#fuck humid heat all my homies hate humid heat

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

it would be lovely to not fucking sweat for ten seconds

[serial-kissing]

This heat ruins my life every year. And it’s so DRY. Last year part of my car melted

Fuck dry heat all my homies hate dry heat!!!! (not as much as humidity tho because I'd actually melt and pass away)

[queen--kenobi]

HI HELLO this has been on my tbr list for a while now

Okay first of all. Either you have to be from the South or have family from there because like. Your descriptions of the environment are so spot on it's ridiculous. Like you can just feel the humidity and heat completely. And it's not just that, there's other little details in there that are just so authentic. I absolutely adore it

Also. Fuck cicadas. All my homies hate cicadas

But like. Your descriptions also work for literally everything. I got the genuine feeling of living in the 80s, you know? And like, authentically 80s not all the flashy stuff we think about

Secondly, I already love your characterization of Aemond. Obviously we know who he is, but I'm already so invested for when the reader finds out. I can already tell it's going to be heartbreaking and so angsty

Third I really love the reader has a daughter! That's such a refreshing and new take, and I think that's an excellent narrative choice. Like I can already tell that's going to be a key part of this, and it's a good way to play with tension and themes. And like I said, I especially love this choice because it's not a common choice at all. Hell. I don't ever think I've seen any fics from this fandom with a single mother reader before

Anyway I'm super excited to read more of this fic!!!

Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

@persephonerinyes @tinykryptonitewerewolf @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @dd122004dd @jetblack4real @joliettes @mariahossain @minttea07 @please-buckme @florent1s @tempt-ress @wintersire @w3ird11 @eltherevir @florent1s @maii777

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. “Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you—stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

[aforrestofstuff]

Just wondering, what's OPM characters' favorite season or the kind of weather they enjoy the most? And why?

Thanks for your ask, anon! It’s been a hot minute since I did one of these. :] ❤️

Tornado of Terror: Stormy days or nights of any kind because she’s a bit of a workaholic and the rampant downpour gives her a good reason to stay inside and relax for once. She’s mildly scared of thunder so she likes to drown out the noise by blasting romcoms on her TV.

Silverfang: Hot, humid days because it eases his arthritis pain and the humidity makes for good character-building when training his disciples! Ain’t nothing like running laps on a hot day after rainfall; it’s guaranteed to make anyone wish they were dead.

Atomic Samurai: Windy days because, and he would never admit this, but the wind makes his hair look marvelous. He’ll only ever wear his hair down in public when there’s a breeze outside. Nobody has noticed he does this, everyone just thinks he picks random days to do it.

Child Emperor: Literally wtf is the outside world. I hc that he has some sort of white noise machine to emulate rainfall and other sounds of nature, because he’s always cooped up in the lab and if he didn’t hear a frog croak or a breeze rustle through the trees every once and a while, he would go absolutely insane. His favorite setting is a hot summer day by the beach, where he listens to the waves lap against the shore.

Metal Knight: same as Child Emperor except he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about going insane or not, so minus the sound machine. His favorite weather is probably violent storms because it’s the perfect brooding atmosphere and it makes him feel like a tacky-ass supervillain.

King: He’s not really an outdoorsy person so he doesn’t care too much about the weather, but he does like it overcast. Mainly because he doesn’t have to put so much effort into blocking out the sunlight so he can play videogames without that annoying glare on his TV screen.

Zombieman: I’ve said this in a previous hc, but his pale/blue-ish skin indicates that his blood flow is absolute ass, which means he’s got to get cold easily. He’s got to be cold all the time. Which I why I propose that his favorite weather is when it’s unbearably hot for the average person (around room temperature for him). He doesn’t even sweat under the heat, only when he exercises. So, while everyone seeks solace in indoor air conditioning and ice packets in 100-degree weather, he’ll be outside in a sweater saying “Hm, it’s a little chilly. Good for a jog.”

Drive Knight: Cold. Unbearably cold. The reason being that he has a lot of firepower, right? And I doubt he’s got a ton of wiggle room for any cooling mechanisms (it’s not like Drive Knight [Señor Robocop] is out here carrying a giant canister of water), so he mostly relies on the temperature of the air around him to cool down. When it’s super cold, he doesn’t have to worry about overheating. It’s not like he can really feel the temperature anyway, it’s strictly for practical purposes.

Pig God: Cold. Super duper cold the way Drive Knight likes it because my boy Pig God is perpetually on the brink of heat stroke 24/7. The reason: he is morbidly obese. Fat acts as insulation to keep heat inside our bodies, and he’s got so much of it that his body is always working overtime to make sure he doesn’t fucking die. So, on cold days, he likes to rest and give his body a break. Below zero like room temperature for him, because room temperature for the average person makes him feel as if he’s standing on the sun.

Superalloy Darkshine: Bright and sunny, baby! Perfect weather, not a single cloud in the sky and not a one raindrop. He’s super outdoorsy. He practically lives outside. His favorite activity is, of course, exercising, and he much prefers when the weather is nice so he can better focus on getting those gains.

Watchdog Man: He prefers the weather to be nice and warm with absolutely 0 wind and 0 rain. His suit soaks up liquid like a goddamned sponge and gets a hell of a lot heavier, so he absolutely HATES the rain for that reason. Wind messes up his “fur” and he ends up looking like a cumulonimbus cloud after a long day of patrol, so that’s out of the question as well.

Flashy Flash: Hail. His training regime is brutal and he prefers to do it whenever it hails, because he believes being battered by falling ice makes him grow stronger. A large portion of the scars on his body were caused by the golf ball-sized pebbles of hail that fell on one particular storm.

Genos: Bitter cold, same as Drive Knight and with a similar reason as well. I imagine Kuseno had mercy when programming how Genos’ cybernetic body would react to things like temperature and pain, so he doesn’t really mind the weather no matter it’s highs or lows. He likes the cold because, like I said previously with Señor Robocop, it aides his weaponry when cooling down and he doesn’t need to waste time worrying if he’s gonna overheat or not because he has faith that air around him will take care of it.

Metal Bat: Snow days! He and Zenko used to love to play together in the snow as kids and they still fucking do it every year because time is an illusion and fun is eternal. His favorite thing to do is build very gruesome and horrific snowmen. Like, snowmen without heads, snowmen that look like they’ve been run over, snowmen that have purposefully been built to look like they’re melting and they’re in pain. That sort of stuff. He and Zenko also have snowball fights (because of COURSE) and Badd has to try his best to not hurl the ball too hard and accidentally give her a concussion.

Tanktop Master: Same as Superalloy. He prefers the weather to be picturesque perfect. I hardcore hc that they’re workout buds and that they often go on outdoor rendezvous together, whatever that may be. His favorite thing to do (besides hanging out with the homies, obviously) is to go on long hikes. He’s actually a pretty big nature lover and WILL shed manly tears if he ever sees a deer. God forbid a baby one.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Well, he doesn’t get as much outdoor time as he would like on account of being in literal prison and whatnot but he REALLY loves a very specific time of year just at the beginning of summer when all the bugs come out and the air is breezy but still warm. His loves to look at those bigass yellow butterflies and have picnics on the green tallgrass just before it’s been dried out by the summer heat. Oh yeah, and he’ll totally be doing this with his boyfriend. That’s the dream, baby.

Amai Mask: Clear nights just after rainfall. He loves the way streetlights reflect on the wet asphalt. This is also the weather he prefers to hold concerts in because the air is humid and cool and he doesn’t get as sweaty when he’s dancing or singing. The petrichor is nice too. If someone managed to bottle and sell it as perfume, he would be the first buyer.

Iaian: Overcast. When the sun is blocked out, he doesn’t have to worry too much about getting a heat stroke while wearing his armor during training. He also appreciates how dim it is. It’s easy for him to get lost in thought and he often finds himself standing still just to look up to at the clouds. He and Kama sometimes find shapes in them for fun between training sessions.

Okamaitachi: They really love quiet rainstorms. No thunder, no lightning, just the steady pattern of rainfall. This is the perfect time for them to relax, curl up with a good book, maybe knit a sweater, and just forget about everything that’s going on. They usually use this time to update their self care regime, like doing their hair or tidying up their nails. Overall, just a great time to chill out and keep up to date with loving themselves.

Bushidrill: He loves violent rainstorms. I hc that he’s had a pretty tumultuous life, so the havoc of loud thunder doesn’t faze him at all. He actually finds it quite nice. He’s the type of old guy that keeps a door open during rainfall just to let the smell in, or walk outside with no umbrella just for the fuck of it. He’s not terribly old, but he’s old enough to not give a rat’s ass about what other people (especially Kama or Iaian) think about his weird habits. He also likes all the nature that comes out after rainfall, too. Frogs and dragonflies are some of his favorite animals.

Fubuki: Barking hot. Unbearable. Like her sister, she’s a bit of a workaholic and finds it difficult to take a day off every once and while; but once that temperature hits the nineties? Oh shit. Fubuki Gang, pack your shit because it’s beach time baby. She absolutely LOVES the beach and actively anticipates the time of year when it becomes hot enough to bask in the sun. Going to the beach with her family was one of the few enjoyable things that came from her childhood, and she still finds comfort in it.

Saitama: He doesn’t really give too much of a shit about the weather as long as no roads are closed. The reason for this is: if there’s a sale, he wants to get there ASAFP. But, like I said, he really doesn’t give a shit either way because he can be both an outdoorsy and indoors kind of person without making any major changes to his life.

Mumen Rider: Sunny and clear! He loves to have picnics and watch the fluffy clouds! It’s also the perfect weather to go on long, recreational bike rides, which he almost never gets to do anymore. He’s also a bit of a nature lover and, like Tanktop Master, WILL cry if he sees a cute animal. Rainy and overcast days make him a little sad because he doesn’t like the gloomy feel, even if it is calming at times.

Sonic: Hail. Same as Flashy Flash, since they basically grew up on the same bullshit training regime together. The Ninja Village and everything connected to it is overall a total shitstorm, but he can’t argue with the results that made him a killer speed demon. So yeah, the breakneck training persists. And he does it while enduring the incessant pummeling of some fucking ice cubes falling from the sky. Like a weirdo.

Garou: Anything extreme. From blizzards to sandstorms, he’ll take it all, baby. Bang used to train him when the weather was especially bad to strengthen his spirit, and now that same violent weather has become sort of a comfort place. He things violent thunderstorms are calming and blizzards are like a warm blanket that take him back to the few rays of sunshine that came from his absolute clusterfuck of a childhood. He also likes to train during this sort of weather for the same reason Sonic and Flashy Flash like to train during hail: he believes it makes him stronger.

[arcanelaurels]

I’ve been super into taakitz college AU, could you write them meeting for the first time, like humping into each other at a party or something like that? ❤️❤️

Anon I’m fucking DYING did you mean to say “humping” or “bumping” bc I’m???? losing my goddamn MIND akdsknksljk 

I love this and now I gotta write both

Kravitz hated parties. He didn’t even know why he kept going to them. Maybe it was the idea of putting off schoolwork for another night. Maybe it was the free alcohol. Or maybe it was the hesitant promise of meeting someone new and exciting, of having a good time.

But that never happened. No, instead it always ended up the same way. Him being too self-conscious to get any further gone than tipsy while everyone around him got plastered. On the dance floor, people clung to each other in the darkness and the heat and the music that was so loud it was practically suffocating. He never asked anyone to dance. Occasionally, girls emboldened by alcohol would approach him, but he simply refused, not bothering to explain that they weren’t exactly his type.

It got to the point - the way it always did - where Kravitz felt like if he spent another second here he would suffocate. He drained the last of his drink and threw the cup aside, preparing himself to make his way across the dance floor since it was the only way to get to the exit.

He started pushing his way through the throng of people, not even bothering to excuse himself because he knew they would forget within seconds. He was nearly out of the sea of people when he felt warm arms wrap around his neck and an even warmer body press up against his side. Flustered and surprised, he looked down and immediately felt a blush rise to his face when he recognized Taako.

Kravitz didn’t know him, per se. They were in the same large lecture class of more than a hundred students, and under normal circumstances someone from that class would’ve been insignificant to him.

Except that Taako had a very…distinctive look. He always arrived to class dressed like he was a grown version of a Disney Channel character, with questionable layers of clothing and odd accessories that somehow worked, probably just because it was him. He tended to sleep through class, only waking up when the professor would notice his snoozing and ask him a question about the material (because she was that kind of professor). Every single time, Taako answered the question perfectly and then almost immediately went back to sleep. Kravitz often wondered why he even bothered to show up at all, and was certain that Taako didn’t even know he existed.

How Taako had been at this party this long without Kravitz’s knowledge was a mystery. But that question was pushed out of his mind because right now Taako was very drunk and…well…grinding against his leg.

Kravitz froze, unsure how to react as Taako swayed and ran his hands over him, occasionally flipping his half-undone braid over his shoulder before pressing closer to him. Panicking, Kravitz took Taako’s hands and pried them off of him, only to have them return as soon as he tried to move away. He needed to get some air now, so he quickly moved away and off the dance floor, vaguely registering that Taako was still clinging to him.

They got to the door and Kravitz turned back to try to unstick Taako from him again, only for him to groan and pout, walking his fingers up Kravitz’s chest.

“Wha’s wrong, handsome?” Taako’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Dunno how to dance?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot in Kravitz’s ear. “Why don’ we go back t’ my place and’ll teach ya?”

Kravitz swallowed dryly, his face burning. “You’re drunk,” He argued back loudly.

Taako’s pout deepened. “And you’re no fun. I’ve-I’ve seen you,” He slurred, swaying and using Kravitz to stay upright. “You’re the guy who stares ‘t me in class. You’re lucky you’re fuckin’…hot.”

Kravitz hadn’t thought his face could heat up anymore than it was, but he was proven wrong. “I don’t-”

“But if you,” Taako interrupted, jabbing a finger to Kravitz’s chest. “Dont’ wanna fuck me,” He pointed to himself. “Then I’ll jus’ find someone else.” He stood up a bit straighter and turned away.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Kravitz grabbed Taako by the wrist. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Taako was definitely not in a good state to be making those kinds of decisions. 

Taako willingly let himself be pulled back, overdoing it and pressing himself against Kravitz’s chest. He smirked up at him. “Hmm, change your mind?”

Kravitz looked around, feeling the crowd and the music start to overwhelm him again. “Why don’t we step outside?” He asked and, not waiting for an answer, opened the door and guided Taako out of the house.

It was a cool fall evening and the wind was extremely refreshing after the humidity of the party. Kravitz felt himself start to relax almost immediately while Taako shivered, instinctively pressing against him for warmth only to pull away again.

“Jeez, homie, you’re fuggin’ freezing,” He looked Kravitz up and down. “What are you?”

“Kind of a rude way to ask that,” Kravitz dodged the question as he led Taako to the steps and sat them both down on the edge. He took off his jacket and put it around Taako’s shoulders, who immediately took it and pulled it tighter around him. Kravitz took out his phone and ordered an Uber.

“Thought you were a human,” Taako muttered as he leaned his head on Kravitz’s shoulder. Kravitz didn’t bother pointing out that most humans didn’t have dark red eyes. The breeze picked up and he saw Taako’s free ear twitch a bit in reaction. 

“You sure you don’t wanna fuck?” Taako spoke up again.

Kravitz snorted. “Maybe some other time. As long as you’re sober and still want to.”

“Pfft.” Taako lifted his head, his unfocused eyes somewhat trained to Kravitz’s face. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the first day of class, my dude,” He said, prompting Kravitz to blush again.

Taako’s eyes suddenly narrowed and he stared at Kravitz more intently. He leaned forward as if intending to kiss him, but Kravitz leaned back, pressing a hand to Taako’s chest to stop him.

“Again,” Kravitz said, trying to stay composed as he pushed Taako into an upright position and sat back up. “You’re drunk.”

Taako scoffed. “Course I decide to go after a gentleman,” He grumbled. “And I thought today couldn’t get any worse.”

“What do you mean?”

Taako eyed him warily. “I don’t owe you my life story, kemosabe.”

Kravitz laughed nervously. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”

“Ugh,” Taako leaned his head against Kravitz’s shoulder again. “There you go being nice again. Just like my sister’s stupid boyfriend. She’s been in love with the guy for years. Years. Who the fuck waits that long before making a move? It’s like…who are you and what have you done with my sister, yanno?”

Kravitz did not know. He made a noncommittal noise.

“Anyway I’ve never met the guy before and she refused to show me any pictures of him. But they’re dating now and I met him and?” His pitch rose like he was asking a question and he lifted his head again to look at Kravitz. “He’s a fuggin’ nerd. He wears jeans like, every day. Blue jeans. He’s gonna make her like, start caring about school or somethin’. Turn her into a nerd too so she’s not fun anymore. My sister’s dating a nerd, Krav. Can you believe that?”

You know my name? Kravitz wanted to ask, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. Instead, he shrugged. “I’ve never met your sister, but if she’s anything like you, I doubt that’ll happen,” He chuckled. “And besides, as long as he’s a good person and cares about her, does it matter?”

Taako narrowed his eyes at him and was silent for a few moments. “You’re a nerd, too, aren’t you?”

Kravitz laughed nervously. “That’s-”

Taako interrupted him with a groan. “Gods, what is this, karma or something? Of course I’ve got a crush on a nerd, too.”

“I’m not- You have a crush on me?” Kravitz asked, struggling to process what Taako had said.

“I called you hot, didn’t I?” Was his only response, as if that was enough of an explanation.

Kravitz was trying to find something to say when a car pulled up a little ways away and he got his Uber notification. “C’mon,” He grunted as he stood up and pulled Taako up with him. 

They got into the car with some trouble from an off-balance Taako. The driver was a larger man who wasn’t paying much attention to them. “Ready to go?” He asked.

“Um, if it’s not too much trouble, could we make another stop before you take me to my place?” Kravitz asked, untangling Taako’s arms from around him.

“Sure thing, buddy,” The man answered, taking his phone off of its stand and preparing to put in a new address. “Where to?”

“Uh,” Kravitz turned to Taako, who was staring with intent confusion at the seat belt that he was holding in his hand, not having buckled up yet. “Where do you live?”

“Wherever you want me to, sweet cheeks,” Taako responded, doing his best to give Kravitz a sexy glance through half-lidded eyes that just ended up looking comical.

Hearing his voice, the driver turned around. “Taako?”

Taako’s face lit up. “Mags! Fancy meetin’ you here!”

“You two know each other?” Kravitz asked, leaning over to help Taako buckle in.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” The man explained, sounding a bit irritated now. “Don’t worry, I know where he lives. I’m Magnus, by the way.” He shifted gears and started driving. “You one of Taako’s conquests? You’re not taking advantage of my boy, are you?”

Kravitz felt his face heat up again as he finished buckling Taako up, very aware of his hot breath on his neck. He sat back in his seat. “N-No, I’m not. We ran into each other at that party and, well,” He glanced over at Taako before catching Magnus’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I was worried about his safety.”

“Aww, are you sweet on him?” Magnus asked, laughing when Kravitz spluttered. “I’m kidding, thanks for keeping an eye out for him. Taako doesn’t always make the best decisions.”

“I’m right here,” Taako crossed his arms defensively.

“Good thing, too,” Magnus said. “What were you thinking, going to a party alone? Were you trying to get yourself hurt? Or worse?”

Taako scoffed. “I can hold my own. I’ve got magic powers, you know.”

“So do lots of other people,” Magnus argued. “You’re lucky he’s a decent guy,” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in Kravitz’s direction. “Or gods know what could’ve happened to you.”

“Whatever,” Taako grumbled, sinking down in his seat and looking out the window. There was a tense silence that Kravitz felt had to do with something other than Taako’s lackluster decisions tonight.

After a while, Magnus sighed. “You know Lup still loves you, right? Just because she’s serious about this boyfriend doesn’t change that. She’s your sister.”

“Duh,” Taako sneered. “Doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

“Look, you guys have been inseparable since birth, I get that,” Magnus continued, unfazed by Taako’s rudeness. “But you had to know that you’d grow apart eventually. She’ll find someone - maybe this guy, maybe not - and you will, too. Probably.”

Taako continued staring out the window, unresponsive.

Kravitz didn’t notice when Magnus glanced at him in the rearview mirror with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. “What about that guy in your Conjuration lecture? The one you said is super hot?”

Taako’s ears perked up and he stiffened, side-eyeing Magnus. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“You know, the guy who sits across the aisle from you? The one you said always dresses super nicely and has cheekbones that could cut glass?”

Taako was silent, but Kravitz could see a blush start to form on his cheeks. Kravitz shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling like he knew where this might be going.

Magnus continued. “Yeah, you said you wanted to wind your hands in his hair and push him up against a wall-”

“Magnus.”

“-and let him suck marks into your neck that’d be impossible to hide-”

“Magnus.”

“-and give him what I think you called the ‘blowjob of the century’ and then-”

“MAGNUS!”

“What was his name? Kravitz?”

Taako groaned, his face beet red as he put his head in his hands and refused to look over at Kravitz, who wished he could disappear into his seat.

“Magnus, I’m gonna kill you,” Taako’s voice was muffled by his hands.

“Why?” Magnus asked, poorly feigning innocence. He glanced at Kravitz in the rearview mirror. “What did you say your name was, again?” He asked cheekily.

“I didn’t,” Kravitz muttered, refusing to meet his gaze as his face burned. He knew that Magnus got his name from the app.

“We’re here!” Magnus chirped, pulling into an apartment complex that Kravitz realized was right next to the one he lived in. He punched in the gate code and expertly drove around and stopped in front of what Kravitz assumed was Taako’s building. He turned around in his seat. “You live in the complex next door, right?”

“Yeah, I can- I can walk from here,” Kravitz said, rushing to unbuckle himself and get out. He didn’t really want to spend any amount of time alone with Magnus right now.

He walked around the car and opened the door for Taako, who practically fell out and had to be caught by Kravitz. Taako quickly pulled away, not meeting Kravitz’s eye or thanking him.

“Don’t forget to tip!” Magnus shouted out the open window before driving away.

The two stood in an awkward silence for a few moments.

Taako turned to him. “That guy’s a liar and not my friend.”

“So then you didn’t say any of those things?” Kravitz asked with a humorous glance.

“I-” Taako’s face turned red again. “I might’ve…I might’ve said something…similar.”

Kravitz chuckled and took Taako’s hand, prompting him to finally look up at him.

“Well, I would not be opposed to…going on a date with you,” Kravitz said. “And seeing where the night takes us. Can I see your phone?”

Taako wordlessly pulled his phone out of his back pocket and unlocked it before handing it to Kravitz. 

He put in his number and handed it back. “I hope you’ll text me sometime. When you’re sober, that is,” He smiled. He hesitated for a moment before pulling Taako a bit closer and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll be wanting that jacket back,” He murmured, then pulled away and turned to start walking home, waving over his shoulder.

Taako stood still in shock, watching Kravitz walk away. His hand automatically rose to where Kravitz had kissed his forehead and he felt himself blush like some sort of middle schooler.

Kravitz turned and called out over his shoulder. “Make sure to drink lots of water! You don’t want a hangover!”

“Shut up!” He shouted back, but couldn’t fight off the smile that crept across his face. He stood there, swaying a bit but determined to watch Kravitz until he couldn’t see him anymore. The wind picked up and he pulled Kravitz’s jacket tighter around himself before he turned around to head inside.

It was definitely a better night than either of them had anticipated.

[uberff]

Chapter 5

Jaylen

Pacing back and forth on my marble tiled floors, I thought back on the tragic event that just took place a few minutes ago. I was heated that Robyn had the audacity to bring that nigga in my face. She was fucking disrespectful.

Pulling out my matte black iPhone 7 +, I went straight to my contacts and tapped on Odell's name. After 2 rings, he had picked up. "You mind watching Jayla for the night?"

It's been weeks since Jayla's been here and unfortunately, I haven't smoked. I've tolerated people's shit long enough and the shit that just went down with Robyn put the icing on the cake. I couldn't take it anymore, I needed weed in my system.

The only way I could smoke was if Odell watched her for a little while. I was gonna smoke on my balcony, but I still didn't want her around that. I wasn't stupid.

"Yea, why?"

"I need to fucking smoke asap bruh." I guess he noticed the irritation in my voice because he didn't bother asking what was wrong with me and I gladly appreciate that.

"Aight, here I come." He said before hanging up.

"Jayla, you wanna go to Odell's?" I peeked my head in my room as she sat on my bed watching cartoons. Not that she had a choice, I just wanted to make sure.

"Yes!" She jumped down from my bed carefully. Letting her lead the way, she started to walk towards the front the door. Just in time, Odell walked in and let her get on his back.

"Thanks man." I dapped him as he waved me off. She turned to me and grabbed my face with her small hands before kissing my cheek.

"Be good, aight? I love you." I assured her as I pressed my forehead against hers. She poked my nose and then smiled.

"Love you too, bubba." And with that, they left. I instantly shut the door and ran to my room to look for the spare of weed that I'd been saving for this moment. I really needed to calm my nerves.

"I could fucking kill somebody right now." I mumbled to myself as I looked through all of my drawers. Coming up with nothing, I grumbled in annoyance.

"Bingo!" I yelled as I found it inside of one of my jewelry boxes.

After I smoked my emergency kush, my ego healed and I started feeling more and more like a head ass for how I was acting towards Robyn and her nigga, Kyle, or whatever the fuck his name was.

I sighed and ran my hand through my curls, cursing lowly. I grabbed my phone and scrolled down to her name in my phone and tapped it, hoping she would answer. Swear she was the only female that sent me on a guilt trip whenever I did some shit that be uncalled for. Mainly because she looked so damn good with that pout on her face with her hands crossed over her big ass titties. We used to be in a hella good place, man; she was homie until I fucked her over the same night she trusted me to take our "bestie-ship" to another level.

"HELLO!? Same phone, the hell you want?" she answered and snatched me from my thoughts. Her tone was still dripping malice from the whole shit. I smirked. Why the fuck I miss her so much? I legit saw her a few hours ago.

"Yo, chill. It's important." I mumbled like I was sad so I could get her to come over.

"What is it?" her attitude softened quickly. Yo, I swear I don't deserve her.

"O in the hospital, tore some shit in his leg. Can't play ball no more. I'm bout to head up to the hospital, you wanna roll with me?" I lied my ass off like it was nothing, I ain't shit.

"Jaylen, are you being serious right now?"

"Yeah man, It's bad, you coming or nah?"

"I guess. I'm on my way." she said in a hurry before hanging up.

About five minutes later, she hauled ass into the house, only to find me on the couch watching ESPN with another blunt hanging out my mouth. She had on this tight, short ass red dress that I wanted to eagerly rip off of her but I knew I couldn't. I guess she caught me staring because she started to put on her jean jacket. The way that deep red complimented how golden brown skin tone was perfect.

"Jaylen, where's O?" she asked. Scared as hell.

"Relax, Robyn. He at the crib, he good."

"I should've fuckin' known." she turned on her heels and tried to leave.

"Wait." I hopped over the couch and stood in front of the door. "Why am I here, Jaylen?"

"So I can apologize for earlier." she put her hands on her hips and something in her eyes flashed back to that moment and pissed her off all over again.

"Hear me out before you give up and storm out on me, Keyshia Cole." I smirked but she ain't find shit funny.

"I'm sorry, man. I ain't mean to blow up on you in front of your new nigga, Kev-"

"Kai, dickhead. His name is Kai." she mumbled, shrugging out of her leather jacket.

"Yeah, him." I mumbled bitterly. I can't believe that my ass was actually jealous right now.

She tipped my chin up with her acrylic nail and looked me in my eyes. "Jealous, much?"

"Don't flatter yaself, nigga. You fine but you ain't all that."

"I couldn't tell." she smirked and I moved my face away from her hands. "You forgive me?" my lips tugged at my blunt and blew smoke in the other direction since she was still close.

"Yeah, just control yo funky ass temper." Her eyebrows became one as she became Ice Cube for a minute.

"I know, I be forgetting baby. You gotta be reminding me...I'm sorry." I said imitating Joi from Friday. She busted out into a laugh and I pulled her closer by her small waist. "Where my hug at since we besties again?"

"Boy getcho where my hug at lookin ass." She said in a manly voice, wiping my smirk right off my face.

Just as I was about to flame her ass, she started to talk. "I'm kidding, come here sugar face." She apologized, making me smile. I would get her for calling me that gay shit but I wanted my hug so I could grab her ass.

She plucked the blunt from between my lips, kicked her sandals off and skipped over to couch after giving me a dismissing ass side hug. What in the friendzonation?

I followed her and draped my long arm around her shoulder and we starting vibing with dim lights and Game 5 of this Warriors and Cavaliers series.

Robyn

After watching the finals, I was extremely tired. I was finishing up some designs here and there during every commercial break, and eventually I just stopped watching the game to finish. Jaylen on the other hand was fast asleep on the couch.

We had switched from his house to mines, because I wanted to finish my work. As soon as we got here, he wasted no time in falling asleep. I told him he could go back home, but he kept catching an attitude so I just left him alone.

His mouth slightly hung open as his hands rested in his pants. Typical nigga sleeping position.

I felt my phone vibrate in my lap indicating that I had a text from Kai.

Kai🤞🏾: why u got the door locked bro I told u I was omw 20 mins ago 🙄

Kai🤞🏾: bout to piss on myself bro hurry up

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and checked our conversation to see if he was right. He had text me about 20 minutes ago telling me he was on his way and to leave the door unlocked. Shit, I must've been too caught up in my work.

I started to walk to the door but then realized that I have Jaylen here on the couch. Maybe Kai isn't even at the door yet.

"Jaylen! Get up, hide in the closet!" I whispered as I violently shook him as he shot up, ready to fight.

"Fuck you wake me up for?" His raspy voice filled my living room. He could barely open his eyes.

"Jaylen, please can you just hide in he closet for a few minutes?"

"Fuck no, I'm going home." He said with attitude as he looked around for his shoes. I could tell he hated when people woke him up from a deep sleep.

"Jaylen please? It won't be that long." I begged as I stopped him. He looked down at me for a few seconds as his eyes softened before sucking his teeth.

"Man whatever.." he mumbled as he walked towards the closet door. Shaking his head at me, he made some room for himself and got in making me sigh in relief.

Silently tiptoeing to the door, I paused for a minute to see if Kai would walk away. "Yo, I hear yo heavy feet Rob. Why you playing? I really gotta pee." He complained as I heard a lot of movement as I sighed and gave up. I'm a size 5, those heavy feet he heard must've been Jaylen's.

Unlocking the door, I was met with Kai's slight mug. "Sorry Kai.." I apologized as he nodded. It was humid as shit outside, and he had on a hoodie.

"Here, Ima go pee." He kicked off his yellow Nike Presto's before giving me my bag of In N Out. Afterwards, he wasted no time in dashing to the bathroom.

While Kai was in the bathroom, I heard Jaylen humming the Trapped In The Closet tune and cackling to himself. I admit it was funny but I couldn't laugh right now, I was too focused on tryna get one of them outta the house. "He walked in the bathroom and looks behind the door!" he imitated R. Kelly from the closet and I snatched it open, and pointed behind me, telling him to get the hell out. Seconds later the toilet flushed and I pushed him right back in. "Rob, you got one more time to put yo hands on me."

"Sorry." I said anxiously. He was being so uncooperative.

It's not like I was cheating on Kai but for us to argue about the very same nigga that was in my closet right now made me look like such a damn hoe. Kai came out of the bathoom while wiping his hands in some paper towels.

"Yo, who's shoes is that?" I furrowed my eyebrows and looked to check and cursed lowly when I realized it was Jaylen's timbs, you could tell from how big they were.

"Maybe Odell's.." I shrugged and swept some hair behind my ear in deep thought, cracking my knuckles nervously. He payed no mind and just dropped the subject, thank God.

"I'ma just kick it here tonight, I ain't got the energy to drive back to my crib." I nodded with a smile, when he disappeared around the corner my smile dropped. I opened the closet door and found nothing but my clothes and shoes. Biiiitch.

I turned to my window and saw that shit wide open, I looked out and saw Jay chucking his deuce and getting into his car head first. He really jumped that far.. Was this nigga a cat?

"Took ya food too, nigga!" he yelled, peeling off of my block and heading in the direction towards wherever.

I was relieved that he left, but I really wanted my food. Rolling my eyes, I made my way towards my room and seen that Kai had got comfortable already.

"Damn you ate that fast? I was bout to ask for some." He said as he noticed the bag wasn't in my hands anymore. Deep down I was fucking starving.

"My bad.. you should've said something." I shrugged as if I were telling the truth. He sat up in the bed and started to stare at me before putting his head in his hands. He only did that when something was bothering him and I knew something was. He's been acting weird.

"Kai, what's wrong with you?"

"Huh?" I hated when he did that. His ass heard me. I gave him a look, and he groaned.

"Nothing Rob.. don't stress about it." Deciding to let the topic go, I stripped out of tight red dress and grabbed my robe since I had nothing underneath.

"Man Rob who been in here? Don't say ya brother cause you stay complaining bout how neat that nigga is." Oh now he wants to question me about something when he couldn't even answer mines?

"What're you talking about?"

"So you gone try to play me like I'm a stupid ass nigga? Like, I may be a lil slow sometimes, but nah even a rock would figure this shit out." He pointed to the BAPE duffle bag of men's clothes in the corner. Fucking Jaylen... we weren't even in my room.

"A friend of mines.. I swear he's JUST a friend." He shook his head with a look of disappointment on his face.

"That nigga I almost popped, huh?" I began to get quiet. Kai didn't like Jaylen at all, because Jaylen had a smart ass, reckless mouth. I know about Kai's past so I was trying so hard telling him not to do anything to Jaylen and he found that suspect.

"Rob don't get all quiet now.." he snapped as I sucked my teeth. I was trying so hard to prevent this.

"Yes!" Was all I said before he started laughing. It scared me a little bit because I didn't get the joke.

"Really bro? First you defend the nigga and I asked you was you still talking to him and you denied the shit like crazy. We lying now?"

"Why you so tripped out about it? He's just a fucking frien-"

"Fuck you mean why I'm trippin'?" He stood up, towering over me.

"YOU'RE my boyfriend, not him. So why are you making a big deal about me having a fri-"

"Cause I fucking love you, aight?! I ain't bout to be out here looking stupid, if you wanna fuck around with other niggas, then let me fucking know! Cause I swear to god Robyn, if you ever cheat on me." He spat with venom as he got in my face. I swear everything else after I love you went out the window.

"You love me?" He sucked his teeth and sat down on the edge of the bed. Walking over to him, I grabbed his chin and made him face me.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't.. Ion' care if you don't feel the same, hell yea I love you but I don't wanna put myself in this position if you gone continue to play games. Fuck you need friends for? I'm ya friend. You know if I was out here hanging wit mad bitches, you wouldn't like that shit. It's not even just that.. like I could see if the nigga JUST wanted to be friends but it's clear ya got some type of history so why disrespect me like that? You know how stupid that make me look?"

"Kai.. I would never cheat on you nor disrespect you. You treat me like a queen daily, so why would I? He's honestly JUST a friend, but if it bothers you then I will gladly stop talking to him, no doubt. I'm sorry I lied about it, I just didn't want to argue. And it's funny that you say that because.. I love you too baby." I assured him as a smile spread across his handsome face. I did have love for Kai...

"Swear I can't stay mad at yo pretty ass." He grabbed my face and connected his pink plump lips with mine. Kisses were never boring nor dull with Kai.

Trying to be sexy, I got up and seductively walked to my TV and failed due to me tripping over Kai's shoe. "Stop ma.. you already sexy you don't gotta try." He laughed, shaking his head as he laid back on my bed comfortably.

Playing the song Rocket by Beyoncé, I smirked and climbed onto the bed. I swear I was more than ready to give Kai my all.

We kissed for the majority of the night, and because my virgin ass could go all night, he put a stop to it. "Baby, can I? I wanna feel you." he grumbled and that alone made me take my robe off with a slight nod. Nervous as fuck but ready as hell. The song change was perfect for the atmosphere, Beyoncè faded out and Miguel's, Use Me faded in. "Just trust me, Rob."

"I trust you, baby."

"Issa big step, ma." I nodded and pulled his boxers down with my toes as a response.

"Trust me while I take this off

With the lights on, cause it turns me on

If you're nervous, just let me show you

How to touch me, I could teach you."

Since I had nothing on, he began to rub my clit with his eyes glued to me. My eyes were now open to slits as the pleasure continued to build up, this nigga didn't even blink. "Keep ya eyes on me or I'ma stop." I tried so hard to open my eyes but I was right at the brink of cumming all over his fingers.

"What I say?" I felt the pinch in my stomach and right when I prepared for it, it withered away. My eyes shot open and I glared at him. "I'm a man of my fuckin' word. Listen next time, ma." he smirked and I whined under him.

"Relax, you gon' get yours a few times tonight." he started again and I fought to keep my eyelids open so I could watch Kai play with my pool. "You wet for me, baby?" I nodded. All the corny ass quotes from porn I anticipated to recite got caught in my damn throat. "Words, Rob."

"Yes," I moaned aloud, the familiar feeling coming back. This time he actually let it happen, I laid back and tried to relax until I felt his soft ass fingers graze my clit and I shuddered. "Kai." I moaned and tried to move his hand but he slapped it away.

"Wassup?"

"You're making me feel too good, baby, please."

"Please what?" he mumbled, teasing the shit out of me. I moaned softly when he inserted a finger while rubbing my clit at the SAME.DAMN.TIME. "Please what? Huh?" he groaned, dipping down to kiss me, the pace of his finger quickening.

"Please don't stop."

"I don't plan to, mama."

"Oh my God, this feels too damn good."

"Yeah?" he mumbled and I nodded.

"You cool for another one?" I guess he was trying to prepare me since I was still a virgin. "You trust me, right?"

"Baby, I do."

"Aight." he now had two fingers working inside of me and I came almost immediately, but that didn't stop him. He continued to get that certain spot. My spot. It's crazy how my body could just submit to him like this. As my high wore off, his pace slowed down. "You ready?" I nodded. "Don't lie to me, sexy." I smirked.

"I want you to."

He grabbed it and slid it up and down my slit. I grabbed his free hand and latched our fingers together. He held my hand and kissed it, giving me some sense of security, with a look that said, I got you.

Without warning, he looked down to guide his dick into my opening and I winced, closing my eyes tightly. "Kai." I sobbed, snatching my hand from his to put it on his chest. "It hurts."

"Take it for me, aight. Almost." I arhced my neck and he planted soft kisses on it to distract me from this pain. His beard tickling me while my pussy was being stretched gave me mixed emotions. I was a whole ass mess right now. I cried for a few moments until he had full access to all of me. Just like I wanted him to.

We cursed lowly on one another's lips and he thrusted slowly. Whispering to me how much he loved me and how glad he was that I came into his life and on his dick at the moment.

"No more speaking to that nigga behind my back. I got something that he don't. You. I don't want nothing or no one fuckin' that up." He kissed my neck as his strokes became more aggressive, causing me to grip the sheets.

"I promise, babe." I managed to moan out. I was enjoying every bit of this.