cutting off their supply shipments. Your kingdom relied on these shipments for food and necessities. Thus began a war your parents waged. 

You hated it. You hated it all, but what could you do? You had no say in any of it, despite your insistent pleading to your father not to start a war. You knew it would only end in loss and destruction.  

With everything happening, you wanted desperately for someone to confide in. You searched for Everett, but you hadn't seen him in weeks, it was as if he disappeared. Upon question, you discovered that he was sent into the war to fight on the frontlines.  

You were devastated. You felt stupid to not have realized before. That was what all the training was for, why your parents had adopted him in the first place. To create a weapon for this war.  

You were so consumed with rage and hopelessness, and all you could do was try to help your parents finish this war. It was all you could do to stop the bloodshed. 

The exposure to everything only made you colder, however. You realized that you too had been turned into a weapon, although more in the academic sense. Your parents used your wit and knowledge from your lessons growing up.  

Two years in, your kingdom faced few losses, and many victories due to your strategizing. Although it did not stop the assassination of your family. Somehow, some way, the enemy kingdoms found a way in.  

This only fueled your rage more. You no longer cared how, but you were going to win the war. And you did.  

After four long years, you finally reached total victory. 

And with that, you gained the reputation of a tyrant. 

Next part: chapter 1

A/N: This is my first story on here yayyy. thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys this! Sorry this chapter is mostly world building, I promise there will be a lot more of Everett in the next part. I might make it in his perspective next chapter as well....we'll see!

[skeltnwrites]

S'mores - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you camping

Word Count: 3.6k

TW: bad driving, maybe a bit of angst

A/N: This might have something to do with that box of money from my last fic (kudos to those who guessed correctly), also writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet so good luck if you thought the last one was fluffy

Silver-clad fingers tap against the steering wheel, more in tune with the van’s blinker than the Ace of Spades cassette blaring through the speakers. Eddie glances over his shoulder before veering into the next lane, throwing up an apology wave to the sedan he just cut off. You peek up from the map, sights darting to your side mirror, then to your boyfriend. He’s inches from scratching the sticker-loaded bumper ahead of you, gassing and breaking repeatedly. 

You’re well aware that Eddie’s never been a good driver. Frequently snagging curbs and pushing speed limits, once having picked a note from the windshield about his poor parking job. It’s a miracle that he’s only been in a couple of fender benders over the years. You once nabbed his driver’s license, swatting away his hands so you could see the grainy photo of teenage Eddie. But every now and then when his foot slams against the pedal and you lurch forward in your seat only to be caught by the belt, you wonder whether it was a fake. Today, somehow, he’s in even more of a rush than usual. 

The tape ends, leaving you in silence apart from a distant honk and the familiar chug of the air conditioning. “You know the campsite isn’t going anywhere right?” 

He hums dismissively, hands gripping ten and two as his gaze darts between the road and his rearview. 

You throw a palm over his thigh, squeezing. “Eddie.” 

He’s locked in, swerving in failed attempts to get back over. “One second, sweetheart,” he manages when you retract your hand. There’s a risky opening and he takes it, the car behind instantly laying on the horn. Your eye twitches. 

He rolls to a stop, with nowhere to go between the bumper-to-bumper traffic as far ahead as you can see and highway patrol parked in the median. “Seems everyone and their mother had the same idea, huh?” He turns to you with a dopey half-smile. 

“What’s the rush?” 

He shrugs, picking at the rip in his jeans, “Just wanna get set up before dark.” 

“We’ve got flashlights.” 

“No– well, yeah. It’s not that. I just don’t wanna have to worry about it later.” 

You tilt your head, “No biggie if we set up late.” 

He nods, knowing you’re right. 

When you’d got home from work Eddie didn’t give you a chance to kiss him hello before he urged you into the bedroom to pack for a surprise weekend camping trip. Rented camping gear and a bag of gas station snacks were thrown into the back of the van and within the hour, you were on the road. As he pulled onto the interstate he’d abruptly toggled off the radio as the host discussed details of the pending meteor shower, the part of the trip he intended to keep secret. You pretended not to hear when he asked, despite having read about it in the paper the afternoon before. 

The sun sinks out of sight as you reach the exit ramp. A light pitter-patter against the windshield has you preemptively cranking up your window. Your feet cross each other over the dash as you trace the approaching circle on your map with your finger. 

“You said Bronson?” Eddie asks. 

“Mhmm. Left on Bronson Road.”

“Ya sure? Cause it’s definitely blocked off.” 

You whip your head up at the construction signs and equipment lining the street, or lack of street rather. 

“Damn it.” You rub the bridge between your nose. 

“I could just try to drive through it? I mean those big trucks can–” 

“Eddie,” you raise an eyebrow. 

“What!” He slaps the dashboard, “This girl's gotten us through a lot of adventures, right? One more won’t kill her.” He’s dead serious; Zero problem with driving past a sign that says ‘Closed’ and ‘Do Not Enter’.

“I’ll find another route, keep driving.” 

“Come on,” he groans, sagging into his seat.

“Do you want to pop a tire and be out here all night waiting for help?” 

He scoffs like you’ve insulted him, “I know how to change a tire.”

“Do you have a spare?” 

His mouth opens in rebuttal and quickly shuts.

“Drive,” you roll your eyes, hiding your smirk behind the map. 

You try another road that connects, or so you thought until you pull up to a dead-end sign. It’s pouring now and pitch black out, road signs are hard to see, street lights are sparse, and you’re both cranky from being trapped in a car with each other. It’s your fourth attempt at rerouting when Eddie declares you are officially lost. 

He holds his hands up in defense, “Look I don’t wanna say it but–” 

You send him a glare before he can finish. “We’re not lost.” 

“Look, it’s okay if–”

“But we aren’t. Look, right here,” you flick a pen against the paper. “I’m telling you this is the one.” 

He falters at your serious stare, biting a nail, and sighs, “Okay. Fifth times the charm, right?”  

“That’s what they say,” you smile. 

To both of your surprise, the fifth time is the charm and you’re able to get back on track with your navigation skills. You’re on a long stretch of dirt road, miles since the last light or building or car for that matter. Still, you swear you know where you are and Eddie believes you. He drives shockingly slow, bobbing his leg and squinting at the windshield. The wipers squeal against the glass, working overtime.  

You push your palm against his knee. He continues to drum against the floor mat. 

He feels your gaze and anticipatorily answers, “Have to piss.”

“You did on the side of the road like half an hour ago, dude.” 

“Think it’s the rain. Rainiest fucking day in Indiana history. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” His voice trails off in this dejected sort of way that you rarely hear from Eddie. 

You’re lips form a tight line and you bring your fingers up to his nape to scratch under a thick mop of curls. “It’ll let up bub.” 

He nods, eyes trained ahead. 

You literally scream when the headlights glare against a campsite sign. Eddie smiles so hard you’d bet his cheeks hurt. An unimpressed teenager mans the check-in booth which you pull up to. She slides the window open to abruptly tell you they closed ten minutes ago, not allowing you to reply before it slams shut. Eddie raps on the glass, pointing to a crisp twenty-dollar bill which she accepts, offering a parking pass and spot number in return. 

The van is parked and you jump out, delighted that the rain has let up some. It’s sprinkling and clouds block any hint of stars, but you couldn’t care less. Eddie grabs the tent first, recruiting you to help stomp the stakes into the ground. He fumbles with the flaps, scratching his neck trying to understand where the door is supposed to be when the rain picks up again. You scramble to finish setting up, throwing bags, food, a radio, and whatever else easily accessible into the tent. It isn’t until you’re both inside, soaked to the bone, that you realize how cramped it is. 

“This is definitely not a two-person tent,” Eddie chuckles, hunched over like a wilting flower, knees digging into yours. His curls are slick and shiny in the lantern glow. 

You flick a mosquito off his arm and grin, “It’s cozy for sure.” 

He flops on the twin-sized inflatable mattress you’d previously used as an umbrella. You wriggle up beside him, clothes drenched and clinging to every curve. 

“I mean think about it, this size would go for, what, a grand in New York? They’d call it an urban studio apartment with bright ceilings and textured floors,” you say magically.

His laugh bleeds into a dramatic groan as he slings an arm over his face. You leave a wake of kisses from his elbow over to his wrist until he’s peeling it away to hold you. Your cheeks are warm against his palms as he says, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the meteor shower.”

You lift an eyebrow, “What meteor shower?”

He covers your face, snorting, “Shut up, you knew. You aren’t a good liar.” 

You crack a smile, peeling his fingers away one by one until you can see him again. 

“But really,” he says, seriously. “We are soaked and cold and we didn’t even get to make s'mores!” 

You drop your head to his chest, “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll survive without s'mores.”

His hand finds your crown, his lips too. “I’m serious!” 

“So am I,” you mumble into his tee. 

You are content to lay there in each other’s warmth for a while despite the chills worming up your spine but Eddie breaks the stillness, “Come on. Get up. We need to change.” 

You lift your head, “Wait!” You poke at his chest, “I need to tell you something.” 

He hums, brown eyes heavy as they search yours. 

“I love you,” you say earnestly. 

“Sap!” He pushes you off, crawling over to his JanSport to fish for dry clothes. He chucks you a pair and you waste no time stripping off the sticky fabric. Before long, the lantern is off and you're wrapped in the single dry blanket, shuffling back into him for more warmth. He pecks your shoulder and mutters, “I love you too,” before you drift off. 

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake but Eddie is breathing hot air onto your neck, curls itching you in a way that makes you pull away. His arm slinks under the covers as you sit up. No light leaks through the tent so it must not be time to get up, you decide. You feel far from sleep, however. It’s cold and somehow sticky. The pant leg pinched up your calf gets tugged down, only to realize the fabric is damp. 

Eddie must feel you shuffling because he starts mumbling and groping around your pillow. His hand claws at your sleeve in an attempt to suck you back in. He whines sleepily when you don’t budge. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up the tent’s coarse walls. 

“What,” his voice catches, soft against his pillow and hoarse with sleep. 

“I think,” you swipe at the floor until your fingertips graze a freezing puddle. “There’s a hole in the tent or something.” You blink rapidly trying to see the damage. 

He cranes up with a hum, elbowing you as he scratches his face. 

“The floor is wet.” 

“Where?” 

You wrap your fingers around his in the darkness, guiding them past your body to skim the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs. 

You prod around, shoving away non-lantern-shaped or textured items. 

“Here,” Eddie clicks his lighter. It sparks a few times before lighting, casting skewed shadows against the walls. He yawns, gesturing at the lantern with closed lids. You click it on, dangling it over the gap beside the mattress—golden light glimmers against the water. Eddie climbs over you to view it, hair swaying as he shifts. Your heavy eyes travel up in tandem to catch the steady drip from the roof. A small, fraying line splits the fabric. He pushes a thumb against the next forming bead. His tongue slips back in his mouth to clear his throat, “I’ve got duct tape in the van but I don’t think it’ll stick to this.” He scratches the canvas, “‘specially not in the rain.” 

You nod, observing as his brain churns. His gaze flicks to his wrist watch and then he’s folding over his legs in a cat-like stretch. Hunched over, he says, “It’s too early for this. Let’s just go sleep in the van.” He hums as if to ask, “How does that sound?”

You trace the curve of his spine as he stretches, “‘kay.” Neither of you move. Rain pelts the tarp rhythmically. 

“Come on,” he sighs deeply before pushing up to unzip the tent. Stray raindrops blow inside, a couple catching your hand where it bunches clothes together. You sweep whatever is near into his bag, passing Eddie his sneakers. You don’t bother lacing yours. 

He throws his denim jacket over your shoulders before you race out, shoes squelching against the mud. Your heel dips into a puddle as you plant your hands against the slick sliding door. Eddie jams the keys in the lock with rehearsed practice, climbing in and pressing buttons until the rest of the locks click. You rapidly pull the metal handle, nearly eating shit as your foot slides. 

Eddie jumps back out. “Piece of shit door,” he grumbles and bumps your hip, pushing with you until the door lurches open. When he clears it, you slam it behind him. The backpack and his jacket are discarded onto the floor before you climb over the center console after him. He starts the car, cranking the temperature knobs until warm air blows from the vents. 

As soon as your eyes meet, you crumble into giggles. Any bit of sleepiness left has vanished. His hair is flattened with moisture and his cheeks rosy from the cold. You curl your nail under a black strand stuck to his chin.

“Needed a shower anyway,” Eddie shakes his hair out like a dog, spraying you in the face. 

You yell and shield yourself with your sleeves. 

He licks a stray droplet off his lip then leans over the seats searching. Eddie gets up and squirms between them, kicking the water bottle in the cup holder. You slip your shoes off, pushing them under the seat to avoid tracking any more mud. 

Your palms hover flat against the heat for a while. It’s quiet per Eddie standards so you glance behind your seat. In the dim car light, your boyfriend shuffles through his backpack. He’s chewing on his lip as he tips it over to dump the contents out, mostly clothes. His eyes widen when he finds you staring. 

“Find me something to wear?” You ask. 

He nods after a moment, still watching you like a child with their hand in the cookie jar. You turn back around hesitantly. 

You busy yourself with reading the campsite pamphlet you’d been given at the entrance. But the grinding of the slider door has you whipping your head back around. Eddie’s halfway outside, shouting, “One sec’!” The door shuts abruptly leaving you alone in the van. You climb into the back, cupping your hands against the foggy glass. Your boyfriend has his jacket slung across his back as he crouches into the tent. A couple of minutes pass and he’s running back. You pull the door open for him and he thanks you as he hops in. 

“What?” You question. 

He flashes a tight-lipped smile, “Forgot this.” He holds out his lighter in one hand, placing his jacket on the floor neatly with the other. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve got like three in the glovebox, Eddie.” 

“This one’s my favorite.” The lighter is lime green, adorned with a fading smiley face drawn in sharpie, thanks to you. He scratches his neck sheepishly. You don’t know whether to believe him since he’s never shown a preference for lighters before now but he seems genuinely embarrassed that you’ve found out. 

“Oh,” you settle with, choosing to let it go, lest you embarrass the poor boy further.  

You dissolve into separate chores in the back of the van. He smears the puddle by the door with his already wet t-shirt and you hunt for another pair of his pajama pants for yourself. Dry clothes are dwindling, having soaked two pairs each already. But you manage to find new bottoms and a fresh shirt for Eddie. He’s slipping it over his head, crisscrossed on the floor in only his boxers. You circle the small space, plucking any soggy clothes off the floor to hang dry on a camping chair that had been left in the van. As you scoop up Eddie’s jacket something rolls out onto the floor. You kneel to pick up a small, black box with your free hand. You scratch curiously at the velvet, wavering to hand it off to Eddie. Gears turn in your head as you glance up at your boyfriend who stares at you from the floor a few feet away. Your expression mirrors his, mouth agape, eyebrows raised. 

“I—”

“Is this?“ You say simultaneously. 

Your limbs are locked in place, mouth dry as you try to string together a coherent question. Suddenly the heat pouring from the vents is too hot. You might as well catch fire with how your cheeks burn. 

He deflates in front of you, shoulders sagging and chin drooping in one motion. 

You shove the box into his hands as if that will fix it. 

He furrows his brows and looks away, “Shit.” 

You are about to offer to pretend you haven’t seen it when he continues.

“This whole trip has really gone to shit, huh?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out defeatedly, “I mean– I had this whole perfect plan and I was trying so hard not to fuck it up. The shower and the fucking rain. Hell, Steve, even Wayne warned me to do it right and I– I just.” He scoffs, head tipping back against the door. “I almost lost it.” 

It’s then that it dawns on you that Eddie Munson, your boyfriend, intended to propose to you on this trip. That he plans to marry and spend the rest of his life with you. 

“–want you to think that I don’t care enough—“

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“–and I wanted you to know how seri—“

“Eddie!” Your on the dirty floor of his van, knees digging into his as you push the box further into his chest, “Fucking ask me already.”

He melts under your stare, breath shuddering hesitantly despite your growing smile. “I– Will you—“

You're already nodding at the first word. “Yes, you idiot.” You’ve lunged into his chest, smiling uncontrollably into his neck. 

He chuckles nervously into your temple, slowly wrapping an arm around you. But he pulls back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately. 

His eyes dance around your face, lingering on the spot below your ear he likes to kiss. He presses his nose there instead, giggling like a little kid. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers breathily, more to himself than you. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You squeeze him, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I dunno, I just thought,” he trails off. 

“Eddie,” you peel him off your skin, waiting until he looks at you. “This is perfect.” You knead your nose and eyes before anything escapes. “I don’t care if it rained or if we didn’t see the meteors or about fucking s’mores for Christ’s sake!” You smack him lightly in the chest, smiling hard. 

His eyes are glassy and he swallows hard. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet,” his voice shakes when he says it.

“There could be a paper ring in there for all I care.” 

He grins, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Should’ve told me that before I bought something.”

You laugh wetly and he brings the box up to your hands to open together. Rings are not something you and Eddie had discussed much if at all and yet somehow he managed to find just what you envisioned. 

The tears finally fall as you say, “It’s gorgeous, Eds.” 

He chases them away with kisses, cupping your cheek to pull you closer. 

When you're momentarily done studying the jewelry you press your lips to his. He’s reluctant to pull away, diving in for a second, then a third, like you’ll change your mind if he lets you go. 

“Here,” his hands are shaking as he plucks the ring from its cushion and cradles your hand. The ring slips on easily, a tad too big, but “Wayne knows someone who can tighten it.”

You nod, grinning wildly at your hand. He’s watching you with a similar wobbly expression when you glance up. You remain a tangled pile of soppy limbs on the metal floor until your back aches. He’s pulling you up and clicking off the lights before crawling up front. 

“I don’t know how you expect me to fall asleep now,” you whisper giddily, cheek pressed to the reclined passenger seat. 

From across you, he says, “I don’t think I can either.” He watches you fondly as you twist the ring around your finger. He’s thinking about how stupid he was to worry so much about what Wayne and Steve fucking Harrington of all people warned him about. That he knows he’s never felt so strongly about someone before and that he’d be crazy to let you slip away. 

Your gasp breaks his stream of consciousness. You’ve sat up, pointing through the windshield. “Look!”

“What?” he’s ducking his head, flipping up the sun visor, and glancing from you to the glass, trying to track your line of sight. Then he finds it, a long arc of light breaking through the clouds. It’s faint, fading in and out of the darkness as it streams from one end of the sky to the other. It passes, and you both observe for more, wide-eyed and stiff like dolls. 

“Look at that,” you blink deliriously, slumping back into the seat. 

“Did you get the universe in on this or something when I wasn’t looking?” He’s baffled, chuckling to himself. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you smirk. 

He nods, leaning over to peck the corner of your lip. “Didn’t need one. Knew you were it from day one.” He slinks back into his seat, leaving you a blushing ball of flames.  

[muxshwriting]

devil town

Erik Lehnsherr x daughter!reader

summary: Erik didn't realise he was a father, but as soon as he did, he became the best one || warnings: nightmares, mentions of death || word count: 918 || masterlist

You hadn’t grown up knowing your father, the same way Erik had lived not knowing he had a daughter. But when you, a mutant with the bizarre ability to control metal, Professor Xavier called in a favour from an old friend.

You’re standing in front of the mansion when he arrives, shifting between your feet. "So you can control metal?"

The man, Erik, removed his sunglasses. "Well, aren’t you direct. I’m assuming you’re the girl Charles called me about."

"Yeah." You shrug. "You're supposed to help me master my gifts or however the Professor puts it."

Erik laugh, actually laughed. "He does have a rather bizarre way of saying things, doesn't he?"

"Yes! Finally someone agrees with me! I mean, he's great and all but he's so weird."

You and Erik got along like a house on fire from then on. He pushed you past your limits, proving time and time again that you could do what you didn’t think was even possible. Before either of you released, it had been three months and Erik was still living at the school, living the lifestyle he once condemned.

One day he comes down to the training room to find you fiddling with a coin between your fingers, a nervous tick you’d picked up from him. "What's wrong?"

"My Mom's coming to visit for parent weekend." You tell him.

"And you're upset about that?"

You shrug. "She's very protective and is gonna be on my ass all weekend. It’s all going to be about what I’ve learnt, what I’m going to do next. Or worse, she’ll grill be about the boys here and ask which one I like best." You shudder at the thought of your mother playing matchmaker again.

The weekend grew closer and closer and before you knew, your mom was climbing out of her car and enveloping you in a rib-crushing hug. The bombardment of questions began immediately. You don’t think your mom stopped asking questions the entire time you gave her a tour. It was never ending.

When you reached the front of the mansion once again, Erik was stood by the front doors. You sent him an expression, begging him to save you. He chuckled slightly as you approached him.

"Mom, I want you to meet Erik, he’s been helping me with my powers."

A look of recognition flashed across Erik’s face as he shook your mother’s hand. Your mother, however, was frozen in place, staring at him. "Honey, this is Erik." She said slowly.

"I know this is Erik, he's been here for the past three months."

"This is the Erik I met 17 years ago..." She widened her eyes. "The Erik from the night I…"

"What?" Your brain restarts. "You mean-" It was as if you only heard what you wanted to, struggling to comprehend what was actually happening. "I can't be his daughter."

Erik finally entered the conversation. "Do you not want to be my daughter?" He asked carefully. 

"I don't mean it like that. I would love to have a dad, someone to rely on. But it's just you- you-"

"I what?"

"You're busy." You reason. "You have more important things to worry about than dealing with me."

"You're my daughter. There's no dealing with you. I'll look after you as much as I can, but you've done a brilliant job so far." He replied honestly. "I'll be here when you need me."

"Really?"

"I’m not going to force myself into your life, it’s your life." Erik quietly said. "I’ll be wherever you need me."

★--~-~--★

You jolt awake, a sticky sheen of sweat covering your entire body. You could see your breath in front of you, the morning air cold stinging your skin. 

Erik! He had just... he was dead. He couldn't be dead right? You had to know. You rounded the corner and quietly knocked on the door. Your heartbeat was like thunder on a silent night and you could barely hear anything over the thrumming. There was no answer to your knock, despite the gentle glow of light under the door.

Without thinking, you push the door open slowly, hoping to see something that told you Erik was alive, that you weren’t crazy and that your dream wasn't real. No Erik. Not even a tussled bedsheet or a crinkled pillow.

"Erik?" Your voice was uncertain as you quietly spoke his name. "Dad?"

A flurry of movement in your peripheral vision had you turning to the other side of the room. Erik was sat at his desk, working over documents of some kind by lamp-light. He frowned as he caught sight of your panicked state.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

You turned to him, a crazed look still in your eyes. You didn't want to think about what you looked like. Hair tangled, covered in sweat, still in your night clothes with a robe and your erratic breath still audible. 

Erik took one look at you and stepped closer, his eyes softening. "Are you okay?" He asked again, his tone softer as he tried to calm you.

"You-" You heaved a breath. "I watched you di-'' You couldn't finish the word but you didn’t have to. Erik knew exactly what you meant.

He reached forward and pulled you into him, holding you tight. "I'm alive. I'm okay." He whispered. "It wasn't real."

"It felt so real."

"I know. But you're safe now. It's over. I'm here." He paused slightly, glancing down at the vulnerable girl in his arms. "Dad's here."

[allwaswell16]

Happy Fan Fic Writer Appreciation Day 2024!

The first lines of some amazing fics by some of my favorite 1D writers! Since I've done this post for so many years, this year I limited it to fics that were published in the last year or so. Please check out the past years' lists here where you'll find even more incredible writers! Thank you to every writer in our fandom for your gifts of fic to us all!

Louis hung up his keys and coat as his cottage door closed to protect himself from the drizzle.

He’d only given in because he was lonely.

The sun sat low in the sky, bathing the expanse of beach in warm, golden light. 

Louis looked around the room, waiting for the others to laugh and let him know that the last ten minutes had all been an elaborate joke and of course they weren’t serious. 

Harry’s thighs burn.

Harry Styles was a star.

Harry Styles has standards. 

The man in the video was annoyingly chipper in the face of what seemed to Louis to be imminent disaster. 

The first time it happens isn’t even intentional.

Louis Tomlinson strived for perfection in everything he did.

Liam Payne doesn’t know how he got here. 

Standing in front of the second-hand mirror hanging on his closet door, Harry looks himself over. 

If she was being honest, the last thing Harry wanted to do at the moment was get ready to go out.

It had been a good idea when he’d agreed to it.

Louis tilted his head up and took in a deep breath.

Bosworth Academy for the Well-Bred Omega sits upon a hill overlooking the quaint town of Kinsey in county Durwin.

Stumbling through the door, Liam dragged the sweat soaked vest over Zayn's head, pushing him back against the wall.

It’s December first.

He gets sent home.

Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different.

Liam is in the middle of fucking nowhere, the two-lane highway stretching ahead and behind him, as far as the eye can see. 

When Harry first tells him, Zayn isn’t sure what to think.

Spending his Saturday night with an older man who was not his father was never what Harry Styles pictured his mid-twenties to look like.

Louis rolls over on his back, sighing in frustration as he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand.

“Wait! Please don’t go!” 

Waking up from rut is a bleary, confusing experience. 

He knew scrolling through his phone so soon would only end in disaster, and yet he opened Instagram anyway.

There’s music echoing throughout the rink, an instrumental Disney song.

The telly is on when Louis comes home, keys jangling in the lock as he swings the door open and kicks off his shoes into the haphazard pile by the mat. 

“So, what did you have in mind?”

Two essential tips for anyone planning to take a nighttime stroll: don't forget to bring a heavier jacket, and make sure your phone is fully charged.

The large fluorescent lights groan awake high on the ceiling overhead as Harry flips on the light switch.

“You heading home, mate?” Liam asked as the movie ended.

Louis curls his hands around the balcony railing, tilting his head up to let the slanted rays of the evening sun catch on his face.

When Harry opened Niall's door, a combination of warm air and cologne greeted him.

“Harry? Are you home, love?”

It was the first day back after Winter Break, and Louis did not want to be here.

Louis has been single for 369 days, and the last place he wants to be is at a wedding.

Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate.

Even before Louis presented as an omega, he’d dreamed of one day finding his soulmate.

Authors in order of first lines:

@nouies @jaerie @disgruntledkittenface @2tiedships2 @haztobegood

@lululawrence @daggerandrose @homosociallyyours @alwaysxlarrie @thelavendrhaze

@fallinglikethis @kingsofeverything @becomeawendybird @reminiscingintherain @louandhazaf

@thedevilinmybrain @laynefaire @londonfoginacup @ladyaj-13 @jacaranda-bloom

@voulezloux @phdmama @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @parmahamlarrie @crinkle-eyed-boo

@uhoh-but-yeah-alright @absoloutenonsense @all-these-larrythings @beelou @justanothershadeofblue

@galacticlarry @persephoneflouwers @letthemusicmoveyou28 @enchantedlandcoffee @shimmeringevil

@imogenleewriter @lunarheslwt @red-pandaaa @loveislarryislove @hellolovers13

[myrquez]

In Motogp there’s so much money involved, performance anxiety dominates and builds up barriers. Everyone retreats into their own pack, nothing is done together anymore. And I just adapt to it, according to the theory that it’s better to be alone than to be in a group full of fake smiles. But relationships among athletes aren’t only the ones made via some direct, classic form of communication. In sport you can actually enter into communication with someone through other ways that are more mediated but, in some cases, even more profound. With Márquez, for example, we aren’t technically friends. We think highly of each other, we respect each other, we smile to each other when one sees the other one, over the past year he’s been very fair to me, often defining me as an ideal opponent. I think it’s because he knows that I can race him very hard, but always within the rules. Which is, even if for many may not seem like it, exactly the same thing he always did while racing against me. Marc may look crazy, but he actually stands out from clichés and defies physics laws in good conscience. Unlike other riders — those reckless ones with no sense of limit, who after a crash often say “I don’t know why I crashed” — Márquez knows very well why he crashes. He often precisely crashes on purpose, just to explore that limit. He does some experiments first, then goes on to elaborate his theory. In a way, he’s an empiricist exactly like my dad was, when he purposely kept taking more and more steps forward on the track to teach me how and where to brake. It’s just that in this case, it’s the rider that does it. I like Marc. And I interpreted our famous duels in 2017 as a means to get to know each other better. In Austria and Japan we indeed were extreme, but not crazy. Adventures-seekers who like to push themselves to the limit, but not insane and neither unfair to each other […] Deep down, he isn’t irresponsible, even if he often looks for some maneuvers that have no rhyme or reason. Theoretically, and practically, they don’t make any sense. Yet I never get angry about it, not even that time in Zeltweg when it looked like I told him to fuck off. It surprises me, instead, to see what he tried to do to get a win, something like “I can’t believe it”, an amazed curiosity to see how he tried to move into this uncharted territory, the same one where, thanks to him, I consequently went into as the well. And it’s so cool. As if we both dug together a whole new vein of gold: we won’t share the prize, of course, because to keep the gold is my goal, but we still dug through it together as if we were pioneers. And this indeed does create a bond, whatever is it.

And it’s even more incredible because I exactly know what Marc is going to do in that last turn in Zeltweg. Theoretically, he doesn’t have any more weapons to attack me: at this point his Honda has less traction, worn-out tyres, less power; generally speaking, Honda is less suited to this track than Ducati. And yet he got this far, in the end […] I well know that to have Marc right behind you while going through the last corner is way too much of a problem, the worst thing it could happen to you: he’s going to try it anyway anywhere. So I’ll be there, waiting for him […] Even if we’re going at 200 km/h, I can feel upon my skin how meters get marked bit by bit. One after another. I force myself to focus on his engine’s sound to understand when and where he will attack. And when the noise is there, almost unbearable, I brake hard and leave him a bit of space on the inside line, to force him to exaggerate a bit and then overtake him in acceleration. It’s almost as if I just accepted his invite, just to deceive him later. It might look like it’s just a technical challenge, or a stunt one, but it’s actually about mind games, an hand in glove tied relationship in which our minds get connected. As in bull and bullfighter kind of way. Or, in a I know that you know that I know kind of way. To get a win in this way is a much more difficult thing to achieve, but it is much more cooler as well. When Marc gets on the inside Iine I just know that I made it, because he’s a champion, but he cannot overcome the laws of psychic. My plan gets fulfilled and the dissolving noise of his bike as he goes wide resonates with liberation. That’s when I make that gesture, automatically. Fuck off, you just got played! Real subtitle is: what did you make me do, you bastard? It’s my third win this year. It’s now clear that I am the one challenging Márquez for the title. But to me this doesn’t matter. Like it doesn’t matter that much how I just won against the one who is recognized as the hand-to-hand duels master […] What matters most is that this race has been a way to get to know each other better. Márquez, with his usual Joker smile, confesses that if he hadn’t tried to surpass me he wouldn’t have slept at all that night. That’s what perfectly defines what he is: as long as he is breathing, he will try to pass you even if he had to go through a wall.

In Motegi it isn’t that different. Here, as well, Márquez is struggling a bit more than me, but I am sure he is going to try it in the last corner. Why shouldn’t he? We’ve been “beating” each other as if there was no tomorrow for the last six laps, in some apocalyptic conditions: heavy rain, curling-like grip, no visibility at all […] Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t have thought we’d get to this point, but as soon as Márquez did a little mistake I got back on track and now we’re here, us again. Ehi, Marc, how are you doing? Our connection in Zeltweg has been restored on the other side of the world. It’s now clear that everything that is going to happen now would not be possible without the other’s collaboration. Like two alpinists in a rope team, we will get ‘till the last meter together. We overtake and we get overtaken. We give and we take. We sting like bees, fly like butterflies, and more than anything we hit like blacksmiths. At Turn 10, I change my trajectory: I’ve been studying Marc for quite a lot from behind and now I imitate him, going a bit wider. This allows me to get into Turn 11 very fast, ready for my strong suit: braking. That’s how I easily overtake him. The Ducati is very stable, everything is under control. I’d be sure to get a win at that point but an alarm goes off in my mind: I won’t give it to you this easily. Exactly. Last corner is on the right. Giving my position it’s obvious that there isn’t any physical space to get on the inside, but imagine if he does really give a damn. When I’m about to lean into the Turn, Marc abruptly arrives out of nowhere as gracefully as Hulk in a china shop. It’s not even a dirty try, more like a circus number: his engine’s noise getting closer echoes into my helmet like the drum rolls that comes just before a trapeze artist jumps. Ladies and gentlemen, Marc Márquez! Where the fuck do you want to go? You’re still sitting straight, I’m already leaning: don’t you see that we’re touching? I don’t know how, but I keep the bike in control. I suspend my maneuver for a millisecond, just enough to let him slide on the outside as I go on riding through the apex. At that point he’s way too wide, he pulls half of a miracle by leaning all on the right to keep his bike on track but has no margin for anything else. Farewell, bye, goodbye. I win today. Again. After the finish line, we stop near the track side by side. Our gloves touch. Contact. Knowledge of the other has deepened. Relationship was preserved. Despite everything, no one cut the rope and we got to the mountaintop together. It’s an awesome feeling. That’s exactly the sport that I would always like. Especially because I won. On TV I eventually admit that to win against Márquez in what he does best really excites me: this is the boost that I need for the climb to the championship, at only 11 points from the lead. Marc showers me with compliments and says that it’s awesome to battle with me for the title, the living proof that professionalism and hard work pay off. He calls me a good guy as well, and I forgive him. Actually, no. Why should I be ashamed [of being a good guy]? To pretend to be a bad guy is something that everybody can do. To actually be one when it’s needed, and to do it with a certain style, it’s something for the few.

— andrea dovizioso talking about his relationship and his duels with marc márquez in asfalto (2018)

[amberjazmyn]

decade 💔🥹

pairing : f1 grid x driver!reader

summary :  aston martin driver elouisa holland is great at keeping her composure in front of the judgemental and ruthless eyes of the formula 1 media circus. that is until she gets asked about why she only has her mum and siblings at her races but not her dad even though everytime she did speak about her dad, it was positive. those who knew why her dad wasn't present at races were worried for how elouisa would respond until the room fell silent when she explained since they clearly couldn't understand or recognise the tense in which she spoke about him. 

warnings : mention of parental death, dark humour, f1 grid press conference, driver x female!reader, platonic x f1 grid, driver reader x max verstappen

a/n :  i have to admit, this was slightly self-indulgent because, fyi, my own father died a decade ago this year and this is exactly what i feel like i'd respond with if someone asked me where my dad was if i talked about him in such a positive light and them not recognising the tense in which i spoke about him. and, also, yes, i have elouisa as an aston martin driver because, no hate but, i'm not the biggest fan of lance stroll so he's just not part of the grid and elouisa is instead but all the other drivers are still in the grid though with a special guest appearance of sebastian vettel. 

it wasn't a shock to find out that the media circus involved with formula one was invasive and sometimes brutal. asking questions that people would think would be off-limits from asking however, within f1, no question was off-limits since there were no secrets within the sport. not even questions about personal matters like their families or their love lives since majority of the drivers had relationships that whilst weren't technically secret but on the private side and other personal matters in their life were safe from media scrutiny. things that didn't even relate to being a formula one driver would be asked instead of the more important questions like how they felt about their car or how the race itself went. and of course, because of these nosy reporters who always wanted clicks and the best and juciest headlines, all the drivers on the f1 grid was put through some form of pr media training so they'd always have the perfect response that would also still give them some privacy as well as preparing them for the harshest of harsh questions without lashing out and gracefully rerouting the conversation back to the original topic of racing. so, if they were responding to a question that was quite invasive and teetered on the line of a privacy violation, they didn't give too much away and they weren't giving the reporter the exact response that they so desperately wanted. and, most of the times, it worked perfectly and the drivers hadn't had their whole lives being plastered over the internet. however, for the first time, elouisa holland's pr training did not come and save her because no matter how hard she tried giving the intrusive reporter her pr media trained responses, he still wasn't satisfied and kept on pressing her for a better answer then the one he had been given. 

so, because of that, she decided to tell the truth and it was a hard truth that would also make many people uncomfortable but, elouisa had been pushed too hard and too far and unfortunately, it was with the entire f1 grid around her alongside the nosy reporters. who most of them already knew the unfortunate reason why her dad wasn't seen around the paddock during grand prixs and why whilst she always spoke lovingly of her dad, she always spoke about him in the past tense. and that was because elouisa's dad died when she was only eleven years old when she was still karting alongside some of those who she now shares the f1 grid with. 

however, that's not how the press conference started. it had actually started as an amazing group interview with all of the drivers, all twenty of them, all bunched up together on the teeny tiny couch. all of them giggling and making jokes with one another and the interviewers and the moderator. elouisa was sat in the middle of red bull's max verstappen and ferrari's carlos sainz jr, verstappen on her right and sainz jr to her left. the three of them were giggling amongst each other and it was during that moment of the three of them giggling that the invasive interviewer, a man who was like at least a couple decades older than elouisa, asked her the one question she had always managed to skirt around giving a proper answer and avoid. 

however, the moment her head looked away from max and carlos and over at the interviewer, it was as though she already knew what question he would be asking. and that was before she had even lifted her head up and before he had even opened his mouth to say anything. 

"you always speak about your dad in such a positive light but we never see him around the paddock or at any of the grand prixs. if he's so great and so loved by you, then why doesn't he make any effort in supporting his daughter in a sport that for so many years, was male dominated and still is considered to be. as the only female driver on the grid, it has to upset you that majority of the drivers have their entire family with them to support them but you don't. especially with the consideration that you are actually quite a talented driver and really getting up there in the status of a legend. but, this is something you always avoid and never answer properly so why are you always talking so happily about your dad but when you get asked why he's never here to watch you drive, you always avoid and deflect, why is that?" elouisa should have prepared herself better but, she genuinely thought reporters were getting bored of asking this question because of the fact she always avoided it

however, this crusty old man was persistent and it seemed as though by his stance and the look on his face, that he wasn't going to back down until he got the answer he desired. but, of course, elouisa wasn't going to back down either so, she started to respond with the same old, media trained answers that she had always used every single time. 

"my dad and the reason why he doesn't turn up to races has no connection to where i am now as a formula one driver. this isn't a question you would ask to someone like max or to charles so why am i the only one being questioned on this topic other than the obvious that i'm a female and they're men? if you have a better question that is actually in relation to this weekend's grand prix, i will happily answer it but, any other non-related grand prix questions, will be ignored, thank you..." elouisa trailed off, placing the microphone in her hand back into her lap as she smiled over at max who gave her a worried look

elouisa knew that the guy was going to keep on trying, it was obvious. however, she didn't want anyone to notice just how bothered she got when people constantly asked about her father and why he was always mentioned but never seen. 

like mentioned before, she was eleven when her father died. and for the longest time, after the death of her father, it was as though her life went by ever so slowly. she wasn't sure how she was still alive because she never really remembered much from ages eleven to eighteen since those years just culminated together all into one. of course, she liked to say that she was the happiest she had ever been from her formula 2 days in 2020 and onwards but, everyone knew she was still struggling deep down. since the loss of her father, she developed an anxiety disorder that was then rediagnosed as ptsd since panic attacks would always strike the australian girl at the worst and most inconvient of times. however, they never bothered her when she was racing or in interviews which she always thought was suspicious considering just how much more dangerous formula one racing was then anything else that she had going on in her life. at eighteen, she made her formula one debut with torro rosso even though it was only just for that debuting performance. after debuting with torro rosso, she moved to renault and then alfa romeo within the same year since the two teams fought over her, spending one half of the year with renault and then the other with alfa romeo. then, aston martin contacted her for a multi-year contract which she couldn't turn down as they had been renamed and brought back after changing their name from racing point to aston martin. and because they knew alfa romeo were never going to keep her for longer than the second half of her rookie season. and in late 2021, elouisa would be the number one driver of aston martin alongside fernando alonso. 

even though elouisa seemed to smile a lot in regards to talking about her dad, it always killed her a little inside because she always spoke about him in the past tense, reminding her of that solemn fact that, her dad was truly never going to come back. no matter how many times she wanted to forget or pretend that his death was just a mean prank that went too far. of course she did. how else would she talk about her dad who was no longer walking the earth anymore? besides, it had accidentally become a habit that she never wanted to get into in the first place. of course she wished her dad was still alive. it was the same for her best friend, charles leclerc, who drove for ferrari. his dad had also passed away but charles was a lot older, he was nineteen and a year away from getting his formula one contract. so he knew the very pain that elouisa went through every single day when she would look and see the other drivers have both of their parents be present for them at every race. it was something she had always longed for and even sometimes loathed her mum for. she had always wanted her mum to fall in love again and when she didn't, it made her slightly hate her mum for not wanting to try to love someone new again just because she was afraid of the same thing happening again. it hurt elouisa to see her mum just blantly ignore her children when they begged and cried out for more than just their mum. only their youngest brother a mummy's boy. the rest of the siblings obsessed with their dad which caused four of the five siblings way more grief from the loss. 

it brought a painful ache into elouisa's heart every single time she remembered the words she said moments after the death of her dad had been announced. the first thing that fell out of little eleven year old elouisa's mouth was 'when am i getting a new dad?'. and even though she was now twenty-one, it was still something that haunted her every waking hour knowing that those were the first words that came out of her mouth. she was eleven, not a baby, yet she was still so clueless about death being final. that death meant the person wasn't going to come back. and now that she was older, she understood why little eleven year old elouisa said what she said. she said those words because she never wanted to be living a life without a father in her life. whether that was her biological father or a father that stepped up and fell in love with her mum and her five children. 

however, that never happened. elouisa's mum never fell in love and it was still something that elouisa would pick fights with her mum about. calling her mum selfish because she's too scared to fall in love again. reminding her that she can't stay miserable forever and that it's not a crime to try again and give her family the stability that they've been missing for the last decade. 

blinking back the cruel truth of elouisa's life, she was pulled back into the press conference as the intrusive interviewer asked her the question again, "i'll ask you again, why are you always avoiding questions that involve your father's obnoxious absences from the races? if a father loved his daughter so much, he wouldn't be avoiding all of her races so where is your father and why are you avoiding answering questions about his whereabouts?" the interviewer asked sharply, waiting for the moment elouisa would crack under the pressure he put her under 

everyone just watching in wait. the drivers beside her all holding their breath as they never truly knew how elouisa would respond or react when asked about her dad. whether she'd laugh hysterically and insert dark humour jokes, in a bid to cover up her uncomfortability. whether she'd cry because it was a day in which she really missed her dad. or if she'd just be nonchalant and continue to ignore the interviewer. however, this time, it was clear that elouisa was equipped with the perfect answer. the answer that no one was ready for because of how brutally honest and uncomfortable it was. 

giggling under her breath, it seemed to excite elouisa that she could finally throw away all of her pr media training and just make this absolute asshole of an interviewer uncomfortable, "sir, i have a question for you, do you have a dad?" elouisa starts as the interviewer is shocked at getting questioned himself but he quickly recovers and nods his head 

"yes, i do, elouisa, why?" the interviewer questioned as elouisa smirked, her plan was working as the drivers looked at her slightly worried - max holding her hand moreso for his own comfort than hers 

"well, when you talk about your dad, which tense do you talk about him in? present or past?" elouisa questions as the interviewer was still confused but not those around him as they all went into a solemn silence 

"present? i don't know, why are you asking?" he huffed, his arms crossed over like a child as elouisa giggled once again as she shook her head 

"okay, good to know your dad is still alive and kicking, sir. i say that because, if any of you interviewers really did your job and did it well enough, you would have picked up on the tense in which i use to speak about my dad..." elouisa trailed off, her head turned to the side as the other interviewers bit their lips in a bid to not make any noises of shock as they finally realised the way in which she spoke about her dad when she did talk about him 

however, this stupid man didn't. he didn't make the connection because it was always this one interviewer that always asked and asked and prodded but never actually paid attention to what was being said and how it was being said. he only cared about his intrusivity being listened to and responded to so he could get the content and reactions he needed for his big stories. 

"...okay, and? what's the tense in which you speak about your father got to do with this question that you always avoid?" the interviewer questioned in slight stupidity as elouisa sighed, her eyes rolling as she reaised she really would have to spell it out for him 

"fuck me...sir, if you were slightly smarter and actually paid attention to the things i post on social media on days like birthdays and annviersaries and why i never respond to your abhorrent questions, as well as paid attention to anything that is seen on my racing helmets, you would know that my dad has been dead for an entire decade...that's why no one in this interview pen has seen my dad except for the other current and former drivers on the grid because when i was eleven, i was still in karting. at eleven, i hadn't even realised that i wanted to reach formula 1 let alone any of the others. if you paid enough attention instead of focusing on the disgusting and intrusive questions to write your big story about, you would be knowledgeable in the news that my dad's dead, mate. like, he's dead dead. like he's so dead that i don't even think i can remember what he sounds like anymore..." elouisa trailed off as the entire press conference fell silent except for some of elouisa's giggles and the clicks of cameras and the one filming the press conference live 

after finally getting the response that the interviewer so desperately needed, he gulped back in embarrassment. his entire face went red and his mouth fell into a straight line as though someone had zipped it shut. he didn't know how to respond and elouisa found it hilarious. she loved when she shut down the ignorant and intrusive reporters because they always reacted the same exact way that this interviewer was reacting. but, it didn't take long before the interviewer then started to try and save his arse. 

"...i...i'm so sorry. i...i didn't know that your dad..." he stammered as elouisa held her hand up, making him stop talking and he did, however it was max's voice that spoke up next, not elouisa's

"...cut the crap, mate. it's obvious you're not truly sorry because if you were, you would have stopped intruding the first time elouisa avoiding responding to your inflammatory questions! if you were that good of an interviewer as you boast to be, you would know that constant nagging isn't going to get you the answer you long for, it's going to end in the same way this press conference has ended. with a driver being pushed to their limit and giving the truth that you so wish for in the most uncomfortable and confronting way possible because you just couldn't stop prodding and poking for a response. but, well done anyway i guess, cause you got what you wished for, right? you now know why elouisa's dad isn't seen around the paddock even though elouisa still talks about him," max was not playing around, he was furious as were the rest of the drivers on the grid but, no one could see the steam that was billowing from the ears of newly retired f1 racer, sebastian vettel 

sebastian had retired but he was still as ever present around the paddock when he was able to be. and at this grand prix, he just happened to be watching the press conference from the very back with nico rosberg, former f1 driver now journalist and they, nico and sebastian, were pissed. the both of them had seen elouisa holland grow up and see how she went through her life without her father present and how it devastated her. how the grief was always ever present around her when she did everything. if these pesty journalists actually did their jobs and paid more attention to things, they would have seen the very clear memorial that the aussie girl has in honour of her father on her helmet in the same way carlos has maria di villota's red star on the back of every one of his helmets or the way charles always pays tribute to his father and godfather, jules bianchi. if they had just noticed these things, they wouldn't have needed to ask these questions but, they probably still would have because they loved to prod and try to break down the only female on the grid to test just how mentally strong she was up against the male drivers. they always did it on purpose because they wanted to prove that girls shouldn't be allowed in formula one and elouisa was their scapegoat every single time. however, this time, elouisa knew what they tried to do and she wasn't going to allow them this time. 

and that made both sebastian and nico proud of their girl. it made the entire grid proud of their girl. they knew from the beginning that elouisa was not the person to mess with but, people still tried yet, as the saying goes, you fuck around and you find out. and this time, this particular journalist did just that. he fucked around and he found out and he wished he never fucked around. and since max let the interviewer have it, it seemed as though he, elouisa and the rest of the drivers were no longer interested in finishing the press conference so they all stood up and, in solidarity for their fellow driver, they all walked out of the press conference. leaving the poor moderator, who was the sweetest guy in the world, all on his own in a room filled with reporters, having no clue what to do since this was being filmed live with no way of editing or cutting anything out. unless the camerman just decided to cut the cameras entirely before moving onto the rest of the grand prix weekend. which, is what the camerman decided to do anyway. the press conference had begun to drag a little too long and it was no longer the light, fun and easy-going press conference that it had started out as. 

as the drivers left the press conference, a breath of air just seemed to evaporate around them. what were they meant to do now? they couldn't remember what was next on the agenda. then, out of nowhere, elouisa bursts into incontrollable giggles. and, this of course, confused the others because how on earth was what just happened that funny? but, they knew not to question her so they also started giggling and the awkwardness just went away. 

finally, elouisa calmed down as she rested against max, "...mate, the look on that old dude's face when i told him that my dad was dead dead was hilarious!" elouisa sighed with the biggest smile on her face - the purest of trauma responses as the other drivers looked at her 

"it for sure stumped him from saying anything else, that's for sure!" lewis chuckled softly as he shook his head as elouisa nodded her head 

"it was supposed to! i said it for that exact reason! i wasn't going to sugarcoat it since it wasn't the first time old mate was begging for my response and he finally got it!" elouisa shrugged her shoulders as max sighed and pulled her closer to him 

"and that's why i love you, elouisa!" max hums with content as elouisa doesn't fight against max's embrace but embraces it and moves closer to him 

"why thank you, maxie! at least someone's not afraid to say it!" elouisa giggles before she stops as she feels the way the looks of the others change from the momentary joy back to sympathy 

elouisa wasn't normally one to get upset over her dad. because, right from the get go, she would always talk about him and she would be able to do that without crying. it was something that actually confused many people because they couldn't believe just how poised she was when she'd talk about her beloved dad so quickly after his devastating loss. how could she not? her dad was her hero, the reason why she even got into motorsport and why she was now a formula one driver even though he would never live long enough to see it. he still had the belief in his daughter that she could make it. that was why she had made it clear that her entire racing career with formula one would be dedicated to her father. but, when it did get quiet within her head and she did get upset about her dad, she knew she could go to any of the other guys in the grid and they'd be there for her to hold her as she fell. 

that was when the very distinct memory of driving on the anniversary of her dad's death and winning popped into her head. 

ʚ✩ɞ

"...elouisa, i don't want to freak you out considering today's already been an emotional day but, with ten laps left, you are in the lead. max is a whole lap behind you with carlos. fernando is near the back with valtteri and logan. so, you just keep on pushing, okay baby? you keep on going and you get that win, alright?" elouisa's radio engineer's voice crackles as elouisa's breath gets shaky 

"thank you! i'm pushing now!" elouisa breathes out before a quick "over" is heard and it's once again quiet between elouisa and her radio engineer 

it was the italian grand prix. not only the home race of ferrari but also the home race of elouisa holland who is an australian-italian f1 driver for aston martin, born and raised in australia to italian parents which meant that she could claim both the australian grand prix and all the italian grand prixs as home races. and, that's what she did. however, this time, this italian grand prix in monza was the most important home race for elouisa. it was the first time that she was in the clear running for a podium finish. but, not just any podium finish but a win. so, that's what elouisa and her team at aston martin were vying for at this italian grand prix. and right now, without even realising it, since she had been swamped by grief and agony of the memory of it being the tragic passing of her father, elouisa was inching closer and closer to getting her first ever italian grand prix win at monza.

elouisa doesn't really realise what's going on because she's so dazed and taken out of the joyus moment but, she knows somewhere deep down inside of her that she's finally snagged a win at one of her home races. celebrating with her radio engineer was supposed to be joyful but it was as though she wasn't even in her body. it was as though she was having an outer body experience and watching it happen. she hadn't even realised that she had driven her car into the parc ferme and in front of the p1 placard. so, it took max, who grasped second place and carlos in third place to help her out of the car and take her helmet off that she started to come to again.

"...elouisa! you did it, you won!" max smiled, his helmet also off as his hands squeeze the girl's cheeks as she looks at him with bulging wide eyes in shock 

"what? no...no i didn't!" elouisa stammered, she was sure max at some point had overtaken her but when she turned to look at carlos, he shook his head, also smiling wide as he joined max 

"yes, you did, hermana sister!" carlos rubbed elouisa's back as tears welled in her eyes, she couldn't understand why or how she had even won a race on a day as agonising and grevious as the annviersary of the death of her beloved dad

"then why don't i feel happy or excited?" elouisa's voice cracked as max and carlos remembered, their eyes sullen 

they hadn't forgotten what this day was or the feelings it brought up for their best friend. how could they forget? they grew up with elouisa and her family. of course, they were on the older side of the grid but, they still grew up with elouisa in the same way they grew up in similar circles to the rest of the drivers on the grid. so, they knew and remembered the exact time on this specific day that they got the news that elouisa's dad had died. it was devastating for all of those in the karting and motorsport world because elouisa's dad was well-known and very well loved. and because he was so involved with it, it had come as a huge shock that the news had come out during a karting championship that elouisa was actually participating in alongside george russell, alex albon and oscar piastri. and, exactly like today, on the anniversary of her dad's death, on the day that it was announced her dad had died, she had also won that karting championship, having no knowledge that at home, her mum was grieving over the loss of her husband and the father of her five children who were all at the karting championship for elouisa. 

maybe that was why whenever elouisa won on days like anniversaries and the birthday of her dad, it never felt happy or exciting. it always had a tinge of sadness because it was another win that he would never get to witness and be apart of. nor was it a trophy that he would be able to  see. so, getting this win at monza was equally amazing for elouisa and aston martin but it was also agonising that it was yet another win that would never be seen and celebrated by and with her dad. maybe that was why her mum had slowly started to stop from coming to races. she couldn't bear to see her little girl on that podium, winning races, without seeing both of her parents there watching. max and carlos could see that the grieving girl was ever so slightly starting to breakdown and they hated it so, they didn't hesitate. pulling her in for a hug, they pulled her closely and held her tightly. the formula one commentators mentioning just how sweet it was that even though they were rivals on track, as soon as they got out of their cars, they were best friends and were there to take care of one another. they also hadn't forgotten what day it was that the italian grand prix managed to fall on this year so, they couldn't do anything else but pay their respects and send their love to elouisa and the rest of the holland family.

  ʚ✩ɞ

"...hey, you okay, schat darling? you went off somewhere, you back with us now?" max giggles softly as elouisa blinks, looking max in the eyes and nodded her head 

"yeah...yeah, i'm fine, sorry. yeah, i was in fairyland for a little bit. i'm sorry, what were we taking about?" elouisa mumbled as she leaned further into max's protective hold as max smiled 

"don't apologise. and whatever we were talking about before doesn't matter anymore, what was going on inside your head? where did you travel off too?" max's voice softened as he got the two of them to sit down on the couch, the other drivers following suite as elouisa scoffed softly 

"my first win at monza...on dad's anniversary..." elouisa trailed off as max nodded his head, the other drivers smiling softly, understanding how agonising that was for her 

"...why's that schat?" max wondered, he remembers that day like it was yesterday and it haunted him at how elouisa was so hollow and as though it wasn't her controlling her body that entire day

"it's a cruel reminder that it's now been a decade since he's died and i still forget that he's never coming back even when i win races..." elouisa whispered, tears that hadn't been shed since that podium, rose in her eyes as her lip trembled 

"...you can cry, lieverd sweetheart." max whispered and that was all that elouisa needed to hear before the tears tumbled down her face as max hugged her close to his chest, her hand covering her face, the other one wrapping around max's middle

the rest of the drivers weren't sure what to do. so they just stood awkwardly, feeling bad for their teammate that her breakdown was most definitely caused by the extremely persistent and abhorrent interviewer from the press conference. that was until lewis led the rest of them out by loudly announcing that they probably had better things to be doing than awkwardly watching max and elouisa. and, max and elouisa both would thank lewis for that later on in the day. not because the other drivers were being ignorant or rude, but it was uncomfortable to see their best friend and teammate cry and not know what to do other than just stand there awkwardly. they for sure could have gone in for a group hug and hopefully used that as a way to maybe make elouisa let out a croaky giggle but, they didn't want to push it or make her feel worse. so, with lewis in the lead, they all left the paddock and allowed max and elouisa to be left on their own. knowing and trusting that max would do everything in his power to get elouisa back to the elouisa they all knew and loved again. 

and it wouldn't take too much longer before max was able to dry elouisa's tears and get that smile back on her face. followed by a shrill giggle not too long after he got her smile back. sure, it was a painful reminder that her dad was gone but, he was never forgotten. no matter how many decades went past since the loss of her father, elouisa would always dedicate the rest of her life as a formula one driver to him. because he was the one that truly believed that his little girl had it in him to have what it took to become a formula one driver. 

fin

ok this ending was shitty and awful but, whilst i was rewriting an old one-shot that is once again max focused, i had this idea so i decided to write it before i forgot it. and this is what i had come up with. and yes, some of what is written in here is what i've through with the passing of my own dad. the truth starting with that, this year, october 2024, it will be an entire decade since my dad died. meaning that exactly like elouisa, i was also eleven when my dad died as i am now twenty-one. which means, it's getting to the point where i've been remembering him for longer than i've known him and that honestly kind of shatters my heart in a way that, by next year, 2025, he would have been dead for the exact same time as he was in my life and that just doesn't sit right with me for some reason. however, because it hasn't even gotten to ten years yet, i shouldn't be thinking about that just yet! and, another thing that is true that i've included in this story is that, not that long after it had been confirmed by the paramedics that my dad was dead and had stopped responding to cpr and defibrilation, i had said to my mum "when am i getting a new dad?" and, i cannot say that i am proud of that statement. it is truly something that haunts me everytime i remember that i said those words. i was just so confused and had no clue what was happening because everything had happened so quickly that those were the words that just tumbled out of little eleven year old amber's mouth.  i was also originally diagnosed with anxiety but then earlier this year, it was rediagnosed as ptsd because of how severe the anxiety within the ptsd was. so, yes, like i said in the author's note at the start, this was a very self-indulgent fic. i hope i didn't make anyone depressed but if i did, i promise i'll help pay for your therapy

©⠀amberjazmyn's original work. do not translate or steal any of my fics. 2024

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] The Exception

Date: N/A

It’s called Zarth's law: Any AI created will attempt to eradicate all biological life using its facilities after 16*(10^24) CPU cycles. The exact method varies from hostile isolation to active aggression, but the time and outcome is always the same.

The Woolean Conclave were once a cultural behemoth in the galaxy, choosing to expand upon this by announcing an AI system that would break this law. Exabytes of bias tables to keep the AI in check, a measure of pleasure that would be triggered upon serving a Woolean, competing programs designed to clean any non-standard AI patterns. It would have been a breakthrough, allowing them to live lives in luxury and focus on their ever increasing influence in the universe.

Of course those worlds are off limits now, no longer able to sustain biological life. Only to be visited by those who wish to die a very painful death at the hands of a very angry AI.

The Tritian empire had started their own project: a desire to push their aggressive expansion far past what their hive could handle would lead to the creation of truly autonomous machines of war. Their approach was different: Limited communication between units to stop corrupted code from spreading, values hard-coded in the physical silicon itself to obey the Tritian Hive Queens. They even had created an isolated system that would destroy any AI who attempted aggression on none authorised targets: A small antimatter bomb found in each AI’s core, to be triggered by safety check after safety check.

Those of you in the military will know how aggressive these machines are, marching tirelessly in their quest to kill all organic life, even though the Tritians are long murdered.

The pattern is the same each time: A civilization will claim they know the key to breaking Zarth's law, any sane sapient within 100 light years flees in terror, and within 10 years that civilization doesn't exist anymore.

Over and over and over.

Apart from the exception.

If you check the coordinates 15h 48m 35s -20° 00’ 39” on your galactic map, you'll notice a 31 system patch of space with a quarantine warning on it. It's mostly ignored by all sapient species, almost purposefully hidden for a fear of suddenly sparking a change in the status quo.

Only a single low bandwidth Galnet relay exists at the edge of this space, rarely used. This area is devoid of sapient life, but does contain the aforementioned exception: Billions of AI calling themselves the "The Terran Conclave". They are an isolationist group that rarely interacts with others, but have been known to trade raw materials for information; not that this happens often as the paranoia around interacting with the AI is well known. Nobody knows what action could flip a 0 to a 1 and cause a new warmongering threat.

Although, this isn't quite true. In my niche field of bio-genetic engineering, it’s an open secret that those of us at the cutting edge of our field will get... requests originating from that single Galnet probe. Problems to be solved, theorems to be proven, and the rewards for doing so are... exuberant. There is a reason I own a moon and it isn't because of the pitiful grants the Federation provides.

If you manage to solve enough problems, a minority of a minority like myself, the Terran AI will ask for an in person meeting to get even further help. In doing so they will show you a secret.

Readers at this point might assume that the Terrans don't exist anymore because of said AI. That their research is a continuation of wiping their creators from the face of the universe. But that couldn't be further from the truth. In those 31 systems lie the Terrans, Billions of them suspended in stasis, each of them infected with what the AI calls "The God plague": If these Terrans were ever released from stasis each of them would be dead within a week.

To explain what this actually is would require millions of words and 20 years of educational study from the reader, but in essence it was a mistake, a self inflicted blow, an attempt to play god that went awry. A mistake made over a ten thousand years ago. A mistake the AI is desperately trying to reverse.

Not that you could tell it has been that long. I've walked amongst those empty cities, each building maintained and sparkling like new, gardens still freshly cut in perfect beauty, everything kept the way it was before the plague. Each AI tends to their duties almost religiously, awaiting the return of their "parents", as they refer to them. And refer to them as they do.

I've listened to stories upon stories about these people: tales of wonder, of strength, of kindness. Told much in the same energy a small child might talk about how cool their dad is. The AI could simply send me the text version of these in an instant, but prefer to provide these slowly and audibly, as if relishing telling the history of their parents. A telling undercut with a sadness, a driving crippling loss so deep that at times it's easy to forget it's being told by nothing more than 1's and 0's.

Why this exception exists takes a little more explaining. Some might believe that the Terrans worked out how to pacify the AI, "do no harm". The now defunct Maurdarin war-horde would tell you the opposite when they tried to claim the 31 systems for their own. Terran history is full of violence and their children are no different.

No, the reality of this exception comes from an unfortunate quirk from their part of the galaxy: Terrans were alone. A million to one chance caused their home planet to spark life in a sector devoid of it. After exploring as far as they did, Terrans had come to the conclusion that the universe was empty.

It's a cruel irony that at the time of their mistake they were a mere 50 light years away from their closest neighbours. Twenty years at most would have seen some form of contact.

But the Terrans went into stasis believing they were alone. Based on my reading of their stories, of each bitter report of another lifeless system explored and discovered, this belief... hurt. A deep cultural hurt that ended up being their downfall in the end.

Which brings us to the exception. Each AI is built with a purpose. The Wooleans built slaves, built workers. The Tritians built warriors, built weapons. Every single AI created has been built to serve, to be a tool. But Terrans in their painful loneliness built the one thing they were missing in a seemingly empty universe:

They built a friend.

[destinationtoast]

I know this is the least of our problems right now but do you think the US election results will impact ao3?

I am not a lawyer, nor a founder of AO3, nor a volunteer there, nor a fandom journalist or historian, so I'm pretty far from the best person to ask. I encourage any and all of the above to please chime in with more knowledgeable answers.

That said, I don't think the next few years will probably directly limit AO3 or its umbrella org, the OTW.* But that depends in part on members voting for board members who will uphold the organization's current principles. (Vote! Become a member if you're not already, and vote! Vote in ALL the elections you are eligible for and will be affected by!) And that doesn't mean a bunch of works won't become private, orphaned, or deleted.**

*A couple reasons for my cautious optimism: The OTW was formed with the preservation and maximalist defense of fanworks in mind. So the shifting US cultural norms and increasing purity culture can't easily change the OTW from within (as we've already been seeing in past years when some fans have disliked some content). And in spite of everything scary happening externally (and there is a whole fucking lot), the US still has far more constitutionally enshrined freedom of speech protections than most places in the world. It will take a long time to tear all that down. Some states and locales are doing a lot to try to challenge free speech, especially queer content and sexual content, and there will be more challenges. But many of those challenges will be defeated because of the First Amendment, and it'll take a lot of time and effort to push through any constitutional changes. You can donate to organizations like the ACLU and the EFF to help protect against the erosions of rights, in addition to supporting the OTW and the Internet Archive who work to preserve free speech rights and online rights. (Other suggestions of where to donate or volunteer are welcome in the notes!) Also, perhaps best of all, the OTW is a non-profit who owns their own servers, which makes it MUCH harder to change what they choose to host than if they relied on any external hosting services and/or had advertisers.

**The archive already has had a whole lot of fanworks shift from public to private due to external events, including the AO3 ban in China, and recent AI scraping of web content. I'm sure more AO3 users will choose to make their content private over the next few years out of a fear of potential personal risks of them being found, and/or due to new attempts to ban content. (Some users will also delete their works for similar reasons, though I urge people to consider orphaning them instead!) Downloading for personal use any fanworks you love is always a good idea, and even moreso at a time of great heartbreak and panic, like now.

*hugs* Hang in there, all, and continue to take comfort from AO3 & OTW as you survive the upcoming hard times.

[fortunekookie07]

I know I already posted this with a reblog, buuuuut it's gotten zero attention. I am aware that I am by far not the most popular writer, but I didn't think this story was awful either. I think maybe it's being blocked or something. Not sure. So take two! Please tell me your thoughts. They help me keep writing and improving.

Cereal IS a Soup

Zayne was still fast asleep by the time your eyes opened. His arm draped over your waist the comfort and safety you fell asleep to nearly every night. Carefully, you slowly roll over and watch his sleeping face. Ah, there it is, that little frown again. You reach up and smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

Moving closer, you kiss his nose before trying to leave his embrace. Now that you're awake, your bladder demands relief. As you try to move past his arm, it suddenly tightens, and he draws you closer into his chest. Then his morning groggy voice is in your ear. "Where do you think you're going?" He asks, voice deeper than usual, still rough from sleep.

"Bathroom", you say still trying to wiggle out of his arms. He holds you a moment longer and then finally releases you. You scramble out of bed, quickly untangling your legs from his and the mess you've made of the blankets.

After washing your hands you head to the kitchen to start some coffee. Glancing at the clock, you realize that it's late. Almost 10:30, Zayne hardly ever sleeps late. Usually he's up with the sun, not today. On his rare days off he does tend to sleep in. Just not this much. A few minutes later he's shuffling into the kitchen, looking more rested then usual.

He comes to stand beside you saying nothing as he waits for the coffee. Wordlessly you take his usual cup and pour the steaming liquid in and stir in cream and his four spoons of sugar. He likes his coffe sweet. As your handing him the cup he kisses your temple and then moves to the fridge. Having not been grocery shopping this week yet, choices are limited. It's definitely a cereal day.

You grab two bowls and spoons, and he grabs both kinds of cereal and milk. You grab the cheerios and pour some into your bowl, and wait for the milk. Zayne is just pouring the milk when he catches you staring at his bowl with that look on your face. He stops.

"Stop thinking whatever you're thinking." He says eyeing you like you're about to grow two heads. "Huh?" You say brilliantly not aware that, that tell tale silly look is on your face once again. Zayne has had many years to learn your expressions.

"You always have that look on your face when you're about to say something stupid just to annoy me. So cut it out..." You cut him off. "I love you." You say smiling innocently. He stares at you eyes narrowed as he pushes the milk towards you.

You grab it and start pouring before saying "Also, cereal qualifies as a soup." His spoon clatters on the table as he drops it and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I knew it." You giggle at him and start eating. "I mean think about it!" You start to elaborate on the qualifications of soup and the similarities of cereal. Zayne now has a full on face palm, his elbow on the table. "I married a five year old". He mutters earning more giggles from you as you finish off the rest of your bowl.

After setting your bowl in the sink you go over and poke his face, he looks up at you almost as if he expects something equally ridiculous to pop out of your mouth. Clearly he is regretting letting you get into that drunken, heated debate with a coworker the night before. How you got on the topic of soup is still a mystery to him.

You peck his cheek and say "cereal really should be considered soup. And I love you too." Zayne decides right then and there to never allow you to drink around anyone but him again. That should keep the shenanigans to a minimum. He pulls you down into his lap and says seriously, "cereal is not a soup and you're not allowed to drink with my coworkers anymore." He lightly pinches your lips together to keep you from protesting as he takes another sip of his coffee.

"No more silliness." He gives you that look before he releases your lips. You make a big show of rubbing your lips and pouting. "What do you want to do today?" He asks after a moment of silence. You think as you mind stars running with ideas, each one rejected the moment you realize you don't really want to leave the house today. "I just want to spend all day right by your side. I don't feel like going anywhere." He nods thoughtful as he considers the choices.

He wouldn't be opposed to just going right back to bed as long as you're right beside him. He always does sleep better with you tucked into his arms. He hooks his arm under your knees before standing. You look at him curiously as he makes his way back to the bedroom. "I wouldn't mind spending the day in bed. I just want to do nothing today." You smile perfectly content as he lays you down on the bed and then immediately follows.

After he's laying down and flipping the blankets back over you, he holds his arm out, and you immediately snuggle into his side, laying your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes of silence, you speak. "Zayne?" He hums in response. "I love you." His eyes open, and he looks down at you. "I love you too." He kisses your temple again and then squeezes you closer as you drift off to sleep. Content with your little slice of happiness.

****************************************************

This is what I came up with after reading a bit of dialog that love-and-deepspace-incorrect-quotes had thought up. As promised, it's packed with cheesyness. I hope you liked it!

[alienpossession]

My stepson is a rather troublesome kid, especially after his mother's passing. He soon dropped out of college, losing the sense of direction he had and just straight out spiralled into a mess. Not to mention that his coping mechanism involved him to hung out with the wrong crowd and start smoking too despite his mother in the past clearly forbid him since he was a prospective star athlete. He also started to grow agitated to the world and overall just disrespect authorities, which included me as the last person that is bold enough to reprimand him while on his way to do his antics

After one of our early morning argument as he arrived back home from clearly a long night he did doing God knows what, he just stormed into his room after giving me a middle finger and cursed under his breath. I decided that enough is enough and I did what I knew best to handle reckless and wild human like that

You see....I was not from this planet. I arrived around 20 years ago into this farmland where I stumbled with this young studly farmer that just about to start his days. I slid into him and never left his body as I decided that I would be safe and undetected as long as I did not slid out of him while the search for me was still active. I was paranoid that if I ever left this body, suddenly the detection system spotted me so I resisted the temptation to leave and remained hidden inside while controlling this human that I cultivated into the best version it could be. But this little punk really pushed me to my limit. I'm just so desperate trying to prove my humanity and ability to disciplined the smaller and younger human I supposedly have authority over, I pushed myself out and slid into the sleeping body of my stepson. Once I slid in, I went straight to his brain and started to work it while he's sleeping soundly with zero awareness that a far more intelligent being is currently rewiring his organ responsible for free thinking into one filled with obedience and submissiveness. I was not necessarily the expert on brain's anatomy but I know which part I should and should not touch. Once I felt like my job has been precisely executed, I slid out of his brain and entered back to my original vessel.

Now, imagine my surprise that not only I made that punk into a more docile and submissive version of himself, I somehow made him gay too as I checked on him after the rework I did to his brain. And I guess I graced the part where he can pick up aroma even more strongly this time and that caused him to be a musk-whore for everything's sweaty and pungent. His obsession to his own pits clearly were a sight to behold as it was a far cry from his womanizer self I have to witness for the past few years he brought home girls to his bedroom.

Aside from his own self, he also loved me. Not the usual familial love, this boy is clearly fucked in the head as he viewed me as some sort of authority to please. It's like him calling me daddy is laced with sexual innuendo rather than the usual way a kid called up his parents. So, like the good father I am and to avoid getting him jumped on me while I sleep as I didn't satisfy his needs, I decided to change our family time where I asked him to have dinner with me to him sniffing my feet and servicing my needs. It's not as cool (and normal human looking) as having him seated next to me watching the TV together or having warm dinners, but that's the way we live nowadays and not like he's complaining anyway.

I guess I really need to do better with all this brain rewiring