#i experienced this game and decided to write something a little fucked up

[bambino1294]

i hope this hurts

Inspired by Mouthwashing

11.5k Words | Rated M

“Is it all the same?” Her words bounce around the vast space of the cargo hold, filled to the brim with thousands upon thousands of wooden crates— “Yeah.” —All filled with the same goddamn thing. (Mouthwash. A warehouse worth of fucking mouthwash.) Sophia exhales heavily, sinking down amongst her swath of open crates and gripping the edge of the one she’d just searched; the wood bites into the palm she can still feel, and the uneven chipboard snags on her coveralls as her knees press into the side. Daryl, somewhere to her left looking through another palette for something—anything—different, tosses one of the bottles haphazardly back into its pile, the plastic making a dull orchestra as it bounces in its crate. “Least our breath won’t stink anymore.” OR The Thanatos declares a state of emergency.

[pedrospatch]

softness

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Joel’s a little unsure of doing skin to skin with his newborn daughter.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. (TW) PREGNANCY. mentions of premature birth, minor descriptions of childbirth, mentions of birth weight, it is implied that reader is breastfeeding her baby, semi accurate medical journal research, girldad! Joel, mentions of scars (Joel), mentions of insecurities and anxieties, if i missed anything, please let me know! NO MENTION OF READER’S AGE. NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER. no physical description of child except for her hair color/type. very minimal editing.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i had this outline sitting in my drafts and i decided to finally just write it out and post it. it ain’t much, but it’s honest work. it is part of the safe and sound universe.

She’d made her entrance into the world early.

About four or five weeks, the commune’s doctor thinks.

Without ultrasounds, it’d been a guessing game.

And a fucking terrifying guessing game at that.

For several months, all you could do was hope.

Hope for a smooth pregnancy.

Hope for a safe labor and delivery.

Hope for a strong, healthy baby.

When you went into labor earlier than the doctor had predicted you would, all of your hopes shattered, the pieces falling around you like shards of broken glass you couldn’t put back together even if you tried.

“No! No, it’s too soon! It’s too fucking soon!” you’d cried out, the sheer panic setting in and seeping into your bones as a warm, clear liquid dripped down the insides of your legs and pooled around your bare feet. You had been in the kitchen making Ellie breakfast and packing her lunch for school—one second you’re standing there in front of the food pantry debating with yourself on what vegetable to throw into the kid’s lunch bag with her sandwich and the next you’re calling out for help as an intense pressure nestled itself between your hips. It wasn’t until you heard a faint popping sound and then felt the gush of fluid between your thighs that you’d realized what was happening. An unmistakable first sign of labor, you’d experienced your water breaking. “This can’t be happening, it’s not time yet!”

Joel, who by some stroke of sheer stupid luck had the morning off from patrol duty, instructed Ellie to run upstairs and gather some clean clothes along with a pair of boots and the warmest coat you owned that still fit. November had brought along the first snowfall of the season—the frigid temperatures outside were anything but kind and the clinic was on the opposite side of the commune, a fifteen minute walk he wished you didn’t have to make in your condition. “I know this is real fuckin’ scary darlin’ but y’need to stay calm. I need you to stay as calm as possible. Y’think that you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

He’d been just as terrified, but he masked it well.

On the outside, he kept a calm, collected composure for your sake and for Ellie’s too, shoved aside his own fears so he could be the support you both needed, act as the glue that held yours and his little family unit together should anything were to happen. But on the inside, he was scared shitless, to say the least. He couldn’t be certain he would have the strength to hold himself together if something went wrong, if he lost you—or his unborn child.

Admittedly, it had taken him a few months to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father again at this stage in his life. The thought of him changing diapers at his age was one he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around—but the moment he felt that first little flutter of movement one night as you lay curled up against his side fast asleep, something shifted. That night, he had stayed wide awake, his large hand splayed over your belly in hopes he would feel that little flutter again.

“Joel, I’m really fucking scared. What if it’s too early—”

“Baby, look at me.” He reached up and gently took your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger as he coaxed your gaze to meet his own. “S’gonna be okay,” he’d assured you, softly. “If this is happenin’ now, it’s because she’s ready, alright?”

For a split second, that panic had ceased.

“She?”

Confused, Joel’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“You just referred to the baby as a she, Joel.”

“I did?”

“Yeah—just now.” You’d stared at him with curiosity and took a step back, cradling your belly in both of your hands. “Do you think we’re having a girl?”

Sheepishly, he had shaken his head at you.

“No, I just—m’sorry. I ain’t all too sure why I said that.”

He truly, honestly hadn’t.

It’d slipped before he could even think about it.

But his accidental slip had been right.

After thirteen hours of grueling labor in Jackson’s small clinic, you’d given birth to a little girl, the sound of her loud wailing filling the whole room like a sweet melody eliciting a sob of joy from you and a shaky sigh of relief from Joel.

“Holy shit, she’s here! She’s actually fucking here,” Ellie breathed, her eyes going wide. Her arms were still wrapped around one of your legs—despite you warning the teenager about what she would see, it hadn’t stopped her from volunteering her assistance in the childbirth process. She watched on in a mix of both fascination and disgust as Dr. Porter, a woman in her sixties who served as Jackson’s sole physician, lifted the infant and immediately placed her onto your bare chest to clean her off. “This has gotta be the grossest, most amazing fucking thing I have ever fucking seen in my life.” Gently, she set your leg down onto the bed before walking around it to stand beside Joel. His hand was stroking your hair, his dark eyes trained on his crying newborn daughter. It was the perfect moment for Ellie to run her mouth and tease, “You’re not gonna cry, are you, Joel? I’d think you’re a lot fucking tougher than that, old man.”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered under his breath, putting an arm around her and pulling her against his side. He almost couldn’t believe this was now his life—a life he would have never even known if he hadn’t flinched twenty years ago when he had pulled the trigger.

Though she’d been born a few weeks prematurely, Rosemary Miller was deemed to be healthy—a tad underweight, but nothing to be worried about just yet, according to Jackie, the commune’s nurse. At about four pounds, eleven ounces, Rosemary was the tiniest thing you’d ever seen and somehow even tinier when Joel would cradle her in the palms of his large hands. Despite the fact that you’d been reassured that the baby’s low birth weight was nothing to be alarmed about, you and Joel had been advised it was best if you didn’t take her home until she gained a few more ounces and tipped the a scale at what the books state is a normal birth weight of five pounds, eight ounces.

“We just would feel better if she were here at the clinic where we can closely monitor her weight,” Jackie had said upon seeing the crestfallen look on your face. “Besides, you tore a little and you need time to heal as well, you know.”

Left with very little choice, you’d agreed to it.

“I’m losing it,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you stare up at the drab, gray ceiling. It’s been three days since you had given birth and all you want to do is take your daughter home. In an effort to lift your spirits, Maria had tried to warm the place up and make it feel more comfortable for you. She had swapped out the rough, scratchy bedsheet the clinic provided for you with a soft, knitted blanket she had made herself. She also took it upon herself to pack you a bag with your own clothes, a couple of books to read, and your favorite polaroids of Joel and Ellie. While it had been incredibly sweet of her to do for you, you still wanted out of that clinic sooner rather than later. “I miss our house. I miss our bed. I miss our kid.”

Joel, who’s sitting in an old, worn leather armchair tucked over in a corner of your room next to the frosted window, raises an eyebrow at you and then juts his chin towards Rosemary, who is swaddled up and sleeping soundly in the plastic bassinet beside your bed.

“Our kid’s right there, darlin’.”

You lift your head off your pillow and glare at him.

“I’m talking about Ellie, Joel.”

He chuckles and leans forward in his chair. Next to him sits a brown stuffed bunny rabbit—Ellie had traded a precious comic book for it and gifted it to the baby the same afternoon she was born. 

“She’s been comin’ to visit every day after school.”

“It’s not the same,” you pout, shaking your head.

Joel sighs and glances at the cot that he had been sleeping on for the last few days—truth be told, he misses the house too. His back certainly misses the bed. “It ain’t the same,” he agrees, tiredly. His face is worn with exhaustion. Despite you insisting that he go home and get some proper rest, he’s too stubborn to listen and only leaves the clinic to take a shower and change his clothes—and to check on Ellie, who’s got a bad habit of not doing her homework unless you or Joel nag her to get it done. “M’real sorry, darlin’. But you heard what they said. Baby’s gotta gain a little more weight before we can take her home.”

Even from where he’s sitting, he can see your eyes glaze over with tears of frustration. Since the baby was born, you’ve been very sensitive, more so than when you’d been pregnant—something he didn’t think was even possible.

“If she keeps on eatin’ the way she’s eatin’ we’ll be home by the end of the week,” Joel adds in an effort to cheer you up. “Besides, you need to heal before we make that long walk across town and back to the house, sweetheart. S’not like I can just pull up the fuckin’ minivan and drive you girls home like back in the day, y’know?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Ew, Joel. We would not have a fucking minivan.” Dabbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you can’t help but laugh at the thought of Joel Miller behind the wheel of one of those things. Then, you realize how endearing it would be to watch as he’s loading up Rosemary’s car seat into the van, the muscles of his broad back flexing underneath his shirt as he pulled on the straps to make sure it was safe and secure. You’d climb into the backseat with her and on the way home, you would ask Joel to swing through the nearest burger joint drive through because you’re fucking starving and in need of a proper meal after being subjected to boring, bland hospital food. You shoot him a small smile. “On second thought, that doesn’t sound all that bad. Maybe we would.”

Suddenly, there’s a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call, careful not to be too loud.

Dr. Porter walks into the room.

She had been a primary care physician prior to the world ending, according to Maria, who a couple of months ago had given birth to her son while under Dr. Porter’s care. Maria had assured you that, even though the woman never trained in obstetrics, she always went above and beyond for all the mothers to be in the commune. She dedicated her spare time to studying, lost herself in medical books she found on the shelves of the town’s library—kind of like the one that’s currently tucked underneath her arm.

“Hi there mama,” she greets, her eyes shining brightly behind her coke-bottle glasses. Wearing jeans and a sweater, she doesn’t quite look the part—maybe she’d worn a white coat once in her life, but now it was only the old, silver metal stethoscope she had draped around her neck that gave her profession away. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m okay,” you say with a shrug. “Can’t complain.”

Over in his corner, Joel can’t help but snort.

Ignoring him, you add, “Bleeding’s slowing down.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dr. Porter tells you. “And how about this sweet little girl?” She smiles and makes her way over to the bassinet, keeping her voice low. “She eating well?”

“She is. Her last feed was about two hours ago.”

“How’s she sleeping?”

“Like a rock.”

“And you’ve been doing skin to skin as well?”

You nod. “Yes, before and after her feedings.”

“That’s perfect.” Dr. Porter beams at you with pride. “Keep it up and do it as often as possible. There are a ton of benefits of doing skin to skin with her. It’s one of the most incredible things that a mother can do for her baby. Actually—” She pauses for a moment and pulls the book out from under her arm. “I have been doing a bit of research and as it turns out, there are also benefits if dad does skin to skin with baby as well.”

Joel stiffens slightly in his chair. “S’cuse me?”

“I found this book in the library. It talks about all of the benefits of fathers doing skin to skin with their newborn. It was written some time in the nineties and studies were still being conducted, but I really believe they were onto something.” She hands you the book. “For being preterm, Rosemary’s healthy, but it doesn’t do any harm to try whatever you can to make sure that she builds up that immune system and stays healthy, especially now that winter’s here.” Flashing you a smile, she informs you, “I went ahead and folded the pages for you and made some notes. There’s a few benefits in it for Joel as well. Could be worth a try.”

After telling you she’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you and to weigh the baby, Dr. Porter excuses herself from your room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Curiously, you open the book to the first page that she’d folded for you and start reading the first passage out loud.

“Ongoing studies have found skin to skin between father and child have similar benefits to those that come from skin to skin between mother and child. It regulates the baby's body temperature, blood sugar, and stress levels.” You pause and look over at Joel, who appears thoroughly unimpressed. “It also helps to regulate the baby’s heart rate and breathing rate. Joel, this is incredible! I think you should—”

“No.”

Joel winces. He doesn’t mean to sound so curt.

Your face falls. “Why not?”

“That’s for mothers,” he grumbles. “Y’know, for feedin’ the baby.”

“It’s for much more than just that.” You shake your head and flip over to the next page, scanning both the text as well as Dr. Porter’s notes. “It says here that it also helps the baby pick up their father’s natural scent and promotes bonding.”

“Sweetheart, I can bond with her just fine with my fuckin’ shirt on, there ain’t no need for me to—what in the world are you doin’?” Perturbed, Joel watches you as you take a handful of your blanket, throwing it off yourself. He jumps up to his feet the second he realizes that you’re about to get out of bed. “Don’t—”

“Oh relax, Joel. I should be moving more anyway,” you say, wincing as you sit up and swing both legs over the side of the bed. It isn’t so much pain as it is discomfort—everything had been shoved up and out of place for months, after all. As soon as you stand, Joel’s there at your side, one hand on your arm and the other on your back, trying to guide you back onto the bed. You lightly swat him away with your hand. “Joel, stop fussing over me! I’m fine!”

“Baby, y’need to lie down right now—”

“Take off your shirt.”

His hands fall away from you and his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt and go sit down in the chair.”

The blood drains from his face and he pales. 

It’s not that Joel doesn’t want to do it. He does.

He’ll do anything if it’s for his daughter’s benefit.

Still.

The idea of laying his innocent little baby girl on him without his shirt on—it’s uncomfortable. His chest and stomach are littered with several scars. Rough, raised patches of skin that serve as reminders of a brutal past he doesn’t want her finding out about, not for as long as he can fucking help it.

Rosemary deserves to be wrapped up in softness.

The softness of your smooth, blemish free skin.

The softness of the blankets you’d knitted for her.

The softness of the stuffed bunny Ellie had given her.

Joel?

He isn’t soft.

Nothing about him is soft.

Even holding her in his hands for the first time had been something of a battle. Hands that once snapped necks and slit throats didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and innocent.

“This sounds really promising, Joel.” Slowly, you make your way over to the plastic bassinet, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs. With your back to him, you carefully begin to unswaddle the baby. You try not to wake her as you peel off her warm, knitted onesie and matching socks, leaving her in nothing but her teeny, tiny cloth diaper. Gingerly, you pick her up and turn around to face him. “If Dr. Porter thinks we should try it, then it’s for a good reason, don’t you think so?”

Joel swallows harshly.

“What is it?”

“S’just that I—I’ve got scars everywhere, y’know?”

Your expression instantly softens for him. “Joel, you’re her daddy,” you remind him, gently. “She’s not going to care about things like that.” Pausing, it suddenly occurs to you that it’s not just about his scars. It’s about something else, something that runs so much deeper for Joel. He’d done what he had done in order to survive, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t live with the shame—the guilt and the regret. Rosemary begins to fuss awake and you lightly bounce her in your arms as you assure him, “She isn’t going to care about your past or what you’ve done. Her love for you is going to be as unconditional as yours is for her. She’s going to love you no matter what, Joel. I can promise you that.”

His jaw clenches and his lips press into a tight line.

Rosemary starts to cry—she’s cold, no doubt.

The old heater in the clinic hardly runs.

And when it does, it breaks down.

“Joel, please,” you beg over her wails. “Just try it? For me? For her?”

Sighing in defeat, Joel shrugs out of his jacket and he tosses it aside. With trembling fingers, he begins to unbutton his green flannel shirt—his long sleeved thermal henley comes off next and then he takes off the cotton t-shirt he wears underneath for an added layer of warmth during the winter season. As he stands there shirtless, he shivers and his flesh erupts with goosebumps. “Wait,” he mutters as he watches you take a step forward. He drags the armchair away from the window. He then sits down, his heart racing and the anxiety flaring as he gives you a subtle nod of his head. “Okay.”

You walk over to him and place her on his bare chest.

The second he feels Rosie’s soft skin on his, there’s a shift.

It’s similar to the one he felt when he first felt her move in your belly.

He calms and his heart slows—his nerves dissipate. 

And Rosemary stops crying.

She scrunches, curls up on his chest, and yawns.

Grimacing, you lean over and pick up his flannel shirt. “Here,” you say, draping it over them as a makeshift blanket. “How’s that feel?”

“Think she likes it, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his fingers delicately brushing over her soft tufts of dark brown hair. His touch causes the newborn’s lip to curl and he catches a glimpse of the prominent dimple in her left cheek—the same dimple Sarah had inherited from him, Rosemary had inherited too. There’s a dull ache in his chest, but somehow, he still smiles as she peers up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hi, Rosie Posie. S’me, babygirl. Your daddy.”

Rolling your lip between your teeth, you stifle a giggle.

“What?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at you.

“She’s not the only one who seems to like it.”

Joel chuckles, admitting, “S’pretty relaxin’.” He presses his nose into his daughter’s curls and inhales deeply, relishing in the warm, sweet milky scent of her. After a minute, his smile falters slightly. “Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really believe it?”

Your brow furrows. “Believe what?”

“That she’s gonna love me no matter what.”

“Of course I do.”

“How can you be so sure ‘bout it?”

Carefully, you perch yourself on the arm of the chair and press a gentle kiss against his right temple, your lips brushing over his scar. “Because I just am, Joel.”

Somehow, he believes it—he believes you.

Joel tilts his head back, puckering his lips.

Grinning, you give him a chaste kiss before standing. “I’m going to see if I can get a nap in before her next feed,” you tell him, padding back over to the bed. “Do you think you’ll be okay with her for a while, just the two of you?”

“I think we’ll be just fine,” he murmurs, gingerly stroking Rosemary’s silky cheek with his finger. “Yeah. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, babygirl?”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics ���

[desireangel]

Dark Cherry [4] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! I fucked the timeline and nigly bits bc this was an impulse fic ok soooo it was mostly unplanned, almost smut, angst, let the grovelling happen babyyy, unedited, mention of alys x aemond but not in a good way :((, infidelity, talk of sex, guilt, mentions of Aegon x reader, hmmm I ramble, little vulnerable Aemond, bad language, let me know if I've missed anything!

Author's note: y'all I was never done with that man like there's no easy out for him :llll. Anyways I wrote most of this instead of studying which I needed to do. Perhaps I'll have my hand at another idea I'm cooking before part 5 but I'm alsoooo unsure about how keen we are to keep this one going - like is it getting too much??? either way, I enjoy writing this. and idk how to shut up, clearly, because I love that internal mind talk shit. Drop your thoughts in my inbox or PM me because I love to yap!!! xoxo, kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

-

He was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant and entitled fool. You often thought about whether Aemond actually recognised the effect of his actions on anyone else. It was always ‘I did it for us’ or ‘I did it because I had to do it’.

So after your confrontation the day before, it had surprised you that Aemond had truly believed he was forgiven. Maybe it shouldn’t have. You had, after all, sat beside him and laughed with him. Shared a moment as if things were better. But it was nothing more than a lighthearted acknowledgement that whatever game was being played was entirely ridiculous yet you could feel how something had changed. There was a newfound intensity between the two of you and Aemond had clearly understood that he had made a mistake

But that wouldn't be enough for forgiveness. Things would never really be the same. You will never forget. The nameless woman had made a home in your unconscious mind and everything would remind you of the woman your husband had chosen to take to bed over you. She was beautiful, she was experienced and free of burden. Based on that alone a part of you could see why she could have been a better choice–a part of you that ached and pained ceaselessly. 

And you weren’t sure you could carry on as if Aemond hadn’t thrown your entire world into the pits of ruin. Because that is exactly what he may as well have done. All you had was your marriage to him–a fact that was as painful as it was true. If it all fell apart because of him only you would suffer from it. 

Your name, your family’s name. A Lady born to a house of remarkably lowly nobility with little more than your marriage to the prince. A charity case marriage to tell the realm’s people that the Crown was not so prejudiced as to be above uniting with the likes of your house. That the Lannisters and Baratheons were important but they were not everything. A fabrication only made necessary to cover up the fact that it was a lie–the Targaryens (and even the Hightowers as you had come to realise) really did believe they were of better blood. 

A failure to fulfil your duty to the Targaryen crown as Prince Aemond’s wife would destroy your family name. And you would have no prospect of happiness after it. What else did you have aside from this?

Aemond would never understand that. Because not only was he a man but he was a prince. A privilege, a safety and a security he had inherited through birth. 

Aside from the pressures of society, he had hurt you. Badly. 

Despite your own confliction about it, you did have love for Aemond–how could you not? Love came from many things and while yours may have come from your dependance on his word, on the duty he performed to be your protector as he was to the Crown and its subjects, on his polite affections as limited as they were, it still found its way into your heart. Perhaps it was foolish to allow it entry into your existence when you had already known that there was no love to come from Aemond. 

It didn’t change anything. Betrayed your trust, taken you for granted and destroyed the sanctity of a husband’s loyalty as if he were as dishonourable as any other Lord. 

You would never say it out loud but it had broken your heart. And heartache is a consuming, suffocating and painful thing to feel. A constant lump in your throat, something always weighing your chest down, a disastrous, aching discomfort in your belly. Tears had stained your pillow at night and dried by the morning, the fabric of the linen acquiring the same unphased facade that you would wear as you plastered on a mask of ignorance so that you could continue to live through your day. 

All because you had wanted him. Aemond, who was doomed to disappoint and destroy merely because that is all that princes do. 

For him to have mistaken your truce–the end to the back and forth game that had been wreaking havoc in its wake-as forgiveness was infuriating. He had no idea. 

Well, maybe he did. Now that he had seen you with another just as you had seen him. And you recognised your own experience in the moment he had realised what was happening. 

Aemond’s call to breakfast made you want to laugh. But you had turned him down for afternoon tea just the day before only to be found swallowing his brother’s seed. You winced at the shamefulness of your thought, muttering a quick prayer for the sake of your piety whether it was genuine or not. 

He was seated lazily in the chair he favoured, an array of food spread across the table. There was a book in his hand. The same one he had taken from you the last time you had shared your morning meal together. Aemond had a smirk playing on his lips. 

You cleared your throat, curtsying before sitting down at the other end of the table to him and with as much distance between you as you could muster. “Good morrow, my Prince,”

“Formalities, I see,” He looked at you through his lashes. It was odd seeing him so relaxed, the tension that was always in his shoulders had been lost and there was a playful glint to his eye. You wanted to smack it out. “I believed we were past titles and distance for the sake of propriety, my sweet. As well as rigid greetings.”

All you responded with was a stare. 

Dropping the book to his side, Aemond sighed and leaned forward, pouring tea into a cup. He stood, taking a couple steps forward to hand it to you. “We have fixed-”

“We have fixed nothing.”

“I am trying to turn a new leaf,” he commanded. You took the cup and saucer from his hand, the warm waft of vanilla and rose giving you a slight reprieve from the threat that rolled off his tongue. “If you do not recall, dear wife, I as well have every reason to resent you. The image of you sucking on my useless brother’s cock is not one I can easily bare. Yet I have chosen to let it be. I could have easily decided otherwise.”

“That would make you a hypocrite.” You glanced at him over the rim of your teacup. 

“It does not matter much if I am a hypocrite, does it?” Aemond sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t bothered with the food in front of him, focused solely on you. “I hardly see how that would change anything.”

You squirmed under the intensity of his stare, picking up a cherry from the bowl of fruits and rolling the stem between your fingers. “It matters to me. Certainly, it matters for your reputation among the smallfolk. Nobody cares for a selfish prince, my dear.”

Aemond hummed, smirking at the venom you spat at him. You noticed the coin that he rolled between his fingers, nimble and thoughtless as if it were like breathing. Not so much a nervous habit but a thoughtful one. 

He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy your confidence. It was refreshing. But there was a dip in his gut at the thought that there was no hope for the two of you. Aemond, ever logical, knew he had no one else to blame but himself with his lack of foresight and failure to see beyond the now and here. 

Because Aemond had not even considered how things would go on should you not forgive him. He had assumed that you would if not merely on the basis that there was little lost from a relationship that hardly existed in the first place. You had love for him and he was so convinced that such a thing would be impossible that he didn’t consider that it would cause you heartache beyond slighted offence and jealousy. 

A violet eye lingered on the cherry that remained between your fingers. Aemond was good at putting on an act. He thought for a moment that he would rather take lashes to his back than have you know that he had no idea how to love someone properly. A part of him was persuaded that he was incapable of being a good lover. The lashes seemed like a blissful gift compared to the self-loathing that simmered in his belly at the probability that he had ruined any chance your marriage had of recovery.  

It crossed his mind that it was his ignorance towards you right from the beginning that had damned your relationship. 

Either way, it did not help that you had turned to his brother for intimacy. Aemond felt his blood scorch whenever that invaded his mind. He wanted to crumble the walls of this fortress when he wondered if Aegon had enjoyed your womanhood. Jealousy did motivate him well, he realised, and Aemond had the murderous urge to feed Aegon to Vhagar. 

Nonetheless, he feigned amusement. “It seems as if you care for one.”

You ate the cherry. It was sweet and rich. All you replied with was an upturn of your chin as you gracefully held a small embroidered towel to your lips.

“So I am not forgiven?” Aemond had to break the silence before it cut him open. “Are we not even?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you held back a surprised laugh. “You never apologised. Not that it would make any difference.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Of course you are not forgiven,” you sighed. The tea cup hit the table with a clang. Your disdain for his actions and his ignorance gave you an unfettered confidence around him which you weren’t accustomed to. It made it very difficult to control yourself. “And no, we are not even, my Prince. And since you have brought it to my attention, I am of half a mind to find Aegon and offer him a meal between my thighs. You see, I have often wondered how it would feel and I expect that our King would be happy to indulge my… curiosities.”

Aemond sneered, a silent one that was more visible in his intake of a breath, the curl of his lips and the hardening of his eye. Bullseye. 

It took him less than a couple seconds to be on his knees in front of where you sat, a strong hand tightly gripping each side of your thighs over the thick fabrics of your dress. He had shoved the table aside, unphased as tea spilled and fruits and cheeses toppled to the floor. Something in the look of bewilderment on your face had Aemond ready to both grin at your clueless innocence and frown at your shock.

Aemond didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that you had given up on expecting such pleasures from him. He was your husband; nothing about what he was clearly intending on doing to you should surprise you. Cursing himself to perdition would not be enough for how he has failed you. 

“I feel obliged to remind you that we had agreed,” he grazed his nose across your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes, jaw clenched tight as he all but growled his words. “That there will be no more of this foolishness. Not from you and not from me.”

It was an onslaught of different things that had rendered you still and silent. The way Aemond looked at you like you were the only satiating force for his eternal hunger, the wordless mixture of desire and anger in how his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, the desperation in his voice, strained by the fear that you would. Or was it the overwhelming feeling that Aemond was finally taking some accountability and that maybe he recognised not what his actions were but the meaning that they carried?

For a moment Aemond just looked at you, conflicted and fragmented and unguarded. The sight of him like this reminded you of a vulnerable child. But it didn’t last long before the menacing, cautionary glint was back in his eye, his posture becoming rigid as shuffled the fabrics of your skirts. 

A new kind of anxiety overcame you. Not like the insignificant nervousness you had felt that night when you had wandered into his chambers or used his leg to make yourself peak and not like the clueless apprehension with Aegon. It formed a ball in your chest and made it hard to breathe. 

There was no chance he would ever admit it but you could see Aemond’s vulnerability and desperation within the hardened facade he had perfected. He wanted nothing more than to seem strong and powerful at all times, worthy of acclaim and reverence. But here he was, willing to stay on his knees and worship you forever, all under the pretence of rageful infatuation. 

It was too hot. Even with the cool of the shadows cast by the dark net curtains that only let in enough daylight to see clearly and not enough to cause Aemond irritation from sensitivity in his eye, it was so warm you worried you would have to rip the sleeves off of your dress.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Aemond let out a soft, dark groan, running his fingers across the expanse of your legs over your stockings, your skirts already bunched at your hips. Skin burning at his touch, you couldn’t help the way you whined and squeezed your thighs together, squirming under the intensity of his gaze. 

His voice was heavy with the burden of lust and regret. “I will be better. In all the ways that I have failed you and more. Your forgiveness, I realise, is not as easily granted as I presumed but I will show you that I am worthy of it.” 

There was a moment of weakness in your mind before you caught yourself. You didn’t quite believe him. It had clearly been too easy for him to give you empty promises and there was no reason why things would be different now. 

It was odd. Seeing Aemond weak like this. 

What would it mean if you let him continue? It was clearly different this time. You couldn’t put it into words exactly but there was a rawness, a blitz of different emotions that set things ablaze and made you want to both weep and mewl for him. 

You couldn’t spare a thought about why it was different. Aemond was right there, a weaponised Prince on his knees for you, a lowly Lady with nothing more to offer him than yourself. Since when did you hold all this power over him? 

That night in his bedchambers and last night when you had shared a laugh despite everything that had unfolded felt detached in a way. When you had allowed yourself release over his leg it was simply that. A way to ease the tension he had put in your body and a way to leave him wanting.

Aemond’s eye swam with a tenderness you had not seen from him. He continued to look up at you waiting to gauge your response. It was a slight nod of your head which had his hands tearing at the soft fabric of your stockings, his lips instantly meeting the skin of your knees before you had the chance to even gasp. All the while, he kept his eye on you as if his heart would cease to beat if he could not watch the way you reacted to him. 

It became increasingly harder to breathe. There were so many thoughts, so many sensations that you struggled to put it all together. Your flushed with anticipation, your cunt throbbed at the wet plushness of his lips on your hot skin and your hips squirmed at what was to come. 

Your mind, however, flashed with the image of Aemond, exactly as he was now, between another woman’s thighs. A woman who didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar touch, who didn’t jerk away at the foreign feeling of being pleasured. You wondered if he would be so angered at the prospect of another man’s mouth on her womanhood, if her skin felt softer or more rough on his lips and if he looked at her with the same heated need.

It made you feel sick. 

Aemond let himself enjoy the way your thighs tensed, pulling your smallclothes off of you as much as carefully as he could under the restriction of your skirts. There was an urge to rip the entire dress off but he knew it would be a step too far. He couldn’t help the low sounds that left him, sounds he couldn’t recognise. The expanse of your thighs and the sight of your flushed, hot cunt in front of him made his mouth water with a hunger that would have shocked him had he not been so distracted by your scent. 

Without complete vision, Aemond had learned to train his sense of touch, taste, smell and hearing to make up for the disadvantage he was stuck with. They were always slightly heightened compared to those who never needed the compensation of senses but in the cloud of desire and lust, he was sensitive. 

You whined at the way his tongue glided over your skin, biting down hard but not hard enough to be painful on the flesh of your upper thigh so close to where you needed to feel him. But Aemond was always remarkably patient and he merely made way to your other leg, repeating his ministrations and licking you from your knee to where he bit you at your thigh. 

The haze that had possessed you made you lose track of your thoughts so easily. Still, they fought their way to the forefront of your mind at every chance they could and you were reminded of her. 

Aemond’s mind was overwhelmed by you. There was no power in the realm that could make him think of anything else, not with the way you were trembling under his feathered touch and making such beautiful sounds for him, and not when he desired for anyone else apart from you. 

A heavy breath of shame and excitement tumbled out of you at how lewdly he dragged the tip of his nose across your thigh, pressing it into the flesh that sat above your slick, aching cunt and inhaling. You clenched around nothing, your clit twitching at the sound of Aemond’s unabashed groan. 

He grasped at your hips and your legs, his fingers burying into your flesh and tugging as if there would never be enough of you in his hands. It would have driven you into a similarly desperate state had things been different. 

The prince between your thighs was a sight to behold. Aemond’s skin was flushed pink, his eyepatch slightly out of place and his hair tousled from the way your legs clenched and unclenched against his head. He was almost drooling, mumbling about how good you smelled and how perfect and pretty your cunt was for him. His cock had never been so hard, constricted by the stiff leather of his training attires. 

Aemond enjoyed being a tease but there was only so much he could handle himself. While he wanted you to crave for him the way he was craving you so unbearably, Aemond needed to taste you. He needed to make you feel the blinding pleasure he should have been giving you at every chance he had since the night you were married. He needed to show you the ways of unbridled human desire and to show you all the ways your body could come undone and fall apart only to feel completely whole and fulfilled. 

There was no changing the past but Aemond would make up for how completely inattentive he had been. He would show you all the more fervently. When Aemond placed an open mouthed kiss just above your slit, letting a string of his spit glide off of his tongue onto your sensitive pussy, you shuddered.

All at once your mind was once again taken over by unsavoury thoughts. It had your eyes welling with tears, a familiar lump lodging in your throat, threatening to come out in a devastated sob. There was a ringing in your ears and you were back at Aemond’s door, peeking in only to see him giving that woman the same touch he was giving you right now. He had seemed so enthralled by her and the way she must have tasted. It was as if he’d been there before, indulging in her with so much passion it rivalled how eagerly touched you in this moment. 

Did her smell fill his veins with fire as yours was? Did her scent alone make his cock as painfully hard as yours did? Did her cunt drip for him the way yours did? Was the hunger in his eye shining for her too?

It was terrifying to consider. 

Aemond would spend hours here, he had decided. His duties for the day could be damned to the hells for all he cared. There was a rumbling in his chest for what he saw in front of him, inviting him to indulge and filling his mind with senseless ardour. Aemond let himself enjoy just the scent of you, his eye fluttering shut and his nose gently resting above your folds as he breathed you in, caressing your thighs softly with his hands. As if he were starved for years, Aemond salivated and with no patience left within him, he brought his lips downwards to meet the precious cunt he had been dreaming of. 

With a whimper that you couldn’t hold back, you jerked away from him. Aemond pulled away in surprise, his gaze full of confusion and lust and insecurity. “Wait, my love—“

You had slipped free of his grasp, a strangled cry escaping no matter how hard you tried to keep it in. There was one tear that slipped free, followed by countless more and you couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see that he was hurt before scrambling away from him. 

She was stuck in your mind. The memory of Aemond’s little trysts with her replaying behind your eyes no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. It was clear that there was nothing you could do to get ahold of yourself because everytime you looked at him, so enthralled in you and your sex, she was there. 

Laughing at you in the back of your mind, as if she had taken residence in a permanent place in your head, enjoying the state of despair and madness she and Aemond had led you to. 

But she couldn’t be in your head. Not really. Not in the way it felt she was. 

You barely glanced back at Aemond through your tears, struggling to even your breathing and calm the rapid beating of your heart. He hadn’t moved much; just simply stayed there frowning at the space that you had once occupied on the chair. 

There was nothing he could do to change things. Aemond knew that as well as you did. But there was a pain in your heart at the way he looked so defeated, so guilty that it almost seemed like he would melt into a puddle of remorse. A far stretch from the usual stoic warrior that you had known him as.

“My prince, I–” you swallowed, your voice catching when he looked up at you with a wide eye and furrowed eyebrows. For a moment you remembered that he had no right - but he was trying, was he not? “I cannot continue with this knowing that you had touched her like this. It angers me and it upsets me and it pains me to think of it but ‘tis beyond my control.”

He stayed silent, observing the way you hid yourself from him and struggled to meet his gaze. There was a sullen look to you, one you had not entered with and it stuck needles in his flesh to think that he had been the cause of it. Aemond’s entire body felt hot and he was itching to tear off his leathers. He wished the gods would strike him down as he was for hurting you so.

You had turned away, disappearing from his quarters swiftly. You would never forget the image of how you had left him there–it was both satisfying and devastating. 

Aemond, still on his knees for the ghost of you, his expression tortured and his shoulders tensed. It was a pathetic sight, should anyone stumble upon it, but you considered it beautiful. Beautiful in a lethal, catastrophic manner. Not unlike himself; a weaponised source of destruction who had a tendency to bring torment upon those he loved. 

The rest of your day had been spent alone in your chambers. You hadn’t cried so much over any of it until now. The tears and sobs that you had held inside of yourself for weeks had forced themselves out, along with the emotions you had pushed down until you could no longer. 

Aemond had a certain control while you were sitting in that seat, skirts bunched to your stomach and quivering for him to have his way. Regardless, the power was still yours and you knew that it was Aemond who was wrapped tightly around your finger at that moment. He would have listened to anything you had said–done anything you had told him to do. 

Perhaps you had become too stubborn in your anger to have let yourself feel anything else. A retributive anger; one that sprouted from the lack of love that existed in your marriage and reached a climax at Aemond’s brazen adultery. And it only grew stronger in whatever back and forth Aemond had encouraged by dangling his whore in front of your face. 

Whatever it was, you were feeling so much more now than you had before. 

Or perhaps it was because you could see that Aemond was remorseful. He would never yet admit it but you knew from the way he had behaved since you had visited him in his bed. It was no act of redemption and definitely no apology but it was impossible to ignore the change in him. You had never seen Aemond the way you had seen him this morning. 

Vulnerable, gentle, tormented. 

A knock on your door had you sniffling and wiping away any tear stains that may have lingered on your cheeks. You had stopped crying for some time but the need to wallow and lament had stayed. When you called out to ask, the guard at your door notified you of the Dowager Queen’s presence. 

Oh, seven hells. 

There was really no chance you could refuse her so you merely let her in and called a servant to bring some refreshments. Queen Alicent sat herself down but remained tense, carefully watching you as you took a place beside her. 

“Have you been crying?” Her concern was comforting. “I believe I know why.”

You straightened, not meeting the eye of the woman who reached a tender hand to your knee. Hiding behind a forced smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep knows, Your Grace.”

“It has been known for some time,” Alicent was gentle, her cautionary gaze telling you that she was apprehensive about bringing her son’s misadventures up. You held your breath. “Since the first time he had summoned that Alys woman-”

“Alys? Is that her name?”

“You do not know?” There was a tense silence. Alicent couldn’t meet your gaze, pity swimming across her features. Aemond was her son and there were many things that she had let her sons get away with but her heart pained at the broken quiver in your voice. 

Alicent had noticed the change in Aemond since the night that you had found him with Alys. The second time. He had never paid much attention to you aside from what appearances required yet Alicent knew her son far more than he would be willing to accept. She had known that there was something in his heart for you, no matter how small and no matter how it dwindled until set alight. 

Aemond had done the wrong thing. She had no doubts about that. Alicent would have words with him once she figured out what to say to him. But he was her son and there were certain misdoings that she knew she had to defend them through. To protect his marriage, his image and his happiness. The Queen Dowager cleared her throat and reached for your hand, eyebrows furrowing at the way you stared down at your lap, the anguish you felt in your heart written clearly across your face. 

“I understand that you are hurting, my dear. Although my husband remained faithful to me until his death and I cannot quite imagine the pain in your heart–I see how you have love for my son, even if you nor him have known it, I do understand,” Alicent took a breath, closing her eyes. “This is the way of men. And princes–”

“Please, Your Grace, I mean this with utmost respect for you but I do not wish to hear your excuses,” you whispered. There was a prickly, breathless worry that had settled in your gut. What did you not know? Was this Alys someone who mattered? “But I would like to know what you are withholding from me about this woman. I believe I deserve that at the very least.”

Alicent stared at you for a moment, examining you. She could drive her son further into the ground with what she was about to say. “Aemond had a paramour–at least it was rumoured, he never spoke of such things with me. Alys Rivers, a wetnurse and servant woman from Harrenhal.”

“A paramour?”

“It was before you were married,” Alicent was quick to clarify. “I had assumed that Aemond wanted nothing more to do with her when she left–at his order, I believe. Some say she was a witch. Perhaps she enchanted him.” 

You couldn’t look at her. She was more than just a whore? Had he lied to you right from the beginning? Bile rose up in your throat. There was a thrum in your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat and you feared that you would be sick from the drop in your gut. 

“Did he love her? Could he still?”

Alicent sucked in a breath. “I do not know, my child.”

All you could do was nod pathetically. Alicent was a woman of great strength and dedication; you had once wished to be much like her one day. But as you sat beside her now, you wished she had been a liar and a cheat and a meddling gossip. That you could find a way to fault her words but you could tell it caused her great difficulty to speak of Aemond’s actions honestly. 

Ever poised and elegant, Alicent only leaned forward to you, her posture straight as a needle and her touch soft as linen. “I did not mean to upset you further. I only meant to speak with you about returning to Courtly activities, with the other Ladies and Helaena has been asking for you. And the Ladies speak–”

“They speak terribly of me,” you scoffed, allowing a humourless laugh. “I understand, Your Grace. I will return to spending my days in company other than my own.”

Alicent hated to pry but she felt that she must, now that she had dealt her cards against Aemond’s fate. “Perhaps you should speak with Aemond. He cares for you deeply. It would be a shame for your union to fall apart over such misunderstandings.”

If not for formality, you would have rolled your eyes. Again, you simply nodded, your mind reeling back to the woman that Alicent had given a name to. You would ask Aemond about her. It would be the less damning option rather than turning to Aegon once more but the idea of speaking to Aemond about a woman he may once have loved still made you want to crawl underneath the sheets of your bed and disappear. 

You thought of the woman who you had seen through the crack in the door and wished you had taken extra care in looking at her. There was little you could recall other than the darkness and length of her hair, the paleness of her skin and the perfection in her curves as she pleasured Aemond and as he did the same for her. 

As if she was familiar with all the things that made him weak. All the things that made Aemond weak. How she had touched him like she was an expert in his body. And you thought of Aemond, bare and comfortable with her. Aemond with his sapphire glimmering under the lamplight instead of an eye, a rawness and trust that you had never seen of him until that night. 

He trusted her.

Alys Rivers. 

.....................................................

Tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen

[billzoned]

Hey, I don't know if you still write, but I imagine sapnap getting angry after losing in a game and taking it out on the bed-

anger

pairing :: cc! sapnap + afab! reader

content warnings :: explicit content, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it guys), dom! sapnap, sub! reader, edging, ..marking, choking, belly bulge.., hair pulling if u squint, praise.., bjs, creampie :o

word count :: 920

author's note :: i am indeed still writing! i just write excruciatingly slow and my motivated comes in small bursts most of the time. but requests are always welcome <3

(ps.) i am horrible at writing endings, and aftercare...oopsies? :'c

NOT PROOFREAD — nsfw under cut.

sapnap is one to get just a little bit...angry if he loses in something. it doesn't matter if it's a video game, or anything else– he'll get irritated. to make it oh so much better– he takes his anger out on you every time he gets the chance.

all that could be heard throughout sapnap's room was the sound of gagging and euphoric groans coming from sapnap. after he lost a manhunt (horribly), he had decided to take all of his anger out on you– in your vulnerable state of watching youtube videos in the room next to him, he had dragged you into his own room and decided to simply fuck your throat and try to blow off some steam.

your clothes were nowhere to be found– probably thrown on the floor somewhere as your throat convulsed around sapnap's cock as he harshly forced your head up and down repeatedly. you were clearly having trouble taking all of him into your mouth. "ah, god- come on, just be a good little slut and take it, yeah?" he mocked your struggles. but he rolled his eyes, grabbed your hair and pulled your mouth off of him anyway, letting you take a breather as you coughed from the severe asphyxiation you had experienced in the past two minutes– until he pushed your head back down and continued ravaging your throat until it was sore and raw. he kept fucking into your mouth until suddenly his cum shot down your throat and painting your mouth white with a loud groan.

finally, after what felt like eternity, he grabbed a handfull of your hair and roughly pulled you off of him and carried you to his bed. "you want to be fucked, don't you?" he said as he bent down to start his attack on your neck– biting and kissing all over the flesh until your skin was littered in pink-ish red marks. the noises you were making were enough of a confirmation for sapnap, as he trails his hand down from your stomach to your thighs, and finally to your dripping cunt. he slowly drags his fingers up and down your folds until he stops at your clit– rubbing small circles rabidly and hearing your small whimpers and quiet moans fall out from your lips. you were just on the edge of release, your noises getting just a bit louder and more desperate, until he stopped all of his movements and left you with a ruined orgasm.

"you're gonna have to beg if you really want to cum, sweetheart." he said tauntingly, slipping his fingers into your cunt. you looked at him with fat tears rolling down your face, trying your best to beg. "please, sap!! jus' let me cum-! please-please, please!" you beg, your destroyed voice trembling and filled with desperation. "hm.. i may consider it.." this went on for a couple of minutes until he finally gave you what you were begging for. your legs had started shaking uncontrollably from the overstimulation of his fingers moving rapidly in and out of your pussy as the coil in your abdomen snaps. you moan aloud and your eyes roll back into your head in pleasure– vision going cloudy– as sapnap looks down at you. "there you are... good girl, good girl.. doing so well for me.." he praised, as he pulled his fingers out of you.

he swiftly pulled you to the edge of his bed, lining up his cock with your entrance and pushing the tip in, before slamming into you and making you moan loudly. he grabbed your hips tightly– so tightly that they would certainly leave bruises in the morning. the continuous sounds of skin-on-skin slapping and the sounds of ecstasy coming from both you was simply intoxicating to sapnap. he couldn't help himself– he just had to wrap his large hand around your throat like a necklace and hear your struggled moans. "take it- fuck- take it f'me, yeah?" he whispered in your ear. he looked down over your body, his eyes stopping at the little bulge pressing up in your tummy every time he thrusted in and out. his head fell back from the sight– he wasn't even sure if he could last much longer from that.

your moans increased in volume as his cock brushed against your g-spot, waves of pure pleasure flowing through your veins every time he pounds into you. he slowly trailed his hand down from your throat to your stomach, and to your clit– rubbing it rapidly and stimulating the small bundle of nerves. the two of you weren't gonna last too much longer, that was for sure. with sap pounding into you and the two of you being in a state of pure ecstasy..it was bound to end soon.

you could feel the familiar feeling of your abdomen tightening, signaling you were close to your long awaited orgasm. suddenly, with one simple deep thrust from sapnap your orgasm hit you like a truck– your eyes rolling back into your head and a loud moan falling from your lips. sap's hips were soon stuttering as he groans, head falling backwards and eyes closing as his cum leaks into you. he takes a moment before he pulls out–asking if you're okay and slowly slipping out.

the last thing you remember is him saying, "i'll be back in a minute, alright?" before seeing his blurry figure getting up and walking supposedly to the bathroom to go get a wet wash cloth to clean you up.

<3

AA I FINALLY POSTED SOMETHING I WROTE!!1!1!! it's 1 in the morning and it's not the best but hope yall enjoy! :3

[backmuscles21]

In The Open

Recoms x Reader

Summary: Literally a few small blurbs of the different times your lovers have caught you being fucked by your other lovers. I want to start writing for poly recoms cause I've been reading that and there isn't enough and it's a hyper fixation so imma flood the market, I love poly shit. I wanted to get a feel for them first so this is just a short guy and I'll hopefully write something much longer and more detailed soon.

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, explicit language, public sex

You were on the bench in the recom-only gym, your knees and elbows resting on the bench as Lyle held your hips and fucked into you. He was relentless too, your head hung low as you moaned out loudly. Lyle stared at the large gym mirrors to watch as he fucked you, it only made him hornier, somehow. He lifted his one leg up to rest on the bench to thrust into you harder.

Then the door opened and some other recoms walked in.

“Dude what the hell,” Lopez said.

“You started the show without us?” Walker laughed out.

“Hell yeah,” Lyle chuckled.

Prager who stood there shocked, finally moved, he moved in front of your face.

“That good baby? Is Lyle fucking you good?”

You nodded.

Lyle grabbed your braid and pulled your head back and you cried out.

“Words buttercup.”

“It feels so good. Lyle’s cock feels so good, so deep.”

Prager’s hand caressed your cheek, “you look fucked dumb baby. Think you can handle another after Lyle?”

“Maybe. She’s cummed four times already.”

“Explains why she can barely hold herself up,” Lopez laughed.

“Just wait till the Colonel sees this,” Walker chuckled sitting down on a different bench.

Funny enough even though you were dating all of the recoms, you did still enjoy a semblance of privacy. However, that is thrown out of the window with the number of times you are engaged in sexual activity in public spaces and your other lovers enter. Like the time Zdog decided that eating you out on the canteen table was a great idea. They all knew what they did was no secret, they were worried about privacy when places they were doing these things were in recom only areas.

Your hand was gripping onto the hairs of Zdog’s mohawk as her face was pushed in between your thighs. Your back was resting on the corner of the table and your legs were resting over Zdog’s shoulders and onto her back. Your head was thrown back and pressed into the silver metal table, it would’ve been freezing if you were sweating currently. The door opened to Lyle, Miles and Ja, they stopped in their tracks, you didn’t hear a thing until you heard Lyle snicker.

Your tired eyes opened and you used your abs to slightly lift your head and shoulders off the table to see who entered.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Miles chuckled.

Ja’s face was a bright purple, the blush was so deep on this poor boy, he’d never walked in on one of his lovers in the act. He knew about it, he knew it was happening around the base, and his lovers talked about it. He had just never experienced it and this poor innocent little boy couldn’t take it. He had watched his lovers fuck you before and had fucked you while the others watched but that was all planned, it was never like this.

Lyle clapped his hands on Ja’s shoulder, “too much for you baby boy.”

Ja shook his head, “just caught off guard.”

“Mhm,” Miles said as he came up to you and squatted down by your face and you moved your head over to look at him.

Zdog knew exactly what she was doing, she was playing a game, and she was holding you back until the right moment. As Miles brushed some hair out of your face and went to speak, probably something very degrading. Zdog made you cum, your eyes squeezed shut and your head moved closer to your body. Your hand gripped Zdog’s hair harder and gripped the side of the stainless-steel table, Miles smirked at your reaction, all the boys did, they knew what just happened.

“You really know what you're doing Z. Always waiting for the right moment,” Miles said.

Zdog pulled away from your dripping pussy and smiled at Miles before she went to kiss you, forcing you to taste yourself. Your hands wrapped around her neck as you kissed her, your tongue licking up her chin, you only now can hear the sounds of Ja’s sweet soft moans. You open your eyes to look at what is happening, Zdog moves from your mouth to kiss down your neck.

Currently, Lyle had his hand down Ja’s pants and was stroking him to heaven, the poor boy was so turned on and very hard but couldn’t bring himself to touch himself, so Lyle did it for him. Zdog sat you up and removed your RDA standard issue tank top and helped you take your tight sports bra off.

“So, which one of you boys wants her first?”

Better yet, everyone's favourite time was when you were all going on your first mission as recoms and you all agreed that there was to be no funny business. But Lopez can’t keep his hands to himself and as they are taking off, he already has two fingers in you. Some looked at him with a ‘really?’ face and others, Lyle, had the biggest smirk.

Lopez leaned into your ear, “better stay quiet, don’t want any of the little guys to hear.”

His snicker and his command made you squirm and he knew it too, he knew that’d get you going, he wanted the human pilots to hear and see. He wanted those humans to see that he could get pussy on the reg and they were still fucking their fists at night.

“Colonel gave us strict orders to follow and you can’t keep your hands to yourself for five minutes?” Mansk said from across Lopez.

Lopez stared at his fanged smile in the reflection of Mansk’s glasses, “she’s just sitting here, lookin’ all pretty, what did you expect me to do?”

“Listen to direct orders?”

“Like he wouldn’t fuck her now if he could?”

“We all would, but we have responsibilities. Did you not get enough of her last night?”

Lopez’s fingers still curled within you as your hips thrusted to make his fingers move more, your eyebrows were pressed together as you could feel pleasure building.

“Look at that, I’ll never get enough. How could any of y’all stay soft seeing this.”

“Because we fucked her last night.”

“I mean so did I, but this face never leaves my thoughts.”

“Geez, you guys are worse than Lyle,” Walker spoke up with a laugh.

“Hey, I mean it is nice, I’ll side with Lopez on that. I’ll always get bricked up for that.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy this and getting off is amazing. We have a job to do and I’d rather not be horny all mission,” you panted out.

“Fine, you win,” Lopez pulled his fingers out and pulled his mask down enough to suck his fingers before placing the mask where it originally was. “But this ain’t over when we get back ooo boy.”

Even better that time you all had a whole bunch of medical appointments after you first woke up but decided that fucking was a great idea before that. You were all so used to it as humans that waking up in your Na’vi bodies didn’t change anything. Going to physicals with multiple bite marks and hickies and bruises, made all the scientists nervous, they questioned you all about it. Of course, none of you told them what actually happened.

[wetcatspellcaster]

2024 fic wrapped

I was tagged by @cursedhaglette to do this tag-game, but I found the focus on stats made me a little uncomfortable! (also, no one needs to know how many words I wrote while having multiple breakdowns last year, truly).

But, I didn't want to ignore Mia's tag! so instead, I'm going to take @cinnamontails-ff wrapped tag-game, just bc I sympathise with the logic and I like this set of questions a lot more!

Thank you Cin for coming up with questions that don't focus so much on productivity. And thank you again, Mia, for including me in the original game :) hopefully this is an acceptable substitute!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I guess, what it feels like to be a 'popular' author - and the answer is, 'both good and bad, in fact, extremely mixed'. Obviously, many parts of it are wonderful: more people interacted with my work in the height of the BG3 fandom than I've ever had before, I felt like my writing mattered and I enjoyed every conversation I had about it. I also felt under a lot more scrutiny, very hyperaware of how I acted in 'public' (ie. on this blog), and aware of the people I'd disappoint with the directions I took my stories and what I chose to include. I also had to watch the baffling half-life of modern fandom! BG3's 6 month peak and 1yr trough was wild to me, as someone who joined dragon age 8yrs after the game was released. But I've decided I actually really like the middle-road of interaction, with much less noise and dedicated, recurring readers who I recognise and who make me smile and laugh every single time they comment or tag my work. I'll probably never experience whatever the fuck Pieces was ever again, and I'm honestly... ok with that, currently? Not to sound awful, but I'm not sure I liked it lmao.

In terms of my writing, my biggest learning point was "you're good at this, actually". Chanting this to myself in the mirror while I white-knuckle the sink.

How has your writing developed this past year?

I'm genuinely not certain. Pieces was certainly my most ambitious story yet, but a lot of the outlining of that took place in 2023 so it feels like the development happened then... though I suppose landing the dismount was something I worked very hard to do. I guess the main development this year was that a lot of what I wrote was extremely, extremely angsty. I wrote Pieces, I wrote This Is Not A Love Story. and I gave Rosalie to Orin :))))) this doesn't necessarily surprise me, given the way my writing often reflects things I'm dealing with in my life, and I've been trying to both recover from - and desparately stave off a relapse into - depression. I think that I can see why I keep making characters into the worst versions of themselves (this goes for Astarion, Rosalie - bc Pieces Rosalie is NOT in a good place, Gale and my Durge) and then watching them claw their way back to happiness in the hope of proving to myself that that's possible.

But jfc, it all got a little heavy. I've decided that 2025 is the Year of the Rom Com™.

Good writing habits?

Committing myself exclusively to what I want to read and sticking to my guns - which means I actually finish the thing, rather than getting into my own head about it.

Stretching my comfort zone a little (writing something vaguely smutty, writing something very different in style, switching genres for a bit) without losing my own voice.

Not falling into any jealousy/existential crises about my own writing, which I guess is much easier when you're experiencing a bout of 'success', but I've managed to keep it up even after the success began tailing off :)

I wrote a lot of words last year. I'm not putting the stat down but god. It was a lot.

Bad writing habits?

Overwriting everything. Everything. All the time. Party Favours was so short!!! I used to write novellas!!! Why are my chapters so fucking long now?????

Having multiple fic wips when I promised myself I'd wind down fanfic and start writing original work again :')

I wrote a lot of words last year. I think I did this bc I was extremely unhappy, and productivity is how I define myself. when I feel bad, I write and post bc it makes me feel good. And I felt very bad this year. So anyway, I think my wordcount is both a good thing and also a wee cry for help :'))))

Favorite thing you wrote?

Chapter Twenty-Three of Pieces (Mephistopheles consultation and my Ascended!Astarion meta-reveal)

Chapter Four of Cooler Than Me (putting the blorbos in a formal-wear situation)

I also liked my sex scene in Pieces :') it was tame but it was written for me specifically x

Favorite reads?

for fic!

long summer days can lead to lazy vices by @pouroverpaloma

eyes like fire by demonsbanebard

only once by @bearhugsandshrugs

and of course stitched into your sleeve by the bestie (@violacae)!!! my first ever gift fic!!!

for literature!

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door by HG Parry

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

Deeplight by Frances Hardinge

Biggest win?

god. I'm endlessly grateful for my gift fic and for my fanart, but... it's got to be bookbindings. I used to daydream, about somebody ever wanting to have my fic bound, but I thought it was impossible and would never happen! I now know of 3 copies of my work that exist in the world :D and the ones I've seen were fucking gorgeous, like oh my fucking god.

I am also very proud I finished Pieces! It was my most ambitious project, and writing the ending presented even more challenges than I expected - as I discovered how much you write yourself into a corner when you resoul Astarion. I still haven't managed to read the completed work in full yet, but I'm proud it exists :)

Goals for the new year?

finish outstanding wips, and then see where my writing takes me next. I want to write original work, but I also don't want to make it a resolution. As long as I continue to enjoy writing, that's what matters most to me!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I think I use '[x character] froze' a lot, but rather than focusing on my repetitions I want to focus on some of my favourite turns of phrase that I managed to pull from the ether! :)

'before her brief courtship with death threatened to become a commitment' - from the risk and the reward

'We can all still be butchered. We cut away the parts of ourselves to make us fit' - from this is a love story.

"He played an androgynous, morally-grey vampire, of indeterminate gender! In a nice coat! Anyone who had two working eyes and a relevant Kinsey Score read the porn, back in the day!” - from cooler than me

What are you excited for in the new year?

act 3 astarion characterisation for honest lie! the first big romance moment in cooler than me! and then just romcoms! 2025 is the year of the romcom! I want to write exclusively happy things!!!!

tagging: @cursedhaglette (as it's a different set of questions lmao), @imscissorbladez, @violacae, @eraserspiral, @scaryanneee, @sitting-in-the-sink, @pricemarshfield, @pouroverpaloma and anyone else who wants to give this a whirl. anyone is welcome, and if you tag me in it I'll share x

[ghulehunknown]

Can I ask for papas seeing their s/o jealous for the first time? (Let's say they were married/in relationship for years and somehow papas never 👀 jealous s/o)

Sure thing, I’ll do my best! I decided to write both sides of the jealousy coin.

Papa Headcanons - Jealousy

(Rated PG-13; mild NSFW)

Primo

Reacting to you feeling jealous:

Would immediately assure you that you have nothing to worry about (though he is hiding a slight sense of ego, afterall it’s quite flattering that you’d be jealous of someone else that might want him)

Asks what the root of the issue is - it can’t just be jealousy, can it? You wind up telling him about your childhood trauma and where this all stems from

He nods patiently and assures you that you’re in a safe space; he’s a judgment free zone

A very therapeutic conversation, actually and you leave feeling better than before

Feeling or showing he’s jealous:

He doesn’t react much; he’s too old to play games and if you are sneaking around on him he’ll eventually find out, but he trusts you

Very calm

Asks you questions about the situation to get a better understanding before jumping to conclusions

Does not treat you any differently TBH

Secondo

Reacting to you feeling jealous:

Approaches it logically; he knows this is bound to happen in any long term relationship but you’ll face it together head on

Presents the facts to you and lets you decide on your own from there; he won’t try overly hard to convince you of something when there is evidence in front of you to see you have no reason to be jealous

Tells you all the reasons he loves you

Feeling or showing he’s jealous:

Has a twinge of internal struggle

Ultimately he knows logically you do not belong to him, and therefore can do whatever you like - so there is no need for him to worry

However if you are doing something behind his back he won’t hesitate to leave and cut you off

Terzo

Reacting to you feeling jealous:

Slightly annoyed/defensive at first - how could anyone possibly think he’s done anything wrong when that was never his intention??

When he sees you’re actually upset, he turns very serious and professes his love for you

After you’ve resolved this and he’s assured you properly, he gets a smug little look on his face and says “Oh you want me so bad, don’t you? You liiiiike me” even though you’ve been together for years

Chases you around the house saying exaggerations such as “Amore, I would simply die without you! How could I look at another when you hold my balls in your hand?”

Goes from defensive to serious/comforting to horny in the span of 3 minutes

Bets he can “fuck the jealousy” right out of you 🥴 (and he does)

“Amore, how could I love another? You think anyone could fuck me as good as you do? You think anyone else’s body looks as good on me as yours? You think anyone’s mouth around my [redacted] is as pretty as yours?” (said while he’s fucking your brains out)

Feeling or showing he’s jealous:

Anxious as fuck; this is his ego’s worst nightmare

Agonizes and ruminates on things that probably aren’t even happening

Woefully dramatic, to his own detriment

Uses it as a competition. “Do they love you like I do?,” “Do they remember all of your favorite things?,” “Do they make you cum like I do?”

In the following days he does way more to show his affection than usual; flowers everyday and random dates and little gifts. His feelings are hurt and he wants to remain at the top of your mind

He just needs you to stroke his ego that he’s the only one for you and that there’s no reason for him to be jealous 😌

Copia

Reacting to you feeling jealous:

“Ehh…tesoro, what troubles you?” he would ask while tapping his fingers together nervously, immediately sensing your displeasure

Flattered at first (he’s never experienced this before!) but admits that he has eyes only for you

Dying to prove his devotion to you and promises you have no reason to be jealous

Gives you a big hug and spends the rest of the day with you doing all the things you like, even watching that show he doesn’t like but knows you do

Makes love to you that night like he never has before

Feeling or showing he’s jealous:

He’s embarrassed to admit it

Explains his emotions and needs in a healthy way that he clearly got from a therapist (“I feel jealous when ___ because ___..”)

Asks you for comfort and reassurance because he’s feeling a little down (he needs constant reassurance anyway)

[theresattrpgforthat]

would you happen to know about any ttrpg that could run/emulate the tone of STALKER/Annihilation?

Frail humain beings entering a Fucked Up Zone with the intent if reaching the center and things getting weirder and more dangerous the farther they go in?

THEME: Eerie Fucked Up Settings

Friend I have some truly excellent games for you this week.

TRESPASSER, by Binary Star Games.

The Zone is an area that's been sealed off by a nation or group of nations due to its danger. It's filled with Anomalies, extremely dangerous areas where physical laws like gravity, magnetism, electricity, or chemistry can break down to lethal effect, as well as mutants and things considered impossible.

Like many, you have entered the Zone, but not legally. You are collectively known as Trespassers. Some inside are on their own, some in groups, some part of larger factions. But most want one thing: to reach the centre and claim what it conceals.

This game can accommodate a GM but it isn’t necessary - in fact, you can even play it solo! As this game is inspired by STALKER, I think it’s going to really give you the vibe you’re going for. Troubles in Breathless games escalate as you play, so the longer you stay in The Zone, the worse things are going to get. I definitely recommend checking out this game!

BLOOM, by Litza Bronwyn.

BLOOM is a solo gmless journaling game in which you play a teenage girl trapped in quarantine at a boarding school on an island infected by the Tox, a plague that makes the trees and animals grow huge and hungry, and mutates your body in strange and horrific ways. In it, you will draw cards and write journal entries based on specific prompts in order to craft a story of survival and love.

I’ve read the book Wilder Girls by Rory Power, and it has a lot of the same themes as Annihilation and STALKER, so it might fit the niche you’re looking for. As a solo game, this uses the Wretched & Alone SRD, so you’ll probably want a Jenga tower, and you’ll definitely want a deck of cards.

Navigator, by Micheal Klamerus.

Navigator is a two-player tabletop rpg created for the Just the Two of Us Jam. It's inspired by the movie Stalker and the games Alone Among the Stars, Memoirs of a Barbarian and Thirst.

In this game two players journey into a mysterious, restricted site known as the Zone to find a room rumoured to grant people their innermost desires. One player is The Client, a person who wants to find this room and have their wish granted, and the other player is The Navigator, a person with previous experience navigating the Zone that has been hired by The Client to help them find the Room.

This game is definitely inspired by media such as STALKER, but it doesn’t have to be inspired by that. When I played this game, we decided to go for something a bit more fantastical, but if you and the person you play this with agree on the same inspiration, you should have no trouble experiencing this as an eerie, unnerving, dangerous setting.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by Exeunt Press.

YOU ARE AN EXCLUSION ZONE BOTANIST. GET IN. DISCOVER AND DOCUMENT. GET OUT.

Another one for the solo enthusiasts, and it’s inspired by Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation. Your character is specifically looking for plants, which you will locate by rolling 2d6. You get a little hex map to track your progress as you play. As you go, you risk being influenced by the corruption of the zone. Your goal is to document as many plants as possible before you become the forest - because if you are corrupted too much, they can’t pull you out. A delightfully time-sensitive game.

The Zone, by Laughing Kaiju.

The digital tabletop storygame of magical realism, mutant weirdness, and collaborative self-destruction.

This is a really cool digital ttrpg, with a physical version on the way. You can play solo or multiplayer, and the website will guide you through play step by step. The game is meant to be collaborative, so everyone will have moments where they direct play. The author also encourages you to play to lose - this is a tragic game, a horror game. The game itself uses a number of cards representing locations, laid out in a spiral to form an abstract sort of map. Each location will have its own scene, probably more. And rather than rolling dice to resolve tasks, you choose whether something is easily doable, or not-so-easy - in which case you pull from a deck. This is where the mutations may come from.

If you are interested in the physical version of this game, they’re currently taking pre-orders on Backerkit!

[cellythefloshie]

;; The Signing

Summary: Morgan struggles to forget about Emmy, a fan he met at a meet and greet. And when he the opportunity presents itself, Morgan doesn't shy away from taking his shot. Kinks & TW: mild sexual fantasies about a stranger, hosiery, first kiss, dry humping, unprotected sex, fingering, wall sex, creampie. A/N: I think this is only my second time writing male POV smut so be gentle with me. I'm tired so I'm not editing this well, and this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS so no I'm not waiting any longer to share this with you. Shout out to @hockeyboysimagines who planted this seed and has supported me as I ran with it. I know Barron isn't a well known/well loved guy in this community but fuck it, this fic has been so much fun to write. About the OC: Emmy, brunette with brown eyes... ( think the emmy rossum or leighton meester - i pictured them both while writing emmy )...that's about it. If I took the time to really develop her, this would be a full on novel. Word Count: 13k+

When you played hockey, even just as a child, you were part of something bigger than yourself. There was a greater community, one that would always stand by you and you by them through victory and loss, and things greater than the game of hockey itself. Morgan Barron had experienced that first hand out on the ice during the many themed nights from when the New York Rangers would support First Responders to the Winnipeg Jets as they supported the cultural diversity of their great city, and everything in between. And he had felt it all again after he had taken a skate blade to the face during the Jets' appearance in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The community had so quickly rallied around him, and in turn, giving back and getting out into the community was one of Barron’s favorite things to do during his downtime during the season. 

Some of his outings included visiting the children’s hospital with his teammates, others he spent alone - like the night he spent in a local sports collectible shop for a meet and greet with the fans, the community. 

The parking lot was full, and the overflow of parking sprawled up the length of the residential street. In the darkness, lined along the street curb, was the dim glow of headlights. One after the next, as each person wanting to meet him waited in the warmth of their cars instead of lining up in the Winnipeg chill caught somewhere between fall and winter. 

There was no snow on the ground yet, but the air was cold. And the roads were uneven, ridden with potholes, even as he turned into the parking lot. It rocked him in the seat of his truck as he pulled into the one spot that had been reserved for him. Sliding out of the cab, he took in a shark inhale, the cold hair harsh on his lungs, but the jog to the front door was brief. Inside, the little staff they had set up a table and chair for him and once he sat in it, his jacket draped over the back of it, his night began. 

One by one, Morgan met the fans. He loved it, but a part of him almost felt bad. Chances were, at the end of the night, he would remember a handful of their faces and one or two of their stories as they told them to him. While to them, meeting him would be a story on their social media channels at the very least. The things he signed would be added to one collection, or another. But to him, each conversation blurred into the next. 

Some asked about his scar, others pointed out just how nice it had healed. Then came those who commented on his game and wished him luck for the rest of the season. And with every single one of them, Morgan gave them all of his effort and undivided attention. That was all but one. 

Morgan has been in the middle of personalizing an autograph when he heard the door chime. Through the first fifty or more meet and greets, it had been nothing more than background noise as fans came and went. But for some reason, he had decided to look up as his silver Sharpie marker finished off the now too bold 36. 

Through the door came a young woman, no more than five years older than her, maybe even five years less. It was hard to tell these days, especially when someone was alone. If you were lucky, you would be able to guess just by how she interacted with her friends. But he had a mere few seconds to stare at her between signings. She stood just inside the door, her hand pulling her ticket out of her pocket to show her placement in line. And while that was the first thing she did, the first thing Morgan noticed was her smile. It was one that was almost too perfect, one that could only come from wearing braces. And her pale face was framed by lone, brunette curls that almost looked auburn in the fluorescent light. They may have even hung down into her eyes if it weren’t for the sunglasses pushed up onto the top of her head, more of an accessory than a necessity with the sun having set not long after the traditional workday had ended. 

Morgan tore his eyes from her when there was a shuffle of footsteps at his side. The next fan had finished paying for their small pile of photos to be signed, and the hockey cards that rested on top of them. He greeted them with a smile and fell into the same casual conversation he had all night. 

He did the same with the next, who had a single number from the 3 and 6 pairing that would be stitched onto the back of a jersey that would bear his name. 

It was then, after two encounters, that felt more like lifetimes than minutes, that the woman who had so easily stolen his attention stood at his side. With a small step to the side, she was offering her cell phone to one of the staff members to take a few photographs before she was handing him the puck she had brought to be signed. It was in a square plastic case that took up the space on his palm. The small square of paper inside listed his name and the time at which he had scored the goal. Morgan smiled as he read it over. The puck itself had been from an AHL game. From back when he had been traded from the New York Rangers to the Winnipeg Jets and had played the remainder of that season with their affiliate, the Manitoba Moose. 

She must have been watching him play for some time. 

Smiling, Morgan looked up at her, waiting to just catch a glimpse of a smile back at him, but she didn’t do much more than glance his way. She must have been nervous, trying to hide it between a laugh and avoiding eye contact as she spoke more to the staff than to him. 

She was telling the story of just how his trade, and his play with the Moose had put her on the path of being a Jets fan, again. Morgan signed the puck slowly, his eyes raising to look up at her on occasion until he had finished fitting the signature onto the puck. Then he sat back, and the chair listened to her tale. Not once did his smile fade, and his eyes did not leave her - even if they did wander. 

On her shoulders rested one of the Winnipeg Jets Reverse Retro Jackets that had been sold during the last regular season. It was a jacket that had been earning her compliments since she had walked through the door. And they weren’t wrong. It was a nice jacket. It looked great on her. Hell, she looked great, period. He couldn’t tell much of what she wore underneath the jacket, safe for a sliver of black fabric. He was sure could only be her blouse, and the small glimmer of a silver chain that hung around her neck. But it was her legs that quickly caught his attention. Even in the cold, she had gone out wearing a miniskirt. Intentional or not, she had caught his attention. His eyes dragged up and down the length of her, from the ankle of her brown boots, up over the curves of her thighs that disappeared under the plaid fabric that encased the breadth of her hips. 

He did his best not to stare at how she shifted the weight of her body from one foot to the next awkwardly as she spoke. Or how the slit of her skirt, as it rested over one thigh, looked as if with one wrong move, the stretchy fabric would reach its limits and rip. But it was there as his eyes fixated on the fabric that he did notice a rip, not in her skirt, but in her tights. To anyone else I would have gone unnoticed, but to him as he sat at her side, looking up and so fixated on every bit of her, he was taking in every little detail. The barely there run in her thighs started just above her right knee. The pale hosiery almost an exact match to her flesh, but he followed the run in the tights up, over the flesh of her thigh and to where it seemed to disappear between her thighs. 

Morgan’s mouth went dry, his eyes fixated there on the shadows between her thighs. Without touching her, without even getting out of his chair to get closer to her, Morgan could feel that would radiate off her skin. It made his palms begin to sweat, and it ignited a fire that burned over every inch of his body as he thought about how smooth her skin would feel as his hands slid over her thighs. And how tight the hosiery would be as he took it in each of his fists and tore a hole in them in just the right places-

Taking a sharp inhale, Morgan fixed his eyes on her smile one last time before he could really let his mind falter. It was then he caught a single word of her story that challenged the smile that had grown so wide his cheeks had begun to hurt. 

Boyfriend. 

She had a boyfriend. 

Of course she would. A woman like her, they always had someone waiting for them back home. But that didn’t make him feel any less stupid. He shouldn’t have been looking at her the way he knew he had been with his wide grin and his eyes looking at her in a way he didn’t have words to describe. It was embarrassing, laughable even, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

Nobody did. 

Closing up the protective casing on the puck, Morgan left it there on the table as he stood. He would give her one proper picture before they would send her on her way, and he would move on to the next fan that had already been kept waiting. 

With the single step of his white sneaker scuffing against the floor and Morgan was standing right beside her. Even with the thick heel of her boot, he towered over her. She came up no higher than his chin as he reached out and placed his hand against the wind breaker. It was a light touch, not enough to earn that horrible scratch sound of its unique fabric, but just enough that he could feel the curve of her body against his palm. 

Morgan stood there with his smile, his dark curls threatening to fall down into his eyes, as he tried to ignore how she felt beneath his touch. And he fought through the temptations of letting his mind falter back into the depths that were his unfound fantasy about a beautiful stranger. 

When he pulled back, he secured the puck with the glide of his thumb over the plastic sticker she had pried open to give him access to the puck inside. Then he handed it back to her, her rough fingertips grazing over his soft touch as she muttered out a soft thank you.

“Thanks for coming,” he leaned in as he spoke, hating that he could muster anything more clever or more thoughtful to say. 

He wanted her to stay. To listen to her laugh, and to her stories. To learn her name, and give him time to say anything else but those pathetic words that left his lips. But Morgan could only watch her. Her hand tucked the puck into the cross body bag that hung across her body, and with one final thank you to the girls working the meet and greet, she was gone. 

The young woman would remain nothing more than a stranger, a memory. And with that acceptance of fate, Morgan sighed, carded a hand through the thickness of his curls, and he moved onto the next fan in line whose face would be nothing but the one that blurred into the next. 

After a loss, there was always a certain calm on the bus ride to the airport. No one said a word after a greeting from Schmidt, a quick, “we'll get ‘em next time boys!” before they claimed their seats and fell into their routines. But Morgan had started before he could board. With his headphones thumbed into each year, and his music loud, he kept his head down as he moved to the back of the bus and took a seat. 

It was never a long drive, but he was sure to get a few tracks in, as they played a little too loud in his ears to block out the noise of his teammates around him. -He desperately needed the distraction. While he wasn't playing poorly, Morgan felt he could be playing better. He could always be better.

Maybe he was being too hard on himself, but sometimes you needed to be. And when that weight became too heavy on his shoulders, Morgan disconnected. 

The music blared in his ears, and his eyes fell onto the hypnotic glow of his cellphone as he cradled it in one hand. With the swift motion of a single thumb, Morgan browsed one social media timeline and then the next. Sinking further and further into the rabbit hole until he found himself staring at his own Instagram profile. More specifically, his tagged photos. It was there, his thumb stilled. His eyes fixating on one picture that stood out among the masses of images the Winnipeg Jets had tagged him in. 

The picture stood out to him, the backdrop of a small hockey collectibles shop instead of a hockey rink. And he wasn't alone in the picture, or joined by any of his teammates. Beside him stood the pretty brunette from the signing all those nights ago. Her arm bent so casually behind his back as his hand rested just above the small of hers. Any lower and he would have gotten himself into trouble, but it was innocent enough. 

Morgan smiled a crooked smile as he studied the angle from the other side of the camera. Her smile was a little awkward, and she wasn't as photogenic as she was magnetic in person, but she still held his attention all the same. 

Fingers tapped the side of his phone almost anxiously, his thumb hovering over her account name on the screen. He shouldn't have been so curious, but it was quick to get the best of him.

Her account name was one that could have only been made in high school. Something silly, clever at the time, but she never got around to changing. And it didn't have much more to offer him than that. With her first name, Emmy, the only name left there for him to know she had left no age, no emojis or lovers' initials for him to read. 

And her photos are nothing more than mere snapshots into her life. She liked to paddle boards - one of the many beautiful Manitoba lakes the backdrop to the curves of her body in tiny bikinis. She hikes and fishes in the summer too, the pictures shared of winding trails and her latest big catch. But her winters are reserved for the love of the sport she played - the occasional photo of Canada Life Centre posted on the screen. And she has a cat, who she takes more pictures of than anything or anyone else. Even more so than herself, with her selfies few and far in between. 

Scrolling down, Morgan pressed his thumb to the touch screen to prevent it from scrolling any further as a realization took him. She was alone in almost every single one of her photographs. Returning to her profile, Barron scrolled and looked at the small collection of images she had chosen to share. Each one seemed distinct. Alone and unrelated to the one that came before and the other that came after. Fractures of what once was there; her boyfriend. 

There was no sign of him anywhere on her profile. Not one picture or tag. He had been removed from her life with the click of a button. 

His smile grew. It shouldn't have, but it did as he leaned back against the seat. 

Then, the idea of messaging her made his smile go broader, and Barron cast a glance to the surrounding seats to assure he hadn't gathered any unwanted attention from his teammates. And when he was sure they were distracted by one another or something on their own phones, Barron opened a direct message and watched the cursor blink. 

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, his mind blank, as he could decide what to say to her. In a perfect world, He could say literally anything to her and she would answer. But even as a NHL player, the chance of her screening him was high - hell, it felt higher than if he were just some average guy. And he didn't know if she was even looking for anything. A relationship, a friend, just someone to talk to… There was so much Morgan didn't know, including just how long she and her boyfriend had been separated. 

But he messaged her anyway. 

You google my name, and you get an entire Wikipedia page about my life. You google Emmy, and you get the awards. I want to know your story, if you’ll let me.

Staring at his phone screen, Morgen's heart fluttered in the depths of his chest at the unread message. It left him feeling nervous, sick even, knowing that she could read it and never reply-

“Hey,” a sharp shout met his ears. It was Schmidty calling to him from the front of the now empty bus. Well, empty except for him. “Bear. Com'on. Coach won't let us leave without you!” 

It was time to fly home.

For the entirety of his fight back to Winnipeg, Morgan slept to keep himself from constantly checking his phone. It was the only way to keep himself from holding his breath, leaving his lungs burning with the great anticipation of waiting for Emmy to reply. Hoping that she would, and the disappointment that would come if she didn’t. But that didn’t stop him from holding his breath as he walked out to his car and started up his phone. The bright light off the screen sent his eyes squinting as the darkness of the night surrounded him. One notification after the next had his phone vibrating in his hand, and his heart thundered as he read each one. And once he saw it, her smiling profile picture beside an Instagram notification, he held his breath until his lungs burned. She had answered! 

It was the first of many messages exchanged between them. The first of many conversations held between the awkwardness of his schedule. He sent quick messages in the mornings, after practice and before games and the late hours after. And she would answer the best she could when she could between her own chaotic schedule that came with working shift work. It wasn’t easy, but they made it work - but it made Morgan all the more nervous when he finally decided to ask her out to dinner, and all the more excited when she said yes. 

Earls on Main street was one of the nicest restaurants in Winnipeg without being intimidating and unapproachable for a first date. It was a place the guys on the team liked to frequent after a victory or during some downtime in a city that really had very little to do during the season unless you liked ice fishing or comedy clubs. And it was somewhere close to both of them, with it behind a mere ten-minute walk from the arena where Morgan parked his car and Emmy had claimed it was close to home for her as well, though Morgan did worry she had only said that to be agreeable. 

He arrived early, securing a table by the window looking over main street as it was already becoming congested with rush hour traffic. Cars sat bumper to bumper on weather eroded roads. The music that set the ambiance of the restaurant couldn’t even block their symphony of honking out. Each heavy honk interrupted the calm and reminded him of the nerves in the depths of his chest as he waited for Emmy. 

The beads of condensation could only calm the sweat of his palms as they dripped down the cold glass of his beer as it was handed to him. Sneaking one in before dinner wouldn’t hurt, not if it eased the worry in his mind. Dating as a hockey player in New York had been easy. He was a bottom 6 plug who barely broke the lineup back then. Girls weren’t intimidated by him, and they were different. Morgan had always had a type, that was for sure. He liked them brunette and outdoorsy, straying away from his type only a handful of times when it served him well. Emmy fit a lot of things in a woman he usually looked for. That alone should have put him at ease, but two things nagged him into the depths of his mind. Being a hockey player in the small city of Winnipeg meant you were a local celebrity. Some women didn’t like the attention that came with being around him. Then there was the biggest worry of all, something he had never worried about until her: what if she didn’t share his attractions? 

Texting was one thing. Something you could do with anyone, regardless of interest or attraction. Something you could do aimlessly when you were bored or trying to kill time. It was how you conversed in person that really mattered. That was where you showed your interest and how you really got to know them. Sitting at a table with someone you aren’t interested in would be harder - and all he could do as he polished off the golden ale of his beer was hope that it wouldn’t be the case. 

A steady hand lowered the empty glass down to rest on a coaster before his hand dropped to his phone that rested face down on the table. Morgan had tried not to watch the time, but the traffic was starting to calm and Emmy had yet to make an appearance. Almost thirty minutes had passed since he had arrived, and ten minutes since the agreed upon meeting time. He shifted in his seat as he placed the phone down again. Ten minutes wasn’t enough to be worried, but the waitress circled like a shark with blood in the water. 

“You have a chance to look over the menu,” the waitress, Jenn, spoke sweetly as she approached him. Her hand was quick to come to rest on the back of the chair behind him, and she smiled down at him, waiting for her response. 

“I’m still waiting on my date,” his head cocked, trying not to sound rude as he gestured to the seat across from him, “she shouldn’t be much longer, but maybe some water for the table?”

“And another beer?”

He paused for a moment, contemplating. Then, Morgan shook his head and let out a soft, “No, I’ll be okay for now. Thank you.” 

His hands dropped to the table, his thumbs drumming on the wooden surface rhythmically. It was a hollow distraction from what was the haunting possibility that he had gotten stood up. The movement and the sound were the only thing keeping Morgan from dropping his palm into his hand, his disappointment only consuming him on the inside. It bubbled there and almost became enough for him to leave enough cash on the table to cover the beer and a generous tip. And he almost did it, but when his thumbs stilled, he heard her. 

“Oh, yes, I see him. Thank you.”

Sitting up straight in his seat as he looked out over the restaurant that was beginning to grow consumed by the dinner rush. Walking down the narrow aisle between the bar and the seats along the large front windows, he found Emmy. She walked towards the table carrying two bags on one arm and her puffy white winter coat tossed over the other. Her coat is so large he can’t make out what she was wearing until she was draping it over the back of her chair: a pair of tight pleather pants hugged at her hips, a white blouse tucked in at the waist and she wore white sneakers that looked so clean he was sure they had never been worn outside. His eyes traced the curves of her body as he admired her, down one side and up the other until they fixated on her face-framing curls that hung loosely from the hold of her claw clip. Between each tendril was the smile he remembered so fondly. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” her apology was quick and punctuated with a small huff that left her shoulder rising and falling with her breath. And her eyes didn’t quite meet his as she draped her coat over the back of her chair. 

She looked a little embarrassed, frustrated, maybe, but Morgan wanted to do his best to put her at ease. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Morgan stood up quickly, his hand reaching out to take hold of the back of her chair in a simple act of courtesy. He drew it back slowly, towering over her as he offered her a friendly smile. “Long day?”

“Very.” There was a tiredness in her voice, and it had Morgan’s smile on the verge of wavering. 

They could have postponed, he wouldn’t have minded. Yet, there she was looking a little defeated, a little tired with faint purple bags under her eyes that she tried to hide with concealer, but just as beautiful as the night she had walked into the collector's shop to meet him. 

She smiled across the table at him; he smiled back, and before he could say anything else, the waitress Jenn had returned to serve them. 

They started their date with a glass of wine, something to take the edge off. It calmed his nerves, and he watched the tension melt away from her shoulders with each sip of her glass. Then came dinner that was paired with soft laughs and conversation, before they finished with coffee and desserts. Hours passed, the sunset and the restaurant cleared until it felt like they were the only two left in the place. And he would stay there with you until the lights went down, and they tried to kick you both out if he could. He liked Emmy’s company, and he was sure she did too by the way she laughed and how the conversation never seemed to die. Even the silence as he sipped what was left of his coffee felt right in her company. 

Morgan’s lips parted in a satisfied hum as he leaned back in his seat, his long legs stretching out just far enough to brush against hers beneath the table. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t even flinch. He wonders if she even noticed his touch, his warmth as his leg rested so casually against what he was sure was her knee. It was the subtlest of touches, and it only left him wanting more. Morgan wanted to reach out over the table and hold her hand. To feel the smooth skin of her fingers and toy with the ring she wore on her right little finger. He wanted to press his hand to her lower back, to let it so subtly find her curves as they walked together. But there was nothing more he wanted than to take her home. To take her to her bed or his and explore every inch of the body he had been left to dream about since the day he met her. 

He wanted their night to continue after dinner. To keep making her laugh, but also make her moan. 

But he couldn’t have her and be a gentleman both-

“Is there anything else I can get you two?” Jenn’s quick question pulled Barron from his thoughts, his head snapping in her direction as he was reminded that he and Emmy were not, in fact, alone in the restaurant.  

“Just the bill, please,” he smiled before looking across the table at Emmy, who smiled back at him in return. Jenn left them, and with a quick glance over the near empty, he half laughed, “I think we overstayed our welcome.”

“I’m not complaining,” she assured him. “It’s a shame they aren’t open later. I could have probably sat here all night.”

Morgan had to bite his tongue. He was sure that was his chance to make this more than just dinner, but maybe she was just being polite. Complimenting his company. Besides, he had already decided he was going to be a gentleman. 

When Jenn returned with the bill, she didn’t linger. She placed the thin leather receipt book down, directly between them and half hanging off the table’s edge. The white edge of the receipt peaking out for the top. Morgan offered a soft, thankful smile as he reached out for it, his hand wrapping around it effortlessly as he drew it back to his side of the table while the other slipped into his back pocket for his wallet. 

“Here, let me cover my half,” Emmy insisted, her hand reaching out to catch the very edge of the book, her fingers so close to his Morgan’s breath hitched, wishing she had reached out for his hand. 

Morgan didn’t even have to think about it. Maybe her insistence was her trying to be kind. A show of equality, the strength of her femininity. But he couldn’t let her pay. It didn’t feel right. Not while he made millions a year. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“But then-” she began to counter, but cut herself off with the bite of her own teeth on her lower lip. 

Morgan’s shoulder slumped, his head hanging there as his eyes shut and a heavy sigh shook him. He didn’t need her to finish to know what she was going to say. 

But then this would be a date. A real date. Not just two people spending the entire evening together with wine, a meal, and what he thought was great company. Had he been wrong? Had she not enjoyed their evening together?

The thought hurt him to even wonder, but he hit the ache in his chest behind a crooked smile and continued to go through his wallet with the intention of paying the bill in full. “I insist,” he continued to assure, his words gentle, “it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t. This doesn’t have to be anything more than dinner.”

She was silent for a moment, her glossy eyes fixated on the receipt as her hands slid from the tabletop to rest on her lap. Emmy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a heavy breath rocking her shoulders as she conceded, “yeah, okay, but only if you insist.”

There was a heaviness between them as he paid the bill, making sure to leave a tip for Jenn who was forward but friendly with her service. He offered his thank you's, and helped Emmy gather her things before they moved to the front doors together. It was only as they entered the building’s lobby that she spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, I should have-” she cut herself off with a sigh, “It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with anyone I-” Emmy rambled, as she rounded one of the chairs in the lobby and seated herself down. She draped her coat over her lap, and placed her bags at her feet, her attention on them instead of Morgan, who lingered standing tall at her side. 

And he almost frowns. It’s like she can’t find the words she really wants to say to him. 

“It’s okay,” he assured, his hands dipping into the pockets of his jeans as he slouched his shoulders. He couldn't help but be responsible for what now felt like a miscommunication. “I could have been-”

“No, no, it wasn’t you,” she sighed, her hand falling to her hands, “you’ve been great. Really. A perfect gentleman-” Morgan wanted to beam, but he kept his composure as he moved to sit across from her, “It’s just, this has all been harder for me to adjust to than I thought.”

This? Dating. 

Morgan sighed as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. It was hard not to be selfish. To not be upset with the fact that she was struggling to get back into the dating game when he was sitting right in front of her. But it wasn’t easy, not if her boyfriend was someone she had hoped to spend the rest of her life with while he was just supposed to be a hockey player on her television screen. 

He did his best not to be upset, defeated by the fact that maybe she wasn’t all that interested in him or ready to move on, but Morgan showed her compassion regardless. “How long were you two together?”

“Five years… give or take a few months.”

“And how long has it been since…”

“Three months…”

Morgan let out a long, heavy sigh. The break up was still very, very fresh for her. And after being in a relationship for so long, it could take her months, maybe even years, to recover. It was something he couldn’t rush, even if he wanted to be selfish and have her all for himself. 

“If it’s any consolation, I had a very nice night with you, Emmy. And I’d like to see you again, even if it’s just as friends.”

A soft smile splayed over her features as her arms hugged her coat to her chest. “I’d like that.” Her warm eyes met him for a moment. So soft and warm, they alone were almost enough to draw him in, but Morgan kept himself at bay, smiling along with her soft words, “I mean, how am I supposed to pay you back if I don’t see you again?”

“Em,” Morgan started to protest, and her smile only grew. 

“At least let me buy you a beer sometime, as a thank you,” she insisted. 

And how could he say no if it meant securing plans to see her again?

“Okay, fine,” his words were laced with a hint of laughter, “one beer.” 

Emmy smiled at the compromise, her warm gaze falling from his features and to her bed. Morgan watched as she rummaged through it, curious to know what she was searching for, only for his brows to knit when she pulled out a pair of winter boots. 

“You don't plan on walking home, do you?” He asked her quickly. It was late, and sure the buses would be running and taking a taxi was always an option, but Morgan wanted to assure she was getting home safe. 

“I always walk home, it's not far,” she assured. 

“I've kept you out pretty late it’s-” 

“Not safe?” she cut in, smiling. She's had this talk many times before. “I've lived in downtown Winnipeg longer than you've been pro.” 

Morgan raised his hands up, but this wasn't a defeat. “Alright, tough guy, the people of Winnipeg better watch out for you. But please, let me give you a ride, at the very least, to give me some peace of mind.” 

Emmy cocked her head to the side, her warm brown eyes looking across at him as she continued to smile. For a moment, Morgan Thought she might have the gull to refuse him, to insist on walking home alone regardless of his offer. But then she tucked her boots back into her bag and stood up to pull on her coat. 

“Alright, fine. You can drive me home, but only because it's late,” she accepted his offer with a smile, and then took his arm as it was offered to her. 

They walked together, with her arm linked around his, through the city's skywalk system to keep away from the winter's chill. They made small talk, sharing casual conversation about plans for the coming days as they walked back to where he left his truck parked closer to the rink in their secured parking. And she didn't let her touch slip away from him until he had opened the passenger side door of his truck and helped her inside. 

The drive to her apartment was quick, no longer than 5 minutes, and was only delayed by the series of one-way streets he had been forced to wind through and his need to ask Emmy for directions. Her apartment, a mere five story building surrounded by towering sky rises, was calm out front. Light glowed from a number of the windows, but the street itself was calm and felt worlds away from the arena that was no more than four city blocks away. It didn't feel like the city there, so close to the heart of Winnipeg but also so close to the river, and the nature Manitoba was known for. 

Morgan smiled up at the quaint little apartment before he looked across the front seat and to Emmy, whose hand had dropped to unbuckle her seatbelt. “No wonder you go to so many games-”

He bit his tongue. All night, they had done their best not to talk about work. His or hers. The only way he would have known she went to as many games as she seemed was from looking at her social media. Which he had, too many times, before their date that night.

“Are you creeping on me?” Her words were more of a tease than a question. 

Morgan smiled wider. 

“I might have, once or twice.”

Blush flooded her cheeks, her head turning to try to hide it from him, but it still lingered when she looked back with a small smile she was trying to contain as she spoke. “Thanks for the ride.” 

“Thanks for the company.”

“I had a good time.”

There it was. The awkward pleasantries that lead up to the goodbye. The ones that were sandwiched between the feeling of wanting to spend more time with one another and the finality of needing to leave. Worst of all, he wanted to go with her. Morgan would have parked his car on the street and went up to her apartment with her if she had extended the invitation, and would ruin his every effort to remain a gentleman. But they sat in silence, sharing soft smiles as the car sat in the middle of the road, obstructing the traffic that didn't exist at that time of night. 

Yet, neither of them could manage to say what needed to be said. Goodbye. 

Even as she grabbed her bags, it couldn’t slip off his tongue. Not even as he saw her hand hesitate as she reached for the door could Morgan find a single word. Not a goodbye, not the wait that sat lodged in the back of his throat, no matter how desperately he wanted to scream it. And for a moment he thought he might have, because Emmy froze and she placed her bags back down on the floor of the truck. Then she shimmied into the center seat, her arms reaching around him so carefully in a cautious embrace. 

“Thanks for dinner,” she whispered out, her hot words felt against his neck. 

Morgan’s jaw set, a single arm wrapping around her and drawing her in just a little closer. The strength of his arm coiled around her, his fingers gripping at the curve of her waist as his face found its place in the crook of her neck. He breathed her in, felt her warmth, yet he didn't feel close enough. Morgan wanted nothing more than to pull her closer - but if she were any closer, Emmy would be in his lap. 

He held her until he felt her slip away from him. But she didn't go far. She lingered in the space that was once left void between them, breathing his air and not quite out of his reach. Morgan could feel her every heated breath on his cheeks, and watched at her brown doe eyes as they traced the angles of his features. But it was only as she stared fixated on his lips that Morgan felt he knew what she wanted. 

A single hand raised up, his touch meeting the skin of her cheek. Feeling her was so smooth in contract, his hockey callous hands against perfectly imperfect flesh. Fingertips grazed over her cheek carefully, traveling up to her hairline and drew her in. 

His kiss was quick and chaste. That was until Morgan felt her kiss him back. The soft gentle drag of her full lips that almost seemed to gasp at the fiction. He drew her in a little closer, the soft sound sending his heart racing as his tongue swept out between his teeth and tasted the very entrance of her mouth before Morgan found his restraint. 

Morgan's hands fell from her face, his gaze dropping to look down at his truck seat, ashamed. 

He shouldn't have done that. 

“I’m sorry,” his words caught in the back of his throat and his tongue parted his lips and ran over them just to taste what remained of her on his lips. 

“Don’t be,” Emmy breathed out, the heat of her words felt on his face as she had yet to really pull away from him. She was so close he thought she might lean back in, that she might let him kiss her again if he reached up and took her cheeks in both of his hands. And he considered doing it, even as his hands reached up to grip the steering wheel in restraint. The long moment of opportunity passed and all of her warmth was gone in one simple motion as she opened the truck door. The gust of Winnipeg winter wind left him shivering as she grabbed her things. 

“Good night, Morgan,” she told him softly as she moved to slip out the passenger door, where she froze one last time. “Can I call you in the morning?”

Morgan took in a sigh of relief. “Please do.”

The edge of the cold, hard, white plastic of the key card tapped against the rounded edge of his steering wheel as Morgan drove towards the airport. There was a flurry in the sky. Fluffy snowflakes that left the road slick and congested with traffic, but not even that could frustrate him. Not with the key card pinched between his two fingers. 

He didn’t know what it was for, but he knew who it belonged to. It must have fallen from Emmy’s purse, or her pocket when he had given her a ride home. Whether it was intentional or not, he didn’t know. But it gave him an excuse to message her as he rolled to a stop in the parking lot outside the Winnipeg Richardson International Airport. 

The text message may have sounded like an innuendo if it hadn’t been for the picture of her keycard in his hand as he held it out in front of him. 

And as he broke the news, Emmy was quick to respond. 

At two in the morning, when the city was calm and the only thing that was open was the occasional gas station or convenience store, the drive from the airport to downtown Winnipeg was quick. Morgan’s truck was the only vehicle on the road safe for the occasional taxi driving club goers home, or an emergency vehicle wailing through the street on their way to the next call. But the air was quiet when Morgan pulled into the victory parking space behind Emmy’s building. A small caution greeted him, any cars parked there after two in the morning would be towed. He looked to the left, parked car, he looked to the right, another car. This one was covered in snow, and looked like it had been there a number of days. And he shrugged. There was nothing he had to worry about. 

Leaning across the center console, Morgan reached into the glove-box where he stored Emmy’s key card for the short time he had been in Chicago. He tapped it between his fingers, grinning. It was such a simple thing. A plain white card, misplaced, allowed him to see her again so much sooner than he could have anticipated. What was surely a headache for her was a gift to him. 

Morgan smiled the entire way to the building’s front door, where with quick fingers he quickly pressed the cold buttons that would alert her that he had arrived. A cold wind chilled him as he stood, waiting as the ring of the apartment directory box rang. Shoulders raised and his neck shrunk down into his coat as his hands drove into his pockets. Morgan listened to each droning ring, his heart racing at the prospect that it was too late, that Emmy had most likely fallen asleep before the plane had even landed. 

But then he heard her, her voice sounding distorted and robotic as it came through the speaker, “take the elevator up!” 

Then all was quiet and there was nothing more to be heard until the lock on the door clicked. 

Drawing his hands from his pocket, the sticky cold of the handle greeted his palms. It melted beneath his quick touch and the warmth of the lobby embraced him. The contrast of hot and cold left his body shivering as he took quick strides up the quick steps of the lobby, and quickly found the elevator. It roared to life with the press of a button, leaving whatever floor it had stopped on to meet him on the main level. The door parted in front of him, revealing a small, empty elevator that he would take up to the 5th floor. When the doors parted again, he exited out into the hallway and looked left, then right, trying to gauge the layout of the floor only to find a familiar face. 

Emmy. 

“I thought it would be easier to meet you,” Emmy greeted him with a soft smile. 

His smile grew as his eyes dragged up and down her figure. Not only had she managed to stay awake for him, she hadn’t dressed down in her pajamas. Wherever she had been earlier in the evening had her dressed in a navy blue dress that hugged her body and stopped mid calf. His gaze lingered on the hem before following the angles of her legs down to her feet where she stood without shoes, but was not barefoot. She was wearing a pale hosiery that was barely there noticeable and it left his mind spiraling back to the very first night he had met her when the miniskirt she had been wearing wasn’t enough to hide the run in her tights. 

He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. 

“Saves me from getting lost in the hallway,” Morgan tried to keep his words playful, his dry throat sticking to his words as he spoke. Then, while smiling, he dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out her key card. “Here, I-” he licked his lips, “I'm sorry I kept you up so late waiting on me.” 

Emmy smiled. Then, she reached out and took it from his hand as it was offered to her. Her delicate touch fluttered over his hand for a moment before she pulled it into her chest. 

“Late? Hardly,” her tone was chipper, reassuring, “I was actually-” she looked down the hallway to what he was sure was her door. Emmy chewed at her bottom lip, sighing as she brought her free hand up to push through her long, brunette curls, “did you want to come inside?” 

Her question had been blurted out when her mind had failed to find words smoother or more coy during her brief moment of hesitation. 

And Morgan should have said no. He knew he should have. But with the memory of her tiny skirt and long legs weighing heavily on his mind, he couldn't refuse. 

Smiling, Morgan gestured up the hall silently and let her lead the way into her apartment at the end of the hallway. It was a good size for one person with the kitchen and main living space visible from the door. The lights were dim, their glow lighting up a wall of bookshelves and her sofa. Across from in, a single television and photographs hung above. It's quaint, comfortable, but he can tell there used to be more. There were large spaces of openness. Like half of the furniture was missing - a void of what was once more left behind. And tucked into the corner, just below the large windows that looked out over the parking lot, and the Assiniboine River, was a pile of boxes. 

Maybe she was moving, or maybe she was just hiding from the memories. 

He didn’t pry. 

“Nice place you got here,” He complimented as he kicked off his shoes and pushed them to the side where a pair of her boots sat on a plastic mat to keep the melted snow from becoming a puddle on the floor, “is there somewhere I can put my coat?”

Morgan hated himself for asking. He shouldn't have been settling in. 

“Here, I can take it,” she was quick to offer, her hands finding his coat as it slipped from his arms. Her touch left his shoulder tense, and his heart racing as he watched her move halfway up the hallway to hang up his coat in the closet. “Did you want a drink or something?”

“No, no, I'm fine, really,” Morgan assured, still standing in the doorway. 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Emmy smiled, moving past him to curl up on the sofa. 

She sat right in the middle of the sectional, the chaise empty to her left and to her right her laptop with a book resting on top. And across her face came the glow of the television, the highlights from the game playing on repeat. The Jets had won 3-2 in overtime, but it wasn't a game he was proud of. He had less than 10 minutes of ice time, his play was lacking and his mind distracted as he knew that when he landed back in Winnipeg, he had to come back and see her. He knew she watched the game, but she wished she hadn't. At Least then maybe he could pretend he had played better. 

“You watched the game?” He gestured to the television as he approached the couch slowly and took the vacant space next to her on the chaise. 

“Yeah,” she said, “had my family over to watch after grabbing dinner. Hence the dress, I didn't just-”

“Put it on for me?” The suggestion slipped from Morgan's lips before he could stop himself, and it left his tongue feeling like it was swelling in his mouth. The feeling left his mouth gaping, his eyes shutting as he hid his own embarrassment behind his hand. 

“Lounge around in business casual,” she offered him the rest of her words, her smile coy as she brought her legs up to curl off to the side. 

As he peeked through his fingers, he was hyperaware of every one of her movements and how the fabric of her dress raised up higher on her legs as she got comfortable. The dark fabric bunched around her knees, exposing the narrow ripple of the runs as they began and traveled up to where he couldn't see.

“I'm sorry,” Morgan laughed, his hand falling back to his lap as he turned to face her straight on. He should have asked her about her day then. It would have been a nice distraction from the fool he had made of himself, but he had already shoved his foot in his mouth already. “I'm just a little distracted… You just look so pretty over there.”

Over there. He wanted to hit his palm against his forehead. She was mere inches from him, her body within his reach and even closer as she turned to prop her elbow on the back of the sofa and her head in her hand. She gazed at him, her eyes soft, like he was a daydream, and her smile grew with the red flush of her cheeks. 

“I can't tell if you're nervous, or trying to be coy,” Emmy hummed playfully.

And he couldn't tell her it was neither. Morgan wasn't nervous or coy. He was just a man who wanted nothing more than to take her by the legs, hoist up the skirt of her dress and rip a hole in her tights. 

“Which one gets me a kiss?” 

Her entire face lit up at the question, and she knew it. Emmy tried to hide it from him as she looked away at the television, but her composure was weaning, as was his own. “Bringing me my badge gets you a kiss.” 

Emmy leaned in, her eyes shutting and her face softening, and found his lips in a soft kiss that was not much more than a fluttering graze that left his hand flexing with restraint. He wanted nothing more than to draw her back in, to kiss her firmly, deeply, and then he saw her smile and how the corner of her lips curled up and the brightness of her eyes flickered like candle light. She hadn't kissed him like that to be gentle or sweet. Emmy was teasing him - testing him - and he failed. There was no hiding that he wanted more from her. He could feel it written all over his own face as his jaw slacked and eyes narrowed as she leaned in again and placed another slow kiss to his mouth. 

It was an agonizing kiss. Her full lips brushed against his, meeting his kiss with all of her calm sweetness gone. Emmy was as eager as he was. Their kiss hastened, her lips parting and her tongue gliding over his lips before he could reach both hands up to cup each side of her face. It drew her in deeper, his tongue tasting hers and coaxing a soft sound up her throat. It was a mix of a sigh and a moan, her lips melting into his as she pushed up onto her knees, but didn't let her lips stray from their kiss. 

She wanted to be closer to him, and Morgan welcomed it. His hands left her face, dropping down to hook behind her knees where the fabric of her dress bunched. He gripped her there, and used that leverage to pull her in closer, over the rough gray fabric of the sofa. It was the only encouragement she needed to come in closer, her own hands reaching down to pull up the fabric of her dress just enough to climb into his lap.

His own heartbeat pounded in his ears at the feeling of her knees on either side of his thighs, and the warmth of her body as it bridged over him. Morgan could finally, for the very first time, after months of what ifs, maybes, and dreams that left him reeling in a cold sweat, feel her body against him. He could finally feel the curves of her waist and hips beneath his palms. He stoked over them as he kissed her, rubbing up and down and up again before they reached the hem of her dress that had raised up higher and higher until it came to rest at her mid thigh. So much of her was left exposed to him, yet there was so much more for him to uncover if Emmy left him. 

Morgan's hand dipped down, abandoning the skirt of Emmy's dress and grazing over the thin nylon hosiery. He stroked over it discreetly, until he found it, a single run that stretched from knee to inner thigh. Fingertips traced it lazily as he pulled back from the kiss of her lips and began to kiss along the soft angle of her jaw until he was speaking his heated words just below her right ear, “I can’t stop thinking about these.”

Two fingers found the largest point in the run and circled it slowly. Morgan could feel it stretch and grow beneath the friction. He smiled against the skin of her neck. 

“I noticed them the day I met you…” Morgan’s fingers toyed with the nylon, stretching it just a little wider so he could feel the soft flesh of her inner thigh before tracing the run back down to her knee. “You were wearing that little skirt. It was so short, how could I not look? Your curves, I noticed those first. If you don't count that smile.” 

He paused again, just long enough to draw back and take in the sight of Emmy as she sat there straddling his lap. Her eyes shut, her body completely still as if she was holding her breath, hanging on his every word as he offered her a mere fraction of the desire in his mind. 

“Your ass, your thighs. Too thick for the cheap tights…” he followed the run up high, almost to the very apex of her thigh, “so they stretch and they run.”

Emmy shuttered, whether it be from his touch of his words he didn't know, but he felt it. Morgan felt it across his lap first, her hips moving from side to side in an involuntary wiggle as the shiver had run its course down her body, and then he felt it in his thighs as her knees seemed to subtly squeeze around him before relaxing once more. It was paired with an unsteady breath, then another as his fingers stroked in small circles around the exposed skin at the very center of the run. 

He was so close to letting a single finger slip between the nylon and trying to rip it away from her skin. But he hesitated, waiting for her rejection or some sort of permission to keep going. Either way, the damage was done. Morgan had made his advance when he should have done nothing more than talk to her about her day and go home tired with nothing more than a thank you kiss. And as he waited with nothing but the sound of her eager breath to put him at ease, Morgan was sure he was going to be sent home at the cost of any kind of relationship with her going forward. 

But then she spoke, and he heard the smile in her tone, “so that's why you were looking at me like that.”

“Like what? Where?” he breathed out, his nose nuzzling into her neck before he placed a gentle kiss there. 

“At the signing,” her words were soft, jovial, “you were looking at me like I was the only person in that room.” Emmy’s head turned into his as she chuckled, her cheek grazing with his as she spoke softly, “and I was too nervous to even notice. I don't even know if I even looked at you the whole time…”

“You didn't,” he confirmed gently, “but I wished you would.” 

She drew back slowly, and he could no longer feel the heat of her breath against his skin but her doe-brown eyes looking down at him. “I didn't even believe it after looking at the photos. It was my friend who pointed it out…” 

“And what did she say?”

She looked away, and Morgan raised his free hand up to guide her gaze back to his. “Nothing appropriate.” 

“You and your friend, you're close?”

She nodded slowly. 

“You tell her about me?”

“Yes,” her head cocked to the side, “should I not have?”

“No, no,” Morgan shook his head, his hair falling down into his eyes, “I don't care about that. What did she say after our date?”

Emmy’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink and her shoulders slouched forward as she tried to avoid his gaze again. Whatever her friend, Emmy didn't want to repeat it, and that excited him. 

Leaning in, Morgan kissed her neck slowly. A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that left a heated trail as he kissed his way down to the angles of her collarbone. He felt her breast heave against his chin as he spoke against her flesh. “What did she say, Emmy?” 

Morgan punctuated his question with the graze of his teeth over her collarbone, coaxing a shutter to run its course through her body once more. 

“She,” Emmy gasped, “asked if you fuck as good as you play hockey.” 

Morgan's lips caught on her flesh, dragging over it as he drew back just enough to look over the softened embarrassment on her features. Her friend's words were a bold, brash thing to say. Girl's talk, gossip even, and it had brought them to what felt like the turning point of their night. 

“What did you tell her?” Morgan asked. 

“That you were a perfect gentleman.” Her breath was sweet against his face as she spoke, his own lips so close to kissing her again. 

“That's too kind,” Morgan told her. His hand stroked over one of her cheeks before his fingers knitted into her brunette curls. He wanted nothing more than to anchor himself there. To use it to draw her in and to kiss her again. But that would make him far from the gentleman he was trying to be. 

Emmy needed time to heal, Mogan knew that. Her wounds of her breakup were still fresh. He could see it even as she sat there in his lap in the middle of her living room. The boxes piled and the emptiness that remained. That alone should have been enough to say goodnight. He should have done nothing more than place a simple kiss on her forehead and left, but there was no ignoring the tensions between them. The tension he had been trying to ignore since the very night he had met her. 

He was only a gentleman in practice. His thoughts, however, were the very opposite. 

“Morgan,” Emmy whispered out as she raised up both hands. They took hold of him on each side of his face, the delicate touch of her fingers tickling over his scar and up into his hair. He groaned at the tug on his scalp as her fingers tangled in his post game shower curls. Her touch was all he needed to close the breath of space between them. 

Their lips met unlike they had before. There was nothing chaste or cautious about the kiss. Emmy kissed him with such haste it was as if she thought he might disappear without notice. And his one large hand slid through her soft strands to the nape of her neck, drawing her in and kissed her with such depth Morgan swore he could taste something sweet on her tongue. Feeling it glide along the inside of his mouth coaxed a moan from the depths of his throat. Morgan had hoped the Kiss would have been enough to muffle it. That Emmy wouldn't hear the pathetic sound as it rumbled through his chest, but then he felt her smile against his lips. 

The soft, confident curl of each corner drew a smile of his own, their teeth smacking as they were caught somewhere between a kiss and laughter. There was a level of comfort there on her coach, with her in his lap, that Morgan couldn't have anticipated. It made his every decision easy and made without any hesitation. Morgan barely had to think, only act, and it only slipped out of control and onto instinct when he felt Emmy's hips roll against his own. 

There was no stopping himself from doing what he did next. His hands dropped to her hips instantly, gasping for a fistful of her dress and hosiery clad flesh. Morgan gripped her tight, his hands guiding her body so petite yet to curvy over the stiffening of his cock in his slacks. But it’s not enough. It only took two agonizing rotations before Morgan was slipping her to lie back on the chaise of her couch. Limbs hung over the side lazily as he hovered over her, his mouth capturing hers in a sloppy kiss as he rolled his hips down into hers. Fully clothed, her dress shifting up with the help of the tug of his hands, he felt like a desperate teenager. With Emmy’s hips raising to meet every roll of his own, he wanted nothing more to reach down and flick the button of his pants free. To ease the tension of his slacks over his cock that now raged against the fabric. The friction of her body alone would be enough to make him cum if that was as far as they decided to take things - but then he felt her hands. They fumbled in the space between them, down his chest and to the skirt of her dress. Emmy pulled it up, her body arching and contorting against his to work the navy fabric free. 

Morgan salivated, his hands finding the rough gray fabric of the couch to push off until he was kneeling on the hard, laminate floor in front of her just to get a good look at her. The chaise was too small for her to lie on comfortably. Her leg hung off over the end of the couch at the knee, while the other leg was bent, her heel pressed into the plush cushion. The rest of her body sprawled, her beige hosiery near invisible until the waist wrapped around her stomach and so flattering to her figure Morgan was left biting his lip. Then, there was the contrast of her black panties beneath, and the mismatch of her sunflower yellow bra to catch his eyes as they wandered over each swell and valley of her body. And she watched him in return as she lay there, her chest heaving and her hands coming to rest on the couch’s surface. He was too far out of her reach to touch, but her dark eyes that contrasted his so perfectly told him exactly what she wanted. 

A single hand reached back and gripped the light fabric of his t-shirt in his first. Morgan pulled it off in one fluid motion before it joined her dress on the floor. Then, his hand dropped to his best that sat too snug on his waist. He worked it free with one hand and pulled it free of each loop before dropping it to the floor with a clamor that even startled himself in what had become silence. He then leaned in, his pants hanging off his hips but not discarded, and let his touch return to the inside of her thighs. His calloused fingers traced over each run in her tights slowly, and his eyes followed each tear like roadways on a map while searching for the right direction. It was when he found the widest part of the run; he dipped one finger into it and began to work it larger. Then another. Emmy was shuddering by the time he was spreading his fingers, working the tear large enough to grip it with both hands. The fabric ripped with ease, the sound so satisfying, Morgan’s cock twitched. And he didn’t stop until the hole was ripped big enough for his fingers to tease the dark fabric of her panties. 

There was no seeing her arousal in the fabric that dark, but he could feel it with his knuckles as he let them brush over her crotch in their first teasing graze. He stroked her up and down, the friction against her cunt earning a strangled whimper from her lips. Morgan cocked his head. He wanted her to be louder. He didn’t know if she was holding back by practice or by embarrassment, but he could see it in how her eyes shut tight and her lips parted in a ghost of a moan that there was a sweet sound for him to hear. ‘

A single hand remained between her legs, turning so that his palm could stroke over her clit slowly as he climbed up onto the couch. With one knee between her legs, helping his hand in keeping her already trembling legs apart, Morgan’s lips returned to her mouth in a sloppy kiss. It was as he kissed her, and her hips raised to grind against his palm, that he heard her. A soft, delicate moan that had her tilting her head back into the cushions. 

He could make her louder than that, he was sure of it. 

Without drawing back, Morgan’s hand fumbled between her legs with the soaked fabric of her panties. He hooked them with one finger, then a second when he couldn’t get the grip just right. Tugging them to one side, his fingers felt just how wet she had become. The slick left his fingers gliding over her folds and earning a cuss from his own lips. His jaw slacked in awe at the feeling. The effortlessness of how his fingers moved over her core, up to circle her clit and back down again before sliding them into the warmth of her cunt. Her arousal was practically dripping down his fingers, and not only could he feel the effect he had on her, he could hear it, too. 

The first plunge of his fingers earned the moan that he could practically feel in his own throat. It was hot against his cheek; her face burying in her hair as he began the steady rhythm of his finger thrusts. In and out, then deeper. Emmy’s core clenched around his fingers, her wetness dripping down over his knuckles and onto the sofa below. Her body wound around his, her breath a desperate pant as he brought her closer and closer to her release with nothing more than his finder. And he would have finished her off that way, too. With just a single hand, that was until she gave an order that sounded more like a question. “Take your pants off?” 

Easing up, Barron’s fingers left her core and went straight to his pants. His own movements were rushed, almost clumsy, as he pushed his slacks down to the floor, his boxers slipping down with them. Then there was a bit of a scramble between them as he knelt back down on the couch. Hair fell into his eyes, his hands moved one place and then the next on her body as her smaller and his larger tried to fit together just right. His lips found her lips. His hands stroked the soft angles of her body, traveling down where one hand took hold of his own cock. He stroked it slowly with one hand before guiding it down into the space between her legs where his fingers once were. There his hand remained, dragging the tip of his cock up and down her entrance before his hips eased forward in the gentle pressure. Emmy gasped against his lips, Morgan fighting one of his own back down into the depths of his throat as the warmth of her core welcomed him from the tip, inch by inch with each slow and deliberate rotation, until he was buried to the hilt. 

The couch shifted with each thrust, banging into the wall with a hollow sound. Pillows and couch cushions fell or were pushed to the ground as Emmy reached out to brace herself on the surface, only to find no support. Her hands were then quick to find the strength of his back, her long nails digging in and then deeper as the couch fell from one of its legs, leaving the surface uneven and their bodies sliding. 

He felt her startled yelp in the back of his throat, one arm wrapping around her middle while the other braced their bodies against the arm of the couch. He caught them so effortlessly, his cock still buried deep in her cunt, but they couldn’t stay there. 

“Hold on to me,” he muttered to her breathlessly, and he felt Emmy’s legs coil tight around his middle. 

When he was sure she was secure, her arms grasping tight around the strength of his shoulders, Morgan stood up. He lifted up with little effort, all without his cock slipping from her core. The quick, wide-eyed glance of Emmy’s eyes betrayed her, the shock of what seemed like such a smile movement all over her features. He carried her, a smile pressed to her cheek, as he listened to her gasp and moan as she bobbed along the stiffness of his cock until he had her pinned against the bare living room wall. And he fucked her against it. 

The sturdiness of the wall was the only leverage he needed, his arms moving to hook around the underside of her thighs, as he guided her along his cock. Morgan watched her with a cocky confidence as her face softened, her head leaning back against the blank, white surface as her lips parted. He waited for the words to spill, but her feeble moans were all the met his ears as he fucked her there, feeling the first pulsing wave of her pleasure that sent her arousal dripping down the thick vein of his cock straight down to his balls. 

It left her panting, desperate for more as her hand left his shoulder to push off the wall, “bed, the bed.”

Emmy’s bedroom was down the narrow hallway, just off the bathroom. He couldn’t see it well, wasting no time to turn the lights on, but all he could see was the silhouette of her unmade bed. The duvet wrinkled and tangled with the bodies as he lay her down, his hands finding her hips to brace himself as his hips found their steady roll once more. 

He could feel the exertion overtaking his body. The sweat beading down his muscles as if he had just finished a practice on the ice, and Emmy’s body was against his. Hyper aware of every one of her movements, Barron’s head was spinning as he tossed his head back to toss the sweaty curls from his face. He was starry eyes as he felt her legs drag down the strength of his own, and gritting his teeth with each smack of his hips against hers. Then her limbs were coiling around him. Drawing him in close so she could bury her face into his neck as she moaned out the loudest she had been all night. Her lips grazed over his neck just below his ear as her core gripped around him, tight then tighter as she came undone - but Morgan couldn’t hold back himself any longer. 

One final plunge, the pressure that left his body tense, had met its peak, and he was left in a daze of pleasure that consumed him so fully it almost numbed him. Morgan’s head leaned back on his shoulders, his jaw slacked as he panted out for a desperate breath. He remained deep in her until his cock stilled, his own body quivering at the feeling of her being filled so fully by him that he could feel a mixture of them dripping down his balls. It left him a mess as he fell away from her like a flimsy ribbon, her body tired not only tired from the sex, but the entire game of hockey he had played mere hours ago. 

The exhaustion consumed him as he sprawled out on his side in the comfort of her bed. It’s soft embrace left him feel like he was melting away - completely dissociated from Emmy whose warmth he could no longer feel. He reached an arm out, searching for her blindly. And when he found her, she was crawling back into the bed after discarding her hosiery bra and panties in the garbage and on the floor. 

Her body fit into his with ease, her warmth spread over his chest and his legs and she became the little spoon to his big. His limbs consumed her, drawing her in to share the one large pillow on the bed. Morgan buried his face in her hair, his lips peppering kisses there as she tugged the duvet around their form. There he breathed in the scent of her, his heart yet to calm in the depth of his chest - his own thoughts too loud for him to find peace. 

He didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Worst of all, there was a piece of him so loud in the back of his mind that screamed that he had just screwed up everything. When he started talking to Emmy, that first message he sent was of pure interest. Morgan wanted to get to know her, not hook up with her. And that all felt at risk now that he couldn’t keep it in his pants. 

It left a lump in the back of his throat as he tried to hide from his thought by placing sweet kisses on the back of her neck. The physical kept him distracted from the mental - but then Emmy spoke and put it all at ease, “Do you have practice in the morning?”

“No,” he shook his head slowly, his hair becoming a mess against the pillow - and he almost jumped as the foot of the bed suddenly shifted. Then came the gentle steps of Emmy’s cat, who was only now bold enough to venture out of her hiding spot now that things had calmed. The cat made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed. 

“Grab breakfast with me, then? My treat.” Emmy offered, and Morgan couldn’t suppress the soft laugh that was lost in her hair. 

Morgan’s arms coiled around her a little tighter, playfully drawing her in closer to his frame as he placed a playful nip and kiss on her bare shoulder. “I’m not letting you pay for my breakfast.”

“Fine,” she huffed so loud he could practically hear her pout in the darkness. His brow raised up, she had been quick to concede, but she he felt the wiggle of her ass against his cock teasing him. If he hadn’t taken her already, and if he had the energy, he would have fucked her again. But Morgan settled for sleep, her body perfectly pressed into his, and a smile on his lips as he heard her gentle, dreamy compromise. “It’s a date then.”

Taglist: @mp0625 @starshine-hockey-girl

[granolawriting]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Just a few drinks: A Joel miller x reader (18+)

Summary: A complicated Joel gets tipsy at the same bar you're at. And when you try to leave, he's not keen to let you leave alone.

Tags to note: brief enemies to lovers, dom!Joel, petnames (tame), age gap (a given), uncharacteristic drunk

A/N: my first work for Joel, hello TLOU readers :)! leave me a message if you have any ideas for anything else I could write about <3 enjoy

word count: 3.3k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Another clash of wood and hardened glass echoes throughout the small bar as you look over to see another shot downed by him. 

There was some sort of drinking game, transpiring between him and his brother, though you’re one to care less. The sound of the noise, the groans that escaped him, and the slurred words that you heard coming from his companion were enough to anger you enough to want to shut them out at all costs. But, that was difficult since there wasn't really heavy pickings of what could constitute a bar in the state of things. They make do, they supply liquor, and it's too good an offer for you to let up. 

You and Joel, have a bit of history, to say the least. Having worked side by side begrudgingly at certain points, all you’ve discerned from him is that he's good for nothing, at least when it doesn't involve his own self-interest. And sure, that's been a while ago since now but I doubt he's got any change in him. He's not the kind of man to change, and the entire time you’ve known him he's been an asshole to you, and right back to him have you been an asshole right back. 

Another loud clunk interrupts your thoughts once more, and as it does you say the first thing that comes to mind. Raising yourself from your seat exclaim; 

“Do you mind shutting the fuck up? Some people don't want to hear you getting drunk the whole night.” 

It escapes your mouth without another thought. Quiet murmurs are shared around the room as all eyes are on you, including the dark brown ones that now meet your gaze. 

Joel is a rough-looking man, about 30 years your senior, with salt and pepper hair slightly overgrown upon a tan face, littered with scars and an omnipresent pout upon his face coated with a layer of hair for his beard. His body is quite muscular, in a way that tells many stories with every muscle group providing a specific purpose to his very private, lone adventures or so you’ve come to learn. Covered only with a weathered plaid shirt rolled to his elbows, and equally worn jeans with shoes that have seen miles before your conception it was safe to say that he was decently experienced. You could tell just by looking at him. 

But as he looked at you, you felt increasingly vulnerable at the sight of him eyeing you. Studying you. The seconds seem to pass like hours as he musters something to say in reply, 

“How’s bout you make me then, sweetheart?” 

Words that slur slightly from the mouth of a man clearly tipsy renders you speechless. A smirk upon his face that was uncharacteristic for his usual brood, you were flushed at the sight of it. This bold flirting wasn't something you were used to, and discerned it was a way to catch you off guard, and nothing more. You decide not to give him any more attention that he seems to want, and with a sucking of your teeth, you sit back down in your chair to have your back partially face him once more. 

The night drags on as they seem to listen, but only partially. The clinks were still able to be heard, and if you tried hard enough you could tell which one was drunker. Not ideal, but it seems your words did at least a little bit of damage. Though ever since that moment, you felt as though eyes were on you most of the night's end. But as you gaze up at the moonlight shining from the window of the bar, it's decided that it's more than time enough to head back to your apartment. You didn't have anywhere to be the next morning, but you also didn't have the idea of listening to their nonsense for the next unknowable hours haunt your mind as you tried to think otherwise. 

Lifting yourself up from your seat once more you casually walk out of the bar expecting nothing more than a simple walk home, but clearly, why would that ever happen to you? You make it a meer 12 paces out from the bar before you hear a raspy voice yell to you; 

“Where’rya goin hm? We already miss our audience.” 

“Home, Joel. And you should too. You’re making an embarrassment of yourself.” 

“Aww but where's the fun in that hm?” 

You hear shuffled legs grow louder along the dirt as they make their way closer to you.

“Just shut up and leave me alone. I don't care where you go.” 

Your responses were short and crass. Just like he was to you every time but what seems to be this exact night. 

“I already told ya, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to make me shut up. Haven’t so far yet have’ya?” 

He purrs in a voice you can tell is laced with a smirk just by how he said it. 

“You’re sick, Joel. What the hell do you want from me?” 

You pivot your feet by the end of that question and turn around to watch him close the few feets gap between you two. 

“Kiss me” 

“What.” 

“I said kiss me. Sure that'll make me shut up” 

You stood shocked for a moment. This wasn't the Joel you knew, this wasn't the man who would bump into you during patrols because he didn't think you were awake enough. This wasn't the Joel that would work for whoever gave him the cash, and this especially wasn't the Joel who barely ever spoke. Especially to you. This was a man you did not recognize standing in front of you, intoxication peppering his cheeks red and he looked upon you, and an unrecognizable gaze in his eyes fixated on you. When you looked at him during this moment, he was almost handsome. Alluring. You'd never looked at him this way before, never given him the time of day but as you stood there. Basking in the moonlight and allowing its glow to reflect off of his skin there was something enticing about it. A yearning to feel the muscles coating his arms, a craving to feel his calloused hands around your body and above all-- an unshakeable desire to do exactly what he just asked of you. But you couldn't, not so easily, not so simply you can't just disregard everything that's happened between you two you don't like him god damn it! Why is he acting like this, why; 

“Why the fuck would you want me to do that hm? Is this some bet for you and your buddy inside? Well, consider me not interested. Go kiss some other bitch.” 

You were proud of your rebuttal, repressing your urges wasn't hard for you, but for something like this, it seemed especially difficult. Though, without skipping a beat a Joel who seems to have only heard the first half of the question states through persisting smirk; 

“Well why wouldnt’I want to, darling? Just look at you. You're close to one of the finest things I've seen here in a real long time. Ain't nothin’ wrong with askin now is there?” 

The way his eyes dug into yours, the way he seemed to pierce yours with the unshakeable gaze only a drunkard full of liquid courage could attain. You were at a crossroads. You felt in your heart you weren't to be made a fool of if you did do this, from the pure hunger in his eyes you’re sure a kiss would be more than covered by that, but another part of you didn't want to give him this satisfaction. The flattery of his attraction to you was one thing, but to allow him to indulge in it on some one-off drunken night isn't really the reputation you want to have. You 

Before you can process your next move, you watch him start walking away from you, and into the bar. 

“Well, I’ll be seein you then.” 

Lowly uttered with that raspy voice of his was about it for you. You couldn't be logical anymore, you wanted him and that was final. Before he can move another step you pull him towards you in a kiss. Tasting what you'd craved for what seems like your whole life between your lips you feel his smirk grow into a larger smile as he embraces you for more than a single kiss. 

Soon a kiss turns into two, then six, then every other number that falls between the start and the first gasp of air between you two. And as you gasped for air you heard that same rugged voice whispered within your ear; 

“Sure did shut the both of us right up, didn't you? Good girl.” 

At this point, you were nothing but a flurry of emotions, all for him, all about him, all craving him. And as his hands trailed from your waist to your jaw, holding your soft skin within his calloused fingers as he yearned for more of your kiss like he'd been needing it his whole life. He was rough, sloppy, and needy with how he held you. Strands of your hair caught in his fingers as he gripped your face, all you could do in return was lay your arms over his shoulders and grip at his hair all the same. You were desperate for him, passionate to say the least. 

You wanted more, and you could tell he did too. And as this fact was exchanged between dilated, impassioned eyes he offers, no, tells you; 

“My places about a block up the street. Follow me.” 

Butterflies invade your stomach at the prospect of what he just said. His demand, even to bring you home implies things that can't be done just steps away from an open bar. And as every heavy step of his boot trails ahead of you, it feels as though thousands of miles are between you, and the door to his apartment. You felt like you couldn't walk straight, as though the taste of whiskey on his lips had seeped deep into yours, that you could barely think straight anymore. 

Though before you knew it there laid the door marked with his name, a sign it was his. Keys jingle as he fumbles with them all, finding the proper one after a moment's search and you hear the sound of an unlocked door parallel the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard, as your desperation grows incessantly. 

Before you can process it, Joel has you pinned against the wall adjacent to his front door, moving it closed with his foot as he begins his assault on your lips again. His hands trace all over your body now, from your hair, holding clumps of it in his hand as he kisses you roughly, or his hands finding their way on your waist, but beneath the layer of fabric that covered your stomach from sight. His calloused hands gripping onto your bare waist, feeling every groove between your body did you simultaneously learn the indents on every finger's unique callous. 

Sticking his tongue inside your mouth elicits a moan from you, and with that does he lift you from your legs as though you were nothing but a small toy. Without letting up for a moment, his hands wrap around your thighs, hoist you up and carry you to the top of his bed, where he swiftly drops you as a means to crawl on top of you. 

At this point, he groans at every slight movement you do, a bite to his lip, a tug to his hair, and most especially a quick deviation from his lips to trace his neck with kisses and bites was enough to buck his head back in frenzy. But as he straddles on top of you, arms and legs caging you in as his hands hold your wrists onto the mattress and his legs, much stronger than yours keep you inside his space he makes it clear that he wants much more. 

“God I can't fucking stand you darlin, you know that?” 

Words groaned almost into your mouth as you let up from another myriad of kisses, he steadies himself on top of you on his knees now, glancing down at you through uneven breaths. 

“You’re even better than id’ve hoped for eh? You don't fucking know how long it's been, you don't wanna know honey.” 

As he speaks his belt is undone by his hands, hearing the clank of metal drop on the floor next to his bed. 

“What do ya want from me now hm? I wanna hear it from’ya” 

He looks down on you with a much more purposeful, sadistic smirk as he awaits your words. Your beg, for him to fuck you. He knows what you want, he knows what he wants and he especially knows it's the same damn thing. But he gets off on having you say it, asking for his cock that you can feel throbbing right above you as he loosens his pants. 

“I,” 

You’re getting choked up on words, barely having caught your breath from what he’d just done to you, and even more choked on the words you have to say. 

“Be a good girl, and spit it out wontcha?” 

You buck your hips at that simple phrase, feeling his heat press against yours in the process are you even more dizzied by the simple touch of it through the fabric, the friction alone could drive you insane. 

“P, please Joel..” 

“Please fuck me.” 

The words almost moaned out of your voice as you take another chance to grind on his cock, taking in the friction, the pure size of it to get you off feels so easy and so intense. He chuckles slightly,

“I can't say no to a lady when she asks nicely now can I?” 

A voice even deeper than his usual is what utters that sentence, something deeply sexual has overtaken him. Bits seen in the way he treated you before but you feel like now that with a simple tonal shift, you’re being exposed to a well-versed, since-forgotten part of Joel. and as he takes his jeans off with ease, and yours with even greater-- letting them slide down your hips slowly as he takes in the unveiling of the rest of your body beneath him, you could tell that fact was more true than you could ever imagine. 

So there you two were, in but underwear to control how tense he was, and to withhold how wet you were. However that didn't last for long as he felt his fingers past the lining of your underwear to your heat; 

“God, sweetheart. All this for me hm?” 

And as he moves close to your ear, with a dark rugged tone,

“You want me cock so fucking bad don't you?” 

Lifting himself back up again to look down on you, his posture slightly bent to keep his hands feeling you up you can't do anything but moan and whimper over it. Grinding on his fingers that barely touch your clit you desperately ride him for any speck of sensation to overtake you. 

“I can't wait any fucking longer. God, you’re a sight don't ya’know that? When you're not talking up my ear, when you’re obedient, I can't fucking resist you darling.” 

He takes his fingers away from where they once were to your disapproving whines and begging with your body. Though soon after you feel something much larger than a finger feel your heat. His hands find your body once more but only to slide your underwear past your hip, and give his cock more room to feel the mess you made for it. 

Sliding it up and down your clit carefully, between your folds did you find the teasing unbearable. Feeling him twitching against you, hearing his groans at the slightest traction his cock would find between the wetness in between you, you couldn't do anything but moan his name. Asking him to please fuck you. 

After a few more pulses outside you, he lifts your legs to be upon his shoulders before going inside of you. His head knocked back in a deep groan as he slowly entered you, A bite to his lip and a feeling of tight grip around your legs was almost simultaneous as he finally gave himself exactly what he’d been throbbing for the moment he stepped out of that bar. Your legs shake at mere impact, feeling them suppressed by the grip of his rough hands around you, There's no more that you can do but grip the sheets covering the bed for some semblance of support through neverending moans as he goes out as slowly as he went in. 

“Fuck you’re perfect for me arent’ya” 

Escapes him through groans as he holds back as much as he can as he goes in and out of you. Savoring every inch of you by the pace of every pulse. Though as he reaches to a certain point, he stops flush against you, entirely inside of you. In the seconds he spent like that you could feel him absolutely fill you. He was perfect, just enough to hit the exact spots you never could yourself. But as he almost exits you once again he enters with a great deal more intensity. Quickness. He can't hold himself back anymore, and as the thrusts get more uneven and his groans become louder; clashing with moans that go in unison with every move inside of you you feel your whole body move with his cock. As he gripped you by your thighs and held your body to thrust into him, you felt every inch of himself through every nerve in your body. Every part of your body was coated with pleasure at the sight of him almost manhandling you like this. Sweating, groaning, panting, and cursing over how fucking good you felt made you feel like you were going to cum. 

And almost like he read your mind, he moves one of his arms to your clit, and places his thumb right on top of it; 

“I'm going to make you finish the same time as me, think you can do that darling?” 

He was close too, and you didn't care where he did it. 

As his words grow jumbled under mutters and covered groans of pleasure as his breath became unsteady at the feeling of you wrapped around him more and more as his fingers pleasured you even more than you can imagine, you feel yourself climaxing right on his cock, feeling your walls contract over him that felt so hard inside of you it made it feel even better to finish on. 

That was more than enough for him, as your screams for his name echoed through his walls he hammered straight into you, sweat coating his peppered hair as he watches you orgasm right below him, he groans your name with a final shove deep inside of you, letting his cum drip down every part of you. 

Slowly he removed himself from you, leaving behind a trail of white to seep down from inside of you, to the mattress you lay on. 

“You were such a good girl, I'll get us some stuff to clean up. Why don't you stay here a while.” 

Is whispered into the only ear uncovered as your head tilts to lay on the mattress in exhaustion, as gruff as ever but with a softness to his voice that bore kindness that felt so needed after a night like that. 

You stay lying there for a bit, as Joel goes to clean himself up then you, and then to gather some blankets for the two of you as you dip in and out of slumber. 

That night, of course, was the first of many nights thereafter. All underlying with the screams for his pleasure, and ended with his body wrapped around yours til night's end. And through that, he slowly warmed up to you. 

[ferry-man-sam]

[Crawling into your inbox like a messed up little gremlin frothing at the mouth-]

Can you tell us more about the au of Gordon injecting himself with alien dna?? Food please?? 👀

Omggg yes I CANNNNN

I was originally gonna write a fic for it to get it all down on paper but I’m having a lot of trouble finding a good starting point and perspective, so I guess I’ll ramble about it here.

Ok so Gordon’s kind of a mess of a mad scientist in this au, he kinda goes off the deep end after the divorce and losing custody of Joshua and takes interest in an abandoned project he comes across at Black Mesa.

The project was an attempt to replicate whatever the hell happened with Benrey, which was some kind of fucked up accidental alien fusion with one of the guards. Benrey still exists at Black Mesa, as a traumatic event outside it’s walls has lead him to believe it’s the only place he belongs, and works as security for anomalous entities in exchange for video games and shit. He exists as more of a myth to most of the scientists, but Tommy knows all about him, and was on the team that initially handled Benrey’s containment. Considering Benrey’s expansive abilities and considerable strength the government sought to create some kind of super solider using his DNA, but all of the experiments failed and all the test animals died. They tried just about everything but gave up, deciding it was more trouble than it was worth.

Enter GORDON, baked out of his mind on caffeine and lack of sleep, desperate to better himself and to make himself a bit stronger, reading all this and getting a very bad idea. He takes some time off work and steals some shit from the lab to tinker with old samples and formulas, and on the last day before he goes back to work he has a bit of a mental breakdown and injects himself with something he made and passes tf out.

He wakes up the next day and doesn’t remember doing it so he goes to work, where he’s confronted for stealing old test samples and notes for the forbidden project, and he kinda freaks out and transforms into an alien killing machine and kills all the scientists who could have possible known what the hell he did. Less experienced with alien superpowers, Gordon is subdued by Benrey, who is incredibly intrigued to meet something even remotely similar to himself.

Gordon turns back into a human after passing out, but is placed under heavy containment (hence the chains) and a group of scientists is recruited to try and get some answers out of him. Dr Coomer, because he already knew Gordon prior to the incident and they wanted a familiar face to put him at ease (lest he transform and wreck more havoc) Bubby because he’s the perfect life form, a more human version of the experiment that gordon somehow managed to pull off, and Tommy because he’s already familiar with Benrey and has experience dealing with this kind of thing. Benrey is there too but he’s just there to make sure Gordon doesn’t get out of hand again, because they literally have no idea what he’s capable of.

Phew! I think that’s about everything I thought of. I just really like monster Gordon, I think he should be able to go apeshit, as a treat <3

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 The Cold is Never Violent: Chapter Five

The Cold is Never Violent: You were determined to help Morpheus get his tools back, so you willingly followed him to hell. Hell was not supposed to be this cold. Lucifer has something up their sleeve, making you stay the night in hell before the Oldest Game, and it does not bode well for you.

Warnings: NOT EDITED.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x AFAB!Reader, Pour Vous @melancholypancakes 😘

Word Count: ~3.4k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Given the fact that Morpheus had bed bound you until your feet healed and the superficial frost bite on your limbs disappeared, you’d have thought that he would at least drop by to ask how you were doing, or, you know, not be a dick by dropping you off and then fucking off without word. But no. You hadn’t seen him since he fixed up part of the palace and deposited you in one of the rooms to heal. You weren’t complaining about the room, or the service, because having handmaidens to take care of you was very nice… but you desperately needed to discuss with him about what exactly had happened in hell, and why he had decided to not use his magic to warm you up.

You could only remember a little about what had happened, but you were very aware of his naked embrace holding onto your body despite your attempts to wriggle away. You could also remember the way his lips felt pressing against your neck and shoulder, and him whispering something to you as you fell back asleep. But nothing was clear in your mind. Certainly not how he felt about you.

Nada was a stark reminder of what could happen, of what would happen. Perhaps he did entertain your feelings… would you inadvertently infuriate him and get cast into hell just as the once queen had been? No, you’d probably experience something worse because you were no queen and not the slightest bit important to humanity. Was it even worth talking to him about the elephant that stood between you? Everyone knew you had a proclivity to test the Endless’ patience.

“So you’re gonna be a coward now?” You grumbled to yourself, throwing the book you had been mindlessly reading for the last hour, to the side. “At this point I just need to talk to him about it.” Eyes dropping to your blanket covered lap, you dragged it to the side to look at your sock covered feet. One of the handmaidens had told you that Morpheus had woven them from an occurring supernova so that they may always keep your feet warm. Given Morpheus’ proclivity for dramatic and extravagance, you didn’t doubt him doing so.

You didn’t bother putting on shoes as you slipped from your bed and grabbed a robe Morpheus had crafted in conjunction to your socks. It was a dark blue, almost black color, and the inside shimmered with the same cosmos that Morpheus’ coat had. Slipping your arms through he warm fabric, you wandered to the exit. Navigating the mess of your rooms was a little disorienting, as the palace was still not entirely put together… Morpheus still had one more tool to get, but you made it to a hallway without too much difficulty and began thinking of the library. You figured that with everything going on, Morpheus would either be in his throne room, or the library. You’d start with the library first since you liked it the most and Lucienne would be there.

The half broken walls around you shifted and groaned, magically transporting you safely to the doors of the library without too much walking on your healing feet. You patted a crumbling column in thanks before entering the large doors and smelling the scent of books and wood. You took a moment to savor it, not having experienced such a strong smell of a library from the Dreaming Library before. Things were finally coming together! That brought a smile to your lips and you skipped your way over to Lucienne’s known hangout.  She was hunched over a book, quill in hand as she scribbled on a piece of parchment.

“Hiya Luce,” You greeted her, eyes taking a peek at what she was writing. There were names of the residents on it, all neatly scribbled in her perfect handwriting. “Whatcha doing?”

Lucienne’s ears twitched and her sharp gaze rose to meet yours. What were you doing out of bed? The librarian knew that Morpheus’ mandate to keep you in your rooms to recover from your wounds would do little to enforce such a thing, but she never thought you’d wander this far on your injured feet!

“Pray tell what are you doing up?” She questioned strictly, giving you a disapproving eye. You rolled your own, knowing that she was going to tell you off about being up and about.

“Got bored, need to talk to grumpy pants,” You explained before kicking out a foot. “It’s not like I’m gonna lose my feet. They don’t even hurt anymore… can’t even tell there was something wrong in the first place. These socks are also hella warm…”

“Y/N,” Lucienne stressed out, exasperated at your clear lack of respect and care for your persons. Did you not care that you had been teetering on the brink of death? That you had come ever so close to meeting Morpheus’ sister that night? That Morpheus, in all his pettiness and ire, had managed to fall in love with someone from the same species as the one that had just held him captive for 106 years? Did you even consider what your death would cause him? To the entire Dreaming?? Clearly not. “You must have more self preservation than that which you are certainly displaying at the moment!”

“So… is he around?” You questioned, making a point to ignore her question and focus on your goal. Talk to Morpheus, get answers for his words and treatment of you. “I really do need to talk to him. He’s got some explaining to do and I don’t appreciate his disappearing act.” Lucienne cleared her throat and adjusted her spectacles. Not even death could sway your determination and personality. This was something she would have to leave to you and Morpheus, no matter how tumultuous the Dreaming would become. Quite so at this rate…

“Lord Morpheus is currently seeing to the foundation of the palace with Mervyn.” She told you, giving you the eye that clearly indicated that this conversation was far from over. Well it was as far as you were concerned. “I believe you shall find them in the dungeon?”

“We have a dungeon?” You asked, blinking as your heart started beating faster. No one had said anything about a dungeon before! That was totally unfair and you were going to explore it right now. Lucienne could see your thought process and internally sighed. Your emotions were so fluid and thoughts just the same.

“Yes… now I believe you shall find them near the east wing as it has shown the most… decay.” You nodded in understanding and tapping your palms against your thighs. A dungeon. Oh you could only imagine what you’d find down there! Excitement now buzzing through your veins, your aching footsteps now had a bounce while you strode towards the east end of the palace. As you walked, you noticed how the palace seemed to shiver and tremble, coming more alive than you had ever seen it. Oh yes, Morpheus’ was getting his realm back in order and you were here for it!

The dungeon of his palace wasn’t exactly a dungeon in the typical sense. It held the room holding the tokens of his sibling, a few rooms which a few nightmares reliant on the dark resided, and a cellar for the vineyard wines Mervyn was experimenting with. His main priority was to bolster the structure of the palace and return the homes of his nightmares to proper shape. Mervyn was assisting with the count of returned nightmares thanks to Lucienne’s census.

Rebuilding the latest room, Morpheus watched as the nightmare scuttled into the darkened space with a purr of happiness. While he did not express his emotions upon his face, Morpheus was pleased to see his nightmare appeased with its home. Turning away from the room, Morpheus strode towards the center of the palace dungeon. As he walked, he reformed and reinforced the structural columns. Dust and rock rose in the air and dissipated into solid marble. Mervyn lumbered over, carrying a piece of a broken statue.

“Just finished up cleaning the treasury, most of the work pulled through but a few statues like this one took a hit.” He rumbled while holding out the broken statue. “Not that they can’t be fixed but there might be some trouble from the people who gifted them.”

“Whatever trouble comes from the fae realms, I shall deal with myself,” Morpheus stated, barely sparing the broken statue a glance. He’d been gifted many an artwork over the eons, it was hard for the staff to keep track of at all times. Mervyn had been doing his best to go through the collections but it would take time to determine how much damage had been wrought in the time he’d been gone.

There was almost an infinite amount of work that needed to be done within his realm and Morpheus wasn’t at full power… yet he needed the distraction of rebuilding his realm. If not, Morpheus’ conscious would be consumed by you. You were resting in a finished part of the palace, resting and recovering from the frostbite you’d received from the trip to hell. A trip that Morpheus wished he had forced you to remain behind on.

Not only had you nearly died from hypothermia, but your feet had gotten ripped up from you walking barefoot in addition to frostbite. Morpheus had bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking out about your treatment in hell. It was an egregious insult that he wasn’t in any position to call out. His ruby was still out in the Waking, but you wouldn’t be going anywhere. He was not going to risk your safety again. Morpheus was about to move onto the next project when he went ridged.

He could sense your approaching being.

Without a word to Mervyn, he strode away in a swirl of sand, leaving you to happen upon a confused janitor.

“Hey Merv,” You greeted the pumpkin headed janitor. “Uh, Lucienne said that Morpheus was down here?” You asked looking around in confusion. “I need to talk to him.”

“Uh, the boss just left… I can give him a message for you the nest time I see him if you want?” You frowned and sighed.

“No, no that’s okay,” You muttered unhappily. “I— I have some personal questions I need to ask him but since he’s not here…” You looked around. “Why did no one tell me we have a dungeon and what is down here? This place is kick ass! Do you have a torture chamber? Has Morpheus kept prisoners here? Do you have skeletons in chains!?”

Apparently Morpheus had a palace cook and that resident had returned upon hearing the kitchen was operable again. So you got to indulge in a larger than necessary brunch with Matthew as company. You were the only one seated at the grand table and just looking at all the prepared dishes made you both nauseous and hungry. You were currently indulging in some French toast with the most delectable maple syrup as Matthew told you stories of his childhood. While he wasn’t exactly a human anymore, he was the only one in the realm that you could relate to.

So you had been telling him about recent movies you wanted to see and asking about what he’d seen in the Dreaming since you were still not allowed to leave the palace. With so many dreams and nightmares returning to the realm, the landscape had bloomed with activity. Of course there was still a giant sandy area where Fiddler’s Green had once resided. You wanted to see what he looked like when he returned, but as far as you and Matthew knew, he was still MIA.

Picking at a danish, you offered the Raven bits and crumbs from the baked good. He gobbled them up with a happy croak.

“Oh man I missed eating,” Matthew sighed happily, waddling closer to you and shuffling his wings. “Though I am surprised that I can even taste anything.”

“Bird’s have taste buds, just not as many as a human,” You spoke absentmindedly, ribbing further into the danish. “‘Sides, you aren’t just an another bird. You are a Raven of Dream of the Endless, you’re magical and whatnot. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could do other things most birds can’t.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego, Y/N,” Matthew sighed, tilting his head at you and examining your face. You’d been rather lost in your thoughts the last few days, demure and very much not behaving like the obstinate human the Dreaming had come to know and love. You hadn’t been the same since returning from Hell. Matthew had chalked it up to it just being Hell. It had clearly affected you when you were physically there, perhaps you were still recovering from it? No. It couldn’t be that.

Matthew knew you to be an exceptionally resilient human, who else would be impervious to Morpheus’ attitude?

“Hey, ah, Y/N?” He broached, cocking his head side and side and shifting on his feet nervously. “Uh, you’ve been kind of off since we got back from hell and I know you were injured and all that but you and Morpheus are acting odd.” The moment Matthew mentioned Morpheus, your hand jerked and you spilled hot tea on your hand. You cursed loudly and the Raven jumped in place with a squawk. “Oh shit!”

“It’s fine,” You uttered quietly, grabbing a napkin and dabbing your throbbing flesh. You didn’t really want to get into the whole ‘Morpheus was avoiding you and you really needed to talk to him because you were pretty sure he owed you some explanations’. Matthew didn’t need to be dragged into your relationship problems, if you could even call whatever the hell was going on between you and the Dream Lord a relationship. That was just wishful thinking on your part. “I need to talk to—”

Your words were cut off the moment the breakfast room doors opened and the very being that you could not rid your thoughts of strode in. Freezing in place for but a moment, you took in a deep and firmly told yourself that you would not let the Endless leave the room until he talked to you. But before you could open your mouth to speak once more, Morpheus was talking.

“Matthew, come, we have business to attend to.” Morpheus spoke, ignoring you and even refusing to look at you. Your eye twitched and you pursed your lips tightly to stop the look of hurt flashing across your face. Swallowing thickly, you spoke up.

“Morpheus—”

“Now,” Morpheus repeated, staring the poor Raven currently looked between his master and his best friend.

“Sorry, Y/N,” The Raven eked out before fluttering over to his master. Without even looking or even addressing you, Morpheus strode from the room. You bit down on your tongue and forced yourself to not go chasing after him with hell on your heels.

You were planning on cornering Morpheus in the library to get him to talk to you. He was researching the whereabouts of his ruby, the last of his belongings that was still missing. From what you had heard from Lucienne, Morpheus had placed a part of himself within the gemstone eons ago, so a large part of his power resided in it. In the wrong hands it could do a lot of damage. So after listening in on Morpheus and Matthew’s last conversation, you had slunk off to the library to get to the book first.

Perhaps it was a little childish of you to get to the book first and then hold it hostage until Morpheus talked to you, but you were at that point given his childishness of avoiding you. He hadn’t spent more than a single minute since you had woken up, in your presence.

You have never been just a subject to me.

Those words were going to drive you insane at this rate, so angrily stomping down an aisle in the library, your eyes scanned the bookshelves in intense scrutiny. You’d find that damn book and hold it hostage until the stupid Endless explained what he had meant by those words and what exactly you meant to him. You were a plain human. Not a queen. Not a goddess. Not a beautiful immortal fae. Just a stupid plain human meddling in things that they probably shouldn’t. In your angry stomps, a book stood out to you.

You paused and cocked your head, peering closer at the book. John Dee. A book of Dreams? The library was quite clever in helping to find books that one needed, so if it was showing you a book of Dreams there must be something in that book that could help you! Reaching for the book, you eased it from the shelf and opened the cover. Oh geez. You only had to review a few dreams to realize that whoever John Dee was, was a very troubled man.

The further you read on, the more intrigued you got, and the large the pit in your stomach became. John Dee. Son of one Ethel Cripps and Roderick Burgess. Roderick Burgess, the very man who was responsible for Morpheus’ imprisonment. Ethel had been the one to run off with Morpheus’ tools, John Dee had been the one the ruby had landed in the hands of. Stomach rolling, you flipped through the pages in fervent manor, trying to figure out where the ruby had ended up. But before you could pinpoint the place John Dee had hidden the ruby, the voice of Morpheus and Lucienne rang out.

“…within the library.” Morpheus’ voice spoke as you closed the book and held it behind your back. The pair emerged with Matthew fluttering over head, and stopped the moment they caught sight of you. Lucienne spoke as Morpheus froze in his spot, not expecting to see you.

“Y/N, I was not expecting to see you within the library at this time. Do you not usually have tea with the kelpies this time of day?” You wanted to look at the librarian and politely reply why you weren’t at tea with the Kelpies, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from Morpheus’.

“Yes, usually I do,” You answered, fingers curling tighter against the book within your grasp. “But I had other plans today, certainly given that Morpheus is still looking for his ruby.”

You saw Morpheus’ eyes narrow and your own gaze turned petulant.

“Consequently, I found a book that gives the exact location of the ruby.” Lucienne’s eyes widened before a smile appeared.

“That is certainly wonderful news, what is the location?” Your eyes went cold.

“I need to have a conversation with Morpheus before I divulge that information given that I have had zero chances of speaking with him the last week.” You boldly stated, lifting your chin. Morpheus’ eyes began softly glowing at your challenge and he stepped forwards, eyes training on the book you held behind your back.

“I do not have time for your audacious actions, Y/N. The book, now.” Your eyes flashed angrily and you refused.

“No. Not until you stop avoiding me and talk like a mature adult!” You snapped back. “Have you forgotten that I am here to help!?”

“I don’t want your help!” Morpheus hissed at you, his eyes glowing like an explosive supernova. You jerked in place like he had physically struck you. You’d been there for him since before he had escaped his cage, helped him get back his sand and helm, and now he was telling you that he didn’t want your help? Fury filled you yet the pain of his words burned within your veins. But you’d rather show fury than the pain now running through your body.

“Then you’re not getting the book.” You stated, your voice now dead from emotion. Morpheus titled his head, unable to understand your obstinance and refusal to do as he bid. Was he not keeping you safe? Were you not well cared for and protected within his realm? Why were you always so insistent in running head long into danger!? He’d put an end to this immediately.

Your jaw clenched when you felt the book in fingers dissolve to sand and flow to the Dream Lord. When it reappeared in his hand and Morpheus promptly and confidently turned his back and strode away, something in your heart broke. He was leaving you behind to retrieve his ruby, and made it clear that he didn’t want your help.

Date Published: 12/7/23

Last Edit: 12/7/23

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[oddinary4bts]

Request!! Could you do 98 on the smut list with namjoon and reader? Maybe he wants to try getting fingered and is a little embarrassed because he’s normally in charge or something? Wherever your inspiration takes you!❤️❤️❤️

Oof this was so hard to write for some reason but I'm very happy I managed to finish it haha my bad if it took a moment before it was ready!

Can I Ask you a Question | knj

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x female reader

☆rating: 18+ (this is smut, minors DNI)

☆genre: unedited smut lmao like literally just smut with barely no plot

☆warnings: unedited, alcohol, a game of Never Have I Ever (mentioned more than anything else), cursing, explicit content: ass fingering, oral sex (male receiving), balls fondling/sucking, jerking off, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), big dick!Namjoon, a little bite lmao, let me know if I'm forgetting something!

☆word count: 2.5k

☆prompt 98: "I never thought I'd hear you say that, fuck, that's hot"

☆The smut prompt is from this list!

☆☆☆☆☆

You’ve been drinking with your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, and some friends for a moment already. You started during happy hour, at a bar near your boyfriend’s job, but you have decided to keep it going into the night, inviting the group over to your shared apartment.

It’s no wonder someone suggested Never Have I Ever. No wonder it got you all a little too tipsy to even think about what you’re asking. So you’re not surprised when a very clearly drunk Jimin asks, “Never Have I Ever been fingered in the ass”, before bursting out laughing because he has in fact done it.

He drinks, quickly followed by most of the females in the room, including you, and to your surprise Yoongi and Jungkook also drink, though you’re not sure if Jungkook is even listening.

He’s been staring at a blank spot on the ceiling for a while, not even blinking, which tells you that he’s probably in his own little world thinking about gaming or working out.

The game keeps going after that, but you notice that Namjoon seems lost in thought. He doesn’t really drink anymore, which for some reason makes you cut your drinking too, and soon enough your friends notice the switch in the atmosphere and decide to head home, as it’s already getting late anyway.

Namjoon doesn’t move from the couch, only surveys you while you let your friends out, and when you move back to him, he looks up at you with questions in his eyes. You cock an eyebrow, sitting next to him as he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Is something wrong?” you ask. “You’ve been silent.”

He chuckles, and there’s a flash of a dimple before it’s gone. He shrugs, saying, “I’ve got a lot on my mind, I guess”.

You purse your lips, tilting your head to the side as you try to catch his gaze. He’s lowered his head though, and your attempt is unsuccessful. “What’s up? You know you can talk to me.”

He smiles half-heartedly. “I know.”

There’s a silence, and you gently grab his hand, putting it in your lap as you cuddle up to his side. He rests his head on top of yours, and there’s a moment of just you and him breathing in sync, until he finally speaks again.

“Can I…” he trails off, and chuckles awkwardly. “Can I ask you something?”

You don’t move, only humming to indicate that, yes, he can.

“Jimin mentioned something earlier,” he starts before pausing for so long you look up at him. Your eyes meet, and you notice the light flush on his cheeks right away. “When we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’.”

You nod to tell him to keep going. You’re starting to understand where this is going, but you don’t want to push, especially not when Namjoon clearly looks uncomfortable.

“It’s just got me thinking that we haven’t…” He chuckles, looks away as the blush deepens. “We haven’t experienced all that much.”

Now when he falls silent you know he expects an answer, so you say, “Is there something you want to try?”

He runs a hand on his features, before sitting back in the couch. “Feel comfortable to say no. Like it totally is okay if you don’t want to.”

“Joon,” you tell him, interjecting before he can start rambling.

A dimple appears, and you think even his ears are red by now. Whatever it is that he wants to try is clearly making him feel embarrassed. It’s weird – you’ve never seen Namjoon embarrassed in your presence before, except maybe when he accidentally broke a cup at a café on your first date.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I was thinking… and have been thinking for a while, actually?”

He once again falls silent, so you say, “Yeah?”

“You know when you go down on me?”

You nod.

“Do you think you could finger me at the same time?”

Your gaze widens right as his drops to the floor, and you think you can almost hear his heart beating out of his chest. But you knew from the moment this conversation started that he was going to ask that, so you’re not entirely surprised. On the contrary, there’s just something in the way Namjoon - big, dominant Namjoon - is willing to let you touch him in such an intimate way that makes your blood boil in your veins.

“You’d like that?” you ask, teasingly.

Clearly, he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes shoot back to you, and he hesitates before nodding once.

“You want to know what it feels like when I choke on your dick while my fingers are up your ass?”

His gaze widens even more, and his mouth falls open. He gulps once, then says, “I never thought I’d hear you say that, fuck, that’s hot”.

You smirk before leaning closer to him, until your mouth is so close to him he can feel it when you speak. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Whatever restraint he had on himself goes down the drain in that exact instant, and he grabs your face to pull you into a heated kiss. His lips move against yours hungrily, languidly, and his tongue soon darts to lick at your bottom lip. You let him in, let the taste of him fill your mouth before he sucks on your tongue, and a breathy moan escapes you.

“Fuck,” he breathes against you as he presses wet kisses on your jaw.

You run a hand through his jet-black hair, pulling on it just a little so you can guide his mouth back to yours. You haven’t had enough of him yet, and if he wants you to treat him right, then he’s going to have to treat you right first.

You suck on his bottom lip, teeth teasing it gently, before pulling away. His lips are swollen by your ministrations, glassy by the mix of your saliva and yours. They look delicious, but you move to his neck instead, right as you straddle his lap.

You’re not surprised when you already feel the start of an erection pressing against your clit. You grind on it, capturing his mouth in another kiss that leaves no room for air. His large hands find the meat of your ass, squeezing hard as he makes you grind on him again.

“Joon,” you murmur against his lips as one of his hands reach up to tangle in your hair.

He forces you to turn your head to the side so he can kiss you again, deeper, tongue twirling with yours. Namjoon has always been a great kisser, but the way he kisses you tonight is on a whole different level, as if he was holding back before.

And now that you know he wants you to finger him, you think that maybe he was.

You pull away from the kiss, only because you want to see the effect that you have on him. His lips are even more swollen, parted, and his chest is moving up and down in a quick rhythm as he tries to regain his composure. You smirk, tilting your head to the side.

“You look good like this,” you compliment him, and he bites at his bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Now, should we get you out of your pants?”

He smirks, dimples flashing as he nods his head. “Want to feel your pretty lips around my cock.”

You lean closer, not kissing him even though he chases your mouth. He seems taken aback, until you say, “And you want to feel my fingers as they fuck you”.

Now he moans softly, breathily, eyes shutting as he rests his head against the couch. You take that as a cue to go down, kneeling between his legs. You run your hands on his thick thighs, mouth watering at the thought of having him wrapped around your finger like this.

Literally.

He helps you undo his belt, and soon enough you’re pulling his pants and underwear down. His big dick springs free, and it’s like you always forget just how big he is. You know your jaw will hurt, but you’re too far gone to care.

You watch where his cock rests on his stomach, and a drop of precum wets the fabric of his shirt. He clearly doesn’t care, and you grab the base of his dick to hold it up.

“So big,” you purr and he cocks his head to the side awaiting your next move.

You decide to start by sucking him off before you dive into fingering his ass too, so you move closer, blowing on the sensitive tip. His dick jerks in your hand, but you hold it in place as you replace the air with a swipe of your tongue, along a thick vein that runs from bottom to top. He groans, and one of his large hands grab your head to keep you close when you try to sit back on your heels.

“A little excited, are you?” you tease him.

His dark gaze finds yours, and you gulp at the lust that shine behind his pupils. “Just suck me off, baby. No teasing.”

“You don’t like when I’m in control, do you?” You’re being a little shit, because you know it’s usually the other way around. It’s usually Namjoon manhandling you, and you like it. You really do.

There’s just something about thinking of him, all helpless under your ministrations, that's making the devilish part of you win.

He remains silent, clenching his jaw, though it immediately loosens as you wrap your lips around the head of his dick, sucking once. Your tongue twirls around him, and you taste his salty precum. You never once look away from his eyes, not even when you start going down, taking as much of him as you can.

Which is not a lot, and you’re reduced to stroking the part that doesn’t fit in your mouth with your hand. Namjoon still moans appreciatively, especially as you pull away to spit in your hand so you can lubricate his dick from bottom to top. As you do so, you suck on one of his balls, teasing the sensitive organ with your teeth. Lightly, not hard enough to hurt at all, but just enough for Namjoon to throw you a warning glance before you pull away, smirking.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and he puts your hair in a makeshift ponytail so he can watch you as you finally start sucking on his dick, properly this time.

You wait until he is a sensitive mess for your free hand to move between his legs. You fondle with his balls for a time, until he pulls you away from his dick, breathing raggedly.

“Fucking do what you’re supposed to do, pretty. I don’t want to have to wait all night.”

You turn your head to kiss his thigh, before biting into it, hard. “You have to learn how to be patient, baby. I just want to make you feel good.”

He wets his lips, dragon eyes boring into yours, before nodding once. “Then do it. Fuck.”

The power trip that this is giving you is enough for you to be soaking through your panties, and at this point you’re pretty sure you’re soaking through your pants too.

You make a good show of spitting on your fingers, watching as it rolls along the digits. Namjoon watches too, even though you’re still stroking his dick slowly.

“You think you’re ready?”

He goes completely silent as your hand goes back between his legs, this time heading lower than his balls. He instinctively spreads his legs wider. You rub circles on his perineum for a few seconds, lips wrapping around his cock again, and he moans when you take him all the way in, choking around his fat tip.

“Baby,” he grunts.

You watch him with his head thrown back, sharp jaw on display, and that’s when you finally reach lower to find the tight circle of muscles around his asshole. He groans, and it makes you moan around his dick. You pull away enough to breathe, and then you suck on his tip, tongue playing with his slit as you finally push a finger in his ass.

It’s foreign. You’ve never done that before in your entire life, but when Namjoon moans again, a higher-pitched sound than usual, you figure this will work. You push all the way in before pulling all the way out. You play with the muscle ring again, bobbing your head up and down before you finally push in again, arching your finger to rub what you hope is his prostate.

Namjoon’s dick goes infinitely hard in your mouth, and he starts cursing as you time your head and your finger. You take that as a cue that he likes it. Wickedly, you push another finger in, and Namjoon moans your name, before adding so many curses you think he might actually not be doing okay.

You make to pull out, and that’s when he starts begging, “Baby, please don’t stop. I’m gonna –“ a moan interrupts – “I’m gonna come. So fucking hard. Please.”

So you keep going, sucking on his dick harder, fucking your fingers into him relentlessly until his hips snap up, right as his dick twitches in your mouth as he releases his load. He grunts and curses, holding your head into place.

You’re surprised he came so fast. He rarely comes when you suck his dick – not because you aren’t good, but because he’s so big it’s hard to please him with your mouth. You still swallow everything, ever so the good girl when it comes to him, and you milk his orgasm out of him, making sure to carry him throughout his entire high.

You only stop when his dick starts going soft in your mouth, sitting back on your heels as you still finger him lazily. You shortly stop that too, watching him breathe in and out as he tries to calm down, but you’re not sure it’s working.

Especially not when he says, “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?”

You chuckle, licking your lips clean. “That felt good.”

He nods, and he finally looks down at you, flashing a dimpled smile at you. “Baby, that was so fucking good. We’re going to have to do it again.”

You bite your lip, holding in a smile as you tilt your head to the side.

“Tonight?”

He smirks, but shakes his head no. “Nah, for now I just want to treat my girl good.”

Needless to say, you don’t hesitate before lying down on the couch so he can eat you out.

[coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic]

If you could, could you write a fic about Octane and (fem or gn) reader going to an arcade where he wins the reader a plushie from a claw machine then later proceeds to fuck her whilst she holds the plushie?

Sorry if this is too much. Feel free to ignore if you don't want to do it 💚

OOoOoOo naughty naughty… I love it 😈

I’m still not super experienced with writing smut so I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted!

Warnings: smut obviously, swearing

——

Hermosa - Beautiful

Mi Vida - my life

Princesa - Princess

también te amo - I love you too

Dating Octavio Silva is incredible. He’s never boring to say the least and he always takes you out on the best dates. This time it was another time at an arcade, a common date for the two of you but that didn’t make it less fun. You two played most of the night laughing and racking up those digital tickets to trade in later. You guys didn’t get to always go out, him being busy with the games and you not being a legend, so any time you guys could go out and do something you did. It was very rare that you stayed in and relaxed, which was perfectly fine for Octavio. After winning countless games and grand prizes you look over at your green haired lover and smiled. “Taaavi~” immediately his eyebrow quirked and he looked over at you, “yes, Princesa?” You looked at him and gestured over to the crane games, “think you could win me a prize to take home?” You gave him a playful pout and he laughed. “Just one?! I’d win you all of them!” He said confidently as he rushed over to the machines. “No!! Pick just one! The best one!” You laugh as you attempt to catch up to the speed demon. He groaned hearing you say you only wanted one, so now he was looking in each and every machine they had in this damn arcade finding you one.

After a few minutes of quickly looking he found one. It was a big soft bunny plush with extra long ears. He looked at you for approval and he got to work, it was a heavy one so it took a few turns to get it to grab right and lift it to the winning slot. Hearing the plop of it on the bottom he pulled your new buddy out and held it high. “Haha! I’m the best!” He announced, not that you could disagree. Octavio held the plush out of your reach and he looked at you. “What do we say hermosa~?” He asked with a purr in his voice. You blush and roll your eyes. “Thank you, Baby.” You cup one of his cheeks and place a sweet kiss on the other. You felt his smile grow, man did he adore you. You decided to be playful and leave a kiss on his neck before you pulled away, he gave you a smirk and you knew all too well. Looks like you were gonna show just how thankful you were when you got home.

Octavio in a playful rush to get going now was getting (more) restless. He grabbed your hand and asked “Ready to get out of here?” He wiggled his eyebrows and winked to really lay the message on thick. You laughed a bit and nodded. With that you two quickly made you way back to your place. It wasn’t immediately to sex, you two had some snacks or dinner and cleaned up for the evening, getting ready for bed. With the occasional tease from Octavio saying you were taking too long to get ready for bed. You had already placed your new bunny friend onto the bed, Octavio waiting for you with it in his hand.

When you walked in you saw Octavio shirtless, holding the bunny. He looked up at you with those eyes of his and he gestured for you to come close. “C’mere babygirl.” You felt the heat already rising in your core, when he wanted to he could get you going without even touching you. The mixture of not seeing him often and the fact he was so good in bed that got you excited. He bit his lip and his eyes are you up from head to toe. “Get undressed.” Without hesitation you strip, giving him a little show as you did so, soon enough you were in front of him with nothing on your body. You heard him growl lowly as he himself was getting excited just from the sight of you. He loved your body, the way it looked. Your imperfections that made you, you. Drove the man wild.

He grabbed your hip and tugged you close smashing his lips into yours, you immediately wrapping your arms around him and tangling your hands into his hair. It got hot quick, body temperature rising and the heavy breaths to accompany it. He flipped the two of you over, laying you down onto the bed. He kissed down your jaw and onto your neck, finding you special spots that drove you crazy, your soft moans and breathing telling him that he was nailing it. As he made his way down your body, leaving a trail of kisses and marks here and there, his hands beat him to his destination, touching your almost dripping core. He chuckled lowly, sounding almost victorious on how much he effected you. “My God you’re so wet for me, princesa. He spoke against your skin. His fingers slid inside you, massaging your walls and sending pleasure through every inch of your body. Moans escaped your lips and your breath hitched when you felt him speed up. We all know Octane has fat legs, that wasn’t the only thing that was incredibly fast. His fingers were much faster and he loved proving that to you.

With his fingers not even going full speed you felt your climax coming quickly and you felt it shot through your body as he finger fucked your through your first hard orgasm. He only added his tongue after you were over that hill, not letting up on his pace. It was so much but you both had a love for overstimulation. You moaned through it and you instinctually went to grab something to muffle your lewd noises, you grabbed the bunny he just won you. You hugged it close and moaned into it’s fur. It didn’t take long for you to get to a second, leaving a mess on his tongue and fingers. He pulled away, a trail of cum connected from his lips to you. He wiped his mouth and smirked seeing how dazed you already were.

He finally undressed himself, revealing his hard, leaking dick “You ready for me?” It was mostly telling you he was about to get started for real but wanted to warn you.

You felt your wrists get grabbed and pulled you up, he grabbed that bunny from your hands. “Wrists together now.” He commanded and you look at him confused, complying. He took the bunny’s ears and tied your hands together. Making you hold it close. He pushed you back down to the bed and lifted your legs, inserting himself in slowly, a pleasured groan leaving his throat. “Fuck…” He breathed out, clutching your thighs as you wrapped around him, ready for the ride about to come. After a couple of slow thrust the man didn’t take long to go an insane pace. It was like he was a machine with just how fast he could go, yes his legs helped but from you could tell, Octavio was always this way, just had a little boost now.

Pornographic sounds being absorbed by the walls from the both of you, the new bunny friend getting the best seat in the house, your moans being muddled still by its fur, biting onto its arms or head to help with the intense pleasure being given to you. Nails most definitely being clawed into the poor thing. Octavio was getting drunk off the sight of this alone, the prize he had won you not even an hour ago was being used to hide your filthy noises paired with your eyes rolling back from what he was doing to your soaked pussy. It got him so excited, he didn’t need his stun to get an extra boost of speed, that image was plenty. With this new pace you couldn’t keep still, your body was moving on its own to back away from the overwhelming pleasure building up within you. The tip of his dick kissing your cervix at such a rapid pace would be the death of you.

“T-Tavi-!! I-I.. I’m gonna-!” You could hardly get words to properly form, he kept this pace up, grunting and groaning as he saw your body be filled with euphoria as you had yet another orgasm, cumming hard. It was so much that you squirted, you didn’t know you could do that. Making a mess all over his dick he kept pace, riding this orgasm out with you. “Shit- yeah I’m gonna cum baby, you feel so fuckin good.” He had a trail of curses in Spanish as he finally reached his climax, pulling out of you and making a mess all over your body just to return the favor you gave him.

Both of you panting, getting air back into your lungs seemed to be a chore currently but it was so worth it. You felt high, you hadn’t ever felt that good before. This feeling was addicting, “oh my god Tavi… that was…” you said between breaths. “Fucking awesome?!” He plopped beside you and laughed. “That was amazing Mi Vida, I didn’t think you could make that big of a mess.” He chuckled and he looked over at you and then to the bunny, untying your hands. “Whenever you look at that guy I want you to remember this~ just so you can miss me more.” He winked and you blushed a bit because that’s exactly what you would do. But only it wouldn’t just make you kiss him, you’re gonna crave him. You playfully hit the speedster and roll onto your side to face him, ignoring the obvious mess on the bedsheets.

“I love you Tavi.”

“también te amo, y/n”

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

A First Time for Everything (18+ Short Fic)

Pairing: Poly Pro!KirishimaBakugouMina x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You and your girlfriend Mina have been dating for three amazing years. You couldn’t ask for a better partner–someone who is supportive, loving, and willing to explore new things with you…including in the bedroom. So, after a UA High 5-year reunion when you run into THE Katsuki Bakugou and Eijrou Kirishima, two of the top pros in the game and your old crushes, you don’t expect those past butterflies to come rushing back. And when you find out Mina, Kiri, and Bakugou feel the same, you decide to embark on the journey of experiencing your first-ever foursome and possible polyamorous romance.

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS GO AWAY), Unprotected PIV Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Adult!KiriBakuMina (both are in their late 20s), Alcohol Consumption, Consensual, FOURSOOOME, Poly Romance, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating/Facefucking, Cunnilingus, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Clit Stimulation, Choking, Multiple Positions, Praise Kink, Light Degradation, Couch Sex, Creampies, Facials, Aftercare 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

CHAPTERS: ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR.

AO3 Link HERE!

*********

CHAPTER TWO

Kiri shuts the door behind you and Mina once you’re inside. 

As soon as he does, a clap of thunder startles you and the familiar pitter-patter of rain begins to fall, almost like Mother Nature wants you to get some dick by any means necessary. Kiri turns to you and Mina, smiling. “So glad you could make it,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I was afraid the storm would’ve started while you were out on the road.” 

You can barely focus on anything the man is saying with how good he smells–like cinnamon gloves and lavender, nothing like Bakugou’s smoky, vanilla scent.

Not to mention how good he looks. His black crewneck shirt stretches against his rippling muscles and biceps where his tattoos run up and down his big arms, making you want to read and trace them like maps. The shirt’s fabric is so thin and tight that you can see the rings that protrude from his nipples. His pants fit him entirely too well, making his hips and ass look positively squeezable. His hair is in a man bun, giving you a good look at his handsome features. 

“Nah, we made sure to keep up with the weather,” Mina says, waving off his worry. “Mmm, something smells good.” You hum in agreement when the scent of herbs, spices, and baking bread hits your nose. 

“Bakugou’s in the kitchen,” Kiri chuckles. “You ladies want a drink?” As he walks down the narrow hall connected to the living room to the kitchen, he stops and turns, looking you and Mina up and down. “Fuck, you both look amazing. Red is definitely your color, Y/N.” 

“Isn’t it?” Mina giggles. You flush at the compliment and Kiri’s flirty gaze. “T-Thank you, Kiri.” 

He chuckles, the deep sound making your heart lurch. “Come on, I’ll give you a little tour of the place! Mina, you haven’t been here since we got the place redecorated, right?”

He walks down the hallway where paintings and framed photos of family and friends are displayed on the walls to round the corner of the large kitchen, all marbled counters, pristine stainless-steel appliances, an island in the middle of the room, and a very handsome man standing at the stove. 

“K, the girls are here!” Kiri cheerfully states, giving you a wink as you and Mina stand at the island. 

Bakugou, looking like a snack in his gray jeans and black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to expose his muscled arms roped in tattoos, growls at the sound of Kiri. “Dammit, shitty hair, I told you don’t come in the kitchen until–“

He immediately stops as he turns around and looks at you and Mina, his eyes going wide.“Damn.” 

Your whole body warms under his less-than-subtle gaze. “Hello to you too,” Mina giggles, slinking into the kitchen. She sneaks up beside Bakugou and peers at the stove where you can see a baking dish in the window. “Oooh, spaghetti? Is that what you’re making?” 

Bakugou nudges her out of the way with his hip. “It’s called baked ziti, Pinky.” He takes off his oven mitt which you find absolutely adorable. “And back off! It still needs a couple of minutes and I’ve gotta make the salad.” 

Mina playfully pouts while Kiri sneaks into the kitchen. “We love a perfectionist,” he chuckles, pecking Bakugou’s cheek. “We just came in for drinks.”

He opens their giant fridge and nods at you and Mina. “What’s your poison, cuties? We got wine, water, beer, juice…I think we got apple, grape, white cranberry…” 

“Grape juice for now, please!” Mina brightly replies.  

“Water is good for me,” you reply. Bakugou glances at you. “Why not wine?” he grumbles, sounding curious. Kiri whirls around to face him, scowling. “They just got here, Katsuki!” he scoffs. “Not everybody pre-games like you do.” 

Bakugou rolls his crimson eyes as Kiri gets a pitcher of filtered water and grape juice out of the fridge. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Now everybody get out!” 

Once Kiri gets your glasses for you and Mina, he hustles you out of the kitchen before Bakugou can blow a gasket. You watch as he strides over to the fridge and begins to take out ingredients for the salad: spring greens, cherry tomatoes, bell pepper, and red onion.

Once he gathers them up, he begins to prep for the dish, and you watch his every articulate, careful yet confident form, from washing the vegetables to cutting them with the sharpest knife you’ve ever seen. You watch his hands…his scarred, veiny, oh-so-sexy hands. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Kiri whispers to you, making you jump out of your horny thoughts. “He’s kinda nervous. It’s not every day we get a date night with two pretty girls at the same time.” He winks at you before clinking your glass of water with his.

“So how about that tour?” 

************ 

The tour doesn’t last for that long, but through it, you’ve never been more intrigued by a home. 

The place is beautiful and tastefully decorated with cream-colored walls, matching throw pillows in the living room along the gray sofas and armchairs, and paintings hanging along the hallways you enter.

The house comes with a living room with an excellent security system, a dining area connected to the kitchen, a master bedroom, three guest rooms, a pool with a hot tub setting, basketball and tennis courts, a driveway that houses Bakugou and Kiri’s two sportscars, Kiri’s study that connects to a private gym downstairs, and a basement/man cave that was recently renovated for a pool table and carpets. You also meet their very affectionate tabby cat Blaze who was sleeping down on the carpets when you arrived. 

By the time Kiri gets upstairs and introduces you and Mina to the bedroom, your head is spinning, and you want to move in. He pushes open the bedroom door to reveal the gorgeous master bedroom with a king-sized bed, two walk-in closets, a balcony, and a mirror plastered to the ceiling that makes you think of very unholy things. 

“And here’s one of our many bathrooms,” Kiri says, motioning to one of the doors next to the bed on the left-hand side. “There’s one in one of the guest rooms and in the basement.” 

“Oh, thank God!” Mina groans, racing into the bedroom. “I’ve been holding this pee in since the car ride. Finish the tour without me.” She runs into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. You glance at Kiri, sighing. “Adorable, right?” you chuckle. 

“You’re just as adorable as her,” he comments, but before you can process the compliment, he asks, “Hey, you said you like cats, right?” You nod, embarrassed by how excited you got seeing Blaze curled up on her back in the basement. “Bakugou will kill me for showing this, but…” 

He motions you over and opens the door on the right-hand side to another room, this one coming with a mahogany desk, a personal coffee machine, many awards and certificates given to Dynamight over the years, and a huge bookcase where several ceramic cat figurines sit. You gasp, cooing at the little figurines. “Oh, my God, these are so cute!” 

“This is Bakugou’s study,” he explains. “He insisted on us getting a study for us two, but I told him that privacy is important in relationships.” He toys with a tabby cat figurine. “I got this one first as a present to Bakugou. It’s supposed to be Blaze. Then I guess he fell in love with them ‘cause he’s been buying them as paperweights ever since.” 

You gape at the figurines, picturing Bakugou going out to buy each one. “Who would’ve thought?” you chuckle. “He seems so rough around the edges.” Kiri laughs along with you. “Yeah, but it’s really a front. Like I said, he’s just as nervous as I am with you and Mina being here due to the context.” 

You flush at his words. You had almost forgotten what you were here for–not just a movie, food, and good company. You put a hand on Kiri’s shoulder and feel him tense for a moment before he relaxes under your touch. “Thank you for agreeing to this, Kiri,” you say softly. “Tonight has already been great.” 

Slowly, he turns to you, his crimson eyes holding something on the edge of sensual. “How could I have said no?” he asks lowly. “It’s hard to refuse a pretty thing like you.”

Suddenly, the air becomes tense, and the relationship between you two shifts into something that isn’t friendly at all. Yes, Kiri flirts, but never this boldly or upfront. Your heart beats faster under his gaze and your hand subconsciously falls to his bicep. 

He steps closer to you, but before he can close that distance, Mina pops into Bakugou’s study. “Finished!” she announces. You and Kiri immediately jump away, heat overtaking your body. Your girlfriend comes up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Whatcha guys doin’?” 

You’re at a loss for words, your mouth too dry to speak, but luckily, Kiri fills Mina in for you. “Just showing Y/N my man’s secret cat collection. Wanna see?” 

“Do I!” Mina giggles, taking out her phone as she turns to the cat figurines. “Hang on, I need pictures so I can drop ‘em in the group chat. Then he’d really kill me!”

With her and Kiri now talking among themselves, you’re given enough time to recuperate from the hot-ass scene you and Kiri were about to engage in. What’s more is how easily he was able to bounce back from it, hiding it so easily. 

Will you be able to handle this? 

The question stays with you after the tour is done and you’re back in Kiri and Bakugou’s living room. “Feel free to sit anywhere you’d like,” Kiri says as he switches to streaming platforms on their flat screen. “For movies, we got either HBO Max, Netflix, or Hulu. I was thinking horror movies.” 

“Oooh, yes!” you excitedly shout as Mina pulls you down onto the grey sofa facing the TV. Kiri takes the one nearest the window. “I think all The Conjuring movies are on HBOMax, if you’re up for that.” Mina gapes at you, terrified. “With the creepy doll with the pigtails? You just wanna scare me.” She pouts at you, nudging your foot with hers. 

Bakugou pops into the room suddenly carrying a tray that carries with it an aroma of baked bread that makes your stomach growl. “Mina’s a wuss, in case you didn’t know,” he grumbles. Mina blushes as you and Kiri laugh. “I am not!” she shouts defensively. 

Bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Please. You were the main one crying when we went to that haunted maze that one time during our sophomore year of high school even though you begged and pleaded for us to take you along with us.” 

Kiri snickers, as red as his face from laughing. “I’ve still got pictures.” Mina tosses a pillow at him that he catches with one hand. “You two are so mean!” she laments, crossing her arms and legs before harumphing cutely. 

“Aww, come on, Pinky,” Kiri coos from across the room. “You’ve got us three to protect you from that stupid doll. As for demons, you’re on your own.” You throw your head back and laugh as Mina gives him the finger, telling him she’d sacrifice him to demons first. 

Bakugou, who doesn’t laugh at all, lowers the tray, silent. You find that it’s filled with sliced homemade garlic bread, browned to perfection. His vermillion eyes boar into yours, pinning you to your seat.

“Appetizers,” he softly growls, and leaves without another word, heading back to the kitchen. You stand as if your body is his puppet, controlled by the absence of his presence. “Let me go get us some ice,” you tell Mina. 

As you go to walk to the kitchen, Kiri gets up. You immediately walk over and put a hand on his broad chest, stopping him. “Kiri, stay. I’m fully capable of getting my own ice and fighting against the fire-breathing dragon in there.” He still looks worried but sits back down. “Alright but scream if he even so much as scowls at you.” 

You nod at him and continue your walk to the kitchen. Sure enough, Bakugou is there and is now attempting to toss the bowl of salad with some tongs, grumbling to himself. When he hears you come in, he whips around and scowls at you. “You got a problem with following rules? I thought I said no one in the kitchen until dinner is ready.” 

You put up a hand in defense, nodding at the fridge. “Just came for some ice.” He gives you the evil eye but doesn’t say anything more. You’re quiet as you help yourself to an empty glass and fill it with ice to split with Mina. When you finish, you glance at Bakugou who’s still struggling. You giggle quietly to yourself. “You need help with that?” 

He shakes his head, grumbling a no. “You sure?” you ask, quirking a brow at him. “You’re holding the tongs wrong, you know.” He growls and moves quicker, still struggling to toss the greens. “I said I’m–”

Before he can protest, you move behind him, your chest brushing against his back. Gently, you take his hand and position it correctly on the handle of the tongs. You then instruct him to tilt the bowl slightly and firmly grip the rim so it doesn’t flip onto him. He does so, keeping a scowl as he does.

“There you go,” you whisper against his shoulder since he’s so tall. “Easier, right?” 

He doesn’t say anything, and you flush, feeling like you crossed a line. But as you go to leave him be, he abruptly turns around, the tongs forgotten, and takes your wrist in his. You realize how close you really are to him now–you’re practically eating his shirt with how close his chest is to your face. His cologne and natural scent of vanilla hit your nose, making your thoughts hazy.

“You know, if you wanted to touch me, princess, all you had to do was ask.” 

His voice is low and raspy, making your stomach jump excitedly. But the tension in the air, in this kitchen, is too much. “I should get back to the living room,” you weakly say. You take a step back, but he follows, stepping forward. 

“What’s the rush?” he mumbles. “You barely said hi to me when you came in. Kinda hurt my feelings.”

He follows you until he has you cornered against the island, the edge of it pushing into your lower back. “You wanna wear something like this and not even be nice to me in my own home?” 

His large hands lay on the counter on either side of you, trapping you. But you don’t feel intimidated or threatened. If anything, you feel aroused. You can feel him staring down at you and your chest, unashamed and unabashed. You like that, but damn, does it feel dangerous. “Katsuki,” you exhale, not sure what else to say. 

“Y/N,” he sighs, and his name on your lips makes you want to give him everything. 

The moment is (unfortunately) ruined when you hear someone clear their throat. You turn to find Mina and Kiri watching you and Bakugou, knowing smiles on their faces. “Starting without us, hm?” Kiri chuckles. “We didn’t even eat yet, Bakugou. Leave the poor girl alone.” 

Your skin burns with embarrassment and the aftermath of arousal from the moment in passing. How do these men know how to rile you up like this? Bakugou gives Kiri a glare, but a blush coats his cheeks as he moves away from you, going back to his cooking. 

Kiri laughs as he goes back into the living room and Mina takes your hand, leading you out of the kitchen. “Did he feel good against you like that?” she whispers in your ear. “You looked like you were enjoying it. I know I enjoyed watching you.” Her hand slinks to your ass, squeezing it. 

She giggles when you softly gasp at her copping a feel. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself though.” She pecks your cheek. “Now, come on; let’s watch the movie.” 

But you know you won’t be able to enjoy any movie without thinking about these two attractive men and your girlfriend all over you. So as you lower the glass of ice on the ottoman, you turn to Kiri. “Actually,” you sigh, “I think I’ll take that wine now, Kiri.” 

He just grins at you.

[baksterly]

“call it fate, call it karma”

part two

18+

part one masterlist

Pairing: GhostFace! Ellie Williams × fem!reader

Summary: Last school year, tests, exams and.. murders are all you think of. But what happens after the killer starts to be interested in you?

A/n: Just a little reminder that I write this fic mostly for myself so yeah.. The title is based on the song "Call it Fate, Call it Carma" by "Strokes"!

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: smoking, drugs, mentions of killing, blood, swearing, stalking, chasing, murdering, (maybe smut, but not in this part), think that's all?

Tag list?:

—————————————🔪🩸🔪————————————

Your morning was hard. The sun blinded your eyes as you sat on the edge of the bed. Chris has taken you in for a while until things calm down. The phone in your hand vibrated with a quiet notification sound. A hand moved closer to your face, your eyes narrowed as you read the small letters on the screen: “Zoe: gm y/n!! how's it going? me and…”. A message from Zoe provoked you to take the phone with both hands.

Sighing heavily, your left hand reached for the bridge of your nose, rubbing your already tightly closed tired eyes. You grunted, removing your hand and opening your eyes slightly, twisting your head back towards the other end of the bed. Chris slept peacefully there. Let it not be at her house that a student of a neighboring school was killed, but she slept without hind legs. You decided not to wake her up and wait for her to wake up on her own. Turning your gaze back to the window through which the overcast sun burst. It was light outside, but the clouds were pitch gray. Such a nasty and dreary shade of gray. Looking at it, you wanted to forget everything in the world and, with your head wrapped under the covers, fall asleep as soon as possible. Instead, you unexpectedly stood up and walked into the living room.

Quietly passing through, you reached the armchair, silently sat down, took the remote control and turned on the TV without hesitation. You immediately turned off the sound so as not to wake your friend. Aimlessly scrolling through the channels, you stumble upon a news station and .. is this your house? Yes, this is a report from the scene of the murder. As soon as you began to move away from thoughts about yesterday's event, it was as if you were shown everything again on purpose. You felt so fucked up, and your eyes began to fill with tears

*notification sound on phone*

The first thing you thought was that it was Zoe who wrote that she and Jessie were almost there, but what you definitely didn't expect was a message from Ellie Williams. Your eyebrows furrowed and for a while you just looked at the screen, trying to understand what she could write. You even thought that maybe she had the wrong number, but still you decided to stop your guessing and click on the chat with a new notification. You forgot that her number was written in your phone and .. there was a puppy smiley next to the name. The number was written down on the very day that after her game you went to the infirmary due to her inattention.

On the one hand, Ellie did not say anything that could embarrass you, or cause such emotions that you experienced at the moment when you turned off the phone and literally threw it towards the sofa opposite. Your palms covered your reddened face.

“She knew I was at every game she played?? And what did this "for me" mean?! Does she know that I look at her the most during the match? It can't be, it's impossible! How does she know that..” Thoughts raced through your head at the speed of light, and anxiety only grew. “No, don’t make it up, she just said it out of politeness, nothing like that, yes. But she wanted to write to me after all this!! Was she thinking of me? It means something? No, she was just bored .. Cheerleaders constantly walk around her, most likely she really wrote out of being a good friend, like her offer to hang out”. And on that final thought, your attention was caught by footsteps and a loud yawn that came from behind you.

Sleepy Chris left the room. She stopped a couple of meters from you, pulling one hand high up, stretching, and the other automatically covering her mouth from a yawning. A second later, she did a little morning exercise, turning her head and straightening her shoulders, after which she moved on and sat right in front of you with a greeting that was almost whispered due to her sleepy state.

-“Good morning hon” she said, pulling out her phone to see what time is it. Then her gaze lifted and focused on your tired face. You looked at Chris, waiting to hear something.

-"How do you feel?" she asked. There was a strong sympathy and maybe even sadness in her voice. Her eyebrows slightly raised and closed, making her look more worried. She silently looked at you, waiting for an answer and crossed her arms over her chest.

-“To be honest, I feel really shitty,” you breathed in, then laughed nervously. You did not know how to explain what you felt in that second, but you knew one thing for sure - you were not well. Your slightly reddened from rolling tears, plaintive eyes dropped to the floor.

Such an abundance of stress did not allow you to keep in yourself one tear that quickly rolled down your cheek. Your hand immediately reached out to erase the wet trace with your fingers, simultaneously wiping your nose and sniffing. Chris of course noticed this, she looked at you without taking her eyes off.

-"Oh no, baby, don't.." Her words were so tender that it brought two more tears. From a relaxed sitting position, you leaned your chest against your knees, covering your face with your hands. Chris immediately jumped up from her seat, vases you on the sides of your face and knelt in front of you to be at the level of your eyes. Her hands gently lifted your head, your palms lowered, revealing your face, which expressed only complete despair.

-“Hey, look at me, I'm with you, shhh,” she muttered, approaching your ear. Her hands moved to your shoulders, and then closed on your back, pulling you into a strong hug.

Your trembling voice abruptly interrupted the sound of your sniffing nose:

-“I just don’t understand why me, why now??”. Chris pulled away from your face, looking straight into your eyes that had so avoided her.

- "I know bunny, this is extremely unfair.. You don't deserve this, this is all very wrong, I'm so sorry.. but we can handle it! Do you hear?”

She firmly grabbed your shoulders as she rose from her knees. Your eyes went up with her.

-"We'll get through it, I know that for sure!"

You laughed softly, sniffing again and wiping your wet eyes with your wrist.

-"Yes, I hope.. I need time to accept it.. We all need it." You smiled again and Chris smiled back at you.

-"That's my girl!"

Three knocks on the door interrupted your sentimental moment and your friend immediately went to the door, while you actively began to wipe your face on the T-shirt you were wearing.

-"Hey sleepyheads!!!! Rise and shine!!"

-"We brought you breakfast!!"

Zoe and Jessie canceled out all your anxiety with just one appearance.

- "Hi guys, come in" Chris met them. The guests immediately began to look around for you. You thought that your eyes were no longer so red and your face did not look teary, but as soon as the eyes of your friends finally found yours, sympathy immediately appeared on their faces.

-"y/n, hii- oh no, are you crying??" Jessie's worried voice sounded, who, while holding bags of food, jumped up, and putting all his things on the sofa, came to hug you.

You immediately stood up to greet your friends and to make sure he was comfortable and didn't lean over. Jesse squeezed you into a strong hug and you felt someone hug you from the side too.

-"Don't worry y/n, we'll help you, everything will be fine" came the words of Zoe, who kissed you on the forehead. You stood like that for a couple more seconds, after which you were released and you silently exhaled.

-"Hi guys, thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means to me, I could not wish for more, y’all are simply the best" you said through a smile that appeared as imperceptibly as tears protruding from the edges of your eyes, but this time they were only tears of joy.

—————————————🔪🩸🔪————————————

Friends spent the whole day with you. In addition to food and groceries, they brought school assignments. Even in this situation, you have not forgotten the school curriculum. And no wonder. You worked so hard that forgetting everything in a couple of days would be simply unforgivable! Therefore, you have allocated a couple of hours for homework. It began to gradually get dark outside the window, by that time you all had already had dinner and decided to drink cherry beer. You never liked to drink, rather to try, but without noticing it, you poured yourself more and more all this time. Friends noticed this, but they felt it was right to let you forget a little and relax. They understood how hard it was for you and did not want to break the buzz.

At this rate, at 7 pm you were already a little drunk, not enough to stagger when you stand, but enough to stop filtering and distinguishing between what you say and your own thoughts.

-“Do you guys know Ellie? Elia Williams?” you suddenly asked what made everyone at the table make an inquiring expression on their faces.

"Isn't that the girl who plays for our rugby school’s team by any chance?" asked Zoe.

-"Yeah, it's her," you replied, shaking your head positively. And just as you wanted to tell them something about her, your phone vibrated once again during the day.

*one new message from “EllieW🐶”*

- “Wow .. remember the sun, here is a ray, as they say ..” Everyone listened carefully, waiting to hear who wrote to you.

-"Everything is fine? Who’s that?" Chris asked. Every time you received a notification or someone called, Chris listened carefully and clarified who it was, she was very afraid that some anonymous person would write to you again and therefore she was very vigilant. After a little thought, you answered that it was nothing special, some kind of spam, but you didn’t immediately put the phone down, wrote something in response, only then putting the phone on the table.

-"So what's up with this Ellie?" Jesse asked impatiently. Was he angry? His annoyed tone surprised you, even though you knew Jesse had some prejudice against Ellie.

And not only to her. Jesse cherished you very much, he was like an older big brother to you, so he tried to protect you from unwanted people in advance before they could enter your life.

-“Oh, yes, I just remembered, nothing else” you quickly replied, as if you remembered her from scratch. Everyone except Jesse ignored your strange behavior, brushing everything off for cherry beer.

A chat with Ellie was all you could think about now. Everyone switched to the next topic while you had a moment of happiness.

—————————————🔪🩸🔪————————————

Literally five minutes later, Zoe and Jessie left, it was already late and the work week was not over yet, so they did not want to stay up late. You went to change and warned Chris in advance that you would be out for the next couple of hours, you need to go and pick up a couple of personal items from the house that you need. Of course you lied. The truth was that Ellie had already arrived and was waiting for you around the corner. Your friend reacted absolutely calmly, she understood that it was necessary and did not stand in your way. She was not one of the inquisitive friends. In this matter, you have always been easy with her.

You said goodbye to Chris and went out on the threshold of the house, closing the door behind you. Ellie wrote that she would be waiting nearby and the number of the car. You walked a couple of meters forward and trampled on the spot and looked around you saw her, after which you immediately headed towards her. Ellie stood leaning on her car. The tattooed hand that caught your attention again wrapped around her waist while the other brushed the joint away from her soft lips.

-“Hii !!,” your voice didn’t sound drunk, but rather tired and cheerful at the same time, which contradicted each other.

Turning her head to the other side, her eyes met the floor, she quickly exhaled a cloud of smoke and said hello:

- “Sup, long time no see hahah” she joked, hinting at yesterday's party, which you also managed to forget about by the way.

-“Yeah, I miss you already,” you replied. You wanted it to sound like a joke too, but your words came out a little sincere than you thought, which made Ellie a little blush.

-“So, are you ready for a ride and adventure??” she asked, looking directly at you into your eyes.

-"Hell yeah!!" You answered, raising your hands in fists in the air and rejoicing that you still accepted and trusted her offer ...

—————————————🔪🩸🔪————————————

Part three in process…