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tarotsoul · 1 day ago

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Smoke & Light — Part One

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty.

WARNINGS: heavy mentions and usage of drugs and driving under the influence (weed), azriel is a drug dealer, kissing, swearing, teasing, masturbation -- don't fuck your plug guys

WORD COUNT: 9.9k

Series Masterlist

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance.

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his teenage and adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave you his number, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home.

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given a choice.

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location.

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration.

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past.

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested.

You: old tower in 20 is fine.

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that.

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain.

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night.

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away.

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving.

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger seat opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut.

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for.

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears.

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey.

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked.

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly.

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life.

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?”

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for.

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him.

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight.

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did.

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said.

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand.

Neither of you white understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about.

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided.

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either.

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?”

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.”

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.”

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that.

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people.

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either.

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash.

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.”

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface.

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips.

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected.

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you.

“Let me know when you’re out.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.”

He watched you climb out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met.

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.”

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection.

“Fuck.”

“Why don’t we give the brownies idea a try?”

Azriel’s head felt like it may explode. For the past two hours, he’d been stuck in a discussion between his brothers regarding new ideas for new products to sell. And while Az and Rhys had no ideas to suggest (all agreeing cocaine, molly and ket were not up for discussion), Cassian was still hellbent on making weed brownies—despite knowing not a damn thing about baking.

“Cass,” Rhys sighed, pinching sharply at the bridge of his nose. Azriel was going to lose his shit, he couldn’t go through this again—for a fifth fucking time. “We literally spoke about this last week! None of us know how to bake!”

Cassian paid no mind to Rhysand’s clear frustrations with him and scoffed as he threw his head back on the couch. “It can’t be that fucking hard.”

“Then by all means, buy your own shit and burn it while you try and figure it out.”

Azriel blinked, looking between the pair. He’d barely said a word, too worried he may get a bit too heated. Cassian got like this sometimes—most of the time—and more often than not, Az got the idea he only did it to get a reaction out of Rhys, who had very little patience when it came to him.

Someone had to play mediator and devil’s advocate in every situation, and somehow, even since they were teens, that role always landed on Azriel’s shoulders.

Deciding enough was enough, he leant forward and peered between them both. “As much as edibles would help out sales, Rhys is right,” Cassian snickered at him, “It’s not a good idea right now. Not when we have no clue what we’re doing, and especially not when we’re having problems with our supplier right now.”

It was silent in the room for a moment, for the first time in an hour. And after a few minutes passed and no one spoke, Rhys stood from the couch with a sigh. “I’ve gotta get going to the parlour. All my sketches are there and I’ve got a long day and a huge back piece to tattoo tomorrow.”

He clapped a hand against both Az and Cassian’s shoulders before bidding them a goodbye and leaving. Cassian remained sulking on the couch, thick and toned arms crossed on his chest with an unsatisfied scowl on his face. Azriel took purchase on the coffee table in front of him, lips pursed to suppress his amusement.

Cassian often got like this if he was told no or something didn’t go his way. When they were younger, Azriel used to roll his eyes and tell him to get over it. But now, in their mid-twenties and Cassian sharing a striking resemblance to that hunky character from that one Disney movie, Azriel found his sulking the best form of entertainment.

“Are you not working tonight?” Az broke the silence with a lighthearted question. As much as he found his brothers face amusing, he didn’t really have the energy to deal with it all fucking night. He had shit to do, people to see. And he didn’t particularly want to bring Cassian along to his drop off’s—not when Cass scared the shit out of most people.

“Club’s closed, waiting for Nes to finish. Staying at hers tonight,” he mumbled.

Relief was quick to flow through Azriel’s blood as he let out a breath. His phone chimed from his back pocket as he said, “Tell her I say hi,” and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of Cassian’s mouth.

Az and Nesta had a decent friendship, he was closer to her than he was Feyre, but maybe that was because Nesta didn’t tiptoe around Az like most other people did. Maybe that was why he liked you so much. You didn’t shy under his gaze, and you didn’t treat him differently after noticing his scarred hands.

Yes, he saw you watching, inspecting with hurt and curious eyes. But you didn’t say anything so neither did he. And when you purposely brushed your skin against his when you took that bag of bud, he knew you’d done it out of silent reassurance.

And yet, he hadn’t heard from you since you met three days ago. Not that he expected you to message so soon, not after you said the 3.5 would last around two weeks, but he still felt that deep disappointment whenever he checked his phone and your name wasn’t the one to have messaged him.

He needed to get a grip on himself, really. But you were different. So different from anyone he’d ever met or known before. You didn’t play up to any facade, you didn’t hesitate to tease him back. You were honest, painfully so when you admitted you were clueless, but that only made him find you even more endearing.

“What about you?” Cassian’s voice drilled into his ears, abruptly pulling Azriel away from the memory of you. He quickly typed back a reply to a client that he could drop off within the hour and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

“What about me?” Az asked.

“Any plans?”

Azriel shrugged, elbows leaning on his spread thighs and the oak coffee table creaked beneath his firm weight. “I’ve got a few deals to do, but that’s about it.”

Cass nodded, finally unfolding his arms and letting them drop to his sides. “Well, you know where I’ll be if you wanna come by, Nes would be happy to see you.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I saw her two days ago.”

His brother gave him a look, one that suggested ‘yeah, I know, but you’re like her best friend and she loves you to literal death’, and that was that.

Cass left soon after, picking Nesta up from work and leaving Azriel home alone for what seemed like the thousandth night in a row. He didn’t mind it, not really. He enjoyed his own company and when Cass stayed at Nesta’s and Rhys stayed at Feyre’s, it meant Az could play around with new melodies and not be scolded for playing guitar at 4 a.m. and waking everybody up.

Having the apartment to himself was a win-win for everyone involved.

Only tonight, he didn’t want to sit and play with new sounds and rhythms. Not when his mind was completely distracted by you. By your smile, your eyes, by that sensual voice of yours that he hadn’t stopped replaying in his memory for the past three days.

It wouldn’t hurt to send just one text, right? Just the one, just to check in on how you were finding the bud. As if you hadn't smoked it before they met.

He shouldn’t. This wasn’t what he did—he didn’t chase after girls, he never had, and he most certainly did not get hooked—especially not on someone he’d known for three days.

And yet, despite that, Azriel found himself on your messages, hovering his fingers over the keyboard and typing out a quick text and sending it before he could even think about it.

Azriel: how’s the bud?

But it wasn’t his lack of thinking before sending the message that had his jaw slack, no. It was the fact that as soon as the message travelled from the box to the messaging thread, you had already opened it. Like you were already on the chat. Perhaps debating your own text to him.

Those grey bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen and Azriel made quick work to click out of the conversation. His heart should not have been stammering in his chest the way it was, he should not have felt so anxious about what you may think if he read your text as quickly as you read his.

You: very good. And you were right. 7 joints!

And then, another.

You: I may need a top up sooner than i thought, if that’s ok?

Azriel: what happened to it lasting you 2 weeks?? Nah, that’s fine. Did you wanna meet up tonight?

You: would that be ok?

Azriel: yes. Old tower in 20?

You: life saver <3 see u then!

He tried his damned hardest not to stare at the little heart you sent him, tried his best not to picture you thinking about texting him to meet up again. But all he tried, it didn’t work and a smirk began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

His Ford Mustang parked outside the Old Tower fifteen minutes later, the engine still humming softly and his eyes flitted between the rearview mirror and his view in front of him, trying to gauge which way you’d come from.

He didn’t expect for you to come out of the shadows in a third direction, one in the wake of the passengers side, and he didn’t realise until the door opened and you slid your body inside his car, shutting the door behind you.

“Hi,” you turned to him with a beaming smile—eyes gently blazed with a moody pink hue.

Azriel drank you in. Your hair was down today in what he presumed was your natural waves, face bare of makeup save for the sheen of pinky lip gloss that coated your mouth. You wore an oversized cropped olive cardigan; the large buttons done up just enough to offer a slither of a peek of the white bralette you wore beneath, and a pair of straight-legged black cargos.

Gods, you looked even better than he remembered, but Azriel wasn’t naive to your staring either. Your eyes caught notice of his thick, muscled arms. They weren’t hidden beneath a jacket this time. No. They bulged from the black t-shirt he wore, and his brown skin was etched in intricate swirls and shapes and designs in black ink.

You gulped, visibly so. Tattoos had always been an immediate attraction for you—not that Brandon ever had any—but the sight of Azriels and the one that hid beneath the sleeve of his top and curled up and around his neck… Gods, your throat felt extremely dry.

And Azriel noticed everything.

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke much?”

Your eyes finally snapped to his hazel ones and warmth coated your cheeks and chest. You cleared your throat, blinking a few times to regain some sense of composure. “I don’t,” you retorted. “Girls night. And it was my turn to host.”

Azriel tried not to think too deeply into the idea of you having a night at home with your girlfriends, stoned and warm and cosy and all inhibitions thrown out the window. He wondered if those were the types of things you did with your friends. He’d been with a few before that did.

He looked away as soon as he felt that familiar tightening in his jeans. “So, you want another 3.5?” He cleared his throat, lifting the compartment between your seats.

You hummed, eyes following his movements. Your gaze lingered on his biceps for a moment, trailing down to the veins that protruded from his smooth skin. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. Oftentimes than not, you found yourself horny and riled up when under the influence, but never like this. Never so strongly at the sight of two veiny, tattooed arms.

“Um, yeah… please.” You finally spoke. “I promise it’ll last me longer than three days this time.”

Azriel prayed to the fucking mother above that it didn’t. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he retrieved a 3.5 baggie and handed it to you, closing the compartment again and the second he opened his mouth to speak, you were already grabbing a marred hand and shoving two twenty’s into it before forcing his fist closed.

Perhaps it was the buzz of the joint you smoked on your way, or perhaps it was the pure arousal you felt at the sight of him and the feel of his hand in yours that gave you a surge of confidence. Whatever it was, it had you saying, “Pretty clients might get a discount from you, but incredibly attractive, tattooed plugs get full pay from me.”

Azriel was stunned for a moment, by both your boldness and the shameless compliment. His mouth blubbered open, a retort just as flirty as yours on the tip of his tongue when the sound of his ringtone blaring through the car’s bluetooth speaker cut him off.

He disconnected the call a bit too quickly, an amused smile teetering on the curves of your already twisted lips. Azriel paid no mind to his own actions, instead turning back to you with a fire in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

His lips parted in another attempt to speak when that gods-dammed phone interrupted him for a second time and you could no longer hold your laughter. Azriel decided there and then that the next time he saw you, he’d make sure he heard that sweetness again.

You didn’t give him time to cut the call off again. Instead, you reached for the door handle and offered a grateful smile. “I’ll text you when I’m out.”

His senses were too on overdrive. Too torn between wanting to stop you, even if to spend a few more moments in your presence, and the deafening sound of his fucking phone. But you’d exited the car and closed the door behind you before he could do anything about it. The cash was still stuffed in his warm hands and the incoming call continued to make his ears bleed.

“What?” Azriel seethed the second he answered the call. It was silent for a moment, the caller caught off guard by Az’s tone but that only pissed him off further.

“It’s Brandon,” the line paused for a moment again. “You about?”

Azriel felt his blood boil. “If I don’t fucking answer the first time, that usually means no.”

He disconnected the call without another word, marred hands now gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hated the way he was reacting over you—over being interrupted from your presence. But he couldn't help it. Couldn’t get the thought out of his head of how sweet your lips probably tasted with that gloss. And without it.

Azriel’s chest heaved slightly, that all too familiar sense of arousal tightening in his pants. He couldn’t stand this, couldn't understand how a tiny slip of your bralette could have his mind and body reacting like this. How a subtle smirk and a sultry gaze could have him ready to blow a load in his pants.

Christ, he needed to sort himself out. Absent-mindedly, Azriel snuck a hand between his thighs, large scarred hand palming at his length through the fabrics. His breathing turned quicker, his movements growing needier. If he didn’t sort himself out soon he’d been in agony.

With one hand on the wheel, he forced himself to drive—only for a moment or two until his Mustang was parked idly between two buildings and switched off the engine to not draw too much attention to himself.

He was above this—above getting himself off semi-publicly. But he couldn’t fucking help it. He didn’t care how shameful and icky he might’ve felt afterwards, not when he was so desperate.

As soon as the car was covered in shadows of darkness, he unclasped his seatbelt and unpopped the buttons of his jeans. He didn’t bother to pull them down, only releasing the zip and reaching into his boxers to tug his length free.

The second he felt his skin on him, he shuddered. His slender fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, offering himself a teasing squeeze as he slowly moved. Azriel didn’t need lube or lotion—not when pearly beads of semi-translucent arousal leaked from his pink, ruddy tip. He smoothed it down his length, mewling at the contact he rewarded himself.

And all he could think about was you.

Your eyes, your lips, your voice.

He let his mind wander to sinful images of what may lay hidden beneath your clothes—beneath that little white bralette. Azriel quickened his pace as his eyes fluttered closed, the back of his head hitting the headrest. He throbbed in his hand, a gruff moan tearing from his throat.

Azriel could picture you clearly in his head; on your knees in the footwell, your dainty hands around his cock as your lips kissed and sucked him. His hand in your hair, bobbing you on his length, watching your eyes water from the size of him as he hit the back of your throat.

His breathing grew ragged, filthy images of your choking on his cock filling his brain, clouding his sensing and coaxing a release out of him. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever come so quickly before in his life, but the idea of you looking up at him with sultry eyes through thick lashes had him spurting warm ribbons of cum into his hand as he cupped his head to minimise the mess. A desperate attempt to replicate what he imagined the warmth of your mouth would feel like.

As his breathing began to even out, the post-nut clarity hit him like a ton of fucking bricks. Shame boiled in his blood, a tint of pink embarrassment painted on his cheeks as if the shadows judged him, too. The idea of seeing you again while knowing what he’d done to the thought of you… it made his insides churn slightly.

But more than that, it made his cock leap again in anticipation of soon being in your presence once more.

“Az, what do you say? Up for a double date?”

Feyre couldn’t hide her smile, unable to keep her emotions in check when it came to her attempts to set Azriel up. But the instant disappearance of his smile wasn’t missed on her. Nor was the way his shoulders tensed slightly.

He sighed. “Fey, as much as I appreciate your concern for my love life, I don’t need to be set up.”

She pouted at him. Despite that always being his answer, she still held a shred of hope every time she suggested it. Even if he never changed his mind, she was willing to continuously try, even if he did find it annoying. Even if she didn’t tell him until the very last minute.

“Who’s the lucky girl then, Az?” Nesta piped up with a wide grin from her seat in the couch, tucked closely into Cassian’s side who paid no mind to the conversation at hand.

He rolled his eyes at her. “There is no girl.”

“Guy, then.” Nesta scoffed, waving a hand.

Azriel didn’t want to entertain this conversation, especially not because it had somehow brought his mind back to you. Something he’d been so desperately trying to avoid.

Though, he supposed it was inevitable. He would be seeing you again at some point and then he’d be stuck right back where he started. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he was doing this to himself— why he didn’t allow himself to pursue you if that was what he truly wanted.

His phone chimed from his pocket.

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that Azriel didn’t hear from you for two weeks. It gave him ample time to attempt to get his hormones in check, but it didn’t stop his blood from warming everytime he received a notification. Each time, he was left with slight disappointment to find it was just another client.

Until today. Until now. Where your name was in fact the one on his lockscreen and all of that forgetting and willing to get you out of his mind faltered.

You: Hey, are you free later?

Azriel: I'm free all night.

When you didn’t respond, Azriel assumed you were looking for a more direct answer. So he sent another text.

Azriel: old tower in an hour good for you?

You: see you then.

He couldn’t help the frown that furrowed in his brows at your reply. Given, your only communication was mainly through text, and perhaps he was looking too much into it, but you didn't seem yourself. And that thought shouldn’t have irked him as much as it did.

He barely bid anyone a goodbye, throwing a mumbled ‘see you later’ as he grabbed his shit and left.

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion.

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another.

And another.

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes.

“Sorry I’m a little late.”

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you.

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case.

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence.

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight.

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.”

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out?

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip.

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you.

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.”

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him.

“Why not?”

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real.

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?”

Azriel’s wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.”

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise.

“First, I’m pretty. Now I’m cute… what’s next?”

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you.

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

He tilted his head to the dashboard compartment and you pulled it open. The small warm white light lit the cove, a golden hue casting on a small yellow tin. Throwing a glance to Azriel, he nodded and you pulled it out, closing the compartment and popping open his travel tin.

It was packed with perfectly rolled joints and blunts. The smell was strong—potent—but you didn’t mind. Not as much as you had before. You picked one random of the bunch and pinched it between two fingers. It was rolled tightly and packed full, a very small twist of paper at the end and you hummed, impressed.

Of course he could roll perfectly. And you had a feeling just two pulls of one of those would keep you warm and fuzzy for the remainder of the night.

“There’s a lighter in the cup holder.” Azriel spoke as he pulled out of the space and began to drive further out of the lights of the city.

You pinched the lighter. Just a simple black one, no funky pattern or engraved initials like most others had. No, Azriel’s was one that came in a pack of five and the other four were somewhere in the car or back at his apartment.

“We can smoke in here?” you asked softly, that crack in your voice easing.

Az hummed, taking a right turn. “If you’re comfortable to.”

You waited a moment, eyeing the joint and then him. “You drive when you smoke?”

He seemed to notice your somewhat apprehension when he nodded again. He turned to you briefly before flicking his eyes back on the road again. “I drive better when I’m stoned. But if you’d prefer, we can park up somewhere.”

You shook your head, warmth caressing every inch of your body. You didn’t know what it was, but something had overcome you. An overwhelming sense of pure yearning. You could admit when you first met Az that he was attractive, incredibly so. But now? Watching him, speaking with him, smoking with him… oh God’s… you had a fucking crush on your plug.

“You wanna start it or should I?” Azriel’s voice broke you from your epiphany and you blinked quickly, willing the rising heat to just fuck off and give you a moments reprive.

“Oh,” you squeaked. “You can, it’s your weed.”

He didn’t look away from the road, not for a second. With a hand on the wheel and the other shifting gears, he edged his head closer to yours and angled his face just slightly with his lips parted. You were stunned for a moment, realising what he was asking you to do, and you swallowed back that bubbling arousal as you placed the unlit joint to his lips and sparked up a flame, igniting the end.

Az hummed in thanks as he took a long, deep drag. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was a fucking sight. Cheeks ever so slightly hollowed and eyes barely squinted as the smoke filled his lungs.

A scarred hand left the gearstick to reach for the joint, his thumb reaching for the bottom while his forefinger grazed the top and he pulled it away with another fresh intake of breath, settling the drug further.

You were soaked, you were sure of it. Your previous problems from today were a distant memory as you finally watched him exhale and bring the joint to his lips again for another long pull.

The sound of the windows opening broke you from your trance and only then did you realise you hadn’t yet put on your seatbelt. You tore your gaze away to clip yourself in and when you turned back, Azriel was offering you the joint.

With your free hand, you accepted it, the other stuffing the cash in his cup holder with the lighter. You inspected the joint, tried not to let your heart race. You’d only ever smoked with your friends and Brandon. Never with a dealer. Never with someone like Azriel.

You slotted your pursed lips over the same area Az did, and inhaled as deeply as you could. The burn at the back of your throat was stronger than when you smoked your own joints, and as it filled your lungs you pulled it away and held back a cough that gagged to release from your throat.

With a shaky exhale, you swallowed around the dryness of your mouth before bringing it back to your lips for another drag. When you pulled it away, the burn wasn’t as bad and you passed it back to Azriel who took another turn on the roads.

“Where are we going?” You pondered, a certain rasp to your voice from the strength of the joint.

Azriel took two short pulls and angled the burning end out the window, flicking off the excess ash before offering it to you again.

“Wherever you want,” he replied. “But first, we should probably get some food for when the munchies kick in.”

You laughed as you exhaled another breath and handed the joint back to him, waving a hand to signal you were tapping out and did not intend on smoking anymore. Five pulls of that shit was more than enough for you. You could not handle the idea of greening out in his car with him.

Azriel stifled a laugh and finished off the rest of the joint by the time he pulled into a drive-thru. He placed his order first, turning to you with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You blinked a few times, your brain requiring a few moments to catch up with what was happening.

“I’ll have the same as you.”

He stifled a laugh as he spoke into the machine, doubling up on his order and driving through to the next window. Azriel paid no mind to you when you attempted to offer him your money—barely even looked at you as he tapped his card against the reader and then reached for the cash in the cup holder, shoving it back in your empty palms.

“You can keep that, too.”

You knew it wasn’t up for discussion, so you begrudgingly took your cash back and stuffed it into your jacket pocket again. Az stopped in the parking lot, the two of you eating through hushed yet uncontrollable giggles at the people that passed by.

It was the first time you’d heard his laugh so unrestricted and it spread another shot of warmth through your body. It continued like that for another undisturbed hour, where after the food, Az sparked up another joint and began the drive to your apartment. You’d told him Old Tower was fine, but he wasn’t okay with that.

“Too many freaks around at this time of night. I’ll drop you to your door. Put your address in the GPS.”

And it wasn’t until the drive back to your apartment that you were reminded of your previous troubles. The ones that caused your teary eyes and sombre mood. The buzz off the night felt like it had dwindled away the second you thought of your situation, and you were left slumped in your seat again, fiddling with your fingers.

Azriel noticed your change in mood almost immediately as he glanced over to you before flicking his eyes back to the road. He took another drag of the joint.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You pondered his offer for a few moments, weighing out whether or not you should. In the end, what difference would it make? If you divulge your issues or not, it wouldn’t fix them. But perhaps talking about it might help.

“My sister got married yesterday and no one told me.”

Azriel blinked rapidly, almost spluttering on the breath he exhaled. “What?”

“Yeah.”

He waited patiently, eager for some sort of explanation as to how and why something like that was kept from you. But he didn’t know the relationship with your family, he couldn’t presume anything. For all he knew, you had troubles just like his.

“My family and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. I was born from a toxic relationship so I was cast aside as a kid, I guess. I thought we were past that, though. I thought things were better.”

That familiar ache sat heavy in Azriel’s chest. He knew all too well the hurt that came from being shunned by your own family. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not somebody like you.

“I’m sorry.” His words held such compassion and sympathy. No pity, just pure understanding.

You blinked back the tears, not wanting to show just how much it had all affected you. But it was no use. A single drop slipped down your cheek and as quickly as it fell, you wiped it away.

You were agitated now, extremely so. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, Az.”

“Why would they do that?”

There was a pause. And then, “because her now husband was my first everything.”

You waited for the statement to settle into the thick night air. Your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. First love. Azriel could understand even more now just how much it hurt you. And the fact they kept it a secret? Even your family knew what they did was wrong.

“I’m so sorry, that’s truly fucked. But you know, families suck sometimes. I only speak to my mom.”

“Oh?” You hadn’t realised you were even on your street until he parked right outside your apartment and flicked on his hazards.

Azriel flicked the but of the smoke out the window and held out his hands, showcasing the marred flesh and patchy skin. “My half brothers did this to me when I was eight. They didn’t like that our mom had me with another man before she had them. They said that my bastard blood tainted the family, so they wanted to taint me.”

Azriel had absolutely no fucking idea why he was divulging such an intimate and traumatic part of himself. But he made no attempt to hide or sugarcoat any of the truth. Especially not when he looked up from his hands and caught sight of your face.

Salty tears silvered the linings of your eyes at the truth of what had happened to him. Bile crept up your throat and hatred for his family formed. Eight years old. You felt sick.

“Az… I’m so sorry. That’s… I can’t even…”

But Azriel waved it off with a gentle smile. “It’s awful, sure. But I’m fine. I wouldn’t have met Cass and Rhys if that didn’t happen. They may be my found family, but they’re my brothers. Blood doesn't mean shit to me.”

A single tear slipped down your warm cheek, staining the skin in its wake. Azriel reached out to wipe it away, his touch gentle and soft and yet all-consuming. Your gaze met in a flickering glance of hazy eyes and fluttering lashes.

And then next thing you knew, your lips were on his.

Azriel was quick to kiss you back; moulding his plump lips around yours as his large palms cupped the sides of your face. He was sweet on your mouth, a hint of salt from his fries and he swiped his tongue across the seam of your lips, you almost imploded.

Azriel was no better. The second he got a taste, he was a starved man. Your tongues met in needy strokes and Az had never tasted anything like you before. Sweet like the watermelon lip gloss you wore, and a tang of smoke that haunted your mouth.

He was hooked, desperately fucking hooked. Your own hands reached up to hold his wrists in hopes of keeping his touch on you. Azriel kissed you deeper, licking across your teeth before settling even deeper in your mouth.

It was needy and messy and every unspoken word of desire was poured into that kiss, your touch. He could stay like that forever, kissing you, tasting you. Azriel could feel himself stretching in his pants, and from the almost inaudible whimper that strained from the back of your throat, he was certain you were just as needy between your own thighs.

The thought spurred him on, as it did you. Your hands trailed down his forearms to his biceps, feeling at the muscle that tensed beneath your touch, until your arms were wrapping around his neck and he was pulling you closer over the centre console.

Azriel kept a palm caressing your jaw while the other snaked to the side of your neck, his long fingers weaving through the hair at your nape and blunt fingernails scratching at your scalp.

In your drug and lust filled haze, Azriel was shifting in his seat. You let one arm leave his body to reach for your seatbelt, planning to unbuckle it and crawl into his lap for a deeper, richer taste of him.

But the second the safety belt was released, the blaring sound of an incoming call through the car's speaker jolted you both apart. It was then, and only then, that the gravity of the situation finally sunk in.

His eyes were glazed over with something you’d never seen on him before, his lips even plumper and smeared with your gloss. You didn’t look much better. Only your eyes were wider than his and your hair had been a lot more dishevelled.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the insistent ringing of his phone jarring your eardrums. For the fourth time tonight, warmth settled over you again but in the form of embarrassment. He confided in you about a trauma so deep, and you’d kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised breathlessly.

Too caught up in your own fear and anxiety of what you’d done, you missed the way Azriel’s brows furrowed. His confusion quickly turned into panic when the thought settled in that perhaps you had regretted it. That even though you kissed him, perhaps you felt he had pressured you.

And that made him sick to his stomach.

Before Azriel could utter a single word, your hand was on the door handle and you were pushing it open. “I’m sorry, I should go.”

You climbed out of the car as you uttered another apology, and slammed the door shut without so much as offering him another glance. The incoming call died to voicemail but Az couldn’t take his eyes off your empty seat, couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue, the feel of your lips off his.

Frustration grew at himself. Azriel turned forward in his seat, nostrils flared and teeth grit. He’d fucked it. He’d gone and fucked it entirely. His open palm smacked against the wheel before gripping it tightly, taking a moment to compose himself.

He looked over at your seat again.

Despite the lack of your physical presence, you were still there. In scent and touch and taste.

Azriel was fucking done for.

A/N: guys you have no idea how EXCITED I am to finally be reposting this series. I love plug!az with every fibre of my being and I cannot wait to share it again and finally finish it!!! This is the original first and second part merged together and I’ll be scheduling the next part for some time next week!!

If you enjoyed it please consider giving it a like and reblog! Writers love to hear your feedback <3

#azriel smut #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel imagine #azriel oneshot #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #plug!az #acotar fluff #acotar angst #acotar imagine #acotar oneshot #acotar smut

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semperamans · 2 days ago

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hello my beautiful friends & welcome back - i am so happy you're here ❤️ this is part two of my untitled smau series! if you missed part one you can check it out here!

i honestly wasn't expecting anyone to read (or enjoy it) so knowing so many of you have warms my freaking heart :( thank you x100.

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a few rounds later...

*spongebob narrator voice* a few moments later...

on twitter...

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liked by andreastella, nicolepiastri, fernandoalo_oficial, jackharlow, f1, and more

mclaren that’s our boy 🧡 🏆

view all 23,432 comments

danielricciardo mega 💪🏽

alex_albon he's him.

circuitcutie correction, that is YN's man 🙌🏻

classic_f1_takes amazing performance — don’t let the pop star circus ruin it.

↳ starryeyesandbutterflies oooooooh brother, you're about to get rightfully ratio'd by an f1 stan with taylor swift lyrics in their bio ☠️

↳ darling_yn just say you don’t like women in motorsport culture and go.

f1legacy great race. let’s hope the headlines are about Oscar this time, not some popstar drama.

↳ ilove_hattiep the headline is about oscar. you’re the one dragging her into it??? come on grandpa it's time for bed

↳ prettiest_yn can we just let the win be a win? or is that too boring without a woman to blame?

mclaren_god 👏👏👏 let’s gooooo!!!

landonorris guess all that simulator time finally paid off!

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liked by landonorris, georgerussell, markwebber, yourbrother, and danielricciardo

oscarpiastri not bad! 👍🏻

mclaren we will take more sundays like this 🧡

↳ zakbrown indeed!

landonorris bit of an understatement, mate

↳ georgerussell don’t worry, he’ll be insufferable about it in the group chat

↳ alex_albon real.

↳ danielricciardo that's not the only thing he's going to be insufferable about 👀

↳ oscarpiastri 😐

mclaren_forever he posts like he’s not trending in seven countries rn

yourbrother well earned! ♥️ by author

↳ ynupdates UHHH WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

↳ pitstop_piastri this basically means that oscar is invited to thanksgiving at yn's place 🤷🏻‍♀️

↳ sunshineforyn this man said 2 words and threw the fandom into emotional shambles. iconic.

hattiepiastri mum said good job

papaya_oscar can’t believe i’m emotionally attached to a man who captions a career-defining moment like he just found a good parking spot 😭

boxboxbaby oscar liking yn's brother's comment but not his own sister's comment is diabolical fdsjkfsfh

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yourusername uploaded a story!

track5tears replied "ok but when is the wedding??? can i come??? can lando be my +1????"

madi.jpg replied: "i've beat the shit out of my brother for stealing my charger. ur a saint."

lover_yn replied "it's the way he posted and disappeared like nothing happened i am W E A K"

yourbrother replied "will you still babysit the girls next week though 😭"

random_account432412 replied "CoNgRaTuLaTiOns! You have won a free iPhone! To claim your rewa..."

oscarpiastri replied "i think the FIA should investigate this breach of privacy..."

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duexmoi uploaded a story!

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liked by yns_girls, cloudywithachanceofyn, ynandpapaya, yourusername, and others

yourname_source as many of you know, Valera and i have been running this account for almost four years now and we *never* thought we'd get the chance to meet YN, but tonight iT HAPPENED 😭

i am typing this through tears 😭 okay okay so we are here on spring break & wanted to do all of the touristy things, which means we of course took a tour of Electric Lady Studios (where YN has recorded most of her albums). it was so cool, highly recommend. once the tour was over we exited out of the back doors (which we probably weren't supposed to but the sinage was so confusing 😭). anyway there was this black SUV just parked in the alley and Valera says, "imagine if that was YN." AND THE BITCH WAS RIGHT 😭😭😭

YN rolled down the window and istg for a solid two minutes Valera and i were just babbling because ?????? this shit only happens in movies ??? when we finally got it together we told her how long we've been supporting her and all of the shows we've been to and she promised to keep an eye out for us next time and she kept thanking us and using our names and giving us this soft ass smile that makes me want to DIE JUST THINKING ABOUT 😭 she is so easy to talk to and genuine and 😭😭 we asked her for pictures & then we parted ways but, guys, we absolutely made the right person famous.

yourusername thank you for absolutely everything. we love you forever.

📸: us :')

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ynsgirly im crying like this happened to me 😭 you two deserved this 💖

in_my_yn_era this is so pure. this account is run on love and vibes and now… MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY 💕

shouldntbehere okay but like… did she seem okay? 👀

↳ valera_loves_yn she was kind, present, and glowing ☀️

shedoesntgohere i can't believe she's out trying to make people forget shawn has a podcast coming out soon lol

↳ ynsgirl222 we forgot on our own babe? no distraction needed?

↳ jazzysfearless she’s allowed to walk down a street without consulting shawn’s promo schedule lol??

↳ sunisunshine oh nooooo! not her minding her own business!!! nooooooo yn how dare youuuuuu

sc4rlett_44 crying FOR you two!! this is the energy you both give out and i’m so happy it came back to you 💞

onlyhere4drama did you guys ask her about shawn??? oscar???

↳ forever_sunshine don't pmo.

↳ ynsgirljess no??? imagine meeting your favorite artist and using your one shot to talk about men. couldn’t be us 🤭

yourusername you two completely made my night!! you exuded so much warmth, so much kindness — you have no idea how much that meant to me. thank you for being exactly who you are 🤍

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#f1 smau #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #mclaren #social media au #oscar piastri fanfic #op81

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girliism · 2 days ago

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i need preggers user x Art

art donaldson x pregnant!reader

“is this real.”

art actually couldn’t believe what was in his hands at the moment.

you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “yes, of course it’s real.”

a sigh of shock from art filled your dorm room. it was your last year at stanford, and art had already dropped out to focus on his professional tennis career. you two were barely together due to the long distance and now after of one night where you had missed each other too much to worry about things like protection, you were pregnant.

“how -uh- how far along are you?”

“two months.” the baby would be born sometime after your graduation.

art nodded, taking it all in before standing up in front of you. “i know i’m on the road a lot right now, but whatever you need i’ll be there. i promise.” he placed a comforting kiss on your forehead you melted into.

art kept his promise. using whatever free time he had to spend on calls with you.

“how’s the baby, did it kick yet?”

“first, they’re not an it, and i’m pretty sure it’s too early for that.”

without fail he was at every doctor’s appointment, leaving wherever he was on tour to fly in to come sit with you in the cold doctors office.

“alright mom and dad are you ready to find out the sex?” your sonographer who’s been with you since the beginning of your pregnancy having bared witness to art’s breakdown at the sound of hearing your babies heartbeat for the first time asked.

you and art shared a look, it suddenly all becoming real.

“yes.” was said in unison.

“looks like you’re having a girl.” she said

twin gasp fell from you and art. a girl.

it was probably not a smart move for where art was in his career, but during the last four months your pregnancy art decided to take that time off and stay with you. his coach thought it was a bad idea, but art didn’t care. promising he’d make it up by playing extra hard next season.

“what should we name her?” art had his head resting against your belly, and his hand under your shirt stroking it. you guys were watching some shitty reality tv show that you both couldn’t help but be obsessed with. “i hadn’t really thought about it.” there was so many names to choose from, you were kinda hoping it’d magically hit you when you say her the first time.

“what about…. april?” art lifted his head catching you scrunching your nose up. “what? i’m keeping it on theme with an ‘a’ name.” still you shook your head. “maybe…” you twisted your fingers around in arts curls, thinking. “lilith? can do lily for short.” art opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off by a harsh kick.

“did you feel that?” you whispered. art nodded. of course he felt it, she hit right in the center of his palm. art let out a laugh when she did it again.

“i guess she likes it.”

during late nights when he thought you were asleep, art liked to unborn fetus, having read is was good for development.

“hi, baby it art, your daddy. mommas asleep right now which means i have you all too myself.” he whispers into the belly. “don’t tell anyone this, but i’m really fuc-freaking scared. i’ve never dealt with a baby before so please go easy.”

you bit back the smile creeping on your face.

“i can’t wait to meet you. keep thinking about all the things we’re gonna do together. you’re first walk, you’re first word, you’re first tennis racket. just hoping you don’t inherit my back hand, it’s shit.” he laughed, before catching what the time was. “it’s getting late i’ll let you sleep, but just know i love you forever.”

you felt him place a kiss above your belly button. you had to quickly snap your eyes closed when he came to lie next to you.

“and i love you too.” he whispered right in ear, whether you heard it or not. you did.

the bigger you got mixed with your emotions being on ten had you feeling insanely insecure. but art thought this was the hottest he’s seen you.

“did you know.” art interrupted your reading by placing kisses on neck. “that having sex can naturally induce pregnancy.” you hummed, mildly amused by his actions. “really?”

“mhm.” art brought his head out of neck to kiss your cheeks and the corner of your mouth. “not that i’m trying to rush the ‘baking’ process. just thought we should try it, you know, bust some rumors.” he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

it was impossible for him to be around you sometimes, but he never acted on it until he saw how you were now. laid out on the bed fresh from the shower with only your bra and panties, it was likely you got too tired to finish getting dressed. you look so round and glowy, it had art’s heart breaking and his cock hardening.

“i mean, if that’s what they say what’s the harm in trying.” you sigh, arching up into art’s touches. the book you were reading now forgotten.

the last month has rough. you were a box of nerves, the knowledge that she could come at any time any where was freaking you out.

it was just four days before your due date, and somehow you let art convince you to come watch him practice at the tennis court.

“this one’s for you two!”

art yelled across the court dedicating a back hand hit to you and the baby that ended up hitting the net.

your laughter gets cut off by a particularly hard kick to your abdomen. at first you ignored it but then another came and shorty after that another one.

“oh shit oh shit. i think the baby’s coming.” you hissed.

art’s never driven as fast as he was driving now. red lights and stop signs be damned, he was getting you to that hospital.

you ended up getting there on time, and was changed into a hospital gown, hooked up to multiple machines and given your pain reliever of choice. then before you knew it they were telling you to push.

art was positive you were gonna break his hand from how hard you were squeezing, but he held on equally as tight.

“i can’t do it.” you cried. you were so close to the end, one hard push away from this being over, but you were so tried.

“just one more, it’s almost over.” the doctor encouraged you, but you shook your head.

“come on, baby just one more. one more push you can do it.” art cupped your sweaty face in his hands locking eyes with you as gave one more push. soon the loud cries a baby filled your ears, and fat tears fell down yours and art’s faces.

#girliism #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fluff #pregnant!reader #ask #got a little carried away

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coveofsecrets · 2 days ago

Note

the platonic burning spice x child reader fiction WAS SO GOOD. maybe you could do a part 2 pls? you don't have to! 🤍

─── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

"𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗"

-> Platonic! Burning Spice Cookie x reader

-> Warnings: Spoilers for Beast Yeast chapter 6, mentions of major character death, mentions of death

-> Word count: 966

-> waaaahahahahhaaa thank youuuuu <<33!! Not gonna lie, this was super challenging to do! Figuring out what Burning Spice would do as a character, and also his dialogue, was super difficult, but really fun! I hope you enjoy, Anon! This fic is a direct part two to this, so to understand this fic, please read the other one!

─── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Whispers in cracked corridors.

Rumors within dusty floors.

Stories spun along the breeze.

“Have you heard about the child Lord Destroyer’s been keeping?” Purple tail swaying, brushing against the owner’s fur.

“Yes…” Tongue flickering between fangs. “I have, but nobody’s allowed to see them, not even the general.”

“Well, I’ve seen the thing once, through the crack of their room door.”

“Really? What did they look like?”

“Weak.” A grunt. “Puny. If not protected, they would not survive even a second in this land.”

“Impossible! Why would The Great Destroyer allow a weak thing in his temple? There must be something about that child, if he's keeping it.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too! Our lord prohibits any sort of interaction with that weakling, keeping them barred in there like a princess, so why does he have something like that?”

“Hmph. I’m not sure. Possibly untapped potential?”

“Plausible, but Lord Destroyer is not the kind of beast to recruit somebody for that…”

Red paws tapping against the floor, followed by a bark, “Are you two questioning Our Lord’s choices?”

The two squeak, “G- General-!”

“You both,” The Nutmeg Tiger growls, “I will not hear another word from either of you. The Great Destroyer’s thinking is something both of you cannot possibly comprehend, and for you to even try and grasp it is almost laughable. This could very well go for treason!”

“General, we weren’t meaning to go for treason-”

“Do not speak when you are spoken to, weakling!”

Purple mouth snaps shut, red eyes narrowing in almost defiance.

The tiger centaur pays no mind to it, instead choosing to continue. “Whatever Our Lord is doing, surely has reason behind it. I will not stand for you two questioning his divine plans. Is that clear?”

“Yes....” This time, the Cilantro Cobra speaks. “Our… apologies, general. We won’t do this next time…”

“Hmph.” A huff, “I hope you don’t. The Great Destroyer’s ideas are much greater than you lowlives.”

Burning Spice has no idea what he’s doing.

He should’ve killed you.

He should’ve crumbled your existence.

He should’ve laid waste to your form like he did before, once again leaving behind what he loved.

Yet, with his paranshu raised above his head, your eyes fearfully staring at the bright thing…

“Baba, baba!”

He remembers those same eyes looking up at him, as if he had hung up the stars themselves; your sweet voice calling for him as your bare feet violently pad over to reach their father.

God.

He couldn’t do it.

Burning Spice couldn’t kill his child.

No matter how much he wanted to, his body could not follow his command.

So what does he do now?

Burning Spice cannot kill you, so perhaps he could kick you out of here?

No, the spice storms will tear you apart.

If he lets you wander, his troops will reave your being.

Why does he care so much?!

His head has this horrible ache from all this thinking, so to make the confusing part of his brain happy, and to make this pain disappear, he sends you away.

To be more specific, he locks you in a room to which only a few cooks can come in to place food far away from you. Now, some part of him will be content, and also, he can stop looking at your pathetic self.

It takes months before he’s able to face you again.

Months before the Beast has to stop facing the present, and turn back to the past.

“Child.” Water hitting the sandy floors, he speaks. “Are you bored?”

…huh?

Sitting in front of this unfamiliar man, to the question, you pause.

Months of being held captive, with nobody except your own thoughts to keep you company, and when your captor speaks to you, it’s… this?

“Excuse?” You cannot help but ask for clarification, wondering if somehow you misheard.

To your question, though, the Beast’s eyes twitch. “I asked-” The sand starting to dry out- “if you are bored, child.”

Bored?

You heard right, which… only confuses you further.

“I am… confused on what you mean?”

“Do you need entertainment?” The desert is no longer blessed by the gentle touch of the rain, but it is not angry. “I presume that sitting in a room with nothing but your thoughts to occupy yourself is boring.”

Why is he asking that?

If you need entertainment?

What’s his goal?

You decide to echo your thoughts: “Why… are you asking that-?”

Only to be met with a scowl, lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth, the yellow things glinting off of the little light in the room. His eyes are narrowed, lashes blanketing red irises, barely concealing his fury. Soon, though, as if he saw something in your face, the creature forces his expression to flatten, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I would prefer-” he growls after a few seconds. “To not answer that question. All you need to know is if you’re bored. Is that clear?”

…huh… best not to press.

“Good. Now, answer my question: are you bored or not?”

“I… guess so, yes.”

Being stuck in a room for months on end, with nothing to do is not… fun, at all.

“Then what entertainment do you wish for?”

Entertainment?

You blink.

What entertainment is there? Actually, why is he asking if I must be entertained? Mm… I feel like I shouldn’t ask that.

“Conversation with you?” You eventually request, “I’d like to ask a few questions as to where I am.”

The beast’s nostrils flare, a corner of his lips twitching, but he acquiesces. “Alright. But if there is anything I do not wish to divulge, I shall not. Is that fair?”

Huh.

How easy.

Once again, you nod.

He's not being violent in me towards any way, and he hasn't made me do anything... if so, then why's he keeping me here against my will?

What does he want from you?

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #platonic cookie run #platonic cookie run x reader #crk #crk x reader #platonic crk #platonic crk x reader #burning spice cookie #burning spice cookie x reader #platonic burning spice cookie #platonic burning spice cookie x reader

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netherfeildren · 1 day ago

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 4. Figs

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Explicit Sexual Content; DD/lg Dynamics; Daddy Kink; Spanking; Sub Space; Breath Play; Intense Daddy Issues; Size Kink; Size Difference; Squirting; Brat Taming; Past Child Abuse/Neglect; Mentions of Drug and Alcohol Abuse/Addiction; Mentions of Suicide Attempt; Discussions of Grief; Jealousy; Self Esteem Issues;

A/N: Sorry for the ten month long wait, I’m a lazy, procrastinating cad. It’s really freaking long, I know. I wanted to make it up to you, I really missed them, I had a lot to say.

The tags really, really mean what they say, heed them carefully, please.

Word Count: 20.5K

Read on AO3

4. Figs

The child sits outside her father’s office, waiting.

Long curls drip frigid down her shivering back, white nightgown buttoned to the tip of her mother’s own chin—that likeness which will one day be the cause of all her troubles, though she does not yet know it—and the pink furry slippers which are her most favorite. They’re soft and they sparkle, and when she wears them, it’s like she’s a bunny.

“He’ll be out soon, darling, and then we can put you to bed,” Nanny says from the seat beside her. She nods, pressing her small shoulders tightly to the back of the hard bench, wishing the woman silent so that she might better focus on the sound of the deep voice coming from behind the closed door.

It is her father’s voice, and it is most familiar to her like this.

From afar.

The fingers she stares down at are still pink from the bath, and she twists them tightly in her lap, sitting very straight and very still, pressing her mouth together to keep all the sound and all the movement inside of herself silent and motionless so as to trick time into moving faster. She is young, only six years old, but she has learnt the strength of her own will already. How she might exert it with the right people to get what she wants—how with others, it means very little, if anything at all.

Beside her, Nanny sighs a sound full of impatience, and this the child recognizes quite well. She doesn’t like it either, that they must always wait for him, that her whole life seems to be filled with waiting waiting waiting. She thinks that she hates waiting. She thinks that if she were a wild rabbit out in the purple mountains she wouldn’t ever have to wait for anyone or anything. And she knows that she would like to let it all out, the impatience, the yawn that trembles at her jaw as she clenches her teeth together until it hurts, the cry for him to hurry up because she doesn’t want to wait for him anymore.

The door opens suddenly, and a man she doesn’t know strides out, papers tucked beneath his arm. The girl’s father is a businessman, and this is why he is so busy. He is also a rancher, this is why she does not come first.

She is young, only six years old, but she has learnt the truth of this already.

Nanny has slid to the edge of the bench, her ankles crossed over one another, long fingered hands folded stiffly in her lap. She is breathing very slowly, her shoulders moving in up and down waves, and the girl knows she’s forcing herself to do this to stay calm. When the girl doesn’t do as she’s told, this is how Nanny breathes, too.

Finally, her father’s heavy tread approaches the door, muffled by the thick rug in his office, the hard satin underside of the beautiful boots he wears. And then he’s there, after more than an hour of waiting past her bedtime, he moves past his daughter and the woman he pays to raise her as if they hardly exist—their wait inconsequential.

“Sir?” Nanny shoots up off the bench, voice soft but stern, like when she is ordering the child about in the school room.

He is very frightening, her father. And the girl doesn’t think that she looks like him at all, which is why he doesn’t like her. If she was more like him, he would like her better. But she knows that if she is very quiet and very still that he can be nice, and so she waits without moving, until he looks at her.

“We’ve come to say goodnight, Mr. Kelly.”

He sighs a long drawn out moment, a big breath as he’s a very big man with big nostrils that flare widely when he’s found the girl particularly annoying.

Once, she’d tried to put her finger in his nose, to measure how much bigger it felt compared to when she put her finger in her own nostril. There was a great fuss after that, and a mighty spanking. She never tried to touch him like that ever again after.

She is a child who learns her lessons very well.

“Yes, alright,” he says in his deep voice, and she does love the sound of it, even if it never sounds happy or laughing, even if it scares her, too, for she can always recognize when he’s come back home just by the sound of it rolling through the house. And when he comes to crouch before her, folding all the way down to look her right in the eyes, the little girl has to work hard as ever to make sure she remains very still and very quiet so as not to cry.

“Have you been good for Nanny?”

“Yes, sir,” she nods. He never calls her Miss Maria as the girl is required to when they are in the school room, learning. Always simply, Nanny.

“Bill tells me you’ve been doing well in your lessons. Soon you’ll be riding on your own. That will make me very pleased.”

“Yes, sir,” again. She wishes she could make her voice louder so that he might hear her better, but it will just not come.

He sighs and his big nostrils flare again, and she knows he is displeased. She can never make herself sound in a way that will make him happy even though she tries as hard as she can. “I’m going away for a few weeks, but when I’m back, I’ll come watch you. How does that sound?”

And at this oh so terrible news, as hard as she tries to stifle the movement or the sound or the yawn or the cries or anything that might make him bothered in any way…well, she is still very young, only six years old, and she has not yet learnt how to control all the things he so intensely dislikes about her.

“But you just came back, sir, and now you’re leaving again.” It comes out of her small child’s mouth a whine that grates, and yet, despite this, he is still kind for a moment longer.

“It’ll go by like that,” he snaps his big fingers, makes a big sound she has tried to replicate and cannot.

“Please, don’t leave, daddy.”

Now she will cry, now the kindness will start to go.

“It won’t be that long, salamander.”

A large hand wraps around her small shoulder, squeezing gently, she flinches and a fat tear rolls over her apple flushed cheek. It’s hard work, after all, holding yourself so still and so quiet when you are so little, and so finally, the stillness breaks, and she tucks her thumb into her warm mouth, sucking.

He looks at her for another long moment, his hand falls away. She watches it carefully, steeling her small body for something bad. “That’s a filthy and disgusting habit. How many times do I have to tell you to knock it off?” He looks at Nanny with blame, and she says something low that the girl can no longer hear, she’s watching her slippers like a bunny again, thinking again how a bunny must surely never have to wait or cry over their fathers out there in the purple mountains.

“Always with the goddamn sniveling, girl. Go to bed.”

His voice is angry now. She sucks harder. She can no longer be still. He does not say goodbye.

You don’t see Joel for three whole days following your afternoon together.

It’s terrible.

On the lingering rays of the setting sun, a storm rolls in off the Tetons, and with it, trouble and interruptions. As the two of you help peel each other off the living room rug, damp and trembling and laughing like children, you stumble up the stairs together, the rain starting out soft and humid outside. A curtain of warm water falls from the skies as you step into the large, marbled shower stall in your bathroom, the rainfall spout pouring over your closely bent heads.

You feel fragile and vulnerable in his hands, a turtle dove on a precarious ledge; like a girl again, watching him ramble about your father’s ranch, strong and far away and wholly untouchable, all while he washes soap from your hair.

But now, the urgency of adulthood, of being a woman in his hands, not only a dove, rushes in, too. He touches you everywhere, fingers dragging through the soaked locks of your hair, braille mapped over the planes of your shoulders, down your sternum to palm the swell of your belly. So now, you’re woman and girl and dove, something fragile grown into its own strength, anchored here, yet still with the muscle memory of flight ready to take you away. If only because that’s what you’d always been used to before. The back of your eyes pinch with emotion, overwhelmed by the smolder of your heart, and you can’t believe it’s him, Joel, here, lifting your breast into his mouth to suckle at the peak, licking at the seam of your mouth and demanding entrance and the flavor of your tongue.

His cock hangs heavy between his thick thighs, half hard, and if you weren’t fighting the silly knot of tears in your throat, you’d poke fun at the myth of middle aged men and unbelievable stamina.

His wet lips slide across your burning cheek, your own moan trailing after him, chasing another kiss with the turn of your neck, all desperation, and his fingers catch over your bottom teeth, hooked Rainbow, pulling you open, pressing down on your tongue until you gag.

“Gotta see if I’ll fit here too, baby,” he says against your ear, pressing you back to sit on the icy tiled bench. The steam of the water off his skin, the frigid hard beath your bottom and against your swollen cunt, you shiver all over until it hurts in your spine. His hand threads through the back of your hair, cupping and pulling, stretching you out so you’re wide open with his fingers still too thick and too deep in your mouth. You gag again, harder, thinking of before, when he forced his fingers far enough to make you vomit, eyes smarting at the memory of his rough helping. “Think it’ll do.” He’s teasing you with that half-cocked smirk like a boy’s.

You’re sharing youth here, experience too. So much of one another being poured into the moment and so quickly that if you hadn’t known him for as long as you have, if you hadn’t been making your way to him with the hope of this for so long, it’d be entirely petrifying.

He starts to stroke his length into full hardness, pulling your head forward, mouth open to take him onto your tongue. He’s heavy like he was in your cunt, but somehow even bigger, your jaw immediately prepares to ache with the stretch. Swiping it side to side on the flat and then sliding in, guiding you by your hair, showing you how he wants you to suck him. Close, he murmurs soft, good baby girl, when you purse your lips around his girth, holding at the back of your throat, instructing you to breathe long and slow through your nose, getting you used to him.

He pulls back slowly, until you’ve only got the head to suckle on, your tongue sliding over it, the salty taste of his skin as his thumb brushes slowly along the edge of your jaw and then presses hard against the soft and giving underside of your chin, forcing you to open again, throat spasming convulsively. With his grip in your hair he tugs your head back again, and the two of you watch each other, his hazel bright eyes so intense it’s almost unbelievable that they hadn’t always looked at you like this. That you’d started all of this only a few nights ago with nothing but a half mad kiss you’d wished on for nearly half a life.

You stick your tongue out flat and wide and begging, and he slides back in, holding you still as he pushes deep until his balls are pressed against your chin, rewarding himself with that first full bodied choking jerk from you, little tongue pressing against the base, throat cinching like a fist around the head.

He holds you there, letting you choke around him, and it’s still all so slow, so measured despite your racing heart and tears and spasming throat, wide wet eyes looking up at him—frightening, possessive want staring back down at you. Pulling back and pushing in again and again until you can’t take it anymore, jaw hinged too wide, little tits trembling with the puff of your breath until every other one is a gag and all you are is a wet, open throat.

When he finally pulls back, and you’re still missing a belly full of come, you suck in a shaky breath, gagging frog sound in your throat, spit dripping off your chin that he smears down your throat, over your chest and nipples, pinching hard and stinging. You fall against his hip, swollen lips mouthing down to the fat head of his cock, still hungry for your treat, his fist slides down the spit slicked length, following you; a string of drool and pre-come keeping the two of you connected when you yank against the commanding grip in your hair, nuzzling like a puppy, whine at the back of your throat as he pushes it hot and heavy against your sticky cheek, smacks you with it a little.

“Good girl. My good baby girl,” he laughs tenderly, and he’s so endeared by you, you can feel it in his eyes and hear it in his smile, that something hot and agonizing pulses through your heart.

When you step out of your shower cocoon together, the rain is a violent gust now, shaking the house on its foundation, windows rattling in their frames. He wraps you in a large fluffy white towel, twisting a second one in your hair, flushed sensitive skin trembling under his touch. His kiss is slow and lazy, all tongue and care as you fall together against the silk duvet, pulling you into himself as his heavy weight settles over you, drawing your thigh over his hip, nothing but cotton and damp dew separating the two of you. You need to make him come again, his fingers sneaking between your thighs to play in his leaking spend—when someone bangs urgently on the door downstairs.

On his drive in from Jackson, Jesse had come across a large chunk of the northernmost fence that had been taken out by the strong winds and lashing rain. Cattle were already spilling out onto the highway when he’d passed, meandering into the adjoining land owned by the park.

Ellie and Dina had been called back in from town, and they’d all had to ride up and over the mountain to herd the escaped cattle and make repairs to the fence—and had left you all alone and without him and all the rest of them, too.

It had been a long and quiet three days, just you and Dina, which had made you very worried in a very concerning way, this sudden and immediate melancholy that had fallen over you and the whole house without him. The reality that the ranch is wrong, the house is wrong, you are wrong in it, without Joel Miller here to roam and tend the land. That you may have traveled far and wide, tasted all the flavors and touched all the colors of the rainbow, done all the things your imagination might’ve conjured, but outside of this place there existed not even a fraction of what these people had built here together—a family born at the center of a green valley.

And so there’s a part of you now, like a coward, trying to twist away from the reality that you’re still just that girl, in some ways so young, so unsure, sitting outside your father’s office with the desperate need to be paid attention to, to be remembered.

Still that desperate child turned woman, asking yourself why you’d felt you needed Joel here that morning you’d arrived to meet your last dead parent. Asking yourself why you’d sent yourself into an anger fueled bender when you’d arrived to find him missing.

He isn’t your kin. Never your confidant. In the past, there was not even that closeness of previously shared intimacy or comfort between the two of you. He’d been, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to you as a child in all the ways that counted save for those you’d conjured up in your imagination.

But perhaps that’s the thing. In your own imaginary way, Joel is familiar, as part of the ranch as the rock of the mountain, the house in which your mother had birthed you, or even your father, who’d loved this place more than he’d ever loved anything except his wife, he who’d also died here; all of them a history of monuments that make up the miasma of what this place really is. The annals of their lives, so closely knit with the land itself that there can be no separating one from the other, and Joel is a part of it all.

Maybe it’s that, in some ways, you feel he has more of a right to be here than you do. That you need him here to remind you that you belong, too.

That you’d needed the reassurance of his approval here when you’d come to claim the place as your own once and for all.

And you need him now, now that he’d so made you a part of himself in much the same way, in nothing but a single afternoon.

But most obvious of all, during their days away protecting and caring for your birthright, what becomes clear to you is that after all these years, they had all very much become your family, too: Ellie, Dina, Jesse, Frank and Bill and Tommy.

Joel.

It is almost a terrible moment of enlightenment, that realization of how much you truly have to lose now.

On the third day of his absence, the sky blooms a clear and startling blue, and in the early afternoon, you hear the commotion of the team making their valiant return. The slamming of truck doors and trailer gates, shouted orders and horses sputtering at the indignation of being kept from home and at work for so many days.

There’s a single bated-breath-moment of shy hesitancy, a will-he-won’t-he sort of doubt (want to see me want to do it again want me) and then you’re chasing down the stairs and after more of that lightning in a bottle feeling, out the front door in search of him.

Chaos bubbles in the yard, hands lifting and hauling supplies and tools from the beds of trucks and the backs of trailers, horses being led to and fro, Dina and Ellie having a shameless snog in the shadow of her open truck door. Your eyes flit from person to person, searching the mess of homesick excitement for his height and breadth.

It’s only been two and a half days, really, after so many years dreaming of him, but anyways—you missed him. Really, truly missed him.

From the corner of your eye you finally catch sight of him stepping out of the dark shade of the barn, towering above everyone around him. He’s got that sweat stained brown hat pulled low over his brow, edges curled with overuse. His hair is long enough it curls slightly over the back of his collar, and his eyes are hidden from you in the hat’s protective shade, but by the swirl of your belly and the shiver across your skin, you think he finds you at the same time as you do him. Something magnetic. You don’t think you can even feel your foot still connected to your body when you take a step down off the front steps, stumbling over the gravel of the drive that digs uncomfortably into the soles of your feet through the house slippers you’d forgotten to change out of —when suddenly, you recognize the person standing next to him, smiling up at him as she glows bright and lovely.

The veterinarian, Tess.

You’re thankful for the absentminded hand trailing behind you, still anchoring you to the stability of the step’s railing, when you register the swollen round of her heavily pregnant belly, a careful hand cupped protectively around the underside, as she rests her other palm against Joel’s arm.

Suddenly the gravel digging into your slippers becomes too painful to ignore, almost overwhelming, you take a frightened step back.

He would never. But—

At one time, they were together, and her hand on his arm has now moved to his chest, a show of comfort and intimacy between them, and she’s laughing, her long hair woven back into a neat braid, swinging with the movement of her mirth. She looks really beautiful, and you’re again nothing more than the little girl in her slippers waiting for a man that will not come to you.

He would never. Right?

Ellie calls your name—you take another retreating step up the stairs, indecision and insecurity sloshing in your belly—bull sprinting towards you, her lithe, strong body knocking your ribs painfully into the railing, her hands yanking on your hair, babbling excitedly and Dina’s voice from behind, telling her she’s worse than the wrangled cattle. Over Ellie’s shoulder and past Dina’s kind gaze, Joel bends low towards Tess, arm around her shoulders as he steers her towards the three of you congregated on the steps. You feel as you did on that bench outside his office for all those years, waiting for a man to find time to dole out your verdict: kindness or cruelty, a goodbye or worse.

He’s saying something to her still, speaking close into her ear and guiding her buoyant form carefully through the busy yard full of cowboys and animals and danger, and you can see his eyes now as they flit to you, looking so cold and guarded.

There’s no Nanny here to shield you from the worst of it now.

When they finally reach you, Tess embraces both Dina and Ellie with all the warmth of people who’ve worked and laughed and grown together for years. You stand as still and as quiet as you can possibly make yourself. You have all the practice in the world waiting for your turn to be acknowledged, and this is a terrible and small feeling which no grown woman should have to subject herself to. And yet, still, you can’t seem to escape the child.

He’s watching you, you can feel him, hungry or angry maybe—something else. But you can’t tell now—can’t focus on anything but your stillness and waiting your turn until Ellie finally turns to reintroduce Tess to the adult version of you.

“The new Kelly,” Tess says with easy warmth and an even easier smile, offering you her palm for a strong handshake. Everything about her is so natural, earthen or real. Nothing at all put upon. This is a woman who, whatever the truth of it may actually be, gives every appearance of having always known herself, never had doubts, never had to claw in the grime and gutter for her truth or whatever scraps of self best fit her at the time.

“Tess. It’s nice to see you again,” you say as cool and magnanimous as you can muster yourself to be. Ignoring the lurch of nausea being referred to as the Kelly brings on.

“I was sorry to hear about your father. He gave me work for a long time, and I was always grateful for it.” Something you’d never understood about your father, how he collected gratitude easy as pennies. It was perhaps his greatest talent—getting all of them to eat out of the palm of his hand.

“Thank you. I appreciate it, and I hope we’ll continue that work going forward. I wouldn’t like anything integral to change for the ranch now. Anything else, that is.” Your voice comes out robotic, businesslike, and she pauses, her head cocking to the side, that easy smile still plastered on her smooth, beautiful face. In your peripheral, you see Ellie move closer to Joel, whispering something in his ear, the click click of Dina chewing on her fingernails.

“Actually,” Tess says, “If you have a minute, I’d like for us to talk.”

Your toes flex in your slippers, the three of them hold their breath, Tess oblivious to their doubt of you, and the imaginary ticking time bomb sound chips away at your mind, demeaning you further. What do they expect? For you to throw a fit? The lover (—ex lover?) of the man you’ve had sex with once, come here to test you with some potentially incriminating evidence smuggled beneath her t-shirt. And here they are, suddenly orbiting you as if you’ve ever been like him —that explosive anger, that rage, that ability to humiliate and cause fear and insult.

You’ve never had a temper like that. It’s insulting they’d act otherwise.

“Give us a second.” You turn to Dina, it isn’t a question.

One moment to the next, you’re still in your slippers, but you’re not that waiting child any longer. You remember yourself, and you’re the head of the ranch and all that comes with it now. This is yours. And you aren’t your father. And they’ll pretend at respect, whether they feel it or not because it’s your due after the pound of flesh you’d offered up to this place in your childhood.

How does one stay ambitious and brave and wild and still become a grown woman?

How does a girl stand on her own two feet and become an adult when she’s never felt any of those things to begin with?

How does one grapple with the terror of their childhood and succeed at a normal and full life?

The girls go and you ponder your existential dread in the face of a woman who seems to have it all figured out.

Joel clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “You know, I can—”

“We just gotta talk some shop, Texas. We’ll be okay—just a minute,” Tess tells him. Assertive, but with a wink, and she never loses that grin which, if she wasn’t so damn likable, would be annoying as hell.

You struggle to swallow your cringe. It’s easy to picture the two of them together, how they’d look, how they’d be. Good looking and capable, strong, confident personalities.

You finally meet his eyes, they offer you nothing, of course, and with a dip of your chin, you give him his leave. He only goes a few paces away from the bottom step of the deck, unwilling to stray too far from the two of you.

“Oz was a difficult man. You’re not really anything like him, are you?”

Oz. It’s funny to hear the terror of your father referred to so casually.

“The opposite has never been insinuated. But I can be pretty difficult when I want to be, too,” you say, still watching Joel watch you.

If you were anything like your father, you’d take her assessment as an insult.

Instead, you meet her appraising gaze as steady as you can.

“Ah—” she hums,“Sure, yeah,” then laughs. “Can see it in the way you carry yourself. If anything, he was… a force.”

“He was that.”

You don’t feel now that you can give her too much. Like if you open your mouth, give her more words than necessary, she’ll know everything there is to know about you and what has gone on here. She’s got that sort of look about her, those sort of eyes. Already measured you against your father and found you lacking.

Even if she didn’t mean it badly, the comparison stings.

“I’d like things to continue on as they’ve been so far, also,” she continues. “Anything you need around here, you call our team. We’ll be here. I’d like to say nothing will change,” and at this she looks down at her bulging belly, sweeping a loving hand over it, “But…” she clicks her tongue ruefully, smile changing to something softer, sincere in a more intimate way. “Things are about to get a little different for me here now pretty soon.” She looks back to you, “My husband’ll be taking over things, just for a few months. He trained at Davis, and I’ll send over his CV so you can take a look at it yourself. Talk to the boys and Joel, they know him well now. If you’d like, my assistant can get with Dina—the three of us can meet and talk over the next few months and what the ranch’ll need from us for the rest of the year up into calving season. I’d rather we have a solid plan before everything gets too crazy for us.”

There’s something like vertigo swooping between your ears, ship at sea sort of unmoored. You are so silly. It’s humiliating. So insecure in ways you have no business being. Husband, of course.

“Does that sound okay to you?” She presses.

“Sure— I mean… yes. Yes, that sounds great. I look forward to it. Just give Dina a call.”

“I hope the ranch won’t forget about me while I’m out of commission. The Kelly has always been a special place to me.” There’s so much genuine sincerity in her voice. You wonder if Joel is part of that sentiment.

“We’ll be waiting for you, Tess. Don’t worry about that.”

She flushes slightly, looking down at the hand on her stomach again. “Thank you. I appreciate that. This is difficult for me, as happy as I am about it all. Giving myself over to something that’s so out of my control.”

You nod in understanding. “I didn’t know you’d gotten married. Congratulations to you and your husband.” You flush deep and embarrassed in return, at your initial assumption, but she makes nothing of whatever fucked up expression you know you’ve got your face screwed into. You don’t want her to know how you feel about Joel, to suspect—this woman who’d had him in her own unique and mysterious way for such a long time. Who shares history and a friendship with him now, admiration and respect and laughter.

“Yeah, well…” She chuckles ruefully at this, turning now to glance surreptitiously at the still brooding Joel pacing between Frank and Tommy as they talk at him. “It happened quick. I wanted things I wasn’t going to find other places. Had to go out and get them for myself—you know?”

“Sure,” you blink once, “Of course.” But her words fill you with more of that nauseating vertigo. Afraid again, that you’re still that child waiting for something that will never come. That you too, are now looking for something in the same wrong place.

He watches your profile closely through your exchange with Tess. Since Ellie had approached you, really—always rough housing when she shouldn’t be, knocking you in the ribs. The way you grip the deck’s bannister, your knuckles white with strain and the flush in your throat and cheeks, the lift of your brow. You smile often, but not easily. He can tell they cost you something or that you have to remind yourself to respond the way you’re expected to.

He’d seen it on your face, what you’d assumed about Tess.

The sun is strong against the back of his neck, and there’s a line of sweat pouring down his spine, and he wants to go to you, make sure you’re okay and apologize for the three days and the doubt and not being here when he knows you need him.

When it seems Tess is finally saying her goodbye’s, he’s unable to extricate himself from Tommy and Frank’s bitching about the work yet to be done for the rest of the afternoon without having to tell them outright to fuck off. Tess makes her slow way down the steps of the house, her swollen gait bobbing unsteadily from side to side, and he watches as you head around the opposite end of the house, gunning for the back door and avoiding him, he knows. He knows.

“How’s it goin’, Texas?” Tess chirps brightly, He reaches beneath her elbow to lead her back to her truck, Frank there already, pulling the door open for her.

“It’s goin’ well, Tess. You look good, honey. You feel good?”

“Great. Never better.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” And he means it. He’d never been able to give her what she wanted, as hard as he’d tried, and he’d been damn happy for her when she’d found it anyways. “Remind me when she’s joinin’ us?”

“Ah, end of August.” She’s happier now than she ever looked when she’d been fooling around with him, and it makes Joel glad to know it’d all ended up as it was meant to. He looks back up at the big house, second to last window on the far left end where he knows your room is.

“Real soon now.”

“Not soon enough. Her daddy’s just as restless as she is for it to be time.”

“I’ll bet. I’m glad,�� he says again, helping her up into the truck as she huffs and puffs. Frank says his goodbyes and Joel shuts her door for her, leaning against the open window. “Happy?” He asks his friend.

The smile on her face tells him all he needs to know. “I am.”

“That’s good.” A look passes between them, that of two people who know too much about each other, but perhaps, not the most important things they should’ve known after it was all said and done. And yet there’s nothing bittersweet about what lives between them. It’s all as it should be.

“What about you? You happy?”

He has to force himself not to look at that window again.

“Yeah, I’m happy.” She reaches for his cheek, clucking at him like she might not believe him. But how to tell her that this time it really is true, without giving away his too precious secret?

“Good. You deserve it, Joel.”

The curious part is, he thinks he might really believe her.

As Tess’s truck pulls slowly down the long drive, he looks back at that window, thinking of the other afternoon in the sun drenched family room. The wet stretched lycra tight across your sun burnished skin, all reds and pinks and a grotesque splatter of girl shaped desire that had him clawing at the brink of madness. Afraid he’d hurt you, lose his mind so entirely he’d forget how delicate you can be made in his hands—that scared look in your eyes, that step back when you’d seen Tess—but then he remembers the tilt of your hips taking him inside your body and the strength in your thighs grounding him, the steady look in your gaze telling him that you’re okay and reminding him of all your fire inside—that you have always been stronger and more resilient than he could ever even think to be.

A woman full of strength.

You are a thing to be loved.

He follows you, slipping through the unlocked back door, hunting through the cool, quiet shadows of the sun speared halls of your home.

When he finds your sounds of movement at the back of the house, in your father’s study, he waits silent and still by the door, heart beating a thunder drum in his chest as he listens to your steps approach and pulling you blindly into himself when you cross the threshold. Banding his arms around your back, knees bent to get at your level and seal his mouth over yours.

Three days is too long a time, and Joel is a starving man.

You give one appalled squeak before your head is falling back on your neck, opening so sweetly for him, letting him lap at your tongue and sip at your flavor.

“You were thinkin’ strange thoughts out there,” he says against your mouth, and you huff against him, opening to protest, but he kisses you again. Kisses you stupid, knees straightening to pull you up with him, leaving your feet dangling between his spread cowboy boots, the soft thump of a slipper sliding off your foot.

“Don’t lie, little liar.” He licks at your jaw, reaches down to squeeze the full of your sweet ass. “Did you miss me?” A kiss to your pulse point now and you moan so pretty for him, all soft and breathy, like you want him to fuck you right here, take you into your father’s study and have you slick and full of come as quick as he can get you.

“Yes,” you moan, tilting your head further back to give him more territory to kiss.

He pulls back to look at your eyes, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen. He drags his hand gently over the spot of your Ellie-battered-ribs. There is nothing about you that Joel wouldn’t notice. Gorgeous fucking thing, he wants to ruin you. He’s going to ruin you for every other man ever. Squeezing your cheeks together, forcing your mouth into a pout, say it, he orders—feral, desperate, missing you, too.

“I missed you, Joel.”

Joel. He groans at the sound of it, kisses you again—more, harder, so you know that he really means it.

Hours later, when the sun has set, he finally makes his way into the quiet of his cabin, wondering if it’s logistically more polite to bring his toothbrush over with him so that he can have fresh breath in the morning or simply pray on the effectiveness of toothpaste and a finger, worrying whether you’ll be asleep already, if you’ve had dinner or if he should plan for that, too. He’s pulled from his fretting by the sight of your coat—the worn brown suede one you love that hits just below your knees, light enough for the cool summer evenings—hung over the hook by his door. He knows it’s lined on the inside with cheetah printed silk, so like you, and that the label says Dolce & Gabbana. He’d peeked at it the other morning, draped over the breakfast bar in the big house, tested the weight of it. Made in Italy, it says on the label. A fancy thing. Details he has no business searching for or obsessing over, but that he searches for and obsesses over nonetheless.

He blinks at the well worn coat, unable—only for a second—to understand what it is it’s doing here in his house.

But in the kitchen, there’s a cupboard left slightly ajar, his books on the coffee table misaligned and out of the order in which he’d left them, his mail rifled through, a lone envelope spilled onto the rug beneath. His second set of boots kicked over to make space for a much smaller pair. He’s sure if he were to open his fridge, he’d find the contents of it picked over, as well.

It would seem that a little intruder has come to make herself at home in his space. And when he peeks through the open door of his bedroom, the proof of it is in the shape of a small lump curled in on itself at the head of his bed.

He clears his throat and two too large eyes peek out over the edge of his dark comforter, challenging, daring him to question your presence here.

There’s also something softly vulnerable there, which he takes careful note of.

Crossing his arms over his still sweaty chest, he leans against the door appreciating the sight of you snuggled up in his bed. Something like giddiness eats away at his heart, and he chews on his cheek to keep a shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. The two of you stare each other down, waiting to see who breaks first.

It’s him.

Of course.

At the soft sound you let out, some croon that beckons him forward, he pushes away from the doorframe, crossing the room to loom over you as you wiggle deeper into his bed. Your scent fucks with his head. Makes him feel just this close to unhinged. His sheets will smell like you for days now. Sweet, sultry. God-like. He’s about to become a pious man.

Bending over you, he holds himself anchored with one hand gripped around the wooden slat of his headboard and slowly pulls the edge of the blanket covering you, down. Revealing for himself the sweet little morsel of a gift that’s come to plant itself in his bed so nicely. You’ve wrapped yourself in something lacy and pale for him, some sort of spaghetti-strapped confection seemingly made out of sugar—his gut goes hot and heavy.

And from below, you take him in, gaze roving over his face and arms while he holds himself up and on display. Your hand comes up to ghost soft as petal fingertips over the bulge of his bicep, and he growls some hungry sound that he scares himself with.

You turn him into something he’s never been before.

A flush creeps down your throat to flood your chest, and he wants to follow it to your breasts. See if he can make you go as red and hot all over as he’s learned your sweet little nipples can go.

“Hi.”

He shakes his head down at such temptation. No man is this strong. “I gotta wash up before I touch you, darlin’. I’m filthy.”

You shake your head back at him, whining softly in your throat, writhing in his sheets, knee hitching higher to push the covers down and reveal more of yourself to him—matching panties and soft, bare thighs, Jesus—fucking siren girl all for him. His mouth waters. Your fingertips ghost down his chest, catching lightly at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging gently, making his stomach swoop.

“No. Come,” you order. It’s all a seduction.

But he’s been hauling and riding and sweating all day. He needs to scrub the two inch layer of filth from his skin before he can touch something this perfect. Clutching at the headboard he lets himself lean further over you, stretching the tense muscles of his back, sucking at your mouth once, long and hard, dragging his tongue wet and lewd across your cheek before he’s groaning, heaving himself up and pulling his shirt up over the back of his head to jump in the shower, strict about not turning back to look at you lest he lose himself to your call.

In the steamed mirror once he’s done, he takes in the color of his eyes and doesn’t recognize the way they stare back at him. Like a boy discovering a woman for the first time in his life, he’s never felt like this before. It’s frightening, intoxicating.

When he steps back out into the bedroom, dragging a towel through his wet hair, over his chest and sensitive groin, you’ve flopped over, covers kicked down to the foot of the bed so he can see the sheer lace of your panties disappear between your cheeks. Scrolling on your phone with your feet kicked up in the air, swinging in a slow motion that hypnotizes. He’s going to wrap both fists around your ankles and hold you forcibly open, watch you get wetter and wetter and more swollen until neither one of you can take the waiting any longer. He’s going to drag it out until it’s mean. He’s going to make it count.

His cock is so hard that a delicious heat has begun to pool in his abdomen, seeping down into his pelvis. He’s heavy between his legs.

Dropping the towel to the floor, he catches a swinging ankle, tugging roughly to flip you over and yank you down towards himself. Bracing one knee to the edge of the bed, he leans over, reaching for your phone and tosses it over his shoulder carelessly. The frown you give him is mighty, and he laughs at you. He feels—he can’t say exactly. A little unhinged, perhaps. Out of control. Like he needs to exert some sort of force here. Expel that jittering energy he’s been filled with the past three days which distracted him from his ride and his work, from wrangling cattle and leading his men. That feeling that made him desperate to run back here into your arms.

You give him a peevish, suspicious look, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against the tip of your chin, and ask, “Are you JoelMiller81?”

“Don’t know what that means,” he gruffs, running his hands over the silk and lace of the little scrap you’ve got on, feeling the hard peaks of your nipples against his palms. His callouses catch and snag, and he has the passing thought that he might be too rough, too nasty, to handle something so fine, but then settles on the reality that he doesn’t really give a fuck if he is.

You want him.

You want him. And that’s all that matters, really, you getting what you want. The thought of being the one that gives it to you fills him with a feral sort of satisfaction.

“Liar. Liar liar pants on fire.”

“Don’t know what that means neither.” He bends to bite your pretty little tit through the lace. Hard.

“Ow!” You try to shove him away. “Why’d you like my picture a bunch of times, huh?”

“Didn’t.”

He pushes your knees up around his waist, taking your wrist and pinning it to the mattress by your hip, trapping it with his knee. His heavily hanging cock brushes wetly against the soft inside of your thigh, sending a shiver down his spine, unable to help the soft moan he lets out. He’s so fucking turned on for you. So hard. The head, red and swollen and throbbing a leak of precum with every beat of his heart.

“Yes, you did. One of my ass. Like a hundred times.”

He pulls back to glare at you, and you laugh in his face, lovely and bright as a firefly.

“Got no idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. But if I did, I’d say you got no business showin’ what’s mine to the whole internet.” Thirty-seven thousand fuckin’ people, he grumbles under his breath, fuckin’ ridiculous.

You gasp, affronted, “Yours?” Glaring back just as hotly.

You push yourself up on your elbows, catching him by the mouth with your palm to shove his big head away. He nips at the soft flesh, grunting an affirmative.

“Excuse me!” You drag the vowels out all sassy, all provoking. It makes him leak. Makes him want to pick a hundred fights just to enjoy the making up afterwards.

“You heard me.” He kneels back between your legs and pulls your little panties down your long legs.

“I do what I want.”

“Sure, baby.”

He listens to the click of your teeth, a whine in the back of your throat. Upset ‘cause he’s not taking your bait. “Are you gonna be mean?” You pout.

Joel pauses, as if to consider. “Yeah,” he says eventually with mock regret and a sigh.

You heave a big, long breath. “Oh, alright,” and let yourself flop back onto the mattress, arms stretching back up over your head.

He can’t help his chuckle. You really do charm his socks off.

“How was the rest of your day?” You ask as he settles between your thighs.

“Bad.”

First, he presses a soft kiss to the fleshy uppermost part of your mons, dipping his tongue out just a tiny bit to taste the salty sweet skin there, but not far out enough to taste you where you really want him.

“Oh?” —A little moan— “Why’s that?”

“Because.”

“Because what?” Your tone dips into a whine.

He leans up on his elbows to get a good look at your face. “Because I can’t seem to stop thinking about this,” he hisses, “And it’s damn difficult to tend horses and wrangle cowboys when you’ve got half an erection. That’s why. Any more questions?”

“No. That’s it. You can continue.” Voice all fucking prim and proper.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you sass back, digging your heel into his shoulder.

“Fucking brat.” Now, he kisses you full on, tongue dipping shallowly between your slit for a better taste. He takes a drop of your dew into his mouth and rubs it against his palate, savoring the taste.

“Yes. And?” It’s all a moaning, fluttery sigh now.

His hands splay wide, sliding up the underside of your thighs to push you open by the back of the knees, listening to the sticky pop of your lips spreading.

“Oh my God,” you moan. “So embarrassing.” Covering your hot face with your arms.

“Fucking hot,” he groans, going in again, licking into your soft, wet cunt. He comes to the crest of your sex, your clit hot and slippery, suckling at it in quick pulses. Keeping the force of it light enough to not overwhelm you too quickly. He turns his head to deepen his angle, his tongue pulsing against your opening, lapping and lapping, coaxing the little hole to soften for him. Prepping it to take him. He spends a long time there, ignoring your clit, licking around the soft folds, everywhere but where you really need him.

His stomach is hot, his cock full, and he lets himself settle more heavily against the bed, pressing his aching length roughly into the edge of the mattress to relieve the pressure, rutting there slowly. You let out a twisting sob when he finally goes back to focus on your clit, circling his tongue lightly, round and round, and then opening his mouth wide to drag his bottom teeth ever so gently over the swollen nub, watching your reaction intently the entire time. Your face scrunches, a sheen of sweat blooming, all the fine muscles spasming frantically, and all at once, he can feel your cunt pulsing, readying for orgasm against his tongue, as you try to twist away, back of your knee sliding over his face.

He holds you down more firmly, pressing a large palm low to your belly, his fingers on your clit, and spears his tongue into your sex, giving you something to bear down on. This is agony, watching you come for him. He needs to fuck you.

God. “Thought about this all fuckin’ day, baby.” He slurps loudly, lewdly. “Your sweet little pussy, it’s fucking perfect. Made for me.”

You sob into the bunched sheets, hiding your face while you grind against his face.

Pressing kisses along the slick curve of your soaked sex once you’ve finished, you hiccup above his head, carding your fingers through his hair compulsively, scratching at his scalp, tugging him upwards.

“You’re too good at that,” you sniffle. “It’s annoying.”

He grunts, kissing his way over your belly, scraping his teeth along easily torn skin, tasting your smeared come there. He settles at your breasts, and takes his sweet time giving them both his teeth and attention until they’re swollen and painful. Rubbing the grey scruff of his beard against the small mounds, abrading your sensitive skin. Flushed little nipples like dark, overripe raspberries for him to suck on even harder, chafed and raw from his rough handling. He pinches and tugs at them, letting his weight go heavy and melting over your frame, suffocated into the bed, his cock wedged between your swollen sex, letting you feel his solid heft there. Every so often it slides against you with his movements, when his mouth moves from breast to breast, but you’re so dripping wet that there’s hardly any friction, and it makes you cry. Which in turn, makes him pleased, and even harder.

Curiously, you don’t beg him to fuck you while he tortures your poor tits. He thinks that you know that eventually, he’ll give you exactly what you need. That he has a certainty of the steps the two of you need to take here tonight, that he knows entirely what it is he needs to do to get you there, and how that stops you from rushing him. This thing, it’s a little something like trust.

That unsettled feeling from before, the jittering energy, eventually it melts away. And Joel is left feeling so steady, so sure of what the two of you are doing here, how he has to handle you. It just feels so right.

When he eventually lets your breasts rest, he kisses your mouth, slow and intimate and patient. Wet lips sliding against wet lips, sucking on the top one that’s just a little fuller than the bottom, licking the tears from your face, mouthing at your cheekbones, nipping at your chin.

“Why you cryin’, baby?”

“Don’t know,” you mumble. “I’m emotional. M’sorry.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” He brackets your skull between his palms, gently tracing the sensitive shells of your small ears with his thumbs and then smoothing over the soft skin of your under-jaw to tilt your chin up to get a good look at you. “You gorgeous thing, you don’t have anything to apologize to me for. Never. You cry if you need to.”

You nod, turning your face into his palm to nuzzle there.

“You feel good, though? I’m makin’ you feel good?”

“Yes, Joel. Yes, I feel so good.” Your voice is soft, wispy. He imagines he can see the words leaving your parted lips like smoke, and your eyelids sit low and heavy, like you’re drunk on him.

When he finally pulls back, you look at him with such deep and moving trust, kneeling between your thighs. He feels a little shaken by it. There’s a slight vacancy in your gaze, a haziness, like you’ve gone deep inside your mind with what he’s done to you, but it’s a comfortable, secure sort of thing. You trust him enough to let him make all the decisions here in this bed while you lay limp and boneless beneath him.

“You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful,” he says, low.

His hands smooth over your breasts, your sticky belly, gripping your hips to tug you closer.

“Not as beautiful as you,” you say to him, and you’re like a heartbreak. The way you look, the way you speak to him. If it were possible, Joel thinks he’d be able to physically feel the motion of his heart splitting in two for you right now.

He stops moving, hands resting on your spread knees, your body open and vulnerable to him.

“It’s true,” you say again at the look on his face. His heart throbs in his chest like agony.

“Stop.” His face goes hot with embarrassment.

“You are.” Your fingers smooth up your thighs, coming to rest on top of his own hands. “You're so beautiful to me. You always have been.”

His gaze falls, unable, for a moment, to bear the look of honest love in your eyes. It’s so much. He doesn’t know if he could ever deserve a thing like this. A man could work for a hundred years and never live up to a woman like you. Between your bodies, your sexes are flushed against each other. Your cunt, wet and puffy with his erection resting against it. It’s the most erotic sight Joel’s ever seen.

And you’re telling him these things, being so honest, so vulnerable, while he sits between your thighs with this violent lust he wants to use against your body, and it makes him feel guilty and starved and maybe even a little bit in love with you, too. Maybe he’s losing his mind. How could you ever look at him and not see the broken thing? How will he ever be able to keep you when he wants to do so much to you? How will he ever convince you to let him? What could a thing like him ever give to the girl who already has everything?

“I’m old,” he says and feels it.

“I like you like that.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You like me like that, too.”

Your fingers flex over his own, and when he feels brave enough to look at you again, you’re still laughing, still looking at him with all that trust. Still choosing him.

“I’m gonna fuck you now.”

You only nod, eyes fluttering shut, soft smile across your mouth. A tear slides back over your temple into your hairline, and he can almost see it turn to steam against your burning face. There’s a weighted hunger in Joel’s belly. Something that’s curious to see how far he can take the both of you. He wants that trust to strain, and then he wants to know both you and himself well enough to pull back before it snaps.

When he turns you over this time, his movements are gentle, careful. He presses you down on your belly, keeping your elbows braced beneath you and kisses down your back, across the wings of your shoulders. He’s even more careful when he pulls your tank top away, his fingers brushing the softness of your raw breasts.

Settling on widened knees, he pushes your thighs open, tugs your hips up, up, so that your spine is a curve, pressing your head down to rest your cheek against the sheets.

“Ready?” He asks low.

You hum, that smile still spread across your mouth, and he can’t help but lean forward to kiss at it. When you arch deeper, chasing his lips to deepen the kiss, he can feel your slick cunt hot on his stomach, smearing there. His cock hangs long and heavy between your spread thighs, brushing your knee.

“Easy. Easy,” he murmurs. “Don’t get too excited. Let me—”

Petting the crown of your head, he leans backward, slowly dragging his palm from your head down your spine to grip your ass, spreading you apart. Taking himself in hand, he slicks his head against the little leaking hole, continuing his slow caress against the base of your spine, intermittently pressing his thumb against your tailbone to keep you present and aware.

With an even greater care than he had the first time he fucked you three days ago, he works his cock into you. It’s slow, the wide head of his shaft easing inside little by little, deeper and deeper, with nothing but assurances from him, you can take it, you’re so pretty like this, while you gasp and fuss. At a certain point, his wait for you to adjust to the too large fit makes you forget yourself and you try to shove back onto him, trying to impale yourself forcefully, and he’s forced to spank you hard and stinging.

He clicks his tongue at you, “Nuh-uh, no whining.”

Tucking his hand under your belly, soft and giving, he pulls you up a little, knees sliding wider, making room until he’s fully seated inside of you. He goes still then, holding himself deep and pulsing, feeling the walls of your cunt shiver and contract around him.

He wonders how long it’d take for you to come around him, stuffed full of his unmoving cock like this. Reckons it’d be pretty quick by the way your desperate pussy’s already trying to milk the spend right out of him.

“You feel me in your belly right here?” He coos gently, caressing your stomach.

The sound you respond with then is more of a loud yowl when he presses down firmly to feel his cock tucked deep in there.

Eventually, the wait gets to be too much for him, too. Getting you there in short shoves and grinds, he fucks you through it when you come for the first time, chasing the milking grip of your cunt with those same controlled shoves. But it’s so good, so wet and hot that his tightly leashed control slips. He spanks you again for that, several times, actually. Until your ass is pink and burning.

His breathing’s gone rough, hot and bullish, and he can feel himself pouring sweat, his skin burning, too.

“Gonna give it to you harder now.”

And you’re so good, his pretty little mess, that you do say, “Please, m’ready for it,” so confidently, if a little slurred.

You’re deep down in there, he’s gotten you there, and he feels a sick burst of pride and pleasure to see how well you’re doing for him, how well you give over this perfect cunt for fucking.

Through gritted teeth, he orders, “Say thank you, daddy.”

And again, because you’re perfect, “Thank you, daddy,” you obey.

He doesn’t even really know where it comes from, has never been a place he’s gone to before. But it’s perversely right in this moment with you.

His hips gain momentum, nudging against your cervix again, again. He needs to move, to go hard and rough, but this is only the second time you’ve taken him, you’re not ready yet. He knows you won’t be able to take this much of him for long, can tell by the tensing of your stomach beneath his palm, the way you grip two of his fingers where he grips your hip, and the breathless whining gasp on every thrust inside. Your little cunt is just too tight to accommodate so much cock, your body simply doesn’t have room for it.

Bracketing his hand around his impaling cock, his thumb and index finger make a warning point between your ass and his hip to keep himself from bottoming out. But anyways, he’s just on the edge of too rough, can see that warning line where your little body won’t be able to take much more, the slightly pained hiccupping sounds you’re making, but God, God…the way you’re milking at the cock buried deep inside, tightening around him while he watches himself part you, your walls clinging, the sticky shine of your come and the filmy white trail you leave behind every time he pulls out. His balls slap wetly against your clit he knows must be so swollen by now. The sounds the two of you make together. His big cock fucking in and out of your wet cunt, so soaked and open for him.

It’s all so fucking intoxicating.

He keeps shoving and shoving against that spot, and it’s so deep, your inner thighs are shaking from the strain of how widely he’s got you spread. And he doesn’t give you an inch or a second, just presses harder and harder until he feels a hot wash of wet heat gushing from your cunt, dripping down his thighs and wetting the sheets beneath.

“Oh—fuck yes. Fuck yes. My good, pretty girl, that’s so good, yeah. I’m gonna come inside of you.”

When he does, it’s long and dizzying, throbbing through his whole body so that even his scalp pulses and his vision goes a little dark at the edges in a head rush. Your cunt around him is nothing more than a fluttering muscle.

He shoves into you and pulls you back onto his cock by the wrists one last time, grinding deep. And when he pulls out, there’s a little white gurgle of semen that bubbles out as your cunt gapes.

Your arched form sags, knees sliding, unable to hold your weight any longer. But he pinches the inside of your thigh, still wanting more.

“Lemme see. Show me—” He can’t tell anymore, if he sounds like he’s ordering or begging or who has control of who here. He thinks he might really be that liar you said he is if he pretends it’s him.

Presenting your cunt, clit a shiny red cherry, sensitive and dripping his come, you ask, “Did I do good?”

He can’t help the whining groan that pulls from him, slumping over your wrung out form.

“You’re only ever good, sweetheart. I told you before. Didn’t I? You were perfect.”

He kisses the tip of your snotty nose.

Your eyes are closed and you nod, humming happy and soft. Blindly, you press forward, looking for his kiss which he gives gladly, gripping the back of your neck, pressing his fingers into the trembling muscles there.

“I want you to look at me and think I’m good, too,” he admits, then. Your eyes open, that gorgeous and unique color he’s never seen in anyone else, and he realizes he feels like a boy again, full of the strength and potential of freshly minted youth. Like you’re giving him new life. “And then I want to actually be good for you.”

“You are. You are good for me.”

Something like doubt flashes through Joel then. Memories of things you don’t know and he’s afraid to share. Terrible and painful memories Oswald Kelly saved him from once long ago and collected interest on until the day he died. Joel wonders if he might owe that debt to you now. Is a life debt a hereditary sort of thing?

“You couldn’t ever be bad, Joel.”

He laughs at the irony of that, disgusted by it, but pulls you closer, burying his face in your sweaty neck, dragging your scent into his lungs, certain he can feel the magic of it swirl through his body.

You come out of that deep space in your mind he’d lead you into, slowly. Petting at his skin and twisting his chest hair around your fingers, poking at his belly button and ears. You ask him ridiculous questions he has no answers for, letting the strange rolodex of your mind shuffle and settle until your voice sounds steady and your own once more.

“How long were you with Tess?” You ask then, and not out-of-nowhere because he’d known, he’d been waiting for it.

“Knew it.”

“You don’t know shit.” You dig your little claws into his chest, yanking meanly on the hair around his nipples.

“That hurts, you little shit. Knew you were jealous,” he says smugly, squeezing a handful of your bottom.

Ugh. “I am not jealous. What do I have to be jealous of?”

“Absolutely nothin’, sweetheart.” His tone sobers, trying to inflect the weight of that into his words. Trying to make you see that after this, there couldn’t possibly be any other woman for him but you. You roll your eyes, trying to turn your blushing face away from him, that softly vulnerable look in your eyes again. “You fuckin’ me just to get all my secrets out of me, or what?”

“Yes.” You try to turn your face away further, your chin wobbles just a smidge and Joel’s heart twists in his chest.

“Baby. What’m I gonna do with you? Huh?” He says softly, threading his fingers through your tangled hair, trying to get you to look at him again. You’ve got the softest hair he’s ever felt, like the finery you wrap yourself in, but heavy and thick. Perfectly spun crown.

Your eyes go all bashful, and you tuck your face up under his chin, hiding. “Dunno. Can’t play bridge, don’t play tennis well. Barely useful at all, I think.”

“I’m sure we can find somethin’,” he teases.

Your head shoots up, clocking him in the chin carelessly, “Well, let’s see…” you hum, tapping your chin in a three fingered rhythm. He rubs the crown of your head, soothing the bump away, and you duck your head again, trying to bury your face in his stomach, glossy hair sliding over his chest. You’re trying to deflect, trying to be silly, but he can still see that wet, insecure glaze in your eyes. He won’t ignore it.

“Look at me. You have nothing to worry about. Believe me when I tell you this.” He tugs on your chin, being as honest as he can. “Me and Tess…we were—no, no darn it, don’t pull away, look at me.” He holds you tight and steady.

“I shouldn’t’ve asked,” you mumble between your squished cheeks, gaze slanted away from him. “I don’t want to know.”

“No matter what else there was between us, she wanted to be loved in a way I could never give her. Okay? You think I want you to know that about me? Fuck no. But if you need to know anything about how it was between us, that’s the most important thing. I…I couldn’t give her all she needed and maybe it was because I wasn’t able to or maybe it was simply ‘cause I didn’t want to. But we were friends and then we were physical, but all that’s done now. Alright? That’s it. Has been for a long while and neither one of us has ever looked back. And you have nothing to fret over.”

Your body goes tense and shivering for a moment, he can feel your muscles struggling to keep still before you're pushing away, wrenching your face from his grip. You sit back on your knees and he forces himself to lay still, giving you a moment of space. All the while, he watches you process what he’s said. You need reassurance, you need patience, this is fine with Joel. He’s got an abundance of both to give you.

“What?” He says, “What’re you thinking?”

Your eyes flit around his face and then jump to the wall behind him, going unfocused.

“So then that's how it’ll be with us, too.”

“No,” he says, without understanding entirely, but whatever it is you’re thinking, he can tell it’s wrong just by the look on your face. “What do you mean?”

He sits up slowly, his sticky, wet cock settling soft and heavy in the crease of his thigh. Your eyes flit to the sight of it briefly, face warming and then looking away again just as quickly.

“It’ll be like that with us too. You won’t be able to give me what I want because you won’t want to, and then I’ll have to leave. I won’t be able to stay here and want you and only get half of you. I’ve wanted you for too long, I’ve waited for too long. I don’t care how it sounds, I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks.”

Joel takes hold of your face, tugging you in to kneel between his spread thighs, he wipes his thumbs against the wet skin of your cheeks.

“No, baby. I don’t think it’ll be like anything else, this here thing between you and I. I think this between us…I think it’s going to be its own special sort of thing,” he says slow and smooth, like he’s talking to one of the spooked mares, trying to calm her need to flee, her racing heart. “I know you know it, too.”

“How? How can you know?”

“Just do—there’s no explaining it. S’just a feeling, is all.” You frown at him, huffing out a frustrated breath, still trying to pull away and he clicks his tongue at you, a spike of annoyance zipping through him. “Knock that off, be good. You trust me here, don’t you?” He asks, referring to his bed. “Then trust me a little bit out there too,” and he tips his chin at the door.

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking you to. Because I’d rather die than ever hurt you.”

“Don't say that.”

“Then don’t you go around saying you’re leavin’ anywhere.”

“Would you miss me if I did?”

“Naw.”

“Fucking asshole. Let me g—” You try and yank yourself away again and he wrestles you to the bed, slotting himself between your thighs to pin you with his weight.

“Want your belly stuffed full’a me again, little baby? Huh? That’s what all this fightin’ is, isn’t it?” He begins to rut his quickly hardening cock against you, one hand circling your throat, the other taking your wrists in hand to pin immobilized above your head. “Wouldn't miss ya ‘cause I wouldn’t give you the chance to go anywhere. I’d follow you, drag you back here and keep you just like this.” He pulls his hips back, prodding at your hole with his tip, wedging it there just so and then pushing inside. You hiss at the tender stretch, and he can’t help but chuff a low laugh. “That sting? Did I use that poor little pussy too rough?”

You tip your chin back, lashes fluttering and he smooths his hand up and down the sleek column of your stretched throat, feeling the thin muscles beneath fine skin, the fluttering pulse against the heart of his palm.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you demand.

“I’m yours.” It’s very much the truth.

You shiver beneath him, cunt shivering, too. Moaning softly, saying his name in such a lovely way. He’s sure you’ve never been handled with such certainty in all your life. That it’s only a matter of a little getting used to, of him showing you he’s here for you to depend on in whatever way you need.

It seems a little unbelievable that a few days ago he could’ve never even imagined this, having you like this—he works himself deeper, watches the way your face moves and changes in fascination—and that now he’s here, getting to do this with you. Feeling, sure, a little unprepared, but also, so certain that this is the right thing.

Bracing his knee against the mattress he flips the two of you suddenly, in a dizzying rush of muscles and limbs and movement. Your bodies sliding perfectly together, never losing that precious, intimate contact. Settling you across his lap he pulls you forward and close by the hips, grinding his cock as deep as he can inside of you with your clit trapped against the pressure of his pelvis.

Ah— ah— ah— too much.

Giving you a moment to rest, he lets you slump against his chest and then pulls you taut again. One hand at your hip to pull your pelvis forward, the other at your shoulder to press you backwards. Palm dragging over your skin, squeezing each breast, feeling the pulse in your throat again. He spreads his hand over your stomach, drippy little girl splayed wide over his thighs, feeling the tense stretch of you, the way he fucks deep, maps the shape of himself beneath the fragile membrane of skin, forcing himself into a place there’s barely any room in.

Joel grits his teeth, breath whistling, and starts to thrust up into you. Taking hold of one knee, he sets your foot flat on the mattress, opening your slick, flushed cunt wide for his viewing, taking no care this time for the way your little fingers press against his hip trying to keep him from going too deep. But you wanted him to be yours, didn’t you? Mine, you’d said.

“I’m yours, baby. Gotta take all’a me now,” he hisses through his still clenched teeth. “There you go. That’a girl. Take your fucking.” Gripping your hair, he angles your head down, “Look how wide your little cunt stretches for me, nearly splitting it in half. Guess that means you’re mine, too, huh?”

Trying to push yourself away with the foot braced against the bed you try to slide back, away from where he’s fucking you, wailing. “Why—why. Don’t take it away from me, it’s mine,” he grunts. “Remember?” Head lolling back on your neck, slurring, s’too much, daddy, but then rolling your hips forward anyway, meeting him on the upthrust.

Lifting you off of himself slightly so he can control the pace and strength of his thrusts, he leaves you helpless. Your cunt’s so wet and stretched the glide is smooth and unhindered. He fucks up into you, tip against the mouth of your womb until you’re coming with a cry, him, following you immediately after that first maddening clench of overwrought muscles. He watches the thick white of his spend seep out, dripping onto his stomach until he finishes spilling inside of you. And then letting you melt against his chest, finally tapped out. He cradles you against his heart, enjoying the feeling of your soft breaths against his throat as you fall immediately into sleep.

He hadn’t needed to set an alarm in years. Waking with the dawn well before he needed to be out of the house, in the barn and ready to work, tending horses. Nature keeping him punctual. It’s the same this morning, even though everything else in the world seems to have changed. He’s awake in a second, eyes blinking open to find your soft, warm weight cuddled against his side. The sight of your small head tucked against his armpit is so tender, that for a moment, his eyes sting, overwhelmed with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in decades.

The mountains watch the morning open above them, the dawn barely blueing the air, and he lays in bed for an unusually long time, enjoying the way it feels to wake up with you in his arms. He won’t fuck this up. He’ll keep you here anyway he can.

When it’s been long enough he knows he’ll be late, that the boys’ll be up and out by now, wondering where he is, he starts to stir, trying to be careful not to wake you and failing anyway.

“Noooo,” you whine, disturbed. He tries to shush you back to sleep, cooing gentle and soothing. “Don’t leave,” you mumble, a lock of hair caught in your mouth that he smooths back behind your ear.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’,” he presses into your hair, soft kiss to the crown of your head. When you look up at him, the happy, sleep creased eyes, all deep and baleful, there are butterflies thrumming in his belly. And he feels a little bit ridiculous with how wrapped around your little finger you’ve already got him.

Nuh-uh. “No, no,” you whine again.

He can feel your little toes stretching in a splay against his shins, then clenching tightly, trying to grip and tug on his leg hair. “You can’t go yet. No.”

“The boys’ll be waitin’ already, baby. We got shit to do. And I gotta keep an eye on the new kid, make sure he’s learnin’ the ropes as he should. Don’t trust Tommy not to turn him into as big of’a dumbass as he is.”

You snicker into his throat, your warm, sleepy scent enveloping him. This just won’t do. This is too good a way to wake up every morning. He’ll never be able to get anything done ever again.

“No. You have to do what I say. I’m the boss. ‘Nd I say I need you here with me. You’re so warm,” you mumble against his pec, arm snaking over his shoulder to hug him more tightly to yourself.

His heart beats so hard in his chest he’s sure you can feel it knocking against your own. The soft brush of your mouth against his nipple makes him shiver and harden even more than his morning wood’s already got him.

Little fucking witch is what you are. Casting spells over weak and malleable creatures that can’t defend themselves.

He groans helplessly. “What’dya want, huh?” Running his palm down your back he palms your rump, squeezing the soft, supple flesh.

You only hum and pout, laughing a little, soft ridiculous noises in the back of your throat that shouldn’t make him as wild and out of control as they do. Mouth practically salivating as you grind and pant against him, opening your knee over his hip so he can feel where you’re still wet from him last night. As the two of you push and pull against each other, soft groans and thready whines, he thinks that you’re a spoiled little brat that won’t be satisfied with anything less than exactly what she wants. Thinks that he’ll need to show you some discipline eventually. Give you the gentle but firm hand your father never took the time to. Thinks that it’ll be one of the most enjoyable things he’s ever had the pleasure of getting to do, teaching you some manners.

“Does the princess need her fucking before she can start her day?” He rolls you over, taking himself in hand to press against your soft, damp hole.

“Mhmm. Yes, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, daddy. I need it.” You pout so pretty.

“You're fuckin’ spoiled. You know that?” He really does try to sound put out as he gives into what you want. The boys can wait, the ranch can wait. The whole world can wait. You are the boss, after all.

“Don’t care,” you sigh, when he finally pushes inside.

To be honest, Joel doesn’t think he cares all that much either.

That evening, he comes home to find you in his restroom, perched on the counter with your toes pressed up against the porcelain rounded edge of the sink, painting them a deep purple color you’d stolen from Dina.

He walks with that cowboy swagger, hips swinging in a slow roll, like when he rides a horse. Everything about him is natural, confident, well practiced because he’s been the same sort of man all his life so he’s had decades to grow into himself and settle. It might be one of your favorite things about him, how himself Joel is.

In a way, you can recognize it’s the same thing you’d seen in Tess. That organic earthenness which told you they were fully themselves and comfortable in it. You can’t help the comparison, or the little pulse of savage insecure jealousy it inspires in you.

“Hi’ya, cowboy.”

“Princess.”

On his way to the shower, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, cranking the water up to sweltering so that soon, the room in filled with hot steam, fogging the glass and curling the hair around your face, supplying an excuse for the heat in your face when he starts to take his clothes off.

His body is so wonderful.

You watch him through lowered lashes as he lathers soap between his thick palms once he’s stepped behind the glass door, tipping his head back to wet his hair, soaping his chest, under his arms, between his legs, the cock that’s still thick and long, even soft as it is, makes you burn all over. He catches your eyes as he takes himself in hand, his gaze dark and teasing, knowing, running his fist up and down the length, stretching it. You flush even hotter looking back down at your purple toes.

This morning when he’d gotten out of bed after ceding to your demands, the sight of that cock as he’d lifted his arms high above his head, muscles stretching, his sweaty armpit hair, joints popping a hollow, tired sound, it’d hung long and sated between his legs, glistening with your come. And it’d left you shocked enough at the sight of it, wondering how something that big could fit between your legs, but also wet and hungry for more of the same thing all day long.

It’d been all you’d been able to think about as you’d lazed around his house. Picking through more of his things like you’d done last night, trying on his clothes and smelling his shampoo, reading the titles of all his DVDs, rearranging the magnets on his fridge just to put him out of sorts, just to leave your mark. You’d felt like a girl again, rifling through his things to glean whatever piece of him you might be able to steal for yourself.

And going through his little house—the woodworking projects, the old, faded picture of him and Sarah and Tommy, reading glasses on his nightstand, and a book on deep space that reminds you how much of a fucking nerd Ellie really is— you’d seen that there were little details of all the people he cares about in his home. Even you. Picking up the text on art history tucked beneath the one on space, your eyes had smarted. Even you were here.

When he shuts the water off, you look up at him again, and it’s obvious but not sudden because it’s been building for years and years: you love him. You love everything about him. You’d loved him as a girl, looking up at a man who was steady and dependable, even when he’d never looked at you. You love him now as a woman, while he looks back at you and finally sees you for who you are.

It feels like such an ordinary moment for how life altering the thought is—to realize that this is a real deal sort of thing, what you feel for him.

But you think that maybe that’s what you’d always been looking for, something lovely in its ordinariness, something to depend on.

“You have a nice day?” He asks as he runs the towel over his wet hair.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Productive.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d you get up to all day, shut in my house?”

“Snooped through all your shit.”

“Find anything good?”

“No, you’re boring.”

“I did warn you about that.”

“Did you?”

“Sure did.”

Dropping the towel into the hamper, he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans from the closet, no underwear. This guy…

And comes over to you, skin all hot and damp, that big barrel chest, taking you by the jaw to press his mouth, all forceful and demanding, against yours. His possessiveness makes your toes curl.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me now,” he says.

Against his kiss, you say, “Will you do ‘em for me?” Holding up the little nail polish brush, if only to stop yourself from spilling all of your romance-addled-brained secrets. You watch him as he sits on the toilet lid and holds each of your toes in his big fingers, slowly and carefully finishing the purple paint job. Humming and hawing while trying to get it just right.

When he’s done, his smile is so proudly pleased, admiring his work. “Damn, I’m good.”

“You wearin’ my underwear?” He says, taking in the sight of his blue plaid boxers sitting low on your hips when you finally hop off the counter, stretching up on your tiptoes to ease your cramped knees.

“Doesn’t seem like you get much use out of them. Thought I’d break them in,” you tell him, looking down at his crotch.

“Little shit,” he laughs, cocking his head to the side to give you a good once over.

“How do I look?”

“Let’s see…gimme a twirl, gorgeous.”

You spin around, so silly you’re almost drunk with it, and his laugh is smooth and throaty and dark. When he gets up, the look in his eyes is so deliciously threatening, “Yeah, you look fuckin’ good.”

You spin away from his grasping hands, moving across the restroom while he circles you, reaching for the toothbrush you’ve moved in next to his and pointing it at him like a weapon.

“Get away from me with that look. I’m sore and don’t have anything for you right now.”

You turn to face the sink, reaching for the toothpaste and running your brush under the water as he comes up behind you.

“Poor little cunt got stretched out last night, didn’t she?” He rumbles into your neck, pressing a tiny kiss to the hinge of your jaw. You shiver against him, sticking your toothbrush in your mouth to keep from moaning at the feel of all that hot skin and hard muscle crowding up behind you.

You think he’d be scared to know how much you want him. You think you’re a little scared yourself, knowing how much want can fit inside just one girl.

His touch smoothes up your outer thighs, circling your waist and squeezing, slipping his fingers under the lacy edge of the bandeau bra you’ve got on. He softly grazes the undersides of your breasts with his calloused fingertips, and the sound he makes, like a softly chuffing horse, is so intensely erotic, like he can’t even help his reactions to you, that your pussy, which really is so sore and tender, clenches with a soft sting.

He kisses your shoulder, turning you by the hips to face him. “Let me,” he says, voice deep and raspy. “Lemme do it.”

He takes your toothbrush from you, trapping you between his thighs against the counter, and takes hold of your jaw, forcing you to open.

You flush, embarrassed at your sudsy mouth full of toothpaste, growling, trying to get away from him.

“Yeah, c’mere. I wanna do it,” he demands.

He brushes your teeth as slowly and precisely as he’d painted your now drying toenails. Pressing your jaw as wide open as it can go and gently scrubbing each and every tooth in your mouth. It is, undoubtedly, one of the most strangely intimate and erotic things you’ve ever done with a man.

He touches you with such certainty it’s almost disorienting for how foreign it is.

When he’s finished brushing, he holds the glass kept by the sink to your mouth, making you rinse and repeat twice before he’s satisfied. And when he’s done with that, he forces your jaw open again, appreciating his job well done. You can feel his erection hard and throbbing against your belly when he sticks his fingers deep into your mouth, feeling the smooth insides of your cheeks with his thumbs. Pressing his pointer and index fingers flat against your tongue, so far back he makes you gag. His other palm holds your head immobile so you can’t escape, can’t do anything but take his training. Your heart beats between your legs. A slow, stinging throb that tries to convince you you’re not really as sore as you’d thought you were, that you can definitely take him again right here and now.

As he presses down on your tongue again with more pressure, your throat spasms, gagging violently, your abdomen clenching, then lurching. He pulls back, relieves the pressure for a moment, but still doesn’t pull out of your mouth.

“No, no. Hold your breath. Good. Now breathe through your nose,” he orders. “Slow and deep. Good, yeah. Yeah, just like that.” He presses down on your tongue again, making you gag again, pulls back, gives you a second, and then does it again and again. Training your throat and your reflexes to do what he wants.

When he finally decides you’ve had enough, you’re left panting and shaking. Your cunt leaking into the seat of his boxers. You cling to him weakly, and he pets your hair, soothing you with soft sounds in his throat.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs between kisses to your hair.

Clawing at him, you press up on your toes, desperate for his kiss, licking at his mouth and then reaching for his hard cock, trying to tug his jeans open.

Ah, ah. “Thought you said you were sore.”

“No, no. I—I lied.”

You reach for his mouth again, pressing up on your toes, pulling his face towards yours as he laughs at your struggle, getting only a brief taste of his mouth, the tickle of his mustache against your lips, before he’s pulling out of your reach again.

“Did you? Let’s see. Little fuckin’ liar.”

He spins you around by the hips, fast and dizzy, bending you over the sink at the hips so your face is pressed right up against the mirror. Your hot breaths form little clouds of condensation against the glass, and you can’t help the ragged, humiliating moan you let out when he pulls his own boxers down over your ass, letting the cool air soothe the sting against your hot pussy as he crouches down behind you.

He tuts and coos, clicking his tongue as he spreads your cheeks wide enough it worsens the already deep sting. Saying things like look how soaked she is, so fuckin’ red and pretty. “Naw, baby. Don’t think we can,” he tells you, peering around your hip to look at your face.

“Oh, Joel, please. I swear—it’s…” He kisses you right over the tender ring of your hole, losing your train of thought as you moan at the feel of his mouth there. Then moves to smatter kisses over your thighs and ass, down your legs to the sensitive backs of your knees.

While he’s distracted, you try to snake your hand between the counter’s edge and your hips, attempting to press your fingers against your needy clit.

He smacks you, hard, right against your poor and tender sex. A mean hiss follows.

“That’s mine. No touching.”

You do wail at that, trying to stomp your feet and kick back at him when he does nothing more than continue to kiss down the back of your legs and the cheeks of your bottom. What a horrible, nasty old man you’ve caught for yourself.

“Not gonna hurt you worse when you’re already hurtin’. Sorry, baby, but that’s not how this works.”

He pulls his boxers back up your legs, giving your hip a condescending little pat and pulling you back by the hair to kiss your mouth while you pout and spit curses at him.

“‘Sides we got somewhere to be. Don’t got time to fuck you proper right now.”

“You’re absolutely horrible,” you tell him, trying to stomp on his bare foot and missing. “Where are we going?”

“Thinkin’ we should go up to see Miss Leigh. How ‘bout it?”

The drive down the 89 towards Leigh Lake is dark and peaceful. Windows down, he goes way too fast, playing Bob Dylan off an old cassette player he’s got rigged into the 12-volt plug because he refuses to modernize his music collection. Every so often, you’re rewarded with the lovely sound of his voice humming along to Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.

It’s a real strange thing, feeling like you’re getting everything you’ve ever wanted, like you’re finally in the right place at the right time. You feel so happy.

You switch spots once you enter the park, taking the driver's side so that he can get out at the roadblocks to lift the bar gates for you to sneak the truck through, making your slow way up the mountain through the service roads until you make it to the lake. Your last name won’t stop you from getting arrested if you’re caught trespassing on federal property, and the idea of it is sort of thrilling.

The two of you hike the short way left from where you park the truck, and the dark wilderness would be terrifying if not for the solid wall of muscled man you have showing you the way through. You love that he’s so dependable, so capable. That you can do something wild like this and remain carefree because you know he’s here to watch over you.

The last name won’t stop you from getting eaten by a bear either, but you’ve got Joel for that.

In the bright moonlight, the surface of the lake is like a silver quarter, shining so brightly it blinds. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky—all stars. The water’s glass face ripples intermittently, the movement of fish beneath the surface gives it life in the dark. And the butterfly flutter of the aspen trees sounds in the night time’s wind, while the mountains loom pitch black and menacing, rising up towards the sky.

“I love it here so much,” you tell him. “Maria used to bring me all the time when I was a girl. She was so young when she taught me, took care of me—all those years raising me. You never realize, when you’re a kid, how young the adults around you actually are. It was nice to hear she’d gotten with Tommy.”

“Saint of a woman. Puttin’ up with that idiot.”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arms around yourself at the chill coming off the water. “Don’t be mean to him.”

“Were you bad? When you were real little… misbehavin’ sort?”

“God, no. He would’ve killed me.”

The joke lands stilted and ugly. No one laughs.

“No, I wouldn’t think you would’ve been. Not in your nature, I don’t suppose.”

“At least not then. But I promise, I can be real bad now.” You turn to give him a hot look over your shoulder, and his lopsided smirk is so, so sexy. Hands in his pockets and chin tipped back so you can see his face just right in the moonlight.

“I remember you used to come up here with him sometimes, too.”

You scoff a bitter noise, turning back towards the water. “How could you possibly remember that? You weren’t here yet. And it hardly ever happened. Certainly not once I got older.”

“He told me.”

You have nothing to say to that. Nothing nice, at least. There’s something that bothers you about knowing your father shared things like that with Joel. Things that you’d always seen as sacredly intimate, infinitely painful.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He mimes back.

“Let’s not talk about that. You’ll ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

“This. I don’t know… Everything.”

You pace away from him, chewing on your fingernails. You catch the lifting edge of the gel manicure on your thumbnail, biting down and ripping off a huge chunk of it. It hurts. Your fingernail smarts from the vicious peel. Pointer finger next, catch and rip, spitting out the little flakes of polish into your other palm. It’s a filthy and disgusting habit.

“I didn’t bring you here to fight, but we can if you’d like to,” he says provokingly.

Rolling your eyes— “I don’t want to fight.”

“Alright… if you don’t wanna talk about it we don’t gotta. Think we should anyway, though.”

You’ve drifted towards the water’s shore, and you hear his heavily booted footsteps come up slowly behind you.

“I want us to be honest with each other.” He doesn’t reach for you and it makes your anger even hotter, that you can sense the intimation of his warmth but not actually enjoy it. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

“Nothing. I don’t know…” Finally, his palms come to your hips, the touch is so comforting, too comforting. He tucks his thumbs beneath the hem of your t-shirt, rubbing slow circles against your skin, resting his forehead against the top of your head.

“Thought we decided you were trusting me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You want to hear that I’m angry? I’m angry. There.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to really savor the feel of his hands on your skin, the taste of the clean, sweet air. You can smell the leaf rot and the chill of the water and that achingly specific mineral scent that comes off the mountain rock. A scent you could recall anytime, anywhere in the world when you were far away and especially missing home. “I’m sorry, too,” you tell him. “I should also say that.”

“For what?”

“That I’m angry at you, too. Or that I was.”

“Were you?”

You try to keep the broken crack out of your voice but it comes anyway. “He cared about you. And I was so jealous.”

He sighs, “I think you’ve got the wrong sort of idea about how we were or what he thought of me. At the end of the day, I was still just someone who worked for him.”

“I know there was more. I know he did something for you that no one’s ever talked about. I know there’s more here that you’re not saying, Joel. And it’s not fair that there are things you know about my own father that I don’t get to know, too. It’s not fair that you were with him in his last days and I wasn’t. It’s not fair that you got all that time with him and now I’m the one that’s left to miss him when I didn’t even really know him. When he didn’t even like me.”

“Darlin’...” You step away from him, away from his comfort. The water of the lake laps at your boots.

“You know it’s true. How can I miss him when I didn’t even know him? When you, who knew him so much better than I did, won’t. You said that, remember? That you won’t miss him.”

“I did, yes.”

“Why not? I don’t understand.”

“‘Cause I didn’t give a fuck about him.” He laughs. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Oswald Kelly thought the earth began and ended with him, and ten years is too long a time to be the right hand of a man like that. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you feel better?”

“I don’t— I feel like I need to understand what it was that was between you two. Why he left you the money. Can you…Do you even know how fucking despicable I felt, being angry that he’d left you something? Because it wasn’t about the money. I want you to have that. I want you to have everything. If you let me, I’ll share every single thing I have with you, but I can’t understand what it is, or what—what there was… I can’t understand why. If you say he didn’t see you as a son, then why?”

He runs a palm flat over his mouth, hand on his hip, thinking, then the backs of his fingers against the edge of his jaw.

“We were similar, in certain ways. We understood each other.”

“You are nothing like my father, Joel. Don’t ever say that again. He was cruel—he was terrible. A terrible father. He ran me off from this place. And it’s horrible, feeling like you can’t ever go home.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Better than you’d believe.”

He goes to sit against a log low on the ground, and you wander towards him as if led by a tether.

“It’s complicated, ain’t it?” He says. “Business of bein’ a good man. No one’s all the same of a single thing forever. There are parts of us that aren’t so good, others that are better. There were pieces of your daddy that I think tried to make up for the rotten parts. He helped a man he knew jack shit about, backed by nothing but the grace of my brother’s good word. Gave me a place, saw something in me worth a damn. He saved my life. But… the way he was with you? That overshadowed any sort of good he might’ve ever tried to do. You get me? No one is perfect, and that’s fine. But I reckon it’s important where a man chooses to place that finite goodness afforded to him. That’s what you gotta remember.”

“It should’ve been me,” you tell him. “He should’ve given that little goodness he had, to me.”

“It should’ve been you,” he agrees.

“But you’re wrong. You’re nothing like him, Joel. You’re so full of goodness.” You go to him then, kneeling between his parted knees, and he takes your face in his palms, smoothing back your hair so lovingly. “I know it. I recognized it from the first moment I laid eyes on you. Trust me. You can tell, when you’ve seen a lot of bad, who’s good and who’s not.”

He shakes his head at you, still stroking your hair, your face, and the look in his eyes is unfathomable, heartbroken.

“There’s something I never told you about Sarah. About how she died.”

You jolt at that. “What?”

“I was too young when I had her, only twenty-two. And it was hard for Tommy and I, harder than anything. He helped me, you see, Tommy’s always been there. God, we were basically kids, trying to take care of this tiny, defenseless thing, just the two of us. And what do you know at twenty-two about how to live? Basically nothin’. It was so fucking hard, but she was like a miracle anyway. Gummy smiles and milk breath and she didn’t like formula, had a hell of a time feeding her ‘cause she wanted a mother and I had none to give her. She struggled to put on weight, was constantly at the doctor which meant constant bills. It was the single most terrifying, most stressful thing I’ve ever lived through,” he says.

“For a few years it was fine, or not so fine, but we managed. She was small, though, skinny and sickly. And things got progressively worse, harder. There was so much I wanted to give her, the whole world, and I just couldn’t. And I wanted Tommy to have a life too, I didn’t want to have to depend on him forever. My brother got involved with some real rough sorts—Sarah was three…maybe four at the time—they called themselves The Fireflies. At first it was muscle work on the weekends and such. Watch a door, drive ‘em here or there, fuck up some guy who owed money for God knows what, but it sure as shit wasn’t my business, right? I kept my head down, tried to look the other way. They were sellin’ shit. On the streets in Austin, college kids in bars with too much of daddy’s money.” You flush deep and ashamed. “Pills, oxys, that sorta crap. The muscle work turned into stuff I never, ever should’ve gotten involved in. It started small: a favor, an errand, drop this off, pick this up. And then I woke up one day, and I was so deep in filth I couldn’t see the way out.” He looks at you then, and his eyes are so wide and dry, so clear, you can see all of him right there in that moment. “But Sarah was fed, she was at a good school, new clothes and a dance class. I wanted to give her even more than just that. It felt easy, even when it was terrifying. Or it felt worth it. And I did it for longer than I should’ve. That’s the thing about doing what you shouldn’t. It’s hard to quit once you’ve started, it’s hard to get yourself out.”

“Tommy'd weaseled his way out a couple years before, smarter than I had the foresight to be. It’d gotten seedier the more time passed, and he’d spooked. He wasn’t good at dealing with the violence the way I was, couldn’t stomach it as easy as I did. They’d been fine with letting him go ‘cause they still had me doing their dirty work, hurting people when they needed me to, trained dog.”

When he leans down to press a small kiss against your mouth, your heart beats in adrenalized panic.

“I knew it’d end badly eventually. So I said to myself, destroy the dog and be the man, but it’s hard putting the animal down.” He breathes one long chuff of rough air before he continues. “They came to our home one night, she was supposed to be asleep, safe in her room. The guy pulled a gun and I panicked, seeing a weapon in her house like that. She was supposed to be in bed, safe in her room. She was supposed to be safe.” His voice breaks, and you can see the silver line of old grief at his waterline. “If I’d died, it wouldn’t’ve mattered. Tommy would’ve taken her, been a better father than I ever could’ve been. She would’ve survived without me, but I was never going to survive without her.”

He takes your hand in his, pressing your fingers to his scarred-over temple. A violent, horrible little thing you’d always been suspicious of.

“Joel. Oh, Joel.”

“I was never going to survive without her. They were going to get me for involuntary manslaughter, possession and trafficking. Lock me up and throw away the key. But Tommy had come here when he’d gotten out of Austin. He told your father about me and Kelly came down to see me. I’ll never know why he chose to do that—we never discussed it after—what he might’ve seen in my brother’s face, in my own, that convinced him to save me. I’ll never forget that feeling, sittin’ in that orange jumpsuit in front of that man that didn’t even seem real. A little bit like a thing out of a nightmare. Coldest eyes I’d ever seen in a man, like there was a shadow around the edges, something not right. Reckon that was your mother in there, haunting him. And I think he must’ve seen the same shadow in my own eyes ‘cause he made some calls right then and there. I was out the next morning and on Kelly property that evening. Your father, he gave me my life back. He brought me here and he saved me. This place saved me.”

You’re crying uncontrollably, tears spilling down your face in a hot, sick rush.

“So you think he was good to you. You’re saying it was your fault—Sarah. That’s what you think. And he saved you from it.”

“I’m saying that there’s bad and good in all of us and that life is complicated and strange and people even worse. Look at what I did to my own child. I’m sayin’ sometimes you’re grateful to the monster, I’m saying sometimes you’re sad he’s dead. It’s okay, baby.”

“But you would never hurt me. I know that as well as I know my own name. And he hurt me.”

“Never intentionally, I wouldn’t, no. But—”

“I met this woman,” you cut him off. “Uh… last year? Two years ago, maybe. I can’t remember anymore. In Sedona. It was a—well… they called it a spa,” you laugh humorlessly. “Wellness thing, that sort of bullshit, but really if you’re there, you know it’s just rehab. I was drinking too much, snorting all sorts of junk I shouldn’t have been. She recognized me.”

You’re looking for some sort of recognition in his face, too.

“She said—from the photograph on my father’s desk. She knew all about me, she showed me pictures of the two of them. She’d been with him for twelve years, and I never even knew she existed. She knew all about me. She knew my mother, her name. She even mentioned you. You knew her.”

“I did.”

“You know who I’m talking about?”

“I do.”

“Twelve years, Joel. His partner or his—his—”

“Wouldn’t really call that mess a partnership,” he says with a small, ironic scoff.

“Don’t be annoying. Don’t joke.”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry,” he says with a sigh. “I know what you’re try’na say, I get it.”

“I didn’t even know him. He was a complete stranger to me. And this woman…she was nice to me. She told me she’d always wanted to meet me and that he’d never let her, and then he just sent her away. Cut her off from one day to the next once he’d decided he was sick of her, a pile of cash and Dina’s well wishes. You know she tried to kill herself? She was in that place for a mental break.”

Joel’s face looks shaken. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“That’s what he did to the women in his life. He had a vision that stretched halfway across the world. And nothing ever stopped him. Especially not something as insignificant as a daughter or a woman that loved him. My mom died on him and he punished us for it for the rest of his miserable fucking life, and I hate him. I hate him, and I’m glad he’s dead.”

You really do sob then, after those spit words. A broken wail like an animal lost in the wilderness and left to die. Or like a child, forgotten and abandoned by her father. Joel holds you very tenderly while you finally let that old grief settle inside you.

“You can’t ever say you’re like him again. You can’t. It hurts me to even think about.”

“It’s alright. It’s okay, baby girl. Let it out. I’m sorry,” he soothes. “I think… I think that your father mistreated you because there was something fundamentally broken in him, and I think he thought he saw that same broken thing in me, and that maybe that comforted him somehow. That what he gave me wasn’t goodness, much as you might want to see it as such.”

“But he saved you. He never, ever saved me. He hurt me so much. He threw me to the dogs. He cared about you, Joel.”

“You’re not understanding me, sweetheart. I’m saying that I did bad before, that I was broken, and Kelly saw that. But you never stay the same way forever. I was able to let it go, to move on. We always change eventually. Growin’ or regressin’ or whatever direction it might be you choose to move in, but we always inevitably make another move. He saved my life, and I was grateful to him, and yet, when I watched him die, I felt nothing but relief for you. I’m sayin’ that I know you feel defined by this, by him, but eventually you’ll move past this moment of struggle, eventually you'll let him go and then it’ll be different, that next place you step into will be different.”

You surge up on your knees to hug him fiercely and you sob and sob onto his wide shoulder, giving him all of your grief because you know he’s strong enough to bear the weight of it.

“Maybe every man is destined to fail his daughter at some point. But you won’t be defined by his failure of you forever. I know that you’ll let it go eventually. You’re so strong, so resilient, my girl.”

“I don’t want to step into any other place. I want to stay here with you and the ranch forever,” you cry.

“We’ll always be here, darlin’,” he says with a kiss to your temple, a soothing hand on your back. “I was a roamin’ dog, and I found my place to roost, here. Wyoming and the ranch will always be your home. I will always be here for you. You’ve never gotta worry about that changin’. What I’m saying is this, love is complicated and if you miss him or you’re glad he’s dead, it’s okay. It’s okay to be wrong and to change or to be right and go bad for a little bit. Tell me, what’s the point of livin’ and feelin’ so loveless? There ain’t none. Nothing is the same forever except for this, here, your home and the care you’ll always find here. You understand me?”

“I think so.”

“I can’t promise you that this’ll be a normal sort of life, you and I together, but I promise it’ll be a good one. I’m going to try my damndest, anyway.”

“My mother was buried under a holly bush the day I was born, this has never been a normal life.”

He presses another kiss against your mouth. “I don’t want you to carry this sadness around with you forever. If you let it, this land will heal you. It’ll fix whatever’s broken in your heart. It did mine. I need you to be happy here.” He presses a tiny kiss to your jaw, tucking his face into your shoulder. “Can’t you try to give me that?”

The water laps gently at the shore at your backs, and the presence of the mountains is so strong they feel almost sentient—watching the two of you bear your hearts at their feet. You’d felt, for so long, like you’d loved him. And even if it’d been only the idea of him, it’d served as such a comfort for you when you’d been young and lost and growing into yourself. And in some curious yet kismet touched way, it felt right, fated, that the two of you had been so changed by the man that was your father.

You ask him the same question as before, hungry for the sound of it: “If I left, would you miss me?”

“I’d follow you. There’d be no missin’.”

“But you love this place.” Your heart throbs with the idea of that word, the potential.

“But I need you now.”

“Maybe I’ll run away, come back when you least expect it just to keep you on your toes.”

“You’d be a wild horse if you could, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe.” You muse his hair, tugging his face to yours, kissing him slow and deep and full of love.

“You’re a good girl. You be wild if you need to, I’ll be here for you when you’re ready. There’s always gonna be someone in the world that loves you, you know. Even when it feels like there isn’t, or you’re all by your lonesome. There’ll always be someone out there who thinks of you with love in their heart no matter how far you go. You just gotta remember that.”

“It’s hard.”

“Most good things are, sweetheart.”

The two of you hold each other for a long time, listening to the mountains grow, the water and the aspens.

“You know, I knew this was going to happen when I came back.”

“Oh, did you now?”

“Yes.”

“And how’s that?”

“I’d been seeing eleven-eleven every single day for weeks. So I knew something big was happening soon.”

“Darlin’, I don’t got a clue what the hell that means.”

“It’s a sign. It means something good is on its way, Joel. Something really, really worth it.”

The Tipsy Bison is loud and hot, and Ellie watches the girl she loves dance and laugh with her best friend, in the middle of the packed crowd. She prefers it here to The Mushroom, too many stupid Jackson tourists over there. The sight of them blinks in and out between the sweaty bodies, hands grasping each other close and then spinning out to twirl wildly in opposite directions. Their heads thrown back in loud laughter.

“She really is something,” Joel comes up beside her to lean against the high top.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, “She really is.” Though she doesn’t think they’re talking about the same girl.

“Ff-hat’re we talk’n ‘bout?” Jesse says, mouthful of pizza bulging his cheeks while he tries to chug his can of Natural Light at the same time. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

“Hey, chucklefuck.”

He swallows his too large bite, wincing, beer dribbling out the corner of his mouth. “I do have a name you know.”

“Sure, buddy,” she pats his head, slaps his cheek a little. “Whatever you say.”

Beside them, Joel is silent. A little hypnotized. The look on his face is so intense he looks like he’s about to pounce. Probably ready to get violent if anyone gets too close for his liking.

Jesse looks between his face and the two girls dancing in the crowd. “Miss Kelly’s lookin’ mighty fine tonight, Joel. You old fuckin’ dog—good job, man.”

He tries to slap him chummy on the shoulder, but the glare Joel throws his way looks like it could quite literally kill. “Don’t look at her, dumbass. Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to?”

He pushes away from the table, sauntering towards the dance floor. Ellie sees the moment when your eyes catch sight of him, the way they brighten. Fucking heart-eyed love-sick look, ugh. And they say her and Dina are gross about it. Ellie still hasn’t recovered from what she’d seen in the barn the other day. Electroshock therapy or fucking church is what she’ll need to forget that shit.

“He’s so mean to me,” Jesse whines, peeved, kicked-puppy look following Joel’s retreating form.

“Oh, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.”

“What? What now? Haven’t even done anything wrong today.” He’s so sulky, it makes Ellie laugh.

“You have so much to learn,” she says absentmindedly, watching Joel meet you on the dance floor.

“That’s still so fuckin’ crazy to me,” Jesse says when Joel bends to kiss you. It’s passionate, too intimate, and Ellie has to look away.

“It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else besides them.”

“I guess so.”

“Curiosity is a constant happiness. Go out and find something worthwhile, Jesse.”

On the dance floor, Dina has separated from the horde, and she weaves in and out of the pack of crowded bodies making her way over to their table. Her cheeks are flushed, her curls wild and frizzy from dancing. Ellie feels her heart beat in her throat, this is what love is. She knows that now, is able to recognize it easy as day.

This is what Wyoming, what this land had given her. A family, a home. Dina.

“Don’t know what that means. Doesn’t even make any fuckin’ sense,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking weird sometimes.”

Ellie reaches over, yanking on his ear, hard, before walking away to meet her girl.

“Nothing is cooler than being yourself, weatherboy. Remember that.”

Dina meets her at the edge of the dance floor, falling into her. Her arms are strong and lithe, her kiss tastes like cherries. She whispers that she loves her in her ear—I love you, Ellie, she says. Over her shoulder, Joel looks like he’s happier than she’s ever seen him in all the years she’s known him, and she thinks that this is it, the real deal, what all those lonely people that’d grown up on the ranch together had been looking for all their lives.

No lonely dogs left.

Having Joel Miller fall in love with you turns out to be the easiest thing in the world.

You watch as it happens day by day. Easy to read on his face, obvious as the man is—despite what he might think about himself. You watch the story of it play out on his face as the days turn to weeks turn to months. In the things he does, the ways he takes care of you, tending to the land and your legacy and your heart. The way he makes you the beating soul of the ranch in a way you’d always dreamt of being, but had never really thought possible. He makes the place a real home for you.

One evening, waiting for him to come to bed, he brings you a bowl of split figs. Dark purple skin, brilliant red center. Beautifully shaped. There are three of them he’s cut perfectly in half to make a circle of six pieces precisely arranged in the center of the bowl. Each one is perfectly formed, perfectly chosen and set for you.

He puts it in your outstretched hands and goes to his side of the bed, tucking his glasses tight against the bridge of his nose, lamp on with the shade turned towards his open book because he says his eyes are going bad. He’s reading Flannery O’Connor’s book of short stories again, and you know he’s missing home, hungering for a reminder of life in the South and memories of his daughter. You know he only picks this one up when he’s missing it all something desperate.

You know so many things about him now, the way he knows them about you, too.

And looking down at the bowl of perfectly split figs, that’s when you know for sure, this isn’t your wishful heart, not a fable—only something normal, lovely in how ordinary it is. This is love.

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#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller AU #joel miller x FMC #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 days ago

Note

can I have a moon knight x fem reader smut

which the reader is dating the moon knight system and she’s a avatar of thoth that the moon boys find out on accident

Ahhh, thank you so much for this ask! I am so sorry it has taken so long!

Twin Moons

Steven Grant x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You go back to Steven's after a date.

Warnings:, Kissing, pet names, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, cream pie, surprise god, not beta read, swearing, overuse of italics, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2788

“So this is the place.” Steven smiles a little nervously, he scratches the back of his head as he gestures to his living room with his other hand. “Sorry it’s a little messy, I didn’t think- presume, I mean. That you’d be coming back, that’s not polite, is it? No. I mean-” He sighs, screwing up his eyes, and you can’t stop the twist of affection in your chest.

“Steven,” You smile and take his hand, bringing it to your lips and lightly kissing his knuckles. “It’s okay.”

His shoulders relax slightly. “Sorry, I’m getting all in my head aren’t I?”

You shake your head. “It’s cute.”

He pulls a face. “Cute isn’t exactly what I’m going for…” He glances at the mirror on the side and gives his reflection a glare.

“What’s Marc saying?”

“Taking the mick.”

You can’t help but giggle at the little scowl on his face. The way his nose scrunches is adorable.

“Tell Marc,” You squeeze Steven’s hand reassuringly, “I’m very much looking forward to my date with him tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” He looks back to you. “He’s just still pissy about the fact that I won paper, rock, scissors.” They’d decided that after a few casual dates with both of them, that it was time for separate (ish) dates. And what separate really meant was they could choose the location and activity on their own without the other's input. And without too many snide comments.

You giggle, “Is that how you decided?”

Steven gives you a bashful smile, something you’re sure he simply must know what effect it has on you. “ We didn’t tell you that, did we?”

You shake your head. “It’s cute.” You repeat.

“I’m starting to think I’m getting stuck in the ‘cute’ area here.”

“Oh really?” You tease.

He nods and steps a little closer to you. “It’s a very serious concern love.”

“What’s so wrong with the ‘cute’ zone, it’s cute?”

He pulls a face, an over the top expression to make you smile. “It’s fine, really, and normally I’d be all for it. It’s just not where I want to be right now.” He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. Lightly, he places his hands on your hips. It’s a feather touch, barely there. His hands are radiating warmth, like all his pent up nervous energy is trying to escape through his skin.

“And where do you want to be?” You ask sweetly as you rest your hands on his chest. His heartbeat speeds under your fingers, thumping so fast it’s almost a blur.

“Between your legs.” He says softly, and quickly. Immediately he screws his face up and smacks his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Oh my god, I’msososorry, that was just fucking awful.”

You grin, unable to suppress your chuckle. “Hey,” you take hold of his wrist and pull his hand lightly away from his face. “I liked it.”

“No, you didn’t love, don’t tell tales.” He pretends to chastise but you can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

“I did.”

He shakes his head, “No, I refuse to believe it. It was awful and you’re too wonderful to put up with something like tha-”

You quickly lean forward and kiss him, it’s light and soft and you’re careful not to bump your teeth against his as he is still speaking. But quickly Steven sighs, wrapping his arms around you and cradling the back of your neck. He presses closer when you go to move away, his plush lips moving against yours hypnotisingly.

You shiver when he darts out his tongue, just teasing the edge of your bottom lip and then retreating when you part your lips.

You moan softly, screwing up the front of his shirt in your hand as you move your body flush against his, trying to capture his tongue when he teases again.

He lightly grinds the outline of his semi-hard cock against you, and this time when he retreats again you follow, licking into his mouth eagerly.

Steven groans softly, welcoming you immediately as you deepen the kiss and racing to react to your every move. His sounds vibrate through his chest, buzzing along your fingers in the most pleasant way.

When he pulls back his lips are shiny and kiss swollen, there is a soft hint of pink to his cheeks, just highlighting the tan of his skin.

Steven takes hold of your hand lightly, guiding you slowly to the bed and watching you with his large eyes intently. Seemingly waiting for you to object.

His breathing hitches as you both come to a stop by the edge of the mattress.

He swallows, opening his mouth to speak as he rubs his fingers together a little hesitantly. But you kiss him again, swallowing his anxiety as you gently coax him down to sit. You trail your lips over his jaw, his neck, sucking just under his ear and delighting in the shiver and soft sigh he gifts you with.

“That’s really nice.” He mutters, his voice thick. Lightly, he puts his hands on your back as he presses closer, angling himself more and more into your embrace.

He jumps deliciously when you run your nails up his inner thighs, just missing the solid outline of his cock straining the material.

Quickly, you untuck and then unbutton his shirt, starting from the bottom and distracting him with your teeth on his skin.

He groans, his eyelashes fluttering as you suck a love bite into the hollow of his throat. The sound sends a spiral of heat to your belly.

“Oh, love,” he bites his lip as you push his shirt off his shoulders and nip lightly at his clavicle. The material stays bunched up around his wrists and elbows as you sink down to your knees, kissing a messy trail down his chest to just above his belly button.

“You, erm, you don’t have to, I mean, only if you want- I mean,” he screws up his face. “I’m assuming here, aren’t I? Yes. What I mean is, it’s not… I don’t expect you to-”

You bite lightly at his belly, hardly more than a grazing of your teeth, but he yelps then giggles in surprise, looking down at you with large eyes.

“I want you.” You smile. “You’re gonna be good and let me, aren’t you?” You tease, expecting a classic sassy Steven comeback.

Instead, he audibly gulps, his throat bobbing. “I…” he breathes, his voice low. “Yes.”

You bite back a smile as you undo his belt and hurriedly unzip his jeans.

Steven’s thighs shake as he holds himself back, excitement races along his veins at lightning speed. He holds onto the side of the mattress with both hands, trying to focus on keeping himself as still as possible.

You waste little time as you hook your fingers under his waistband and urge him up a fraction. He raises his hips obediently as you pull his jeans and boxers down to his calves.

The sight of his cock bouncing free makes your mouth practically water. He’s slightly curved, the tip just brushing against his navel and leaving a snail trail of shinny precome on his soft skin.

You can’t help yourself as you lightly run your forefinger down his length, reveling in how it jumps under your touch.

Steven sighs desperately, his heart beating so hard in his chest he’s sure he’s going to pass out any second.

Gently, you cup his balls, just kneading them and feeling the weight of them in your hand for a second. Steven graces you with another breathy moan for your trouble. His pubic hair is neat and trimmed, a little softer than you expected and you can’t help but wonder if he uses conditioner regularly down there, or if this was in hopeful preparation for seeing you.

“You’ve got such a pretty cock.” You whisper and Steven gasps.

He thrusts weakly towards you, unable to hold himself completely back. “Thank, thank you.” He bites his bottom lip the second the words are out of his mouth, looking bashful.

You smile reassuringly and give his balls a light squeeze before you take the base of his length in hand and flick your tongue across the tip.

He swears, loudly. His back arching as you open your mouth and sink him a few inches past your lips.

“Shit, shit.” He groans, his thighs practically vibrating under the force of holding himself still. “That’s really- feels so- thank you, oh god, thank you!” He sighs and pants, his head thrown back as he weakly rocks into your mouth, moaning louder and louder as you swallow him deeper and deeper.

It’s so warm and wet, he’s sure he’s died and gone to heaven as pleasure rushes along his nerves and settles at the base of his spine. You squeeze his hip with one hand, encouraging him to move as you bob your head.

“Love, fuck, love, please.” He gasps, his skin burning. “Please, please. Can we, can you? Fuuuck.” He bucks lightly, nudging at the back of your throat. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

You pull off him slowly with a pop, lightly tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue so he shivers again. “So?” You smile at him.

He pants hard, sweat beading at his temples. “I… can… I think I’d like to fuck you before I finish.”

“You think?”

He pulls a face at your tease and you giggle. “I know.”

“Oh, okay.” You stand up, “because you know then.”

He grins, giving you a familiar sassy look as he takes hold of your hips and starts to pull up your dress. He watches you carefully, checking for any sign that you want him to stop. Instead, you stroke your hand through his hair.

He shivers, preening into your touch.

He groans loudly when he sees your underwear, the outline of your pussy and the damp patch that has soaked through. Lightly, he strokes it, swallowing, still holding your dress up with one hand.

You’re not quite sure what you expect, but it’s not how desperately he pulls your underwear to the side, too eager to waste time by pulling them down.

He swears lightly, his eyes rolling back at the sight before quickly leaning forward and latching onto your clit greedily.

You gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair and he groans loudly as he sucks rhymically, easing your bundle of nerves out past his lips before coaxing it back in.

You can’t help but pull his hair, mirroring the intoxicating pattern of his mouth and eagering a happy whine from him in the process.

“Steven,” you swallow harder, practically gasping for air as he pleases you, his lips so soft and slow. The movement is hypnotic, lulling you into a deep build as the threat of impending pleasure builds at your core.

He moans against you, sucking and sucking until you’re sure he’s going to pull your soul out of your body.

Your body tenses, shakes, so close to pulling you over that sweet edge.

With a herculean strength you lightly push him back, your palm against his forehead.

He gulps, his eyes lidded and lust blown as he gazes up at you, his cheeks flushed. His voice is a little unsure when he speaks. “Was that…?”

“I want to come on your cock.” You pause as he groans, and then add. “Please.”

Steven nods, not trusting his own voice in that moment. You both help each other completely out of your clothing quickly. But he puts his hands on yours when you go to take off your high heels. Normally you would have taken them off at the front door, but in the rush you hadn’t had a chance.

“Can you… leave them on, love?” He gives you a cheeky smile.

“You want me to?” You tease lightly, and he nods eagerly. “Didn’t take you as that kind of guy?”

He giggles and shifts back a little into the centre of the bed. “I don’t know, you just look so hot with them on. Is that okay?”

You nod. “More than okay.” You kneel on the bed, your legs either side of his as you inch forward. He leans back a little, propping himself up on his elbows as you cage him in. He watches you eagerly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Warmth radiates off of his body, permeating the air around him.

He moans sweetly when you take hold of his cock again, wriggling his hips to move into a slightly better position for you.

You pump him twice before you lean down and spit onto his dick. Steven groans, his eyes rolling back and cock jumping as you smear your saliva along his skin.

Painfully slowly you line him up with your soaking entrance, rocking back and forth against his tip but not easing down.

“Can you, fuck,” he swears softly, a little embarrassed before he clears his throat. “Can you tell me how you like it?” He asks so sweetly, his eyes closed and lips parted.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “While you, shit-” He lets out a loud moan as you start to sink down, a broken string of ‘thank yous’ falling out of his mouth with every breath. “Please, while we fuck, tell me how, tell me what you want?”

“What if I just want you to be still and take it?” You tease, barely managing to keep your voice steady and own sounds of pleasure under control. “Be my own personal fuck toy?”

He swears, gasping for air. “Please.”

“You’d like that?” You groan.

He’s so thick, you’re barely halfway down and you’re sure you can feel him in your lungs. You ease back up a fraction before you sink down further, getting used to his stretch and size.

“Yes.” He whines. “Want you just to use me to come.” He breathes hard. “Any time you want, just, just tell me and you can ride my cock or my mouth and just come all over me.” He shivers, his hips bucking up a little at the thought.

He slides his hands up and down your thighs, moving to sit up more so he can palm your calves and then grab at the sturdy heels of your shoes. “Fuck.”

The angle change makes him just slide all the way in, bullying his fat cock into your aching heat.

You gasp his name, groaning as his pubic bone rubs wonderfully against your clit.

A rumble of approval sounds from his chest. “God, yeah. Just…” He thrusts slowly, rolling his hips against yours so he barely leaves your heat and instead grinds deeply.

His grip tightens on your shoes as he pulls you back and forth, fucking you onto his cock.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, your fingers digging in as pleasure bubbles in your lower stomach.

“Good?” He whines.

You nod rapidly, not fully trusting your own voice.

“Can, can you come like this?”

You nod again and he whimpers. The tip of his cock brushes deliciously deep, rubbing deliciously and harmonising with the relentless grind against your clit.

“Love, fuck, I want you to come so badly, I want to feel you squeeze me and just make a mess of me.” He whines, moving faster to match the pace of your hips. “I’m, I’m gonna come, I can’t help it. You feel so good, so good, so good for me, fuck, please, please, can you? Please? Can I? Can?”

You shiver as your orgasm hits you suddenly, bucking weakly as you soak his cock. Your body burns and sings as the pleasure is squeezed from you, pulled perfectly as you shake and moan in Steven’s ear.

He follows you half a second later, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer as he fills you as deeply as he can.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close and snuggling into your neck as you relax against him. “Love, that was-”

“I am in need of your assistance.” Thoth’s booming voice from behind you makes you practically jump out of your skin. The god was not so hot on personal boundaries and had apparently chosen now to appear out of the ether. Well, at the very least it was now, and not a minute ago.

For a second you think Steven’s accompanying flinch is simply because he felt you do it, surprised by your own surprise.

“What the fuck?” His grip on you tightens and you frown in confusion, from your position you miss his shocked expression, how he stares at the god.

There’s no way he could see Thoth, was there?

Thank you so much for reading!

Taglist 1:

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livingformintyoongi · 9 hours ago

Text

Undeniable Temptation | Min Yoongi

Summary: It's three in the morning and you're still awake. The clock keeps ticking, and Yoongi still hasn't called. There were never any promises of love in your marriage, but even so, the thought of him being with another woman tears your soul apart— and the fact that he doesn’t feel the same way you do only makes it worse. Author’s note: Hi again!!! I know it’s been weeks since I last took a Valentine’s request, but in my defense, I really wanted this one to be as good as possible because it’s for my dear @ktownshizzle — so it took me a little longer, oops! Anyway, I finally finished it, and here it is! I hope you enjoy it 💗 Pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Fem!Reader AUs: Bad Boy!AU Word count: 7.8k (I'M SO SORRY) Warnings/tags: Smut (MDNI), Yoongi acts like a jerk at first, but then he’s a total sweetheart <3, mentions of fighting (not between them!), arranged marriage, unprotected sex (DON’T do this, it’s dangerous!!) Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @meadowsweetskoo You can join the taglist here! Dividers by @omi-resources

The soft ticking of the living room clock echoed through the silence, each beat pushing your nerves closer to the edge. You stared at the clock hands for a moment. 3:05 a.m.

Three in the morning… and Yoongi still wasn’t home.

You rose from the couch for what felt like the hundredth time, pacing across the room with restless steps, biting down on your thumbnail in a poor attempt to settle the unease bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t the first time Yoongi had come home this late, but tonight felt different. He always let you know ahead of time—always. Whether it was work or hanging out with his friends, he never forgot to text. But tonight? Nothing. Just silence.

And yet, here you were. Awake. Waiting. Because you couldn’t fall asleep without knowing he was safe.

Your marriage might have been arranged, but that didn’t mean you didn’t care. And he cared, too… in his own quiet, distant way.

From day one, you’d both made it clear—there were no strings attached, no expectations. It wasn’t love. Hell, you barely knew each other. But after living together for over a year and a half, after countless public dinners hand in hand, after he’d—thrown—his jacket over your shoulders to keep you warm, after he’d shown up with comfortable flats so you could change out of your heels… after all of that, somewhere along the way, you’d grown fond of him.

Too fond.

It wasn’t love. Of course not. You just… cared. As one human to another. That was all.

You exhaled sharply, dropping back onto the couch—again. The weight of your thoughts pressed down harder with each minute. You hated this—hated the complicated mess of feelings Yoongi stirred in you. Hated that dull ache in your chest, the one that twisted painfully at the thought of him being with someone else. You hated feeling anything at all. Especially when you were just the wife he was forced to tolerate for the rest of his life.

Was this what marriage was supposed to feel like? Was every couple haunted by this constant fear? Or were you the only one clinging to something that had never even been real?

God. You weren’t even his real wife. Why did it hurt this much?

Pathetic.

You reached for your phone, your fingers moving slower than usual. You winced when the harsh brightness of the screen hit your eyes, cursing under your breath as you fumbled to lower it.

And then you saw them—three new messages. Yoongi.

You sat upright, heart stuttering in your chest as your eyes scanned the short texts he’d sent… thirty minutes ago.

> I’m coming home.

I’ll be there in about forty minutes.

Don’t wait up.

You read them again. And again. And again.

Seriously? That was it? He messaged you at two-thirty just to say he was on his way? Couldn’t he have told you earlier? Couldn’t he be a halfway decent husband and text you after work, let you know he was… doing something?

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, tossing your phone onto one of the throw pillows with a bitter scoff. If he meant what he said, he’d be home in about ten minutes. Forty minutes… that was the time it took to reach the outskirts of the city.

His office was just fifteen minutes away. His friends lived nearby. There was no reason to be that far out unless…

Unless it wasn’t work.

Unless there was someone else. Someone hidden, tucked away just far enough that you’d never find out.

Screw your earlier mental speech— If he was cheating on you, you were absolutely capable of breaking his damn nose.

The soft sound of keys jingling briefly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing every inch of your body to freeze in place. He had arrived. Yoongi was home, and you had no idea what to do or where to hide because, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you felt like you’d just committed a crime and the police were about to catch you red-handed.

Despite the fear and anxiety that screamed for you to retreat to your room, crawl under the covers, and force yourself to pretend to be asleep—ignoring the fact that your husband might be cheating on you—your body didn’t seem to want to obey your mind. Your feet felt glued to the floor, and your eyes were fixed on the hallway leading to the living room, where you’d been pacing for hours, waiting for him.

It only took a few seconds before you saw him step through the door. His shirt more wrinkled than when he left, his tie in disarray, his jacket hanging off one arm, and his face… his face looked so different from when he left the house.

The left eyebrow had a bandage crossing it from top to bottom, his left cheek was bruised, a dark blue mark that would probably swell by morning—or in a few hours—and his lip had a small cut on one corner.

You knew Yoongi sometimes got involved in dangerous things, but never, in the year and a half you’d been living together, had he come home looking like this.

The thought of infidelity quickly evaporated as you processed what you’d just seen. You rushed toward him, cupping his face in your hands, studying him more closely to see if there were any other injuries you’d missed the first time.

“Damn, Yoongi, what the hell happened to your face? You look terrible,” your voice came out higher than you intended, but you didn’t care. You ran your hands over the bruise on his cheek, making a face when you heard Yoongi hiss quietly. He never complained unless it really hurt. “Did you get into a fight with someone? No, wait, it’s obvious you got into a fight! Why the hell did you get into a fight with someone?”

You followed him as he walked away, confused, watching him fill a small glass with whiskey and drink it in one go.

“I’m not in the mood for your stupid questions, Y/N,” he murmured softly, sounding more tired than annoyed. That didn’t stop the pain that twisted in your chest when you heard him say that.

Yoongi never called you by your name. He always used the nickname “Sweetheart,” he said, just to annoy you. You’d gotten used to that stupid nickname that made your cheeks burn and short-circuited your brain. You’d forgotten that to him, this was nothing more than a stupid arrangement, with no emotions involved.

Yes, you were sad. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit yourself for being stupid enough to think that he actually felt something for you.

But between the sadness and the anger, anger was what won out in this moment.

“Stupid questions?” you murmured, clenching your fists at your sides, feeling the heat rising in your chest, making its way up to your face as your anger started to grow. All the emotions you’d felt in the last few hours were now flooding to the surface. “You think my questions are stupid?”

Yoongi turned to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly, confusion marking his features—the same features you’d once found so charming. Now you just wanted to punch him in the balls and scream at him for being a complete idiot.

“You think it’s stupid that I’m worried about you after not hearing from you for the past seven fucking hours?” You watched in silence as his eyes widened at your question. You’d never spoken to him like that before. Normally, it was him who acted like this—him who ignored you, who teased you, who lightly tapped your forehead with his finger. He was the one who got to be rough with you while you just took it because—damn it—you liked it. You liked his little games, his teasing, the cute nickname he had for you. You liked him, and that’s why you always acted shy.

Well, now that shyness could go to hell. Yoongi had crossed your line, and now you were going to cross his.

“Y/N—”

“No!” You shoved your index finger into his chest, using all your strength to push him back. Your breathing was erratic, your teeth clenched so tightly that your jaw ached. You wanted to grab that stupidly beautiful hair of his and yank it until he apologized for treating you this way. “Don’t you dare throw out some dumb excuse, don’t you dare say my name like it’s going to make whatever you say next carry more weight!”

You shoved him again, enjoying the control, at least for once in this entire messed-up relationship. He wasn’t the only one with a bad reputation before that damn wedding was even in the picture.

“You walked out on your job to go God knows where, you were gone for seven fucking hours with no word, sent three damn texts saying you'd be late, leaving me alone in this house, running through a million scenarios in my head of why you were so late, wondering if you were with some other woman while I sat here waiting for you, and you come home with a bruised face— and you still think my questions are ridiculous?” You grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so you could see him better. Normally, you'd be nervous, maybe even thinking about kissing him... but now, the urge to slap him was a lot stronger.

“Are you serious? You’re the one who imagined all this shit, and somehow I’m the problem? It’s not my fucking fault you’re so insecure you think I’m gonna cheat on you with someone else! Damn, you’re not even my real wife, why the hell do you care who I sleep with?”

That comment dropped both of you into silence.

You let go of his shirt, not sure what to do with your hands now. Your lashes fluttered quickly, fighting back the tears you refused to let fall, not in front of him. Not after what he just said.

Even though, deep down, you knew he was right. He didn’t owe you any explanations. You were the one who got your hopes up, the one who thought there was something more. He had every right to be with whoever he wanted, and you… you couldn’t deny him that. After all, nowhere in the contract did it say anything about exclusivity.

“Hey, sweetheart, wait, I didn’t— I didn’t mean that, okay? You know I didn’t?” He reached out to take your hand, but you flinched away, as if touching you burned. “I-I’m sorry, it was a stupid thing to say, it wasn’t thought through, it was just… just an impulse.”

You clutched the silk robe wrapped around you. It was the only thing stopping you from feeling the sting that came with trying to breathe. Why did you have to fall in love with Yoongi? What was it about him that made you risk everything, knowing it was going to end like this? You were angry with him, but more than that, you were furious with yourself for allowing him to hurt you. You knew the only one who would be left broken was you.

“No,” you whispered after a beat. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your shoulders slumped, and your hair shielded your face, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill. It was the perfect pose for a breakdown. You wanted to break down, “You’re right. It was stupid to care about you when we’re nothing.”

“No, wait, let me—” He cut himself off when he noticed a single drop of water hit the floor, and your shoulders started to tremble. You were crying. He had made you cry. He wanted to blame the idiot he fought with at the bar, wanted to blame the alcohol for making him act without thinking, wanted to blame anyone other than himself because he didn’t want to be the one who made you cry.

But he had.

He should have just answered your damn questions and been done with it, not gotten defensive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, his hands gently resting on your shoulders, unsure if you were going to push him away again or lash out. But you did nothing. You let him pull you in and wrap you in his arms. It was awkward, you felt awkward, he felt awkward, but he needed to do this. He needed you to hear him so that at least you’d stop thinking he was out there with someone else.

Yoongi might be a complete jerk, but he would never, ever cheat on you.

“My brother came to my office just before I came home,” he said, his hand softly brushing through your hair, fingers threading through your strands as if to offer some kind of silent comfort. “He asked me to go for drinks at a bar nearby. I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. You were still a bit tense under his embrace, but you let yourself wrap your arms weakly around his waist. It was your way of showing that, at least, you were listening, that you were open to hearing him out. Were you being stupid for trusting him? Probably. Did you care? Not really. You knew that hearing him out was a hit to your ego and dignity, but you still wanted to listen, wanted to hold on to whatever little hope was left inside you.

Being in love really did turn you into a mess.

“You were right. It’s my fault. I did things that made you think that way, and I know I shouldn’t have said that, but I just… I got so frustrated thinking that you actually believed I’d be with someone else, someone who wasn’t you.” He softly licked his lips, feeling them uncomfortably dry all of a sudden. At least now he’d cleared up the one thing that had been bothering him.

Now, all that was left was for you to believe him.

“Why does your face look like that?” you asked quietly, your face still hidden in his shoulder, your hands still on his waist, this time clutching the fabric of his shirt as if trying to push out the anger and pain building up inside you. Hearing him out and wanting to forgive him didn’t just erase your anger.

Yoongi was quiet for a moment, enough to think through his answer and not make the atmosphere any more tense than it already was.

“I got into a fight with some guy at the bar.” You could feel his hands tighten, his hold on you becoming stronger. It felt like he was trying to protect you from something, like remembering the fight only made him want to keep you closer.

And that only made you more confused.

“Why?” you asked, your voice calm as you waited for his answer. You wanted to understand why he’d gotten into a fight after all this time. You knew he used to get into fights when he was younger, but you thought that part of him was behind him now. After his dad left him in charge of the company, you believed he’d grown out of that. Now, you weren’t so sure.

“Because no one’s allowed to talk shit about my wife.” He buried his face in your neck, relaxing slightly as he breathed in the familiar scent of your perfume, that something that was uniquely you. The memories of the bar fight came rushing back—his anger flaring again as he recalled how one of his coworkers, a guy who’d been to several company parties with you two, had told his friend how badly he wanted to fuck you in a hotel room, how you had the face of someone who was easy, how you always smiled at him like you wanted something more.

He was out of his mind if he thought he was going to let that guy walk away without getting a beating. You deserved more than a sleazy hotel room that charged by the hour. You deserved respect—not because you were his girlfriend, but because you were a person, just like him, and far more respectable than the idiot he’d fought with. You deserved to be happy and to be kind to other men without them thinking you wanted something else.

Yoongi would fight that guy a thousand times over if it meant defending your image, because you deserved that and so much more.

And yet, here you were, still tied to someone like him, someone who couldn’t even express his feelings without saying something that hurt you in the process.

“You fought… for me?” You watched as Yoongi’s face, usually so pale, flushed a soft pink. His eyes darted around the room, anywhere but you.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him like this. The first time he’d shown you any real emotion when it came to you.

He was embarrassed because he’d just confessed he fought for you.

You both stayed quiet. You, watching him, feeling a heat rise in your chest, your hands starting to sweat, forcing you to rub them against your robe. Him, running a hand through his messy hair, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, biting his lower lip.

Yoongi didn’t know what to say. You had a million questions running through your mind.

“Why did you do it?” You took a step closer to him, feeling a small ache in your chest when you saw him pull back slightly, almost instinctively. You were crossing a line, one he had set from the start of your relationship, an unspoken rule—he didn’t want you getting too close, didn’t want the emotions between you to grow any stronger. Didn’t want the attraction you both felt to turn into something bigger, more serious.

Your step didn't just cross a physical line—it crossed an emotional one too. And that set off every alarm inside Yoongi.

“Answer me,” you insisted, louder this time, your brows furrowed, fists clenched. You had respected his boundaries all this time, constantly convincing yourself this was one-sided—that your feelings were nothing more than something you'd imagined, something you should keep buried until the very end.

But now that you knew that wasn’t true, you weren’t about to stand back.

“Y/N, I—” Yoongi licked his lower lip, letting his head fall back. His hands—now with slightly reddened knuckles—covered his face like a child hiding from the world, as if that could magically make everything go away. “I don’t know why I did it, okay? It just… happened.”

“You’re lying!” you cut him off the second he finished. This time, you pushed him a little harder—just enough to make him step back. You could hear the shake in his voice, the uncertainty in his tone. You could see how his eyes dodged yours like they were poison.

You wanted him to tell you the truth. You needed to hear him say that you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you.

You wanted to hear him say he loved you, the same way you loved him.

“Shit, what do you want me to say? That is the truth!” Yoongi’s voice rose a little, but you didn’t care—not when he finally looked you in the eye after admitting he got into a fight. His clenched jaw and dark eyes might’ve scared someone else, might’ve made them back down.

But you knew him too well for that—unfortunately for him.

His glare, despite the anger, wavered constantly. You could see a flicker of insecurity there—and something else, emotions you knew better than anyone Yoongi didn’t want to feel. He fought tooth and nail to keep them buried. But you wanted to drag them out of him.

“Stop lying to yourself, Yoongi!” You tried to push him again, but his hands quickly grabbed your wrists, pulling you close until there were only inches between you.

Your breaths were ragged, tangled in the storm of emotions swirling between you. His grip on your wrists loosened, but his hands never left your skin. You watched as he ran his tongue over his lips, his intense gaze locked on you the whole time.

“Stop pushing me,” he whispered, holding the distance even though something deep inside him screamed to get away from you—that this would only make things worse, that he wouldn’t be able to control himself with you this close, with your skin burning against his palms, with the way he craved more and more.

But apparently, that voice wasn’t persuasive enough.

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there, feeling your heartbeat race so fast it thundered in your ears, feeling the heat rise from your toes to your ears, your stomach twisting uncomfortably from the sensation of his touch.

You wanted more of him. You wanted everything he could give you and more. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, his hands on your body, his nose against your neck, his voice in your ear.

And this was your chance to have it.

So you grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him down until his lips crashed into yours. Only then did you feel like you could breathe again.

You thought this would be the end of everything—that he’d take it as the final excuse to sign the damn divorce papers you were sure he’d wanted from day one. But no. He didn’t shove you away. He didn’t yell. He didn’t demand answers or accuse you of doing something reckless without his consent.

Instead, he cupped your cheeks, his tongue tracing your lower lip, turning your clumsy, desperate kiss into something wildly intense—a kiss that stopped being one-sided the moment he decided to kiss you back.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging whenever your body threatened to lose control. You could feel his desperation match yours, like you were both fighting a war with no winner, because in the end, you were both going to enjoy the outcome anyway.

His touch grew needier, more frantic, and you nearly gasped when you felt his cold fingers against your thighs, lifting you off the ground without bothering to break the kiss. He didn’t care if your teeth clashed or if you let out soft moans and gasps between breaths.

He’d gone months without touching you like this. Now that he could, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

You both got lost in the smell of each other, the touch, the way your hearts beat in sync—fast, unrestrained, chaotic. The kind of heartbeat that only happens when you've waited for something your whole life, and when it finally arrives, it exceeds your expectations so much that everything else just stops.

There was no one left to fool—because there was no one else in that room.

You moaned against his lips when his hand slid up your back, slipping under your nightgown, exposing more of your skin with every inch. You felt him smile against your neck as your body shivered from his touch.

“If I’d known you were this sensitive, I would’ve done this months ago,” he whispered against your skin, leaving light bites and marks along your neck. Something about the blank canvas of your skin bothered him—it made him want to cover it, to claim it, until it was unrecognizable.

To him, your skin was a blank canvas, and his lips were the brush to turn it into a masterpiece.

You gasped when he dropped you onto the bed, quickly settling between your legs. The pressure in your chest tightened as he hovered over you—lips swollen and shiny, tongue lazily brushing over them, his hair a mess from your hands, his dark eyes watching you like you were the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

And in this moment, you felt that beautiful—just from the way he was looking at you.

So intense. So suffocating.

It was exactly how you imagined it.

Even with both of you breathing heavily and your pulses racing, the intensity of the kiss had faded, leaving a silence thick with tension—tension that had been building between you from day one.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. That messy, heated passion from a moment ago was gone now, replaced with something quieter. “It’ll never be the same between us.” His hand gently caressed your waist under your nightgown—not in a lustful way, not to change your mind—just because he needed to feel you, to know this was real. “We’ll never be the same.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, gently tracing his features, your touch filled with quiet longing. You’d made your decision months ago. You’d been waiting for this longer than you cared to admit. You wanted to be his—and you wanted him to be yours. You wanted your marriage to stop being a contract between parents and start being something real. Something you both craved.

“I know,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, closing the last bit of space between you. It was torturous having him this close, brushing lips but not quite kissing, feeling his breath mix with yours. It was painfully sweet. “But I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he let out a breathy laugh, his hands gently removing the robe from your shoulders. In his eyes, the same passion from moments ago was still there, steady and present. It reminded you that you had just kissed, that he was ready to take off his clothes and claim you, just as you were ready to claim him.

But there was more.

You could feel it in the way his touch was firm yet gentle, in the way his lips curved into a smile you’d never seen before—not like this, not while you were watching him. Whatever was happening between the two of you was more than just the pent-up desire of a contract marriage. Deep down, you both knew it.

“No,” you replied, your voice shaking more than you intended. His hands had already finished removing the robe, the only thing left between his touch and your skin being the nightgown you wore. “I want this, Yoongi. I want you.”

And that was enough to completely unravel him.

His lips crashed into yours again, kissing you with a sweet, addictive hunger. The movement of his hips against yours drew soft moans from both of you, urging you to go further, to strip away every last piece of clothing and make this moment last as little time as possible.

But neither of you wanted it to end quickly, even if your bodies demanded release.

Yoongi lifted the hem of your nightgown slowly, making you squirm in place. You shivered as the cool air brushed against your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat building in your chest. His gaze lingered on every exposed inch of you, taking you in as if he were savoring the view.

A moan escaped your lips as he straightened up, positioning himself between your legs, giving him a perfect view of your body—the way your thighs trembled, the way your lips parted slightly as you fought to hold still, trying not to show how much you needed him right then.

He flicked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, his hands moving to his belt, unfastening it with deliberate slowness, only to toss it aside. There was no comparison between his fantasies and the reality of his touch, and his body knew it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left you as he tossed the belt into a corner of the room, his gaze hungry yet reverent, as though he was seeing you for the first time, letting go of the walls he’d built up until now. “And so... mine.”

He gripped your waist, pulling you toward him in one swift movement, his hips pressing against yours. A grin tugged at his lips as he felt the slight tremor in your legs and heard the soft squeak that escaped you.

He leaned in, nipping at your lower lip just enough to make you gasp.

“Why do you look so shy now?” he murmured against your mouth. “We both know how much you’re going to enjoy this.”

His hand slid down your back, cupping your ass shamelessly, squeezing hard before giving you a playful spank. The sound was dry, but the heat that spread across your skin was electrifying. You looked up at him, surprised, but his smile only widened as if he had won something.

“Why did you do that!?” you asked, your voice breathless.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t like how things were unfolding. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but this? This was beyond anything you had dreamed.

“I had to get you to open that pretty mouth of yours somehow,” he said, his thumb stroking the spot where he had just touched, but the tenderness lasted only a moment before he returned to squeezing your ass, making you squirm.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss him, smack him, or beg him to never stop.

Maybe all three.

You were about to voice your frustration, to call him out for making this whole situation even more torturous than it already was. But then he started moving. This time, it wasn’t slow. He made you feel him, guiding your hips against his erection, his hands roaming over your curves as if he were memorizing every detail of you. His lips trailed down your neck, to your collarbone, leaving a mark you’d notice tomorrow.

“Tell me you want me again,” he said, his voice almost a command. “Do it trembling, like before.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t feel it, but because your mind couldn’t form the words, couldn’t force your mouth to say what you knew was true. You weren’t sure if it was the touch of his body, the rawness in his eyes, or the fire in your veins, but you couldn’t speak. Your hands moved instead, trailing down to the waistband of his pants, awkwardly trying to push them off as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in you. “Words, baby. I want words,” he murmured, his voice laced with a teasing grin.

You stirred under him, feeling an electric current run through your body. You'd never been held like this, never had your hands been held like this, and you couldn't help but be grateful that you could experience this for the first time with Yoongi because, fuck, there was nothing more exciting than seeing his arm on you, seeing the veins in it mark as he applied force to yours, the way your heartbeat quickened and being aware that he could feel it, that he knew how nervous that gesture made you.

You licked your lips, your eyes fixed on his, expectant, alert, ready for anything he was willing to give you because that’s the level of madness you had reached, to that point you would stoop if it meant being able to feel him inside you.

“I want you,” you managed, your voice shaky but firm with the truth in every word.

You watched as his lips formed a lazy smile, one that seemed too sure of itself, too aware of the state you were in; he knew, if at this moment he asked you to get down on your knees, you would, all to have a little piece of him, and he definitely wanted to give you more than a little piece of him.

He undressed completely, never breaking eye contact. His hot body, his rapid breath, every part of him screamed there was no turning back.

He spread your legs, a deliberate, almost lazy motion, as if he enjoyed every second of seeing you surrender to him. He leaned down, planting soft kisses on your stomach, leaving a trail of kisses that made you arch against the sheets. He moved up slowly, brushing your skin with his nose, with his lips, with his teeth. You felt as if every part of you was being discovered for the first time.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this since we got married?” he asked, his voice raspy, that kind of voice you'd only been able to hear on the few mornings you'd seen him wake up, or on those nights counted on the fingers of one hand when he drank enough to fall half asleep in the car. “Ever since I saw you at the restaurant... I still remember that red dress you wore. It highlighted every curve, those heels making your legs look perfect. The way you held the glass to your lips and stared at me... like you were daring me, provoking me.” His hand slid between your thighs, stroking where you needed it most, slow at first, knowing full well the effect he was having on you.

“Yoongi—” you whispered, voice breaking as you arched against him, feeling the coolness of his fingers add a perfect contrast to the fire within you.

“Fuck,”his fingers pressed your clit harder, playing with it as if it didn't make your legs tremble and the knot in your belly tighten. “My name sounds so good when you say it like that.”

Your hands jerked under his grip, desperate to break free, to grab something to keep you sane, to keep you conscious, but all you managed to do was bury your nails in his wrist, scratching his skin every time he touched a too-sensitive nerve, biting your lips every time a too-loud moan threatened to come out.

You could feel with what little sanity you had left as his lips devoured your neck, as his tongue ran along your collarbone, letting out gasps of satisfaction at the taste of you, at the feel of your pulse against his tongue, fast, strong, steady.

The movement of his fingers became faster, more and more excruciating, and the tremors in your body became harder to bear. Your hips began to move against his touch, desperate to reach that wonderful point where you would finally achieve release.

The pressure of his fingers increased, the rhythm intensifying, and your body was on the edge. You moved against him, chasing the release you needed so badly.

And just when you thought you were about to reach it, when the tension in your stomach was about to snap… Yoongi stopped.

“What the-?” You choked on your own saliva as you watched him hold his member in the hand he had just masturbated you with. It was big. Really big. In your head you had imagined what it might look like, how well he would know how to use it, how deep he could go, but this? Fuck, this far exceeded your expectation.

Your body froze, every nerve alive with anticipation as you felt him align with you. His lips found yours in a soft kiss, a calm before the storm. And then you felt him enter you for the first time, slow, deep, so intimately that you felt yourself breaking into a thousand pieces.

A low moan escaped his throat, one that merged with yours in the dimly lit room. He moved slowly at first, exploring your reactions, gauging the rhythm with which your body responded to his. But when he heard you release his name between gasps, as if you needed it more than air, he lost all restraint. At last he released your hands from his grip, but only to move them to your hips, to hold your body steady every time he gave a thrust.

You took that very instant to bring your hands to his back, scratching at his skin, clinging to him, needing to feel his body as close to yours as possible to remind you that this was real, that this was not another dream -deliciously realistic.

You hit your head against the pillow as you felt his movements become more rhythmic, deeper, as his mouth traveled down your neck and shoulders, leaving traces of his presence as if he wanted to mark you from the inside and out. You knew that the next morning your body would have marks of him imbued on it, but you also knew that you had left yours on his, and that only made the sensation more exciting. Those marks were proof that this night really happened.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low, husky, choppy with pleasure. “That's it, baby. You're taking me so good.”

Your toes curled, and you had to take it all from yourself not to lose your mind right then and there. Your whole body seemed to be on edge, every lunge, every touch he gave to your most sensitive spot, made you completely lose your mind, made you want to grab his neck and kiss him until you ran out of air, until the skin on your lips swelled.

You wanted all this and more.

The room was filled with gasps, skin against skin, that urgency that is only born when desire has been held back too long. His hands gripped your hips as if he feared you would fade, as if clinging to you could make all of this even more real than it was.

Your back arched one last time, pleasure bursting from deep inside your body in a warm surge that made you scream his name without thinking. Your nails marked his back, your lips sought his almost desperately, as if you wanted that moment to be etched on your skin, on your soul.

And he fell with you.

His hips moved a couple more times, desperate, until his body shuddered over yours, leaving him breathless, speechless, spilling inside you with a broken sigh that sounded almost like a wail. Silence enveloped you for a few seconds

Your foreheads met, breath mingling, his heartbeat loud and fast against yours.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, your hands caressing the marks you had left on his skin, “I love you.”

And he smiled—a tired, content smile, as if he had never expected to hear it. As if, in that moment, he finally understood that everything he had avoided feeling... was already too far inside him. And it was. He didn't understand how, he didn't understand when, but he was so fucking lost for you that he would fight all the men in the world just to have you by his side.

“I know,” he murmured against your lips, keeping his eyes on yours all the time. He wanted you to feel his honesty, to know that every word that left his lips was true, even if he had never been able to prove it clearly. “Because I love you too.”

His lips barely brushed yours, with a tenderness almost fearful, as if by kissing you, he admitted that there was no turning back, as if that kiss was a thousand times more meaningful than what you had just done. And perhaps it was. Perhaps that kiss was what truly marked you, perhaps that 'I love you' you had just said was the real mark that officially turned the both of you into something more than just a signature on paper.

When the vertigo began to subside and the heat between you both turned into a memory, your mind began to fill with doubts. With words. With fear. The memories of everything you had said just moments ago replayed in your mind, serving as a reminder that neither of you were thinking clearly, that there was a possibility that everything you had said was simply an instinct driven by the passion of the moment.

And that was destroying you inside.

With a lump in your throat, you asked the same question Yoongi had asked you moments ago; this time, both of you were lucid, this time neither of you were desperate to undress the other, this time you weren’t sure if your heart could handle the rejection after everything that had happened.

"This doesn't change anything, does it?" you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of reality. "In a few hours, when you wake up, will things be the same as before?"

His hand stopped at your waist, his fingers tightening slightly at your question, and that only made your fears grow more real. Yoongi could say he loved you, but there was a big difference between admitting what he felt for you and letting you fully into his life, and that last part? That was exactly what you feared you might never reach.

But then he straightened up, looking at you with his brow slightly furrowed and his head tilted to one side, as if he had just heard the biggest nonsense in the world.

"I thought we made it clear that nothing would be the same after tonight," he murmured, resuming his gentle caresses on your waist. You could see his hair falling over his face, some strands sticking to his forehead and others tickling your face; you weren’t sure if it was that that made him look even more attractive or the fact that he calmed your fear with just one sentence.

"Yes, I know, but—" you stopped when you felt his index finger rest on your lips, his eyebrow raising as a smug smile appeared on his face. Now it was you who frowned.

"Sweetheart. You're tired. Go to sleep." he whispered, gently adjusting you on the bed, covering both of your bodies under the warm sheets of your shared bed. This time, the smile he gave you was softer, a little more sincere. "I'll still be here in the morning."

You both stayed quiet, the kind of silence that feels comfortable, that brings calm—the kind that lets you know what the other is thinking just by looking at them. Closing your eyes and thinking you might not see him when you woke up… it scared you. But the idea of trusting him, of truly seeing him next to you the next day, was so… exciting.

For the first time in your life, that excitement was stronger than the fear of all the “what ifs.”

So you slept. Finally. You trusted his words and let the fear slowly fade away, second by second, as your eyes grew heavier and sleep became harder to resist.

And yet, when you opened your eyes, the space beside you was empty.

Not cold. Just… without him.

For a moment, the knot returned to your throat, along with last night’s question. You began to wonder how you would ever look him in the eye again, how you could go back to talking to him like nothing had happened.

But then you heard footsteps. Soft, but steady—each step sounding louder than the last, as if someone was getting closer to you.

And then you saw him walk in.

His hair was still messy, his face still looked a little sleepy. The only difference from the night before was that he had thrown on a pair of sweatpants. That, and the cup of coffee he was holding in one hand.

He sat down on his side of the bed, as if you weren’t sitting there watching him with your mouth hanging open and your eyes nearly popping out of your face.

He set the mug on his nightstand and turned to you, using two fingers to gently push up your chin and close your mouth.

“I thought you—”

“I know,” he murmured, using his hold on your chin to bring your face closer to his. He only stopped when you were leaning into him, your faces just a few centimeters apart. “Your eyes have always been really expressive.” Then he raised his lips to your forehead, leaving a soft kiss there before continuing. “Tough luck, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me for life now.”

Masterlist.

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #min yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts x y/n #bts x fem!reader #fanfic #fiction

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itsmerelliwellie · 3 days ago

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What Causes The Brain To Short-Circuit | Y. Nagumo x Reader

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For this pretty over here

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15.) "I said don’t move!" "You’re the one straddling me.”

Prompts

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Warning(s): Nothing much?

Important Warning: NOT REALLY... BETA READ

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It starts with blood.

Nagumo never knocks. He’s the type to slip through a window or pop up in your living room with a lollipop in his mouth and a smirk you want to both punch and kiss. You’ve gotten used to it. Mostly.

But tonight? Tonight he’s different.

He doesn’t whistle. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t even smirk.

He stumbles through your door just past two in the morning, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood soaking through the side of his shirt. His usual cocky air is still there—but thinner, a paper version of the Nagumo you know. When you rush to him, heart in your throat, he greets you with a crooked grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse. “Miss me?”

You almost punch him on instinct.

You don’t.

You grab him by the wrist and drag him to the couch.

You’re in his lap before you realize it. Legs bracketing his hips, one hand holding his face steady while the other works a cotton pad gently over the gash beneath his eye. It’s an accident. It was the best position to properly examine his face, it didn’t really feel weird to you.

Until he flinched. And you snapped.

“I said don’t move.”

The words come out sharper than you mean them to. Not loud, but firm. Unshakable. Like command is second nature to you. His entire body tenses under yours.

Then, barely above a whisper, he says:

“You’re the one straddling me.”

And his voice, usually dripping with innuendo, is wrecked.

It cracks at the end. Like he’s trying to play it cool and failing miserably. Like the situation is short-circuiting every cell in his very flustered, very secretly-in-love brain.

You blink down at him.

He is blushing. Yoichi Nagumo is blushing. You can barely process it. His ears are red. His neck is red. He looks like someone dropped him into a bowl of rose petals and embarrassment.

You stare. He stares.

And then, like an idiot, he blurts: “I-it’s fine, though! I mean—you look good! On me. Not—not like—God, I mean that in a normal way, not a weird way, unless you want it to be weird—”

“Yoichi.”

He freezes.

You spoke softly, but just as steady. You brush a thumb along his jawline, not even pretending it’s strictly first-aid anymore.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

His breath stutters. His hands, which had been sitting uselessly at his sides, now grip your thighs like he needs something—anything—to ground him.

“I’m not nervous,” he lies, eyes wide. “I’m just. Processing. The fact that I might be dreaming. Because the person I’ve been in love with for the past two years is currently sitting in my lap and touching my face like it’s totally normal—”

You freeze.

What?

He blinks. Realizes what he just said. And then, in real time, malfunctions.

“THAT WAS A JOKE,” he blurts, too immediately. “HAHAHA! Ha. You know me! Always joking. Just hilarious old me. So funny. So not confessing my deep unresolved feelings like a dumbass—”

“Yoichi.”

“Y-yeah?”

You tilt his chin up. “Do you want to kiss me?”

He goes completely still.

“…Is that rhetorical or is this like, a choose-your-own-adventure kind of deal—”

You lean down.

He stops talking.

It started gently. Chaste. Your lips brushed his like a question. But the second he realizes this is real, that you want him, he melts. Moans softly against your mouth, his hands sliding up your sides, careful not to pull you too close because he still hurts, but damn if he doesn’t want you closer anyway.

The way he kisses you is all tension unraveling. It was slow, needy, reverent. Like he’s been dreaming about this moment for years and doesn’t know if he’ll get another. He’s afraid to take too much, but even more afraid to let go.

When you pull back, both flushed and breathless, you still rest your forehead on his.

“I’m not gonna let you disappear like that again,” you whisper. “You tell me when you leave. You tell me when you’re hurt.”

His eyes flicker, overwhelmed. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“That if I kept seeing you like this…” His hand cups your cheek, tender. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

You smile.

“It’s okay. I didn’t want you to stop.”

You clean the rest of his injuries in silence. He watched you with this dazed, soft expression like he still doesn’t fully believe you’re real. Every time your fingers brush his skin, he shivers. Every time your eyes meet, he looks like he wants to say something. He doesn’t know how to get it out.

When you’re finally done, you tug a blanket over his lap and ease off of him gently.

“You should sleep.”

“Here?” he asks, hopeful.

You nod. “Where else would you go?”

“…Your bed?”

You roll your eyes.

But when you lead him there, and he climbs in behind you, one arm wrapping loosely around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish, you don’t say anything.

You just hold his hand under the covers.

And he doesn’t let go.

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A/N: Hihi

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#sakamoto days #self-insert fic #nagumo x reader #nagumo x you #nagumo x yn #yoichi nagumo #yoichi nagumo x reader #yoichi nagumo x you #nagumo yoichi #yoichi nagumo x yn

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femininefables · 2 days ago

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Left Astray

p2! Pls go read part one as well🩷

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I have an awful procrastination problem and I even tend to re write chapters I don’t like, which only prolongs my writing process. Anyways, I hope your wait was worth it, and thank you for the support!

cw: 18+, smut(doesn’t go that far) and that’s really it ig.

Thunder shakes the whole apartment, making it difficult for you to sleep. The last couple of days have been rough on you mentally. For some reason, you’ve been thinking about your mother and your family. Everything’s been triggering you lately, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Sevika.

So when you appear in her doorway at two am in the morning, she only grunts and pats the space on bed next to her.

“Nightmares again?” She questions. Not feeling like explaining yourself, you meekly nod in response. “S’okay…just stay here with me.”

Sevika likes moments like this. She likes feeling like you need her. Years of running around the undercity for a cause, only to be under appreciated, and harassed by Jinx. But helping you? It’s like it was all worth it. She kept putting up with Silco and Jinx’s bullshit for people like you.

“You know…if you don’t want to, you don’t have to move out so soon… I’m not here most of the day, so you’re free to stay longer.” That excuse was terrible, but she hopes you’ll believe her anyways. “Thanks Sevi..” That’s a new one. “S’no problem bunny rabbit.”

When you’re finally asleep again, Sevika gets up and lights a cigar. To make sure you don’t inhale any of her bad habits, she goes out on the balcony. Looking out at the twilight, Sevika starts to think. Does she really care about you, or is this all to fulfill some hero complex she has?

When you wake up, Sevika’s gone. She’s probably already at work. The bed smells like her, and a little bit of smoke. That’s when you remember: you slept in her bed. You feel hot. Had you cuddled her? You probably looked so pathetic, wanting someone to snuggle like some stupid kid.

You swing your legs over the side of her bed and get up, stepping in something soft. Looking down, you see a pile of her clothes. A tank top, boxers, and socks. What she always sleeps in. You lift the pile, and drop it into the hamper. All except the tank top. It smells like her too. Whiskey, and the distinct smell of cigar smoke.

The sky is unusually blue today. From Sevika’s balcony, you can see its natural color without any smoke in the way.

Sevika’s balcony has become a favorite spot of yours. Now, you’re sitting down in a folding chair enjoying a book she bought you the other day. A romance novel to be specific.

You’ve gotten more comfortable in your mind, and skin. Reading no longer opens an old wound like it used to, and you’re less jumpy. This doesn’t mean Sevika calling you “bunny rabbit” has ceased in the slightest. It’s grown on you.

Suddenly, a thought strikes you. Ever since you’ve gotten here, it’s always take out for dinner. Usually because Sevika gets home too late to cook anything, or maybe because she just doesn’t like to. So today, you’ll be cooking.

The whole idea is perfect… Surprising Sevika, your savior, with a nice, home cooked meal. Hopefully she’s impressed. The thought of her smile, and some words of gratitude make you all giddy. So you get to it. Sevika doesn’t have a lot of groceries in her house, but you find what you can.

Your final ingredient list comes out to some pasta, cheese, milk, butter, and a couple garlic cloves. You could make a nice sauce with these.

And so you do. Halfway through dinner, Sevika comes through the door. Shoot. You think. You really wanted to surprise her with the table set and the kitchen not a mess.

While you’re busy lost in your thoughts about how ruined the surprise is, a pair of arms snakes around your waist from behind. Sevika’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head. “What are you gettin up to? Making me dinner?” You continue to stir the pot like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

“yes… it’s just-we always eat takeout so i just thought something homemade would be nice…”

“hmm…haven’t eaten anything homemade in a while..” Her voice sounds slightly distant… like home cooked meals mean something sentimental to her. She unhands you and turns towards her bedroom.

“I’m gonna go change into something not…covered in blood. Call me when dinners ready.” You look over your shoulder in surprise. You hadn’t even noticed the blood stains lingering her clothes, and the bruises on her arms and face.

When you’re sitting across from her eating, you notice more little scratches and cuts all over her.. She’s not acting hurt or upset at all though. Just eating quietly. “Uhm…what happened to you?” You question. Her eyes look up to meet yours and she shrugs. “Ran into someone today… I don’t know where you were a couple years ago, but Vanders girl.. the older one.”

She’s back? You kind of forgot about her after everything that went down… “And you fought with her?” Sevika seems a little frustrated now. “Correction, she jumped me. In the middle of a game too. Just as I won, I get pummeled across the cheek. Damn brat…”

You can’t help your curiosity. “Where’d she go?” Sevika runs a hand through her hair “Hell if I know.. she ran away with some enforcer shootin at me…” “oh wow…” is all you can say in response. You examine her face a little more, and before you know it you speak again. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what, bunny?” She raises her eyebrow at you. “Uhm.. with your injuries. You have a first aid, right?” She nods. “If you really want to help I won’t stop you.”

“Hold still..” You press the alcohol soaked cotton ball to a scratch on her cheek. “It stings..” she keeps flinching and turning away. “I know but I gotta clean them! You lean forward in an effort to reach her better. “Just stay still…” Sevika then chuckles. Her hand finds its way to the top of your head and she messes with your hair. “ I feel so special. My very own personal nurse.” The way she’s looking at you makes your heart flutter.

“yeah uh.. I guess I am!” Sevika suddenly pushes against you and sits up, gently holding your wrist to stop you from tending to her. “You have no clue the affect you’ve had on me, bunny. If not for you, I’d probably be smoking a blunt and getting drunk off my ass.” You can’t speak. She’s so close.

“I want to do something to return that” She sounds so sincere. Your voice returns “letting me live here is really enough! Cooking for you and helping you out is just thanks for that.” She shakes her head. “Maybe, but I feel like you’ve done more for me than I have for you.” A silence fills the small space between you. Sevika’s grip on your wrist tightens slightly. She lowers you down slowly, pinning you down by the wrists. “Uhm.. so do you need help with another bruise? Or..”

She kisses you. You’re caught off guard even though you expected it. you don’t resist though, and kiss her back. She’s holding your wrist above your head while her mechanical arm holds you tight against her. “Sev..” is all you can get out when you part before she kisses you again.

After around five minutes of just making out, she finally stops. The both of you are catching your breath. “Such a pretty girl…” Sevika murmurs affectionately, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “You’re not moving out any time soon baby.” You’re in Sevika’s bed again that night. Not because of any nightmare, but because she carried you here right after you finished patching her up. She’s lying on top of you, human hand caressing your cheek, mech hand lifting your shirt. She’s kissing you slowly, occasionally opening her eye’s to look at you.

“So pretty…wanna make you mine…” her lips trail down to your neck, sucking on the skin and leaving it a dark purplish-red color. “Sev…” is all you manage to say before she latches onto your right nipple. A whine slips from your lips, and her eyes meet yours. An almost mischievous glint appears in her eyes. She has experience with this. You remember your conversation about the brothel.

She shows your other breast some attention before lowering herself between your legs. “Sev?” She stopped moving. She looks back at you with a concerned look on her face. “Are you…okay with this?” You nod. “Sorry…I shouldn’t have.” She gets up and puts a cigar between her lips, looking for a lighter.

“We don’t have to stop… I wanna keep going.” She looks back at you with the unlit cigar hanging from those lips you wanted back so badly. “It just…feels wrong. You’re vulnerable, and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“you’re not! I love you too..” “Don’t say that…” She sighs, and sits back down on the bed. “I never had time for an actual relationship with anyone..I want to do this right for you. Not just casual sex like I’m used to.” You sit up, pulling your shirt down and leaning on her shoulder. “I haven’t had a lot of relationships either. Being homeless never gave me a lot of free time.”

She chuckles and pulls you closer. “Guess we’re both just figurin’ things out huh? We’ll just figure it out together.” You sleep in her arms that night. Things didn’t go any further, but you couldn’t be happier.

Sevika, meanwhile, was feeling conflicted. Is she just taking advantage of the fact that you look up to her so much? She’s not good when it comes to love. So how can she be genuine for you? Maybe this is all some fantasy she has, and once she sleeps with you she’ll stop caring.

Sevika was even surprised with herself. She knew she’d had some commitment issues, but she didn’t know it’d be this bad. She’s terrified to commit, because what if what she has with you isn’t even real love? What if it’s only lust?

“Sev?” Your sleepy voice snaps her out of it. “Uh- yeah?” She looks towards you. “I love you.” She sighs. “I love you too.” Sevika almost feels bad. She sees how your eyes shine when they look at her, or every attempt from you to gain her approval. She wants to love you just as much. All she knows is that she would give her life for you. The beacon of light in her dreary life.

Maybe she can love you.

just as much.

Not sure if you guys wanted to be tagged, but I wanted y’all to know my slow ass finally posted part two

@lift-heavy-be-gay @adora-moonshine

#sevika x reader #arcane x reader #sevika x you #sevika fluff #sevika my love #sevika x female reader #lgbtq #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane #sevika headcanon #sevika smut #sevika arcane #sevika angst #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane art #arcane au

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goooofy-goooober1121 · 2 days ago

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TWST Boys And Their Love Languages

It’s late and I can’t sleep so onto headcanons I go!!! These are pretty general because love languages are for everyone, not just romantic interests :P

My ask box is open!!! Pls pls pls request!! (Just read my guidelines first!!!)

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts

- Acts of Service

- Riddle grew up in a shitty household

- I wrote a lot about it here but his experiences with his mother in short left him emotionally stunted

- Therefore I don’t imagine words or open expressions of affection to be easy for him

- Also I believe that the way he was raised greatly impacted his idea of what love— in any form— should be

- Riddle was only ever shown warmth and affection when his actions reflected positively — this made him see affection as only ever expressed/earned through actions, not words or anything else

- I’d imagine that ingrained itself in him very deeply

- Also there’s this one part where at the start of Book 2 he straighten’s MC’s tie and I imagine that’s how he shows he cares for someone (post Overblot at least)

- Quiet moments where he does something that shows he’s paying attention to whoever he’s focusing on

Trey Clover

- Trey tends to take a lot of responsibility for his loved ones

- We see it a lot in Riddle’s overblot, where he laments that he should have done something to stop him or help him before it was too late (it was something like that, forgive me if I’m a little off lol but I’m pretty sure he felt guilt for being unable to help him despite having kept an eye on him for so long)

- This leads me to believe that his love language is expressed through either quality time or acts of service

- Quality Time because he just comes off as the type of dude to enjoy being around those he cares for and sees it as a moment in itself, whether it be at unbirthday parties or just baking something with others

- Acts of Service because like… everything in his character says so?? He spent so long taking care of Riddle (even if it was from a distance)— he definitely feels like responsibility for others is a way of support/affection and service is how he expresses that value

Cater Diamond

- Words of Affirmation!!!

- Sure he’ll say it like he’s reading out an Instagram caption

- but I can for sure see words as his primary love language!!!

- throughout the game we for sure see him to be very affectionate with his words

- but then we also think about what’s underneath him being all cheery and stuff and I think that he may also appreciate Quality Time

- I think he would find appreciation in moments of silence or just times where he gets to spend time with people

- but he won’t be very vulnerable if it’s someone he doesn’t know or trust all that well

Ace Trappola

- Are petty insults a love language

- I feel like he’s a dick but like in an affectionate way

- I mean if I had to choose a serious one tho…

- we know that Ace for sure has a strong sense of justice

- Even if sometimes not for himself but for others

- Like he skipped out on the MC in the prologue but also stood up to Riddle both on his own behalf and the behalf of his dorm mates

- But I also get the impression that Ace really doesn’t like to be alone?

- Like how often do we see him hanging out by himself? I feel like whenever he pops up in the story he’s either with someone or on his way to come see the MC

- Therefore he comes off to me like a Physical Touch/Quality Time type of guy

Deuce Spade (Spoilers for Book 6)

- I’m basing this off the interactions he had with Epel when Epel earned his signature spell

- Idk I feel like Deuce was mad supportive like yasss Words of Affirmation!!!

- He’s also just always been a hype man lowkey

- plus I’m putting Acts of Service for him because he devotes a lot of time to acting better than he was to show his love and appreciation for his mom

- Pro tip: if he treats his mom right he’ll treat you right

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar

- Physical touch and Quality Time

- Leona’s a pretty closed off guy, so I wouldn’t say that he would so openly express himself with words

- But I don’t doubt that he shows others that he cares for them by hanging around them all quiet like

- Don’t mention it to him he’ll get pissy at you for pointing it out

- BUT

- here’s where we get to look into lion patterns

- a lion’s main form of expressing affection is through mutual grooming, cuddling, and resting together!

- therefore… me personally…. I think he’s a cuddle bug at heart

Ruggie Bucchi

- Now I could say Acts of Service for him but not for the reasons you think

- I know that a lot of people would say “oh duh because he does everything for Leona”

- And it’s true that a lot of Ruggie’s actions are done because he’s getting something out of it (as seen with his relationship with Leona)

- But love of any kind should not be transactional. If it is transactional, then it isn’t love. That’s just a pattern of behavior

- That being said if we look at his backstories we see that he’s big on taking care of the kids in his neighborhood + his grandma

- So that’s why I’ll give him Acts of Service

- If we want to add a factor congruent with his beastman side, this also sort of makes sense

- Hyenas tend to be more submissive towards their possible mates so if he were to be crushing on someone I’d see it as him doing things for them consistently and then retreating to his own little bubble like nothing happened

- Male hyenas do tend to have this ‘approach-avoid’ style of behavior where they’ll get close/do things to show interest in their mate and then back off so

- Blud would sprint out of there in an instant

Jack Howl

- Another strong/silent type

- we do see that he gets pretty outspoken with words when he’s passionate but he’s also see he’s pretty shy with his vocabulary

- and he also has that whole tough guy thing going on where he acts like he doesn’t gaf (he really really really gaf)

- Wolves on an instinctual level show affection by licking and grooming each other

- But obviously he’s not just a wolf lol

- I’m thinkiiiiiing Quality Time primarily then!! Maybe a dash of Physical Touch

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto

- Entrapment

- lol jk (unless?)

- No but seriously. His love language would be gift giving

- I was reading the vignette for his Maquillaville card (idk if I spelled that right) and he had this whole thing where he wanted to choose this antique tea set because he knew it would be a high quality item to provide for his customers

- I believe it would be the same for those he cared about

- And I believe he would also like to show off his success and what he’s earned (it’s an ego thing let him have his moment) especially after all the bullying he endured as a kid

- even if he might be a little stingy

Jade Leech

- Acts of Service

- Like idk he just has the vibes

- He usually looks after Floyd iirc

- and often times is regarded as the more responsible one

- I just think Acts of Service fits him very well

- Even if he’s just as unhinged as Floyd is

Floyd Leech

- Physical touch

- Listen bro he really likes to squeeze

- I think physical touch is a major love language for him, especially with his frequent mood swings

- as someone who also experiences emotions very powerfully sometimes it’s easier to find comfort in touch rather than anything else

- but if he’s in a good mood I think quality time would be pretty valid too!

- would probably drag you along with him to be silly (that means anything from acting stupid or committing several crimes)

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim

- Ohhhh boy do I have a bit to say about this

- we could really easily say gift giving and move on cause he’s a rich boy

- but that would be ignoring his actual character lol

- even if he definitely is a fan of giving gifts

- I wrote a little drabble about it here

- Because let’s think about it— Kalim was super sheltered! His only friend was literally Jamil. Like he knew that he could never trust just anyone and was made to accept it all

- Which is why I think the reason he’s so enamored with parties is because he gets to be around people and feel like he’s part of something

- Leading me to believe that at his core, Kalim’s greatest love language is Quality Time

- oh and also physical touch don’t ask why he just has the vibes

Jamil Viper

- Again we could say ‘acts of service’ and move on

- But like is that fair to his character?

- Like Riddle, Jamil was sort of conditioned into a specific way of showing care (even if in Jamil’s case it isn’t genuine) through acts of service

- I can’t help but wonder where that fabricated expression ends and where the real thing begins

- I recall somewhere that his dream, if he were not trapped in servitude, would be to travel the world and study ruins

- And I think that would pair nicely with Quality Time as his love language

- I think that if he were to be close to someone it wouldn’t really be conducive to show his affections through acts of service— especially since most of his exhibitions of this trait are portrayed mostly as obligations rather than nature to him

- So I think that being able to spend time with them instead would be more enjoyable for him

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit

- I think he’s between Words of Affirmation and Quality Time

- We see that he minces no words at all ever

- I think that if he truly cared for someone he would definitely show it through what he says

- Again in his Maquillaville event, I remember him bringing up that him and his dad have designated days to spend time together so they don’t grow apart

- side note that’s really sweet

- anyways

- Since he is so busy being an actor/influencer/housewarden, Quality Time would be a very important love language to him

Rook Hunt

- Stalking.

- oh and Acts of Service I guess

- Rook does things for others when he finds them worth acting for

- therefore he most definitely shows his affection through his actions

- and of course words of affirmation

- he also doesn’t hold back on expressing verbally how much he cares/admires someone so like

- careful he might build a shrine of you

Epel Felmier

- Acts of Service

- Like Ace he has a strong sense of justice

- And he really really wants to prove himself on his own terms

- therefore I think Acts of Service would be best fitted, along with Gift Giving

- like how when someone (I don’t remember who) complimented his apple carving, he was like “oh but I can make you one!!! I can teach you!!!”

- also him bringing all the great stuff from his hometown during the VDC arc

- simply makes sense

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud

- He calls you his kitten

- /hj

- I think with Idia he’s pretty shy. So Words of Affirmation might not work with him

- And gift giving may not be super in character for him

- Also he never leaves his room so tf kind of acts of service is he giving anyone?

- If anything I would say Quality Time (he’s in the board game club, so hanging out with people is at least somewhat enjoyable for him + he has Ortho to be near him all the time)

- but I’m 50/50 on physical touch. I feel like he’d either love it or hate it

- Maybe he’s like a cat? Only likes to be touched when he decides he will like to be touched at the moment

Ortho Shroud (strictly platonic)

- Acts of Service

- Hello??? I read this one vignette and two guys insulted Idia in it

- you know what he did???

- HE SHOT A LASER BEAM AT THEM

- AND GOT SAD THAT HE MISSED

- Ortho’s a real one

- No. 1 ride or die

- Definitely an Acts of Service dude

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia

- Malleus knows his loved ones will fade away before he does

- Even if it doesn’t fully set in for him until Book 7

- therefore I think he’s Quality Time.

- don’t get me wrong, he would raze entire kingdoms for the people he loves

- but I think that after being lonely for so long and on top of that understanding that everyone he loves doesn’t have as much time as he does, I think he’d want to spend as much time as possible beside them

Lilia Vanrouge (Book 7 Spoilers)

- He’s an old man

- he knows a lot of things

- he’s seen a lot of things

- I think that his style is Acts of Service (he’s willing to do anything, like how he promises he’ll protect Malleus for Maleanora before she died)

- and like Malleus, Quality Time

- he knows he has more time than his human son but less time than his fae son

- so he wants to be around as much as he can before he retreats and lives the rest of his days out by himself

Silver Vanrouge

- I think he most definitely is a physical touch type of guy

- literally there is no other way to describe it than narcolepsy, and that takes away a lot of experiences with loved ones

- therefore I think his love language is Physical Touch because it’s kinda like something you can always do, even when you’re asleep

- I love him :(

Sebek Zigvolt

- yelling

- jk acts of service

- another shy guy

- I think he prefers to show affection through actions

- we see it a lot with how he acts around Malleus

- very devoted

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hmhas-00 · 9 hours ago

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Ch. 34

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- uuhhh ohhhh!🥲 Sorry, can’t hear y’all over my own SCREAMING because my drafts are sooo READY for you lately. I love to read all your comments and messages so much btw! 🩷😤

Billie’s POV

I opened my eyes, allowing them to adjust to the bright rays of sunlight coming in through the little window. To my right, was a passed out Remy, using my arm as a pillow, with the covers all the way up to her neck.

When I finally regained full awake consciousness, my stomach sank.

It was the morning after.

Fuck.

I was supposed to be home before 8pm last night. I promised Ellie.

I quickly, but carefully, got out of bed, cautious not to wake Remy up, and searched all over the place for my phone.

My phone was no where in sight.

I rush to grab my shoes off the floor, and my keys off the nightstand, trying not to waste any more time. I quietly close her bedroom door behind me and leave a note on her fridge, letting her know I went home, and to call me when she wakes up.

If I ever found my phone, I thought.

I immediately race back to my house, cussing myself out while speeding and weaving through cars on the highway, knowing it’s too late either way.

I pull into my garage, running inside the house, probably looking like a hot mess. The only thing I care about is apologizing to Ellie for breaking my promise.

“Ellie?” I look around, my voice echoing through the halls. Not a soul in the living room, not even a sound. No one in the kitchen, no one in the backyard.

I hurry up the stairs, going straight into my room, only to see a ton of clothing items scattered all over my bed, and all over the floor.

“Babe?” I peek around the corner.

“Hey, love.” I see Ellie in the master bathroom, putting a bunch of her things in a huge, reusable bag.

She looks up at me, then back down at her stuff.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I walk in, confused about the mess.

She doesn’t reply, she just gets off the floor and closes the cabinet doors, walking over to my bed. She places the bag next to a large, open suitcase, and begins to fill it with her clothes.

“Ellie, talk to me, why are you packing all your things?” I furrow my brows, freaking out a little bit. This can’t be happening.

She ignores me, walking back and forth from different areas of my room, taking her belongings, and throwing them on the bed.

“Ellie! Stop! Talk to me, please!” I grab her arm, wanting her to just tell me what’s going on.

“I’m done. I’m not doing this with you.” She resisted my pull, “Let go of me! I’m getting my shit and I’m leaving, Billie.”

I let go of her, staring as she walks back into my closet to grab her shoes.

“Ellie, please, I know I didn’t come home in time, but I can explain, just let me tell you-“

She cut me off, turning to face me. “You weren’t just late, Billie, you fucking stayed the night! It’s 10 in the morning!”

“I know, I fell asleep— I swear, I didn’t mean to!”

“Yeah, right.” She scoffs, throwing more things in the suitcase, not bothering to fold any of the clothes before shoving them wherever they fit.

“What do you think happened?” I follow her around.

“If you think I’m really that stupid—“

“Ellie, I swear to you, we just lost track of time! She was completely breaking down, and I just wanted to—“

“You wanted to what? Make her feel better? Take care of her?” She looked furious, her eyes darker than usual, and her brows arched. I can tell she wants to say more, but being hurtful isn’t her style.

“I was comforting her, I was just trying to be a good friend! That’s all it was!” I follow her around as she paces the room.

“She needed me! She’s going through a lot right now, El! I couldn’t just leave her like that. I wanted to wait till she fell asleep first before—” My words came out so fast, hoping she’d believe me.

“I needed you! I’m your girlfriend! Not her!” She raised her voice. “You’re about to leave me for months and all I wanted to do was spend one day with you! Alone, without Remy!”

I ran a hand through my hair, aggressively. “Ellie, stop packing, please!” I stood by her suitcase as she continued to fetch more belongings. “I swear to you, nothing happened! She couldn’t stop crying and—“

She ignored me, picking up her speed.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry that I didn’t come home last night, like I promised. Please, baby, forgive me. It won’t ever happen again!” My heart ached. I could feel myself losing her.

“I stayed up until two o’clock in the morning for you, Billie, I waited for you! You promised me you’d be home last night!”

“I’m sorry, baby! I fucked up—“

“You have no idea how it felt, knowing you— Ugh! Knowing you slept in her bed, and I was here, making up scenarios in my head, thinking of the worst!”

I begin to take things out of her suitcase, desperate to stop her. “Baby, please, just stop packing. Let’s talk about this!”

“No! I’m fucking done, Billie! I can’t take this anymore!” She yells, yanking her clothes out of my hands.

She pointed her dainty, freshly manicured fingers at me, “I’m not going to compete with your friend, I’m just so not that type of girl!”

“Compete with— What are you talking about, Ellie!” I furrow my brows, my arms held out in bafflement, as if I didn’t cause this myself.

“Oh, fucking please, Billie.” She forced the rest of her stuff into the suitcase, struggling to zip it up.

“There’s no comparison, Rem- Fuck! I mean Ellie!”

She rolled her eyes, pointing at me again, shouting, “See! There it is!”

“No— We’re literally talking about Remy right now, that’s the only reason I— God, Ellie! Just please, don’t leave! I’ll do anything! I swear, I didn’t mean to—“

“I’m done! I told you, I’m not doing this anymore!” She refused to listen, putting all of her anger towards shutting the suitcase, and pulling it off the bed, onto the ground for her to roll.

I stood in front of her, walking backwards as she pushed forward, toward the hallway. I shut my bedroom door, standing in front of it.

“Billie, get out of my way! I mean it!” She yelled.

“No.” I supplicated, my eyes fogging up my vision.

“I’m serious, move!”

“Ellie, you can’t just leave like this! We can talk about it!”

She reached for the doorknob before I could block it. I grabbed her arm, trying to keep her from opening it, pushing all of my weight into the door. I began to tear up, feeling hopeless, feeling desperate.

“You have to believe me, baby. Nothing happened! I would never do anything to hurt you!” I shouted, my chest aching.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home, I’m sorry I didn’t call— I honestly don’t even know where my phone is and—“

She stopped, backing away from the door, taking a deep breath.

“Do you have feelings for Remy?” Her voice firm, calmer than before.

I stood still, my insides turning into ice.

“Do you, Billie?” She waited for my answer, her eyes burning holes in mine.

“No.” I lied, my heart pounding out of my chest.

She nodded her head.

I began to walk towards her, thinking she believed me. But I was wrong. God, was I so wrong.

She pulled my phone out of her back pocket. My blood ran cold, knowing exactly what this was all about.

“You lied to me.” Her voice was soft as she burst into tears.

“No, Ellie, baby—“ I panicked, sprinting into damage control mode. “Don’t cry, please.” I begged, as tears streamed out of my own eyes.

She handed me the phone. “It was still in my fanny pack after our hike. You forgot it.”

She opened it and showed me a message thread between Finneas and I, from a week ago. I told him all about Remy and I making up. We talked about my feelings for her and how they aren’t going away. About how I couldn’t stop comparing Remy and Ellie to each other. About how awful I felt, how horrible it was that I couldn’t shake those feelings.

She crossed her arms, dissolving into a puddle of tears. She stood by my bed, weeping into her hands, feeling defeated.

She knew. She wanted to see if I would lie to her.

I want to run over to her, hug her, and make her feel okay again. But, how could I do that when I’m the one who caused her so much pain.

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gwenyn28 · 2 days ago

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Since some people seem to struggle to understand the difference between facts and what is speculation or interpretation, here are a few things I think we should talk about concerning season 8b, especially episode 11.

What is a fact? What happened on the episode? What does this mean? What is commonly used in media and what is just interpretation or an assumption about it?

Fact: Eddie said it once and Buck twice that “Eddie is straight.”

From a screenwriting perspective, unfortunately “straight” is the default sexual orientation. It is always assumed that characters are straight unless it is stated otherwise.

Hen is shown as a lesbian from the beginning due to her marriage to Karen. Michael came out to Athena and also to the audience in season 1. Buck started to date a guy so he is at least seen as queer since his sexuality has not been explicitly addressed on the show yet. There was just a hint about the “in which pool he should dip into”. That he is bisexual is stated solely off screen in interviews; if it will ever be said on screen is unclear.

Now, let’s focus on Eddie and the statement that he is straight. The question is: Why would you need to say that? Nobody announced that Bobby, Athena, Chim or Maddie are straight in the show. Why is it said three times in such a short time span about Eddie? The explanation is very simple and can be circled back to a common narrative device - mention something that stands out as weird or different to come back to it later and to prove it to be wrong.

For example: In a crime movie let someone talk unprompted about the crime, asking questions about it just to show in the end that this person was the one who did it. Why would they talk about it otherwise? Normally a culprit would try to lay low and to not get any attention. So, that person mentioning the crime on their own unprompted leaves the viewer with the question “Wait a minute, that is weird… Maybe they have something to do with it.”

The same goes for the “Eddie is straight” phrase. Why would you mention it explicitly more than once if that was not something you need to circle back to? Like a narrator saying “In fact, he was not straight.”

Fact: Buck and Tommy spent the night together. Buck woke up alone but Tommy was already up and in the kitchen to make breakfast for them, suggesting that they might give their relationship another try.

Buck: Don’t worry. I know it doesn’t change anything. Tommy: Why not? Buck: What are you saying? Tommy: I’m saying… what are you doing on Saturday? Buck: You want to try again? Tommy: I mean I’m not ready to move in or anything. It kind of seems like you aren’t either. Buck: And you’re not scared I’m gonna break your heart anymore? Tommy: Not as much. Now that the competition’s out of the way.

Why would he use the word “competition”? That was intentional because we know writing in a tv show is always intentional. They don’t put up random words just to fill spaces. There is not enough time for that. And even though Tommy didn’t say the name, Buck knew that he was talking about Eddie after a moment of thinking. Which led him to the conclusion that Tommy saw Eddie as a competition.

Yes, I admit that you don’t have to read this in a romantic way. You can also see it purely platonically. But in the end it comes down to one fact. Eddie and Buck are friends first. Best friends. Your ex-boyfriend you just hooked up with thinks that this man is his competition. That he can just be in a relationship with you when said man is gone. So he is no competition anymore for your attention or something else.

We know how important Eddie is for Buck. So suggesting “hey, I feel threatened by your best friend and I am happy that he is gone” (not to forget that Tommy bought Champagne to probably celebrate the night they spent together, as well maybe them getting back together) is a very shitty move. No matter if Buck has feelings for Eddie or not in a romantic way… but they are friends. And his ex wanting his best friend gone, even celebrating it? How can Buck accept that and get back together with a person who will probably always feel threatened by Eddie? Buck is living in his house and they talk regularly even though they are apart for now. (And we know that Eddie will be back later in the season.) What does Tommy expect to happen even if he thinks that Eddie stays in Texas for good? He would probably want Buck to choose between him and Eddie, that Buck should distance himself from his best friend. And that is never a good foundation for a working and healthy relationship.

We get it even explicitly told later on in the conversation with Maddie when Buck said that “I understand him feeling threatened by what me and Eddie have…”

Fact: Tommy scoffs when Buck told him that Eddie is straight.

You usually scoff when you don’t believe what the other person is telling you. When you think they are wrong, on purpose or not. And exactly that is what is happening here. Buck might be convinced in that moment that Eddie is straight but Tommy is not. Therefore he can’t hold back and scoffs at Buck saying it, insisting on it, even slightly rolling his eyes.

To read a bit deeper into it, even though that is pure interpretation now, you could say that Tommy might see himself in Eddie in that particular situation. We know that he came out later in life, being engaged to Abby before. Tommy and Eddie have spent some time together in the beginning. So he might have seen Eddie acting in ways that looked familiar. Like how Tommy behaved and talked when he was still in the closet, still denying his true sexuality. Therefore his assumption that Eddie might not be as straight as Buck thinks he is.

Fact: Buck said “I don’t have to want to sleep with everyone I have feelings for. And I don’t have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.”

Let’s focus on the second part first. This is about Tommy who also understands that this is about him because of his immediate reaction. He takes a step back and he closes himself off. He acknowledges that Buck says that just because they slept together last night it doesn’t mean that he has any feelings for Tommy. Because he can sleep with someone without having them. And we know that he definitely can do that when we remember how Buck slept around a lot in the beginning of the show (even though he might have done that because he was looking for something meaningful). So, Buck made it clear that the night was nice but it doesn’t have to mean a thing and… actually, it doesn’t. It was just them sleeping together. Later in the conversation with Maddie he even admits that he was just using him as a distraction (see more about that down below).

Now, the first part of that sentence is more up for interpretation. Buck says that just because he has feelings for someone doesn’t mean that he has to automatically sleep with them. If we remember season 1 and his time with Abby… it took a while for them to sleep with each other. First they got to know each other over the phone and Buck developed feelings for her. So, this can be read as “sex is just a means to get some relief and because he likes doing it. But if he has feelings for someone, the focus on sex is shifting. It becomes more meaningful and not just something he jumps into carelessly.”

Fact: In 8x06 Tommy broke up with Buck, using the words “I’m your first, not your last.”

Before getting to the conversation with Maddie this is worth mentioning here. Because this fits into the whole narrative that was written around Tommy. He calls Eddie his competition and only without him being there he can be in a relationship with Buck. Which means that he probably also saw Eddie as the competition during the six months he and Buck were together. This sheds a certain light onto the first/last comment. Tommy made it very clear in the conversation with Buck the morning after their hook up that he felt threatened by Eddie’s presence in Buck’s life. Which can be read as that his comment during the break up was about Eddie. That Tommy might have been Buck’s first, but that Eddie would be his last in Tommy’s opinion. Because he thinks that there is something going on between them (otherwise he would not feel threatened by Eddie and wouldn’t have scoffed at the straight comment) and this might be what leads to Buck breaking his heart. Therefore, he ended it before that could happen.

Fact: In that kitchen scene Buck and Maddie talked about the possibility of Buck having feelings for Eddie.

Buck: I mean what’s that even supposed to mean? I’m living in Eddie’s old house, therefore I must be in love with him? Maddie: Are you? Buck: In love with Eddie? Maddie: It wouldn’t be so crazy. Buck: Except I’m not. As much as everyone seems to want me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend, it isn’t just like that. I mean does not having him in my life - and in the field - leave a big hole? Yes, it does. Sure.

It is a fact that Buck said that he is not in love with Eddie and that it is not like he is pining for him.

Now, let’s interpret or better explain that.

Why did they talk about this in the first place? Why mention the thing that Tommy brought up the morning after Buck and him hooked up? Why not just talk about Tommy? If the goal was to make these two get back together, the whole conversation would have been solely about Tommy and what they did and what and how Buck feels about it. And how to move on, considering Tommy’s “offer” for a second try. To get back together somehow or at least to dive deeper into Buck’s feelings for his ex. But instead, for the first time in the show, the question was brought up if Buck was in love with Eddie and that it wouldn’t be that crazy.

There are three things worth mentioning here.

1. Nobody, neither Maddie nor Tommy, has used the word “love” before. This came from Buck who used that word, who drew the conclusion subconsciously about the whole exchange with Tommy that this was about him being in love with Eddie. Not “having feelings for him”, “having a crush on him” or “seeing him as more than a friend”. No, it was the word “love” that was used. And that is a very meaningful word. It doesn’t even stop there because he talks about pining for his “straight” (see the importance above) best friend who left a big hole in his life because of his move to Texas. He didn’t even give a clear answer to Maddie’s question. He could easily have said “No, I am not. I see him as a friend/brother.” And that would have been the end of it. But instead his reply was more a deflection. “Are you in love? - He is straight.” Leaves one thinking about this.

2. And about the pining part… Buck says “as much as everyone seems to want me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend, it just isn’t like that.” Who is everyone? Nobody has said anything about him and Eddie before. Tommy is the first who brings up potential feelings for Eddie, nobody has ever voiced anything that comes close to these “accusations”. So, again. This is a connection made up in Buck’s mind, similar with the “love”. Nobody has mentioned either of these things before. This might be just an assumption but maybe he talks about “everyone” because deep down he has feelings and thinks that it is obvious for everyone. So that is why he refers to everyone in his statement.

3. Since wording stuff in a particular way is so important and is always intentional it has a deeper meaning that the question about “being in love with Eddie” is brought up in such an explicit way. Doing this is exactly the same that happens when Eddie’s straightness is mentioned so many times. It is for the casual viewer outside of any fandom. The seed is planted and the viewer starts to question “Wait a minute… could he be in love with Eddie? Is that an option?” For the first time, the thought is out there for them to consider it. About Buck and Eddie maybe becoming a thing, being in love with each other. They are clued in and start to think about the possibility, maybe they even start to look out for further clues in any upcoming episodes.

Worth mentioning here is also the fact that Buck said “I understand him feeling threatened by what me and Eddie have but… he seemed so relieved he was gone. It pissed me off. It felt like he was accusing me. Is this what he’s been thinking the whole time we were together?” That is a fact that this was said on the show.

This is directly circling back to the words Tommy used in that prior scene the morning after when he talked about Eddie being a competition and which makes the conversation with Maddie more about Eddie than about Tommy. And how much Tommy is convinced that Eddie could be and probably has been a threat to his relationship with Buck.

Also, let’s not forget another important thing here. The common romcom tropes. People might say “But Buck said that he has no feelings. So the possibility is definitely shut down.” This is not how these tropes work. Two people can be friends for years and then they start developing feelings for each other. Or realize they have had these already without being aware of them. They always are in denial at first because they are convinced that starting a relationship could ruin their friendship. So, they try not to dive into this, to deny that there are feelings involved.

Take Jess and Nick from New Girl for example. Happened with them as well. And there are many other tv couples that started as friends and before they got together they denied their feelings until something happened and they finally took the risk.

Fact: Buck suggested that maybe he should call Tommy to apologize.

Buck: I should call him. Maddie: Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying. It’s not like he moved to Mars. Buck: No, not Eddie. I mean I will call him but… Tommy. I should apologize. He’s probably right. I was using him as a distraction so I didn’t have to feel alone. Maddie: Not the best reason to get back together with someone. Buck: No.

Buck thought about calling Tommy, yes. But not to make up with him, to apologize and to tell Tommy that he was wrong. That there was nothing going on with him and Eddie. That he wanted to try it again with him. To give them a second chance. Nothing was said that could lead to the assumption that he wanted to call him for any of that.

No, he just felt bad about using him as a rebound. Because he felt lonely. That Eddie’s absence had a huge impact on him. (Let’s not forget that he said Eddie’s name 15 times alone in that episode. That is an all time high, the only episode Buck said Eddie’s name almost as much was in 7x04). Buck even admitted that Tommy was probably right even though he did not explain about what exactly. One could read into this that Buck agreed with Tommy about having feelings for Eddie though this is definitely just an assumption. But even this assumption aside, that part of the conversation Buck had with Maddie is only about him feeling guilty of using Tommy. That is how to read that exchange. Nothing else.

In the next episodes it is not even mentioned if he did call him to apologize (or rekindle). On the contrary. We see Buck in these next two episodes having meaningful facetime calls with Eddie instead to support him and to be there for him. While Tommy or calling him isn’t even mentioned at all.

_____

Let’s sum it all up then. After Eddie left Buck misses him and he feels lonely that he can’t stop talking and thinking about him. Then he runs into Tommy and sees him as a nice way to distract himself from that. So that he doesn’t have to think about the hole Eddie left in his life. There are no real feelings towards Tommy involved anymore. He just feels sorry that he was using him the next day.

Meanwhile Tommy is ready to jump back into bed with Buck and to even go further towards restarting their relationship because Eddie is gone and he doesn’t have to feel threatened anymore. Because Eddie was seen as a threat during their relationship, that he would probably be the reason for Buck to break up with him.

There is not much room left for interpretation. This is what happened on screen. I tried to put up as few as possible assumptions, mostly trying to base the explanations on facts and common screenwriting means and storytelling tropes.

_____

Honorable mention:

I know we should not put too much weight into interviews because they are just partly reliable since a. the people can lie with what they say and b. they don’t know the full story yet or the story changes between the interview and episode. But still there are certain quotes that support what I explained above. So that it is not far fetched to either draw these conclusion or explain it in a certain way.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s going to be moving to what’s in his future. And look, Tommy is in Buck’s romantic past for sure.” Tim Minear, November 14th, TV Fanatic

“But series creator Tim Minear said Episode 11 is not meant to shut down the shippers once and for all — no matter how insistent they are on making Buddie happen.” Tim Minear, March 20th, The Wrap

“It makes sense for his boyfriend to notice, you moved into the guy’s house and really he takes up a lot of space in your world and I think you might be in love with him, and Buck protests and kind of knocks that down. And also when Maddie asks him flat out, he says, it’s not like that. So you can either believe Buck or you don’t have to. It’s up to you.” Tim Minear, March 20th, TV Insider

“He’s telling his truth in the moment, for sure. I don’t think he’s trying to lie and hide anything from [Maddie],” he says. “He’s never even considered this before. He’s telling his truth, for sure in that moment. This is something that’s been brought to him from Tommy and something that he was not, as I say, having any kind of prior thoughts about.” Oliver Stark, March 20th, TV Insider

“is this really about the fact that do I really want to be back with Tommy or am I trying to fill a void in my heart because my best friend just left and moved away?” Aisha Hinds, March 20th, TV Insider

“You run into an ex, and you're in a place where you could just use some company and some distraction, and sort of one thing leads to another.” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“And it was also important for me to have Buck say, "Look, I don't have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for, and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with," which is a direct reference to who Buck was in the first season or so.” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“The truth of the matter is, Buck is using Tommy as a distraction for the turmoil he's going through.” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“Tommy has a function in this universe that isn't just to be Buck's bed buddy” Tim Minear, March 22nd, Entertainment Weekly

“And I think in that episode, Buck even realizes, "Maybe I'm not interacting with Tommy here for the right reasons." And then obviously he's kind of a d*ck to Tommy in the way that he handles that conversation, and it's obviously because he's so taken aback, but he's kind of rude in what he says to Tommy. So I think for the most part, he probably has gone some way to shutting that door regardless of what he would want.” Oliver Stark, March 24, Screenrant

#911 abc #911 on abc #anti tommy kinard #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #anti bucktommy #episode analysis #post episode 11 #season 8 analysis

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clovenroses · 21 hours ago

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I WANNA BE YOUR DOG CH. 9/10

Puppy’s interests take a darker turn.

Chapter tags: CNC, heavy degradation/humiliation, victim blaming, coercion/blackmail/threats (for the sake of the scene), 1 face slap, crying, generally rough treatment, bondage, switch!Rio at the end :o

A/N: Please be aware that this is your last warning and this chapter is pretty rough for the first half or so. This means that at no point are there any proper check ins during the scene, words like stop and no are outright mocked and ignored, and of course, it is rather rough. This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea which is more than fine but for those of you who were waiting, I hope I can live up to those expectations!

Obviously there will be discussion prior to anything happening and full consent is given, but this is still a cnc based chapter so read with caution.

I do not condone sexual misconduct of any kind irl and this is simply a work of fantasy and fiction and we shouldn’t look too deep into my psyche to find out why I’m like this!

Enjoy you little freaks <3

~C&R

————18+————

“Something’s bothering you.” You looked up at Agatha from where your head was resting in her lap. You had been watching a movie, but she had been watching you. More specifically, she had been watching your mind working over an idea.

“Nothings bothering me, I’m just thinking.”

Rio slung her legs over the arm of the couch, leaning back and resting her head on your chest. “About what?”

A warm feeling spread through your chest and face. Ever since Rio and Agatha had started sharing you with their friends, a whole new world of kinks had been opened up to you. There was one thing you desperately wanted to try, but didn’t know how to vocalize.

“Just…stuff,” you muttered lamely. Neither woman bought your bluff. Fishing the remote out of the cushions, Agatha paused your movie and sat up.

“Pet, you know you can talk to us, right? Are you alright?” The genuine concern in Agatha’s tone made your heart both flutter with affection but also clench, knowing that you had inadvertently worried her.

“I promise I’m okay,” you reassured her, your fingers tracing over the bones in her knees.

“Are you thinking about boobs? That would be really gay.” Rio poked you in the side so you playfully kicked at her. She caught your foot with ease and parried, almost sending your ankle into the coffee table.

“Do we need to have the roughhousing conversation again? Was one broken table not enough for you two?” You and Rio shared a sheepish smile at the mention of the other table Agatha used to have that had been broken when Rio decided she wanted to chase you around the house like a wild animal.

“I’m still sorry about that,” you said quietly. Agatha ruffled your hair and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“It’s alright, pet. I needed a new one anyway. The last one was fugly. Now, tell me, what’s on my pretty girl’s mind?” Agatha’s guided your hair aside and began placing open mouthed kisses up your shoulder, to your neck, and up to the juncture of your throat and jaw. A whimper filled the room when her incisors snapped at the sensitive flesh.

“Come on, baby. You know we would do anything to make you happy.” Rio’s hands splayed out over your stomach, caressing your waist and hips. Your breathing quickened when you saw the lustful look in her amber eyes.

“I want…I want to try something,” you gasped out as Agatha’s hand reached under the ‘I heart hot moms’ shirt that Rio had bought you.

Palming your breast, Agatha guided your body up until you were straddling Rio’s thigh. “Tell us more, pet.” Rio’s hands took over Agatha’s job and the older brunette took hold of your hips, determining the pace at which you could grind against Rio. Of course, she chose a slow, teasing rhythm.

“Consensual non-consent.” Your words hung heavy in the room and for a moment, you were worried your interests had gone too far and you’d finally found the limit of what your girlfriends would do for you.

Any and all concern was obliterated when Rio let out a throaty moan before capturing your lips with hers. You could feel Agatha’s hands tighten around your waist as she allowed you to take what you needed from Rio without her assistance.

“Is that really what you want, pup?” Agatha pressed herself up against your back and you could feel her nipples through the thin material of her shirt. “We won’t go easy on you.”

“Yes, I want you to just take me.”

Those words lit a fire in the two women sandwiching you and they decided that what their puppy wants, their puppy gets.

———————————————————————

“First and foremost, I want to make it clear that at any point, any of us can use the safeword and stop this whole thing.” Agatha’s serious tone didn’t match the comfy sweater she had knitted, the old college branded sweats she wore and the large frame glasses that balanced delicately at the tip of her nose.

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and Agatha had called a house meeting to discuss the newfound interest. Communication would be paramount but with so many lines about to be blurred, it would be hard to effectively convey your true feelings while inside of such an intense scene.

“We’ll still use the traffic light system, but we’ll do it a bit differently.” You looked up at Agatha curiously. “Instead of us checking in with you, to maintain the scene, you’ll be in charge of monitoring yourself and your comfort levels. If you ever feel like you can’t handle that, let us know and we can take a break.” You nodded along as you processed the information and tried not to lose the foot wrestling match that Rio was challenging you to understand the table.

“Remember, everything we say or do to you is not a reflection of how we actually feel about you,” Rio gently reminded you. “I might say something mean, but it’s not real.”

“I know. Thank you.” You reached out to Rio and squeezed her hand. With the rules of engagement set, Agatha and Rio set off to prepare for that evening’s session.

——————————————-

Fear pumped through your veins. Your bosses had called you to their office (Agatha’s home office) to “talk,” something they had never done before. You wracked your mind trying to think of what you could’ve possibly done to incur their infamous wrath. When you reached the imposing wooden door, you raised your fist to knock, ruing the way your body shook.

“Come in,” A cold voice commanded. With one last deep breath, you pushed through the door and shut it behind you. Standing before you was Senator Vidal and Senator Harkness, looking every bit as terrifying as you had imagined they would.

Senator Vidal stood to the left, clad in an all black suit and tie combo with her hair bound in a claw clip At the back of her head. To her right was Senator Harkness, sporting her classic untamed hair and a violet pantsuit that had no business looking as good as it did hugging her curves.

Agatha’s office was heavy with an unspoken tension. Unsure of what to do, your rocked back and forth on your heels, your eyes never leaving the floor out of fear that if they did, you may break down. Rio spoke first, serious and low.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“No, Senator,” you answered quickly.

“Why don’t you have a seat, hon.” Agatha pointed to the chair in front of her desk. Her words were less of an offer or inquiry and more of a shrouded command which you obeyed. In time with each other, the two senators sank into their respective chairs.

“Let’s get straight into it.” Rio’s callous voice sent a shiver down your whole body. “We received some,” she added in a pause for dramatic effect, “troubling images from one of our constituents.”

Nodding solemnly, Agatha slid her phone over to you with one of the photos that Carol had taken of you pulled up.

“That’s not me.” You said the first thing that came to mind to deny the allegations. The duo shared an unimpressed look.

“Are you calling us liars,” Agatha hissed, standing up from her chair and placing her hands on the table, leaning across it and glaring at you.

“No, I just mean there no way to prove that it’s me in those pictures!” Your success was short lived when Agatha swiped to the next photo which very clearly displayed your face but lacked any images of anything below the belt. Unfortunately, the background of the photos matched up perfectly and you know you’d been caught.

“Would you care to explain why we have an intern sleeping around parliment?” Suppressing a laugh at the irony of the scene, you gave Rio your best regretful face.

“I’m sorry, it just kind of happened and I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine anyone or anything!” Hot tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. Neither woman’s angry exterior cracked.

With a deep sigh, Agatha straightened up and came around to the front of her desk. “Do you understand how disappointing this is? I really thought you could have a bright future.”

“But now…” Rio trailed off, leaving you to infer the obvious. Using the backs of your hands you wiped away the tears that continued to build up. You hadn’t expected the reaction but it worked perfectly for the moment.

“Hey, it’s okay, hon. Come here.” Agatha’s face softened and she waved you forward, pulling you into a comforting embrace. You were too shocked to hug her back, not entirely sure that this was really happening. Your surprise morphed into discomfort what Agatha’s hands slipped lower, leaving your back and coming down to your waist. She hugged you tighter and when you tried to pull away, her hand reached down and grabbed your ass.

“We’ll get this all figured out, pet.” A new tone had slipped into the older woman’s voice. Something clever and mischievous, bordering on malicious.

“Ms. Harkness, what are you doing,” you gasped, wriggling against her grip, face flushed with embarrassment. Agatha didn’t answer you. She just laughed and repeated the action, this time a little firmer. That sinister sound made your blood run cold.

“You can’t touch me like that, I could lose my job!” Trying to push the woman away, you realized that she was far stronger than you had anticipated.

“You’re going to lose your job if you don’t let me touch you like this.” The threat was enough to give you pause, but not enough to manipulate your moral compass.

“Get off of me, please!” You managed to pry Agatha’s hand off of your ass but the freedom was short lived. Rio came up behind you, pressing into your back and trapping you between the two women.

“Come on, you know you want this. A slut like you probably dreams of something like this happening.” The words hurt almost as badly as Rio’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your shoulder. “You really only have yourself to blame.”

Once again, Agatha palmed your ass through your skirt, subtly dragging it up your thighs. “You can’t just walk around with an ass like this and expect people not to do something about it.”

“No, I just want to go home, please, I won’t tell anyone about this!” You tried desperately to reason with the duo, but with Rio holding you now, any escape efforts would be null and void.

“Oh honey, you’re so sweet. Hasn’t it clicked in that stupid little head of yours? This is happening.” Agatha reared back and slapped you across the face. You shouted in surprise, thrashing against Rio’s steadfast hold and trying your best to get away.

Resistance was futile, as evidenced by Rio slamming you into the nearest wall, her hand around your throat. “Stop fucking struggling you stupid bitch. You whored yourself out to Carol and now, you’re going to do the same for us.” Your skirt was shoved up around your waist, your shirt untucked and ripped open.

“A matching set? Really?” Agatha’s derided chuckle filled you with embarrassment while Rio’s predatory eyes raked over your lacy white bra and underwear, a perfectly clean slate to decimate.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You shook your head to Rio’s questions, but she seemed unimpressed. Disbelieving.

“Rio,” Agatha called in a smug tone, “looks like the little slut is enjoying this.” Pointing down to the dark wet patch that had spread at the front of your panties, you clenched your legs shut, covering your intimate area with your hands.

“I’m not, I swear!”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Rio sneered, yanking your underwear aside and sinking two fingers deep into your cunt. “I can’t believe a slut like you is still this tight. You’re going to feel amazing around my dick.”

“Please stop,” you pleaded helplessly as Rio set a steady, rhythmic pace. Still trapped between her and the wall, Rio was able to grind herself up against your body while she fingered you. The chokehold she had on you only intensified when tears streaked down your cheeks.

“That’s right, baby. Give up. Nobody’s gonna help you.” Rio’s eyes had morphed into blackened pools of desire.

Behind her, Agatha chuckled darkly. “Nobody even knows you need it.“

A third finger joined the first two and Rio’s palm began to rub against your clit. You tried over and over again to wriggle free but the longer Rio fucked you, the more you felt your legs liquidating.

“Please, don’t do this.” A single tear slipped down your face as you staved off your orgasm. You would not let them win.

“God, you really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Agatha cackled at how focused you looked on not giving in to the undeniable pleasure you were being forced into feeling.

“Stop fucking crying before I give you something to really cry about.” Rio’s fingers tightened around your throat and the ones inside you sped up, her knuckles catching on your entrance with each messy thrust. No matter how much you fought her, scratching at her hands or lamely kicking at her, Rio never let go. Her eyes danced with a feral delight that you had never seen before.

“You’re so close, aren’t you, pup?” You shook your head and tried to hide the way your walls clenched around Rio’s expert fingers.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” she growled, slipping in a fourth finger and rubbing the heel of her palm against your clit. “I can feel this slutty cunt of yours. You’re begging for it. You’re not gonna tell me no while you’re cumming all over my hand.”

Agatha skipped over from where she had been perching on her desk. “Is that true, pet? You’re going to cum from your boss taking advantage of you?” The half-stifled whine you let out put matching ear-to-ear grins on Agatha and Rio’s faces. By this time they both knew all your tells and what every reaction meant.

Rio had sunk fully into whatever headspace this was for her but Agatha seemed to be floating just at the surface of that ocean. Unable to help herself, she silently mouthed the question ‘color’ to you and between falsified pleas, you gave her a quick nod to indicate your comfort.

“Come on, you can do it,” Rio urged, curling her fingers against the front of your walls. You tried once more to push her off of you, but in doing so, your clit hit against her hand at just the right angle to trigger your orgasm. A sorrowful moan leaked out of your mouth as your cunt quivered around Rio’s digits. She didn’t bother helping you through it. Instead, she removed her fingers and wiped them off on your face, then took a handful of your hair and dragged you to the floor.

“Isn’t it your job as an intern to keep us happy?” Forcing your head up, Rio leered down at you.

“More or less,” Agatha hummed, bringing the pointed heel of her shoe down on your calf. She dug the sharp end into the muscle, immobilizing you.

“You know what would make me happy? Seeing these pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” There wasn’t time for you to bargain before Agatha took over holding your hair and her free hand forced your jaw open. The opportunity was seized immediately by Rio, who had already freed her cock from her pants. No warm-up time was permitted as Rio took your throat in an instant. Agatha held you still while her partner used you like a glorified sex toy.

“Fuck yeah, choke on it, bitch. You like sucking my cock, don’t you? Hey, put those fucking teeth away.” A few slaps to your hollowed cheeks made you retract the teeth you hadn’t even realized had scraped against Rio’s shaft.

Agatha pulled you off of Rio’s dick. “Say thank you.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, defiance burning bright for only a moment before Agatha bent over and excessively pinched your nipple, digging her nails in to add an additional layer of pain to the already agonizing sensation.

“Thank you,” you cried out, your body fighting against the inevitability of Agatha’s hold.

Sneering, Rio grabbed you by the face. “Thank you, what?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The senator’s hand drew back, the implication more than obvious. “For?”

“Thank you for letting me suck your cock, Sir!” Humiliation flooded your veins for what felt like the millionth time that night. Satisfied with the damage done, Rio shoved her dick back into your mouth and resumed her punishing pace.

“Get your filthy paws off of me,” she growled, slapping your hands off of where they had come to rest on her thighs. “You know what? Touch yourself. Make yourself cum while you suck me off.” In reality, nothing sounded better to you but for the sake of the scene, you scraped your nails down Rio’s thighs. It wasn’t much, but it was the only way you could really fight back.

“Ungrateful little shit,” Agatha growled, kicking your legs apart and sinking to her knees behind you. She managed to hook her ankles under and around yours, maintaining the exposed position she had put you in. Rio took back your hair and Agatha’s right arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush to her chest while her left dipped between your legs and into your underwear.

“You keep trying to resist us, but this little pussy of yours is soaked.” Biting down on the column of your neck, Agatha’s fingers danced across your throbbing clit. “Are you starting to enjoy this, pet?” You wanted to protest, to claim your innocence and blame it on biology, but the truth was, you were loving it. The dominance, the demanding demeanor, the ruthlessness and roughness all mashed together to create an irresistible high that you had to chase.

“I’m gonna cum in your mouth and you’re gonna swallow it all,” Rio stated as if it were the most benign concept and she wasn’t choking you with her dick. Still holding your head in place, the brunette thrust a few more times into your esophagus before you felt her warm seed spilling down your throat. You tried to regurgitate it, but with Rio’s shaft still lodged inside you, you had only provided an even better feeling for her and triggered a second slightly smaller orgasm.

When she finally allowed you to breathe properly again, your wet coughs were interspersed with choked moans as Agatha’s fingers circled your clit, sending white-hot pleasure through your system. You could feel the older woman’s hips grinding against you from behind, matching time with her digits slipping against you, covered in your own arousal.

“Are you gonna cum for Mommy?” Agatha purred the question into your ear. Your response wasn’t in time to please Rio, who crouched down in front of you and clamped her fingers down around your right nipple, savagely twisting it between her fingers.

“You’re hurting me,” you sobbed, trying to retract from the pain being inflicted upon you.

Rio just laughed, amusement etched on her dark features. “I know, isn’t it delicious?” She finally let go, but not without a quick slap to your breast to add to the already stinging skin she had left behind.

“Come on, say you’re Mommy’s little slut.” The second round of prompting gained the proper reply.

“I’m Mommy’s slut,” you whimpered. A laugh was shared over your pathetic concession and the way your legs kept trying to close. If nothing else, at least Agatha allowed you to cum once you’d answered the question.

“My turn.” Following Rio’s directive, Agatha gave your clit a quick pinch before shoving you to the ground in front of Rio. Still coming down from your orgasm, you lay there, breathing jagged and labored. Rio was not pleased with your current position, so she took it upon herself to correct the issue, only to be met with more resistance.

“If you want to act like a little bitch, then I’ll fuck you like one.” With some effort, Rio dragged you into place. You tried to slap her hands away from you but Agatha got there just in time to grab your arms and hold them out in front of you, preventing you from clawing at the duo.

“Are you ready, puppy?” Rio’s tip dragged through your slit, stopping at your entrance and applying a teasing pressure. Your cries were muffled by Rio shoving your face into the carpet. You managed to twist your head to the side despite the hand at the base of your skull keeping you down. Only the faintest grin was visible to you before Rio shifted upward and slammed her full length into you all at once.

The hiccuped sob you let out wasn’t performative in the slightest.

“Poor puppy,” Agatha’s said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy, “did that hurt?”

“Ow, ow, ow,” Rio mocked your pained whimpers, rolling her hips down into you and gripping onto the bunched up cloth of your skirt. The makeshift handles would inevitably allow her to not only hold you still, but also to absolutely ravage you.

Rio moaned when your cunt involuntarily clenched around her dick at the thought of what was in store for you. “I knew you’d have an amazing pussy. Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“She’s loving this,” Agatha sniggered, running her finger between your legs and showing the proof to you.

“No, I’m not,” you sobbed pathetically, earning yourself a spank that had you tightening around Rio’s shaft again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rio hissed. “God, you’re just swallowing me up. Such a hungry pussy. You know what you need?” Drawing her hips back and keeping only her tip inside you, your eyes widened in fear and you wriggled against her grip.

“You need a nice. Deep. Fucking.” You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as each word Rio spoke was driven home by a brutal thrust of her hips.

A scowl crossed Rio’s face and she yanked you back by the hair. “Yes you fucking do. You’re gonna take it all inside this cunt of yours,” she growled. For the sake of your pride, you had to stymie a desperate moan when Rio began to plunge her cock into you. As you had predicted, Rio found the fabric of your skirt and used it to drag your hips back to meet hers. Movement in front of you caught your eye and revealed itself to be Agatha unzipping her pants and kicking them aside, her underwear following suit.

“You know, I know a pretty good tech girl. I bet she could get those photos erased.” Hope sparked in your chest for only a millisecond. “But, you’re going to have to make me cum first.” Agatha settled herself down in front of you and spread her legs.

You had been worried about if Agatha was enjoying this too—her little concerned glances hadn’t gone unnoticed—but when her legs fell open and revealed her dripping pussy, you had your answer.

Rio’s grip on your hair was used to shove your face between the apex of Agatha’s thighs. Each time she thrust into you, your body would jolt forward and further into Agatha’s core. Despite the naturally messy manner in which you were touching Agatha, the older senator didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, her fingers gripping your hair and her hips chasing after your tongue.

Your own reluctant moans were mercifully muffled by Agatha’s slick folds in your mouth, but both women knew how much sound you would be making if you weren’t being used like a toy.

“Be a good bitch and suck Mommy’s clit. Prove to me that you’re not completely worthless.” Compelled by your own desperation, you obeyed, closing your lips around the nerve bundle and apply a heavy suction that made Agatha gasp sharply, digging her nails into your scalp.

“There you go, finally making use of yourself.” Above you, Rio’s hips shifted to drive into you at a more extreme angle, one that had whimper and whimper flowing from your mouth into Agatha’s cunt.

“Jesus, she’s gripping me so tight, it’s almost like you want this,” Rio crowed, her hands covering your breasts as she fucked into you, producing some of the most obscene squelching sounds you’d ever heard.

The tells of Agatha’s climax preparing to take over began to show themselves. Regardless of the scene you were supposed to be portraying, you wanted to satisfy Agatha, so you doubled your efforts, lapping at her cunt as if it were the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted.

“Look at her,” Agatha cackled, “who’s a good dog? You like licking Mommy’s cunt? Fuck, I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face, so be a good girl and take it.” Fists tightening their grasp in your hair, Agatha ground her hips down into your eager mouth until her body tensed and her thighs trembled and closed around your head, nearly suffocating you as she came on your tongue.

Pulling you out of her core, Agatha crashed your lips together, her tongue darting out to clean up the remnants of her own arousal that coated your face in a glossy sheen.

Agatha kissed you again but this time, when she pulled back, she subtly whispered a message to you. “Good job, baby. So good for Mommy. Let Rio have her fun, okay?” You confirmed with a barely visible nod and allowed yourself to give in to Rio, who sensed the shift in focus returning to her.

“Do you know what a bitch like you is good for? Hey, stop fucking struggling.” Rio slapped your ass to punish you for trying yet again to wiggle away. “Do you know?”

“I don’t think she knows anything. Look at her stupid little expression.” Agatha smushed your cheeks together, her lips twitching up into a cruel, toothy grin.

“A girl like you is good for one thing, and one thing only. You’re breeding stock now, puppy.”

“No, wait, you can’t do that, please,” you begged, your words breaking into a sob.

“I can and I will.” Rio pressed at your back to force you further into your arch. “What are you gonna do? Stop me?”

From some back corner of your mind, an absolutely genius idea sprouted. The first step was to feign failure and subjugate yourself to Rio and Agatha’s whims. When they sensed the fight leave your body, their grips on you loosened. Subtly, you slid your arms underneath your body and Rio, too distracted by the shed tears shimmering in your eyes, never noticed a thing. If Agatha realized what you were planning, she didn’t let on. You bided your time, lulling Rio into a false sense of security and control until the moment arrived.

In a flash, you wriggled your way out from under her and sprinted for the door, only to find it locked. Your heart sank when Agatha’s cackle rang out. Of course she would have locked you in. She never would’ve let your escape plan happen.

“You little bitch.” Rising to her feet, Rio looked furious. Your heart raced in your chest, both with excitement and fear at the feral look in your girlfriend’s eyes.

“Agatha, get me the ropes. You,” she grabbed a handful of your hair and forced you to the ground, “you’re coming with me.” Using your hair as a leash, Rio walked you out of Agatha’s office and down the hallway, kicking open the door to Agatha’s bedroom and yanking you inside.

“I’m not sure what you thought would happen with your little stunt back there, but it seems like you need a reminder of your place.” Pulling you to your feet, Rio shoved you onto Agatha’s bed, pouncing on you the second that your back hit the mattress. “You’re just a hole for me to stick my dick in when I’m bored. You don’t speak, you don’t cum, you don’t even fucking breathe, unless I allow it.” Teeth bared and ready to bite, Rio looked every bit the wild animal that she was.

When Agatha entered the room, dark purple ropes in hand, she handed one length off to Rio and took one for herself. The two women wrestled you into submission, bending your knees so that the backs of your thighs kissed the backs of your calves. They each began to secure two knots at your ankles before spiraling the ropes around your shins and thighs, tying them off at the tops and connecting each spiral with a hitch. They repeated the process all the way down and then up the other side and when they were done, your legs were fully immobilized, ensuring there would be no further escape attempts.

“Such a pretty little toy,” Rio murmured as she positioned you on the bed, legs bound and spread open while you laid on your side.

“At least you’re good for something.” Agatha settled down in front of you, pushing your outer leg upwards and exposing your pussy to the cool air, your clit twitching in anticipation as Rio’s warmth settled in behind you, followed by her cock sliding through your folds. She gave you a few teasing thrusts, just barely spreading your hole, before she brutally drove her hips into you, filling you all at once and setting an unforgiving, punishing pace that had her cock glancing off of your battered cervix with each movement. Amused by your pitiful whimpers, Agatha reached down and applied a light pressure to your clit. Your eyes flew open, finding her staring back at you with a devilish glint.

“Aren’t you just pathetic. What’s wrong? Is the poor puppy feeling sensitive?” The taunting only made you wetter, a fact that both women loved to take advantage of. Hiding your face in the pillow, you laid there and took everything they gave you. Only when Rio’s hand reached around your waist and pressed against your womb did you resurface from the safety of the sheets.

“You feel that, puppy? That’s my cock. That’s where I’m gonna dump all my cum into you. Does that make sense? Is your stupid little brain understanding me? You’re mine now. I own you.” You let out a defeated moan when Agatha’s fingers continued to dance over your clit.

“Fuck, so close, you ready?” You shook your head, fighting to free yourself from the duo’s hold.

Snickering, Agatha held you down and kept rubbing over your tortured clit. “It’s so cute that she thinks she can say no.”

“I know, right? Get ready, puppy. This is the last time your cunt won’t be filled with my cum. Gonna plug you up and make you keep it inside you.”

“Please, Rio, please don’t,” you sobbed, tears streaming from your eyes.

“Too late,” the brunette giggled, slamming her cock as far into you as she could and emptying her load inside you. The feeling of her cum splattering your walls in conjunction with Agatha’s digits working you up was enough to push you over the edge. One final wrecked cry was pried from your lips before you slumped against Rio, nuzzling into her arms in a way you only did when you had given everything you had in you.

In a flash, Rio was cuddling into your side. “Hi there, pretty girl. How are you feeling?” You gave her a small humming noise, nodding your head into her chest. Agatha busied herself with undoing the ties at your legs, kissing her way across your skin and any residual marks as she went.

“No falling asleep, pet. We need to get you cleaned up before bed.”

“But I wanna sleep,” you complained, frowning back at Agatha’s disapproving expression. The raised eyebrow she gave you shut down any further disobedience. You’d been on the receiving end of that look one too many times and it never ended well for you.

“Come on, puppy. I’ll give you a piggyback ride.” Rolling away from you, Rio sat at the edge of the bed and waited for you. With a few more muttered objections, you shuffled over to your girlfriend and draped yourself over her back, wrapping your arms around her shoulders and your legs around her waist. Agatha gave an approving nod and Rio hoisted you up, making sure she had a secure hold on you before standing up and following after Agatha.

The steady rhythm of Rio’s steps was pulling you into a sleepy headspace, tiredness clouding your vision. Your head drooped, resting on the taught muscles of Rio’s back and the tanned skin that was decorated with a light dusting of freckles. Rio was warm and she always smelled so good. Her consistent breathing pulled yours into the same pattern.

Having arrived a bit before you, Agatha had already begun tinkering with the shower knobs, setting it to the perfect temperature for you. Rio waited for Agatha’s go ahead before setting you down at the edge of the shower and transferring you to your other girlfriend’s arms.

There were subtle differences between the way Agatha and Rio each held you. Agatha’s body was colder, her touch more protective and controlled. Rio was warmer, almost like a fire, her hold possessive and confident.

Showers with Agatha were one of your favorite ways to come down from your sexual activities. That comforting edge in her voice was like a special treat reserved only for you and Rio’s ears. Speaking of the third woman, she was currently trying to slot herself in with you and Agatha with little to no success.

“This shower does not fit three people.”

Pouting, Rio chucked a loofah at Agatha’s head. “You don’t know that!”

“I do know that because you’re halfway out the door and getting water all over my tiles. Out,” the older woman snarled, wrapping her arm around you and using the other to shoo Rio away. With a petulant huff, Rio gave in and trudged to the door, flipping Agatha off on her way out. The scowl on Agatha’s face highlighted the soft lines by her cheeks, eyes, and forehead. In the ambient lighting of the bathroom, hair half wet and skin reddening from the hot water spraying down, you realized just how far gone you were for these women.

You were brought back down to earth by Agatha pulling away to grab a washcloth, wetting it and adding a bit of soap before she began to carefully wash your body. She started at your head, making sure to clean everywhere. Your eyes fluttered shut as you succumbed to the relaxation seeping through your limbs.

“Such a good puppy,” Agatha smiled, cleaning behind your ears and giving you a few scratches that had your legs clenching together. She laughed quietly at the reflex, moving the cloth down to your chest and shoulders, massaging the tension from your muscles as she went. You relaxed into her touch with a blissed out sigh. Applying a bit more soap, the next targets were your arms and back. When she finished there, Agatha’s hands cupped your breasts, gently kneading at the flesh as she washed them individually, bathing them in attention.

“I’ve been thinking, what if you stopped taking your birth control?” The question caught you completely off guard, your eyes flying open and staring up at Agatha.

“Agatha?”

“I’m serious, puppy. I haven’t talked about it with Rio, but I know she’d love to be a mother and so would I. If it’s something you want too, we’re serious about you.”

“Really?” The hopefulness in your voice and your wide eyes sent a surge of adoration through Agatha’s heart.

“Completely. I want you to take your time and think about it. It’s a big decision, but I’m ready to take that step with you.” Tears sprung up in your eyes at the genuineness in Agatha’s voice. The mellow blush on her face wasn’t from the rising water temperature, but from the honesty she was displaying with you. You leaned in and kissed her, intending it to be slow and appreciative, but soon losing yourself to your lover’s pillowy lips and insistent tongue.

You stood together, limbs tangled and your back against the cool glass, lost in each other’s bodies before Agatha broke away, trailing feathery kisses down your neck and collar bones, ending at your breasts where she carefully took them into her hands.

“You’re going to look so beautiful when you’re pregnant, puppy. These tits of yours are gonna be nice and full of milk for our baby.” Agatha’s kiss swollen lips closed around your nipple, suckling at the bud and swirling her tongue around it before giving you a sharp bite and moving to the skin just below it, adding a dark hickey to mark her territory. Your other breast was gifted the same treatment, your head tipping back against the shower wall as hushed moans were lost to the surrounding sounds.

“We need to make sure you’re nice and strong so that our babies are too. We’ll take care of everything for you, puppy. You’ll never want for anything ever again.” With her face between your breasts, Agatha’s whispered commitment made your heart sing. Supple lips nipped and sucked down your stomach and to your hip bones as Agatha sank to her knees before you.

“I haven’t wanted anything except for you and Rio since the beginning,” you confessed, cupping Agatha’s cheek and smiling down at her. She returned your sappy grin, nudging your legs apart to reveal your dripping cunt. A slow trickle of Rio’s cum began to dribble out of you.

“Aggie, fuck,” you whimpered when your girlfriend’s tongue languidly swiped up your leg, collecting the bead of liquid leaking from your cunt.

That easy smile that she wore popped up between your legs. “Yeah?”

“Can you…” you trailed off, trying to work through your haze to locate the words to ask for what you so desperately needed. Agatha only worsened the situation by running her hands up and down your thighs, her beautiful face staring up at you, waiting for you to find your voice.

“Is it a little hard to think right now, puppy?” Guiding your legs apart a bit further, she shuffled between them. “That’s okay. Mommy knows what you need.” You could’ve wept tears of joy when Agatha’s tongue moved from your thigh up to your cunt. She wasted no time with teasing touches or words, burying her face in your pussy and lapping at your clit like a woman possessed.

The hot water from the shower combined with the heat of your bodies was steaming up the glass panes of the shower. Jet streams from the shower head sent water down your body, but the only heat you care about was that of Agatha’s tongue sliding inside your hole, drinking in the remnants of Rio’s cum. You pitched forward when the full length of her tongue penetrated you, your fingers gripping onto Agatha’s dampened hair for dear life.

Every time you looked down, Agatha was there, staring back at you with those baby blue eyes that always knew too much. It didn’t take much to have you teetering on the edge but right when you were about to reach it, Agatha pulled back. Your dismayed whine was cut off by a surprised hiss when your back pressed against the cold glass barrier, bracketed by Agatha’s arms and legs. Before you could ask what she was doing, she pulled you into a deep kiss, slotting her leg between yours and applying a light pressure.

“You look so beautiful,” Agatha murmured against your lips. Her fingers danced at your entrance, asking silently if she could. You answered by rolling your hips down into them, to which she slipped two digits inside you. Her lips were back on yours, swallowing up every moan you made for her like it was the most delicious treat.

“Please, Agatha, more,” you gasped out. She obliged you with a third finger and a change of angle that allowed you to grind your clit against her palm. The water now cascaded off of Agatha’s skin and onto yours as she fucked you up against the glass.

“My perfect girl.” You almost missed the exalted words, losing yourself to the feeling of Agatha all around you. The silence that followed was punctured only by your soft gasps, the sound of your cunt sucking Agatha in, and the rain of the shower hitting the walls and tiles.

Instinctively, you wrapped one leg around Agatha’s waist, pulling her closer and allowing her fingers to hit deeper inside you. Her free hand went to your cheek, thumb rubbing soft circles over your cheekbones as she regarded you with gentle eyes.

“I love seeing you like this,” Agatha whispered, almost like a prayer. “I love you.”

The words slammed into your chest like a wrecking ball. She loves you. Agatha loves you. The immediate tears in your eyes blurred your vision and when Agatha’s fingers slowed, you blinked them away to reveal her concerned face staring back at you.

“I love you too.” Relief crashed through Agatha’s body as she pulled you in to a kiss, her hand resuming its previous ministrations. When you broke apart for air, your foreheads rested against each others, sharing in the same giddy smile.

“Cum for me, sweetie. Show me how much you love me.” Your reaction was almost instant, your walls seizing up around Agatha and your clit throbbing against her thumb. The whole time, Agatha talked you through it in that sweet, honeyed tone, telling you how incredible you were and how special you are to her.

It might’ve been the best orgasm of your life.

When you finally disconnected from each other, your legs felt like jelly. The wall of the shower was the only support other than Agatha’s hands continuing to clean you up. You winced when she had to move between your legs, but you kept them open for her, earning yourself a coo of appreciation.

Eventually, Agatha finished cleaning both you and herself up. She shut the water off and scooted past you, grabbing your towel and drying off your hair before wrapping it around you and ushering you out of the shower and onto the fuzzy bathmat. You clutched the towel close, waiting for Agatha to be ready to go back to her room.

When it was time, Agatha shepherded you over to her bedroom, getting you situated on her bed while she picked you an outfit, a routine she found oddly adorable. She had never expected to enjoy dressing someone, but seeing the way your eyes lit up at the combinations of clothing she picked out for you was priceless.

Today’s selection was a pair of Agatha’s sweatpants and Rio’s ‘virginity rocks’ shirt, covered up by a navy blue hoodie they had bought you when you visited the zoo. Agatha insisted you wear some socks so that your feet weren’t cold and you were too tired to care either way. She knelt before you, slipping them onto your feet and giving your shins a few kisses. When she too was dressed, her hair pulled into a casual low ponytail, Agatha turned and extended her hand to you.

“Let’s go, pet. We need to find out what Rio’s gotten up to.” Agatha smiled gently at you and you accepted her, fingers lacing together, and set out to locate where Rio had run off to.

It didn’t take long to identify Rio’s location. The music playing from downstairs was more than enough of an indicator. You recognized her cooking playlist, highlighted by artists like Spiritbox, Bring Me The Horizon, and Sleep Token, the more toned down version of her music taste so that Agatha wouldn’t yell at her to ‘turn off that screaming.’

Seeing Rio in the kitchen was one of your favorite iterations of your girlfriend. Despite the concerning lack of food that Rio kept in her own home, she was quite a talented cook. Now, under the dim lighting and surrounded by bowls, humming quietly and whisking things together, Rio looked at peace.

Almost as if she had a sixth sense for your presence, Rio looked up to see you standing there and motioned you over. You gave Agatha a quick peck on the lips before trotting over to where your other girlfriend was resting against the countertop, her boxers riding low on her hips and her tank top revealing the slightest hint of skin.

“Hey, pup. Have a good shower?” You didn’t answer the question, you just grabbed Rio by the front of the shirt and dragged her into a kiss. She was surprised at first, but Rio smiled against your lips, kissing you back and allowing you to take control for the time being.

When you came up for air, Rio was wearing a cocky smirk. “What’s this all about?”

“I love you.” The grin immediately dropped off of Rio’s face as she stood there, gaping at you like a fish.

“You—me? You love me?”

“Of course I do, idiot. I’m stupidly in love with you,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at your girlfriend’s shock, which only lasted a few more moments before her smile returned in full force. Sweeping you off of your feet, Rio spun you around in her arms.

“I love you too, baby. Agatha’s pretty alright too, I guess.” Sending her other girlfriend a wink, Rio placed a smattering of kisses across your face and head.

“You’re ridiculous. I love you too,” Agatha sighed, though it lacked any annoyance. “What are you making?”

“Mac and cheese,” Rio responded. You let out an excited squeal at the prospect of Rio’s best dish. Agatha muttered something about needed to have the diet of an adult, not a fourteen year old boy while wandering off to select a movie that you would all inevitably fall asleep during.

“You coming or going?” Rio slipped out from your arms, returning her attention to the recipe she was creating.

“Come or cum,” you winked at Rio. She turned to look at you, her tongue poking into the side of her cheek and a wry smile on her lips.

“You can be here, but no distractions, alright? I need to get this in the oven so that it cooks before we all pass out.” Grumbling your dissatisfaction, you hopped up on the nearest counter, kicking your feet and watching Rio darting around the room, assembling the part of the dish. With each passing second, the urge to pin her to the wall and kiss her silly took over you. But on the other hand, your stomach’s near constant growling was a motivating factor in keeping you away.

Only once Rio had set the oven’s timer for the thirty required minutes did you make your move. Sliding off the counter, your feet hit the kitchen’s tiled floor with a soft thud that drew Rio’s attention. Her signature lazy smirk was painted on her lips when she saw her girl padding over to her, arms extended for a hug. What she didn’t expect was for you to dodge the hug she offered and put your arms on either side of her body, trapping her against the kitchen island.

“Whatcha doing, puppy?”

“You.” Spitting into your palm, you snuck your hand into Rio’s boxers, wrapping your fingers around her shaft and feeling it immediately jump to life.

“Fuck, baby, I gotta watch the food,” Rio stammered, her voice breathy and wanting.

“That’s what a timer is for. Let me do this for you. Please, Sir.” Batting your begging eyes at Rio was the finishing touch. Nodding dumbly, Rio relaxed into your touch, her short nails digging into your waist as she held you close, allowing you to stroke her cock and bring it to half mast.

“What has gotten into you,” Rio gasped when your thumb brushed over the head of her cock, gathering up some of her fluid and smearing it around to better lubricate her.

“Not you, unfortunately,” you quipped back. Too busy with the way your hand felt around her, Rio didn’t have time to appreciate your smart remark.

There were many things you loved about Rio Vidal. Her smile, her voice, her awful humor were some of the highlights, but this version of her, pliant and almost obedient under you was a top contender. You were under no illusions of who was in charge, but Rio’s ability to relinquish some aspects of control was unique. Agatha would rather die than give up control, but she could settle with sharing it.

“Come on, big boy,” you encouraged, pressing your lips to Rio’s neck at the soft spot of her pulse, “tell me what you need. Tell me how your puppy can serve you best.”

“Oh my god, you’re trying to kill me. Can I fuck you? Please?”

“So polite,” you commented, tightening your hand around Rio’s dick and speeding up your pace. “Is that what you want, Sir? You wanna fuck your puppy? Shoot your load inside me and watch it drip out?” The gravelly moan Rio let out sent a pang of heat through your core. You wanted to see how long you could draw this out. How far Rio would allow you to push.

“Yeah, need to feel you, baby. Please, god, your hand is so good but I need more.” The flex of Rio’s fingers against your skin bordered on painful as she tried to maintain her focus, but you didn’t mind at all. Seeing her pupils dilating and her face twitching in pleasure was well worth a few marks left behind.

“But what if I want to make you cum like this? What if I wanna see you make a mess in your boxers, all because of me?” A spurt of precum exited Rio’s tip and her breathing became shallow, a sure sign that she was getting close.

“It’s whatever you want, baby. It always is. Anything for you.” Rio pulled you closer until you were flush to her chest and she began nosing at your neck, scraping her teeth at the areas she could access around the fabric of your hoodie. That response alone broke something inside you and you immediately shed your pants, stepping out of them and closing your thighs around Rio’s dick. A throaty moan rang out when the plush skin of your inner thighs surrounded Rio’s throbbing cock.

“Thank you, pup. Thank you for letting me have your thighs, you feel so warm, I love you so much.” Voice almost bordering a whimper, Rio’s hips began to thrust forward, fucking the space between your legs. Her hands slipped under your hoodie and shirt, lying flat on the skin of your back.

“I know, my love. You’re being so patient. You can move a little higher. Go ahead and rub that pretty cock on my pussy.” Eagerly, Rio made the adjustment, grinding her length against the heat that awaited her. The sounds had drawn the attention of Agatha, who now stood in the doorway, watching with fascination as a new side of her precious puppy emerged.

“Couldn’t keep your hands off each other?” As she sauntered over, you half expected Agatha to pull you two apart and break whatever spell you had Rio under but instead, she slotted herself in behind Rio and palmed the younger senator’s breasts, massaging them and flicking over her nipples.

“Please, fuck, Im gonna cum,” Rio said, slightly out of breath.

“No, you won’t,” Agatha asserted calmly. “Not until puppy decides you can.” Two pairs of eyes shifted over to you, waiting expectantly. A reactionary flex of your thighs had Rio’s head tipping back against Agatha’s shoulder and a high whine parting her lips.

“You can do it, Sir. Hold it for me,” you encouraged, tipping Rio’s chin back down and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Hold it until you’re inside me.”

“Yeah, yeah okay, just please, please let me fuck you.” The begging tone to Rio’s voice was an unexpected blessing. While Agatha continued to play with Rio’s boobs, she also started to add a few dark bruises to the column of her girlfriend’s neck. Having had enough of torturing her, you widened your stance and rubbed the head of Rio’s now slick cock against your pussy, finding your entrance and rolling your hips down, enveloping just the tip with your heat.

“Baby, come on,” Rio pleaded, “I need you so bad.”

Looking past the needy brown irises in front of you, you caught Agatha’s eye. “But I want Mommy to help.” Rio gave you a curious look but Agatha connected the dots immediately. Adding a bit of her saliva to her left hand, Agatha reached down to the exposed part of Rio’s shaft and began to stroke her in time with your hips teasing her tip.

Rio looked like she was going to explode on the spot.

“Please, baby, come on, you both feel so good, I need to cum!”

“Just a little more. You can do that for me, can’t you, Sir? For your puppy?” Rio nodded aggressively, so much so that you were worried she’d hurt her neck so you took her by the jaw and kissed her deeply, letting her tongue dominate yours. A broken moan separated you and you leaned past her to capture Agatha’s mouth next, leaving Rio sandwiched between her girlfriends while they toyed with her.

“I can’t hold it, please, pup. Please let me fill you up. I wanna cum inside my baby. Wanna fill you up so good.” You shared a quick look with Agatha, silently communicating your plan with glances and nods that were beyond Rio’s grasp.

“Okay.” Your permission set off a chain reaction. Agatha’s hand retracted and you pushed your hips all the way down Rio’s daft, your walls surrounding her and clamping down around her like a vice.

“Come on, you can do it. Be a good boy for our puppy. She wants your babies, so give them to her.” Agatha’s silky voice snapped the last threads of Rio’s self control and she burst inside you, her hot cum painting your womb white.

“Fuck, th-thank you, Aggie. Thank you, pup,” Rio stuttered out, her hips straining as her orgasm wrecked her.

“Looks like the timer’s only halfway done,” Agatha mused, a mischievous smirk dancing across her lips. “Tell you what, Rio. If you can give her one more, you can pick the movie.” Ever the competitor, Rio immediately agreed to the challenge but when she shifted to take control, Agatha’s firm grip stopped her.

“Not so fast. You’re not in charge right now. We’ll decide how you fuck her.” The group dynamic had shifted in a way that none of you could’ve predicted and while you didn’t have control, Rio had definitely surrendered hers.

“Pet, how do you want her?” Still inside you, Rio’s cock twitched back to life, eagerly awaiting its next home.

“I have an idea!” You pulled off of Rio’s dick and made your way to the island in the middle of the room, bending yourself over it and hiking your left leg up onto the cool marble, exposing your dripping folds to Rio.

“Well? Come on, Sir. Aren’t you gonna fuck me? I’m so empty without you filling me up.” The hungry look in Rio’s eyes made your pussy flutter in excitement. She was on you in the blink of an eye, aligning herself and sliding into you with a low moan of satisfaction.

Agatha joined you, her matured hands caressing Rio’s ass and subtly moving her hips forward for her. “That’s it, big boy. Show our little puppy how much you love her.”

“God, love you so much, you’re so perfect, I knew I wanted you since I met you. I’m so glad I have both of you!”

“Shit, you’re so deep right now, Sir. Your cock feels so good,” you said, followed by a wrecked moan as Rio fucked you harder. Agatha reach around to run her fingers along your clit, dragging your wetness up to the small nub and stroking the sensitive area to get you closer. Still sensitive from the night’s adventures, it didn’t take much to have you shaking and cumming around Rio, which triggered a flood of words from the brunette.

“Need to fill you up, baby. Can I? Can I please give you my cum?” A hazy look that you recognized had clouded over Rio’s amber eyes as she chased her second climax.

“Yeah, make sure you give me every last drop. I wanna feel every inch of you.” With one last keening whine, Rio’s hips stuttered to a stop and she released her second load inside you.

“Impressive, puppy,” Agatha complimented you, scratching the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl for making Rio cum so quick.” A glance at the oven’s clock revealed a whopping twelve minutes left. An embarrassed look took over Rio’s features but Agatha kissed it away, reassuring her that her reaction to you was nothing short of adorable.

“So, what are we watching?” You pulled your pants back up and stretched, ready to relax for the night.

“Scary Movie.” Rio didn’t hesitate to pick and her answer made Agatha groan in disappointment.

“Please, we just watched that movie and it was awful,” the eldest woman protested.

“First of all, Scary Movie is a masterpiece and second, I won, so I get to pick. Now,” Rio clapped her hands together, wearing a maniacal grin, “who wants to watch the greatest piece of cinema ever created?”

#clovenroses #ao3 #fanfic #wlw #agatha all along fanfic #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agathario #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #agatha all along #lesbian #wlw smut #smut

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lilgarbitch · 2 days ago

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Mindnumbing - Nick Folio

Pairing: Nick Folio x Reader

CW: smoking with Folio, marijuana and in depth details of smoking, anxiety from smoking, talks of panic attacks, slightly intoxicated decisions, dry humping, oral (f receiving), p in v (unprotected)

Word Count: 4.2k

Author’s Note: Honestly kinda proud of this one. I’ve been reading a lot of “smoking with folio” fics so this may or may not be self insert writing. originally wasn’t gonna make it smut but…who am i kidding i cant simply write fluff

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @badomensgoodomens @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @death-ofpeace-ofmind @fadingangelwisp @heyyoplayer @super-btstrash-posts @chey-h @bluehairpunklol @geminigirlfromfinland

“I just..I don’t know. I used to smoke a lot in my teen years, and then maybe I overdid it? All I know is that I had one panic attack while high and now even the thought brings me anxiety,” I said as I sat across from Folio on the patio outside my hotel room.

We’ve just been shooting the shit, talking and joking about whatever since everyone else went to sleep not too long ago. Sleep didn’t come easy to me, so I was used to being the last one awake, and tonight, Folio seemed to just not be bothered to even try to sleep. I didn't know if he had started to suspect that I stayed up late and wanted to keep me company, or if he just didn’t want the night to end yet. All I know if I was thankful to not be sitting outside alone for the umpteenth time this tour.

After a bit of talking, he brought up smoking weed, and why I seemed to always stray from the topic or ignore the invites from the guys when they wanted to go out for a late night sesh.

“That’s a shame. I do hear that happening a lot, so I get it, but you know you can still hang out with us when we're smoking. No one’s gonna force you to hit anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, I get that. And I do appreciate the invites. It’s just.. the second hand smoke mixed with the loud environment can start overstimulating me.” He nods, an understanding look on his face mixed with eyes that I can see are deep in thought.

“Are you just completely cut off from it now? Like the thought of ever trying again out the window?” I thought about it for a moment before answering.

”I wouldn’t say that. I do miss it. Especially how well it’d help me sleep. I just don’t know when I’m willing to give it a chance again. I’ll definitely need to be in a calming environment and not be pushed. But I also don’t want to be alone in case I do have a panic attack because it’ll just make it worse.”

“I mean, we’re in what I’d consider a calming environment now,” he says, holding his arm out to the night sky above us, “And, not to pressure you into saying ‘yes’, but I do have a few pre-rolls in my bag for nights like this.”

I could feel my heart starting to race slightly. I wish that one bad panic attack didn’t make the thought of trying so terrifying. I knew I could tell him ‘no’. Or ‘maybe another night’. But something about the consideration in his eyes, and how he was probably the only one who I’d trust to be in such a vulnerable position with, made me want to give it a try.

“I could…be down…with trying. I just can’t promise that it’s a definitive ‘yes’. But if you want to smoke, I think I could handle being around it, especially because it’s quiet, we’re outside, and it’s just us.” He gave me what I could tell was his way of suppressing that cheesy grin he always has.

He got up and opened the doors to the tiny patio, badly hiding his excitement, and I watched through the glass as he practically sprinted towards and out of the hotel door. He left it open a crack so he could get back in, and I just waited. After about five minutes, he came back, sauntering into the hotel room while trying his best to suppress a giggle.

“I fucking tripped and knocked over so much shit trying to leave. I don’t know how I didn’t wake Jolly up,” he said once he closed the patio door behind him, his shoulders shaking with a scrunched face smile as he tried not to laugh too loud.

I covered my mouth trying to do the same, the image playing in my head of that scene. He sat back down in his chair and pulled out three joints and a lighter from his pocket, setting them on the tiny table in front of us. He was still laughing as I was trying to calm my breathing, pushing the thought of seeing him take a tumble in a dark quiet room. But just imagining the look he probably gave sleeping Jolly, making sure he didn’t wake him, had me bursting out laughing, causing him to turn to me and playfully shove my shoulder, shushing me while still laughing.

After a few minutes, we finally managed to calm ourselves, the laughter subsiding to small giggles as he grabbed a joint and lit it. Thankfully, the boost in my mood from the laughter helped me regulate myself as he did so. It wasn’t like I was terrified to be around people smoking, or weed itself, it was just that it usually brought up the memories of being unable to sober myself up and panicking. It’d send me back into that mindset than I had no way of getting myself out of, or was willing to deal with on my own, so I just refused to allow myself to even heal from it.

I watched as he took a hit from the joint and held it in the hand opposite from me as he blew the smoke in that direction, too. He got himself comfortable in the metal patio chair, letting the feeling of imminent comfort take over, and I tried doing the same. Seeing him take the simplest actions to not overwhelm me allowed me to work on relaxing next to him, pushing the thoughts of panic out of my mind and just enjoy the peace between us.

As he smoked the joint, us continuing our endless rambling about anything and everything, I could slowly notice it taking effect. The already giggling boy getting even more giggly, laughing at the simplest things I said, making me laugh in return. As each moment passed, his energy rubbed off on me more and more, and I didn’t feel a moment of anxiety or panic, just amusement and peace. I was finally able to smell the absent scent of weed and not immediately get sent into my thoughts. It was refreshing to say the least.

He finished the first joint pretty quickly, the wind around us causing the cherry to burn fast, so he put out the butt and turned to me to continue our chat like nothing happened. And besides his glazed, ochre eyes and extra goofiness, nothing really changed.

After going on and on about the most random topics ranging from childhood stories or the best lunchmeat, a bit of time passed and he lit up the second joint. I could see that he made a tiny bit of a show doing it, kind of telling me that this was a good chance to join him if I wanted to, and for once, the small push didn’t fill me with dread.

I watched as he took a small hit off of it; as the cherry glowed in the dark night, and the scent of the smoke blowing in my direction gave me a bit of nostalgia for the first time in a while. As he blew out the smoke and turned back to me, I looked at him for a moment before holding my hand out, signalling I wanted to take a hit. A glimmer of shock crossed his face, not one that showed he was shocked I’d give in, but almost like he didn’t expect to be the one to actually get me to try again.

He crossed his arm over towards me, holding out the joint, and I took it between my index and thumb. I watched as the intense smelling smoke rose from the ash, knowing it was now or never or else I’d waste it. Bringing it up to my lips, I took the tiniest toke before handing it back. He watched me with a giddy look on his face as I inhaled and exhaled the smallest puff of smoke.

”Please don’t watch me, I might freak out.” I said with a small laugh.

He quickly looked away from me and chuckled, taking another hit. I could see he was glancing at me from the side, making me giggle.

“I just meant ‘don’t stare at me’, you freak,” I giggled out, making him turn back to me, chuckling.

The conversation went a little slower as we waited for that tiny puff to hit, him being amazing with keeping my mind distracted but not jumping between different topics like we were before. Just smooth chatting as we both stared out into the dark sky and let the effects take over. After about two minutes, I finally felt it start to hit, and my first instinct was to take deep breaths.

Suddenly, I felt a hand gently grasp mine, causing me to glance over to see Folio looking at me with a lazed, calming smile. He gently brushed his thumb over my palm as he continued to talk, making me realize I had accidently started blocking out his words when trying to calm myself. I simply stared at him, focusing on his words leaving his lips and letting that take over the thoughts in my head.

I took in the feeling of the soft grazing against my hand, the sight of his lips moving, and the way his soothing voice filled my ears. Before I knew it, I was taking another hit of the joint. It wasn’t until I handed it back, coughing, that we both realized what I did, causing him to bust out laughing, me following suit.

With not smoking in so long, I was definitely as lightweight as I’ve ever been, so time began to both speed and slow at the same time. The second joint was long gone and we were just giggling and sharing random things on our phones. It started as me wanting to show him the social media of a band I randomly remembered and desperately wanted him to check out, and eventually led to both of us sharing memes back and forth. We sat there for way too long just giggling at our phones and each other, and soon I noticed a lot of time had passed. It was almost 3 in the morning and neither of us seemed to want the night to end yet.

I glanced over to the lone joint left on the table. Taking a moment to gauge how stoned I was, I eventually turned to him and nudged his arm. He glanced at me with a waiting smile, expecting me to show him another shit post on Instagram, but I beckoned my head towards the table, him having to follow my eyes to see what I was talking about.

“You want to smoke the last one?” He asked, sounding slightly shocked.

”Fuck it, why not?” He just shook his head with a laugh and picked it up.

He went to put it between his lips to light it, but paused and turned to me.

“Here, you light it. Let’s see if you remember how,” he teased as he handed the joint to me. I rolled my eyes and took it from him.

“It’s only been a few years. Of course I remember how,” I said, grabbing the lighter from his hand and placing the joint between my lips.

I cupped a hand around the end of it before holding the flame to it, inhaling slightly to make sure the tip was evenly lit. Once I saw it turn red, I pulled the lighter and my hand away and took a quick puff, making sure it wouldn’t canoe, then taking a bigger hit and passing it back to him. Once I turned back to face him, he was staring at me with a dazed look, making me laugh.

“What’s that look for?” I ask, bringing him back to earth and getting him to take the joint from my hand.

“I just…That was really hot,” He answered, making me laugh more.

“What? Knowing how to light a jay?”

”I guess so. I don’t know. I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to do that so well and so…hot.” I playfully smacked his arm and he lightly chuckled to himself as he took a hit.

“I can’t tell if you're insulting or complimenting me, so thank you and fuck you.”

Now that I was really smoking, it was fully hitting. And thankfully with Folio’s presence, there wasn’t a single moment of anxiety. We continued passing it back and forth and I just relaxed in the chair and let it take full effect. My body had that sweet buzz going through it and my thoughts were finally at a slow pace for once. After a few minutes, I turned to look at him after handing it back to him.

He was staring out at the sky and the traffic passing by a few hundred feet from the hotel, his eyes shining in the moonlight and smoke drifting from his lips. And I just stared. Stared at the silhouette of him the stars created from behind. The way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he brought the joint to his lips. The way his cheeks caved in as he inhaled, and how sharp his jawline looked from my direction.

And then that familiar feeling came back. The one I hadn't felt in a while, since it’s been a good bit since I’ve been high. The tightness in my lower stomach mixed with the relaxed buzz flowing through my body. The heat in my cheeks as my hormones got flipped on like a switch caused by the effects of the drug. My body felt like hot jelly and my mind was humming as I stared at him.

It took him a minute, but he eventually sensed my stare and finally glanced my way. He held out his hand, passing the joint back to me, assuming I was just waiting for it, until his eyes landed on mine. They were probably insanely bloodshot and glazed over, but his entire body momentarily paused as we made eye contact.

I watched as his stoned mind overworked, taking in the emotion behind my eyes. After probably too long, I finally blinked and broke eye contact, glancing down at the almost fully ashed joint in his hand. I take it, the graze of our fingers sending a tingle through my body, and bring it to my lips. When my eyes land back on his, I see that he’s staring at my mouth, watching me inhale. As I do, he speaks up.

“You know what I haven’t done in forever?” He says, me answering with a ‘huh’ as I exhale.

“Shotgun.”

It takes my brain a second to process his answer, and once it does, I glance down at the last of the joint in my hand and back up at him. And it must’ve either been the clouded ease of my mind or the insane heat in my stomach, but without a second thought, I sat up straighter and brought the joint back to my lips. Taking a deep puff, holding the smoke in my mouth, I turned to him and gently reached out to hold his cheek before bringing him closer to me.

When our parted lips touched, I slowly exhaled the smoke into his, feeling him draw it in. He holds it for a moment as I feel his hand slide to my side, before blowing it through his nose and pressing his lips into mine with more eagerness. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen and for him to tug me closer.

I slip from my chair into his lap as he wraps both arms around my waist. I managed to set the burnt roach on the table as I moved before sliding my arms around his neck. The fuzziness in my head intensified as our lips moved with each other’s. The instant I felt his tongue slip into my mouth, a groan slipped from my lips, causing him to tug me closer, pulling my body flush to his. I could feel his growing bulge underneath me, my immediate reaction to start grinding against him. The whimper he let out into the kiss sent a fire through my body.

He slid his hands down to my hips, squeezing them tight and helping me rock them against his. We were panting against each other, small noises slipping from our lips as we seeked that desperate friction. I finally remembered where we were, and that if anyone else was outside, they could probably hear us, but as I went to pull away to tell him that we should probably move inside, he seemed to realize the same thing.

Slipping a hand under my ass and another around my back, he held me as he stood up from the chair. I wrapped my legs around him so when he reached the patio door, he could use the hand across my back to slide it open and close it behind us once we entered. After walking us to the bed, he dropped me onto it before crawling over me, immediately reconnecting our lips. I missed this feeling so much. Nothing could compare to stoned sex, especially with someone like Folio. His toned body pressed against mine. His strong arms wrapped around me and the desperation he felt from being equally turned on.

He moved his lips from mine to my neck, hungrily kissing and nipping at my skin as one of his hands slid down my body. He slipped it into my shorts with ease, a deep groan erupting from his lips as he felt how wet I was. He grazed his fingers through my folds, collecting my slick before focusing on my clit, rubbing mind numbing circles as he continued to attack the sensitive skin of my neck.

He then pulled away, making me whine at the lack of friction and heat against my skin. He chuckled as he moved down my body, his hands slipping under my shirt and gently pulling it up to leave kisses against my stomach. Then, he glanced up at me as his fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, me meeting his eyes and giving a weak but desperate nod. He slid my shorts and panties down slowly, pressing soft kisses to my hips and thighs until they were completely off. He slowly moved his hands back up my thighs before parting them and staring at me hungrily. Suddenly, he dove in, licking a stripe through my folds, groaning against me, causing vibrations to feel like they shook through my body.

He didn’t ease into it, immediately working the most sensitive parts of me. He started by licking and gently sucking on my clit, getting me closer to the edge faster than ever, but once he felt my muscles starting to tense, he’d stop, trailing his lips back to my thighs and hips, letting me calm before starting again. Between the weightless buzz of my body and the fire in my nerves, I couldn’t think. So when I felt his fingers graze against me before sliding into me, I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“Oh fuck,” I groan out as he starts moving them, causing him to give me a soft, drawn out ‘shhhh’.

I lift my head up and glance down at him to see a soft smirk on his lips, his eyes glossy and full of pride for how he was making me feel. He picks up speed and I throw my head back again, having to cover my mouth with my hand to keep quiet, arching my back at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through me. My eyes squeeze shut as the knot in my stomach builds, but when I feel his lips connect with my bundle of nerves once more, I was instantly thrown over the edge.

Biting my tongue, a deep moan rumbled in my chest and my hips lifted from the mattress as waves of euphoria took over my body. He continued pumping his fingers, helping me ride it out. As he slowed his movements, he gently pressed his lips against my hips before finally pulling out of me, then moving back up my body. Our lips reconnected once he reached me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him close. Despite the pleasure I just felt, I was insatiable. I hook a leg around him, pressing my heel into him to bring his hips back to mine. The feeling of the bulged fabric of his shorts against my sensitive bare skin made me press into him more. The hunger in his kiss was unmatched, and I wanted nothing more than to give him the same pleasure he gave me.

I went to reach down between us and work on unbuttoning his shorts, but as my fingers made contact, he knocked my hand out of the way and started working on them himself, undoing his shorts with one hand as the other held him hovering over me. He let me help him slide them down as far as I could reach, him eagerly tossing them off before sitting back and doing the same with his shirt. Before I could even take in the sight in front of me, he was tugging my shirt over my head and staring down at me, taking me in. His hands trailed over my body before finally resting one on my hip and the other cupping one of my boobs.

“Fuck,” he starts, his eyes trailing over me, “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Nick, please,” I whine, shifting my hips closer to his.

His eyes meet mine, a sinful yearning shining through them. Keeping our gazes locked, he reaches down and takes a hold of his cock, leaning his hips forward and gliding his tip through my slick folds before gently pressing into me. A gasp escapes me as I feel the stretch, followed by me letting out a shaky exhale when he finally bottoms out.

Slowly, he starts moving his hips. I try to keep eye contact, but as he builds speed, the pleasure becomes too much. I have to close my eyes to prevent them from rolling back. My noises soon increase as his hunger and desperation take over.

He takes hold of my hips, lifting them and angling himself so he’d hit that extra sensitive spot inside me with each thrust. With how mind numbing his cock feels and my already slowed thoughts from the joint earlier, I had no control over my volume. I feel him slip an arm under my waist, keeping me angled perfectly for him as he leans forward and cups a hand over my mouth, softly shushing me.

“I know you feel good, baby, but these walls are so much thinner than you think,” he teases.

I try to look at him, my eyebrows furrowed in bliss, but as he stares down at me with those smug eyes and challenging smile all while fucking into me at the perfect pace, my eyes start rolling back and he has to clamp his hand over my mouth tighter to keep my sounds from amplifying.

It doesn’t take long for that knot in my stomach to start again, getting tighter and tighter with each thrust. And I know he’s getting close too, letting out soft grunts and dropping his head to my shoulder as his thrusts start getting sloppier.

“Fuck. You’re squeezing me so tight. Come on, baby. Let me get another out of you,” he groans.

Hearing his desperate, exasperated voice in my ear mixed with the feeling of his body against mine, I quickly came with a loud cry, my moan barely able to be muffled by his hand. As I came around him, my muscles tensing and squeezing him even more, he let out a strangled moan before sitting up.

Leaning back, he stared down at where our bodies connected as he panted and let out a few curses. Soon, he pulled out and began pumping himself, reaching his climax and spilling all over my stomach with his head thrown back and a deep groan rumbling his chest.

We both stayed there for a minute, catching our breath and trying to get our heads working again. With my eyes still closed and my head against the pillow, I feel something slightly rough against my stomach, making me look down. He grabbed his shirt and started cleaning me the best he could, making me blush and chuckle softly.

“You could’ve grabbed a towel,” I said, my voice a little raspy.

“I could, but this was closer,” he replied before tossing the shirt on the ground and falling onto the bed next to me, “Plus, I have nothing against thinking of this every time I see that shirt.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed, making him chuckle, too. Even though I know I should clean up better and put clothes back on, I was worn out. I shifted and grabbed the blanket, slipping it out from underneath us and pulling it over me, snuggling into the bed.

I feel him shift next to me and then an arm wrapping around my waist and tugging me closer.

“Hope you get some good sleep tonight,” he says in a gentle voice before pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.

With my eyes too heavy to give him another glance, I just softly smile as I drift off to sleep.

#nick folio #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio x reader #nick folio fic #nick folio reader insert #nick folio and reader #nick folio smut #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens smut #garbitch one shots

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