#i missed him on night 1. i hate it

[bluehairmisfit]

Help me I have problems

[kavehayati]

Stop ……. Rodrick from diary of a wimpy kid …

[redtippedcanines]

i got a hot water bottle and another pillow ^^

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Prologue: hapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5 Chapter 6:

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[plutoslastwords]

lost and found!

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: baby norris goes missing in a crowded paddock, her father? not happy.

warnings: none!

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: first post here.. eek! i hope you guys like my little character of baby norris, i'm hoping to write more for her, so if you have any requests, please send them in!!

~~~

A Formula 1 paddock was a busy place. Mechanics were working hard to get the cars in tip-top shape for the day, reporters were rushing around to the latest ‘big story’ with dozens of cameras following and fans were scrambling around to get a glimpse of their idols. All in all, the paddock was chaotic for even the most oriented of us.

The paddock was not the place for a three year old. 

However, in the Melbourne paddock, tiny baby Norris was giggling like mad, toddling around the zoo of the paddock, elated to be back at daddy’s work after a long, boring winter break.

Though he hates to admit it, Lando had not planned your appearance in his life. You were the result of a drunken one night stand, and nine months later you appeared to him after your mother signed away any parental rights. Despite that, you were the light of his life, he couldn’t imagine a world without his gorgeous baby daughter who managed to bring so much joy into any situation, you were his everything.

Unfortunately, at present he was preoccupied with some media duties before the upcoming free practice session, so the responsibility of you had been placed on some Mclaren assistant, Henry, who had looked away for a second too long and the little girl had been lost in the crowd. The assistant was shitting himself, how had he managed to screw up this bad, it was his first day on the job and he had already lost the boss’ kid!! He was so gonna be fired.

Therefore, he felt it wise to not mention to Lando that his three year old was currently waddling around the crazy busy paddock, filled with heavy machinery and people 5 times her size. Instead, Henry grabbed some other intern and began frantically searching. 

It was not an easy task, looking for a pocket sized three year old in a rampacked motorsports paddock. Henry and intern no.2 checked the obvious places first: Lando’s drivers room? No. Oscar’s side of the garage? No. The Williams garage? (You were very fond of Carlos) No. 

You were nowhere, somehow Lando Norris’ three year old daughter had been gifted the power of invisibility and disappeared off of the face of the Earth. Henry was stressing. To make matters worse, he then got a text he had been dreading.

Lando Norris

hey man, just finished the interview, thank you for watching the baby, you think you could drop her back to me?

Henry cursed aloud, kissing goodbye to his job as he knew that he’d have to show up to Lando empty handed. Him and the other intern he’d coerced into coming trudged slowly back to the Mclaren garage, preparing to face the wrath of a very angry dad. 

As soon as Lando saw Henry enter, his face lit up, finally getting to see his precious girl after a few grueling hours of media commitments. However, his smile dropped immediately when he saw Henry’s guilty look, and the lack of a toddler in his tow. He marched forward.

“Where the fuck is she?” He demanded, no kindness in his voice.

“I- uhm- she- I’m sorry! She’s so small, and so quick! And one minute she was right next to me and the next she was gone!” Henry cried, accepting that this was the last time he’d be working in an F1 paddock.

“You lost my daughter?!?” Lando seethed, completely outraged, his darling girl was missing! “You had one job and you lost my daughter?? How immensely careless can one person be!” He shouted, the only thing holding him back from suckerpunching Henry being the fact that he was the last person to see you, and therefore would be most helpful in finding you.

The commotion, however, alerted the attention of some other people including Zak Brown, Mclaren’s CEO, who was making his rounds of the garage, greeting some high profile guests. He walked over, patting Lando on the shoulder in a very Zak-Brown-manner.

“Ah, Lando! Been looking for you! What’s going on here?”

“The dickhead lost my kid!” Lando exclaimed, more than furiously, whilst Harry just stood there silently, having gone deathly pale. Zak’s normally upbeat mood dropped, seeing the distress his driver was in, he couldn’t be having this! Free practice was only a couple hours away!

“Oh goodness, that’s not… optimal… Have you searched for her at all, boy?” he questioned Henry, who nodded and let out a noise that could’ve been interpreted as a whimper of fear.

“W-we went to look for her, we searched everywhere! B-but she wasn’t there…” he stammered, this was just great now both of his bosses were here to fire him. Not even his bosses! They were like his boss’ boss’ boss’ bosses!

“Of course you couldn’t find her! She’s like 2 feet tall, no one would be able to find her in a crowd like that!” Lando scoffed, he didn’t want to let his worry show in front of the whole garage, so instead his emotions were being projected as anger towards a very scared looking Henry. 

“Well, why don’t we all calm down..” Zak intervened, he did not need one of his drivers having a meltdown at T-Minus 2 hours before the first free practice session of the season. “I’m sure she’ll turn up, the kid can barely go 30 minutes without her daddy, she’ll be running back soon enough.”

“Oh god, she’s probably so scared…” moaned Lando, Zak’s words doing nothing to soothe him, only heightening the growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Noticing Lando’s growing anguish, Zak knew he had to act, quickly sending orders to whoever was in shouting distance to go and search the paddock from the bottom up, and not to return until they had a little curly haired girl in their grasp. 

As well as this, he told Henry to go somewhere else and help the search party, he did not think it smart to have Henry and Lando in close proximity, worried about the British driver’s anger getting the best of him. He did not need a fight breaking out only 2 hours before FP1

The next 45 minutes were possibly the worst of Lando’s life, Sochi 2021 was nothing compared to this. His precious, angel, darling girl was missing and there was nothing he could do about as Zak had forbidden him from leaving the garage, claiming he’d draw too much attention if he went out to join the search. What, like 50 Mclaren staff all searching the paddock wasn’t going to draw enough attention itself?

He sat in his driver's room with his face in his hands, distraught at the idea that his baby girl might be hurt, or worse… He couldn’t let himself think about it, his trainer, Jon, was in the room as well trying to soothe his nerves, but nothing was working, all he wanted was his little girl back in his arms.

Suddenly, the door to his driver’s room swung open, revealing Henry, looking extremely tired out, holding a tiny girl who was looking way too proud of herself.

“Daddy!!” You screeched, grinning widely, thrashing around in Henry’s arms to get to him.

“Oh my baby..” About 50 tonnes of weight lifted from Lando’s shoulders as he rushed over to take you from Henry. “My baby, my baby, my baby..” He chanted, rocking you in his arms, holding you close to his chest, never wanting to let go. “You gave daddy such a fright, angel!” He reprimanded, but there was no malice to his tone whatsoever, he was just glad his baby was back. “Where did you run off to, hm?”

“Lollipop, daddy!” You squealed, and then it clicked for Lando, of course that’s where she went. When the two of you arrived in the paddock this morning there was a man selling large lollipops, almost the size of you, near the entrance. You had immediately been struck by this, begging your daddy to pretty please! buy one for you, but Lando had media duties he had to get to, but promised to get one later (he could never say no to you), but of course that wasn’t acceptable to your little head, so you’d had to run away to go get one. 

Surprisingly, you had managed to get her hands on one, though Lando wasn’t sure how, it wasn’t like you had your own money. It was probably because you were just too cute to resist, with your beaming smile, little curly hair and green eyes just like him, you could woo just about anybody. Even the ever serious Oscar Piastri manages to crack some grins whenever you’re around.

“You can’t be running away though my angel… what if you got hurt, hm? And daddy wasn’t there to kiss it better. That was very naughty of you baby.” He tried to be strict with you, he really did, but one look at your little pouting face was enough to make him melt all over again.

“‘M sorry daddy…” You mumbled, you didn’t like it when your daddy tells you off, your daddy never tells you off! “Just wan’ed lollipop…”

“Oh baby, I know… don’t worry, Daddy isn’t angry anymore, he was just scared, okay? And you gotta promise you’re never gonna do that again, otherwise no more lollipops..”

“I pwomise daddy!!” you were fully capable of speaking normally, but even at age 3, you knew exactly the type of voice to use to get your daddy to forgive you. 

“Good girl, angel..” he cooed, still rocking you in his arms. His moment with his daughter was broken, however, when he realised that Henry was still in the room, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“You found her?” He questions Henry, his tone slightly guarded.

“Y-yeah, she was by the entrance.. Didn’t seem very fazed about the chaos she caused…” Henry tries to joke, to lighten the tension, but Lando’s expression was unreadable.

After a moment, Lando spoke up. “I’m not going to fire you.” an audible sigh of relief could be heard coming from Henry. “But you’re never looking after her again, you hear me?” Henry just nods quickly, too thankful that he hasn’t lost his job to care. “Good. you can go now.” The intern scrambles out the room.

“Daddy loves you so much, darling. Always remember that, okay? So so much..” He whispers to the small girl in his arms, who was now starting to doze off, after the excitement of the lollipop saga. 

He just smiled, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head, before he laid you down on the sofa in his driver’s room, covering you with a blanket so you could sleep peacefully.

~~~

a/n: hope you enjoyed, send in any requests you have!

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

women in male fields

fratboy!jaehyun x reader

summary: you’re fully aware you’re dating a reformed fuckboy/fratiest fratboy to exist but that doesn’t mean he can get away with acting like a douche without a taste of his own medicine… OR the 3 times sweetheart finds herself acting like a fuckboy and the 1 time Jaehyun calls her out

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swearing, fuckboy behavior, mentions of alcohol, Americanized college described (l'm American), pet names (sweetie, sweets, sweeteart, sweet girl) in order to avoid using y/n, Imk if I missed anything!

a/n: there was something completely magical in my Chili’s triple dipper because I sat down and pounded this out for 4 hours with minimal breaks! I’d had this idea for a while but figured I’d get it out before everyone forgot about the #womeninmalefields TikTok trend. Feedback is appreciated!

Timeline-wise let’s say this is about 4-6 months into Jae and Sweetheart being a couple

This story is a part of my fratboy!Jaehyun universe!

dividers from cafekitsune

You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Jung Jaehyun, one of the most fratboy fratboys to ever exist. You had been around for the parties, for the handful of nights where he overdid it and got sick, countless nights of standing by to watch him play beer pong, no dates on Sunday evenings because of frat meetings, and a couple philanthropic events. You were used to a lot of it by now. 

But your boyfriend had adapted himself so well to this role that you honestly kind of hated some of his behaviors. He had changed some habits, of course. He was no longer the fuckboy fratboy that slept around, no, he was committed to you and you alone. He made some effort into being romantic which took some work since his idea of romance was sending you a daily Snapchat for your streak with a red heart. Gross. Now, he got you flowers occasionally and your favorite snacks. His room used to be an absolute pigsty and now he at the very least he shoved his mess under the bed so you didn’t see.

Then there were some habits that didn’t change and you were tired of them. Beyond tired of them. You were tired of him passively listening, barely paying attention to you, being kind of an asshole, and just being a gross guy. So you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. If he could do all these things and you could still like him, why wouldn't he still like you?

It had started when you texted Jaehyun on a Thursday afternoon and he didn’t respond until Saturday afternoon. It had been nothing urgent, but you were still annoyed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, it was a horrible habit of his. He started a conversation or read a text you sent and just never responded. You knew now, based on experience and the other guys telling you, that Jaehyun sucked at texting. He would still post on Instagram or Snapchat, posting various athletes like they were his friends and promoting frat activities like normal. It was almost like he forgot that the primary function of a phone was to communicate. Good thing he was pretty!

It didn’t make it any less annoying that your boyfriend didn't care to change this habit for you though, so when he finally texted you back, you decided to give him the same treatment. Saturday came to an end and you didn’t text back. Sunday was the same and so was Monday. He texted you countless times, so many questions, random updates on his day, and asking you if you were ok or if he should send help to your dorm. So when you knocked on the door Tuesday afternoon scrolling on your phone when Jaehyun opened the door. It was pretty safe to say he was pretty confused.

“Where have you been? You didn’t answer any of my texts,” Jaehyun asked while he led the two of you upstairs.

You hummed noncommittally, your eyes not leaving the screen of your phone, “oh yeah, my phone broke. My bad.”

Jaehyun opened his mouth to argue, ready to tell you that he had seen you posting on your stories, your phone didn’t look new, and he had heard you on FaceTime with Haechan just yesterday. That you were literally scrolling through Instagram when he opened the door, but he didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his arms, and pulled up the most recent episode of one of your shows. 

He couldn’t really complain if you were here with him now, right? You were in his bed, in his arms, laying on his chest. Everything was fine. A few days of no contact was normal and you both had a good enough relationship where it shouldn’t bother him, right? But it did…

The next time Jaehyun pissed you off was just a week later. He had proven to be a little extra clingy after his punishment of silence and that was good enough for you. It had been enough to hold you off with some of his, less than perfect behavior, until the next time he messed up. Sure, enough it was just 7 days later when he acted stupid again. And it was time for him to learn again. Sometimes he just had to learn to not do something by doing it and learning the consequences. Like a child… or a pet.

Jaehyun had had a stressful week. You knew that, he had told you about it the last time you saw him just yesterday, so you did feel kinda bad for deciding to pull this out of your sleeve now. How was he going to learn if you never tried to fix it though?

Jaehyun was pacing around his room, running a hand down his face and staring at the email that basically told him nothing from their partner sorority. He was social chair, so he was in charge of planning mixers. That’s exactly what he was trying to do! But the Kappa social chair was either knowingly being a pain in the ass or just naturally was a pain in the ass. How was it useful for Jaehyun to know when a handful of sisters all had an astronomy class?! Why did that matter when he was asking her to choose from a handful of dates he’d already chosen?!

Not only was this sorority social chair being annoying, Taeyong had been on his ass to plan some kind of sponsored philanthropic event, but everyone Nu Chi had worked with previously was being so difficult! No one was returning a single one of his emails, he spent his afternoons on hold or making calls, and just getting in contact with new companies and vendors just took so much effort. He currently had one sponsor, which was fine, whatever. But nothing Nu Chi Theta did while Jaehyun was social chair was ever just fine. Fine was acceptable for Alpha Sig’s but not for Nu Chi’s. He would need at least two more sponsors to reach the level of finery he was used to working with.

So that’s what Jaehyun was texting you about, his fingers tapping across the small screen of his phone while he put all his ranting and raving into words and sent off the text with a sigh of relief. You would talk him down, get him through his stress, and give him some advice for his problems. Then he’d feel like a new man, ready to tackle his problems with a clear head just like you always did for him. Just the thought of your advice had him smiling down at his phone while he added ‘sorry, about that. had to vent. how was your day sweets?’ and sent it your way.

On your end, you read through the long text ready to reply and give him some advice and offer your own help, but then you remembered… You remembered how just a few days ago you were venting to him about a small argument you and Ari, your roommate, had gotten into, and he showed no signs of actually listening. You went to him for a reason! He had at least 10 roommates, he never had complaints about any of them, so it wasn’t like you were talking just to talk! You wanted your boyfriend to give you some advice like you always gave him, but all you got was a “damn... Wanna order me some wings?” You had to physically keep jaw from dropping. God, he could be such a fucking guy sometimes! It was like talking to a fucking wall! Albeit a very good looking, handsome wall, but a wall nonetheless.

It was time for him to get yet another taste of his own medicine. Instead of taking the time to offer your advice or offer your help, you smirked, staring at your screen as you typed out, ‘that sucks’. Next text, ‘My day was chill, kinda hungry … send me door dash?’

On his end, Jaehyun stared at the screen with blatant confusion, watching as the minutes ticked by while he waited for some long paragraph with solutions and encouragement to be sent his way. After five minutes nothing came. The same after 10. No change after 20 and then he sets his phone aside feeling grumpy and pissy. Why wasn’t his girlfriend helping him? Did you even read his message?

And he couldn’t exactly call you out on it because it wasn’t an issue between the both of you. They were problems he had before you guys were together sure, but he liked having you to lean on now. He sighed tiredly, resting his chin atop his folded arms with a pout while staring at his dark screen and willing you to text him back again so all his issues would be just one step closer to being fixed.

His heart skipped a beat when the screen lit up and he saw the familiar combination of emojis used for your contact. He reached for his phone eagerly, feeling his heart soar at the anticipated text where you would help him solve his issues. But his face fell into a frown and he groaned out loudly at the words on his screen: ‘is my food on its way yet?’

The last reciprocation of his fuckboy energy was probably the worst. You honestly don’t know how you let Jaehyun get away with it practically unscathed, but karma was coming around now and she wasn’t merciful. It was your pièce de résistance, the cherry on top of your fuckboy sundae, your magnum opus, your masterpiece. 

To give Jaehyun some credit, it had been a while since he had dated a woman for a long period of time, or really, dated any woman at all. Maybe he had forgotten some very basic decorum and manners as far as ways to act and things to say or not say. Just yesterday you had been complaining about your professor being very vague in the instructions for your assignment, and even more vague when you emailed him to ask for clarity. “Like the instructions make it sound so simple, but it can’t be that simple if this project accounts for 30% of our grade! Like hello, is it hard to reply to an email with words that actually fucking mean something?” You groaned, running your fingers through your hair while you texted your project group chat what your professor had replied.

Jaehyun chuckled, running a calming hand down your back, focusing his relaxing touch on your lower back as his fingers kneaded at your muscles, “chill out sweetheart, I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it actually is.”

You sent him an unamused look from the corner of your eye, “chill out? Jae, I just said this project accounts for a third of my grade. I can’t be chill about this.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder, “are you… you know?”

Your fingers froze over your keyboard, waiting for his next words, giving him a chance to backtrack. He stayed silent and waited patiently. You exhaled, speaking in a voice that was all too eerily calm, “Am I what, Jaehyun?”

“Are you on your period? You just seem extra worked up about something kind of pointless.” He replied casually, his fingers continuing to work at your lower back. The exact area you had once confessed hurt you so bad you could barely stand in the first couple days of your period. This- somewhat thoughtful- little shit!

You smacked his hands away while you closed your laptop and gathered your things in a hurry, mumbling, “you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

Jaehyun stared at you in shock, an asshole? He was being an asshole for caring about his girlfriend’s well-being? “Sweetheart, it’s just that you seem to be making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is,” he tried to explain.

You held a hand up, silencing him, ”every time you open your mouth, you dig yourself into a deeper hole. No, I’m not on my period. Yes, it is a big deal and yes, I’m actually leaving. Good night and goodbye.”

This very conversation had been playing on repeat in your mind while Jaehyun vented to you about Johnny being up his ass about new recruits being low as he paced around his room. “I mean, it shouldn’t be solely on my shoulders if recruits are low. There are plenty of brothers who don’t have as many responsibilities as I do. Like, I barely figured out the whole sponsored mess with Taeyong and now Johnny decided to stick his foot up my ass too. Can I get a fucking break or something?!” He ranted passionately.

You stared at him blankly from your seated position on his bed, forcing your smirk to stay hidden. “Is it… you know?” You began to ask.

“Is it stressful? Hell yeah it is, I mean shouldn't we have any and all brothers taking turns trying to recruit. I mean that’s why I take my time to throw mixers, parties, and sponsored events that kick ass so that people want to join,” Jaehyun replied with a tired sigh.

“No,” you laughed softly, “is it like your time of the month? You seem to be making a big deal out of nothing?”

When Jaehyun turned to you with his eyes wide in astonishment, he expected to see you laughing it off playfully. He expected for you to confess that you were just kidding and kiss him sweetly. But you cocked your head to the side and raised a brow as if to ask, ‘what’s the problem?’

After that, Jaehyun was quick to rise to his feet, pinning you with a heated stare. “What the hell has been up with you? You've been acting… grimy for like the last month.”

You laughed in astonishment, “I’ve been acting grimy? Huh, then imagine how I feel on a regular basis!”

“You?! Sweets, you’ve been acting like a douche! Like when you didn’t respond to me for days even though you were posting like normal and you lied about your phone being broken! Like, hello! You were on Instagram right in front of my face with the same crack on your screen since I’ve known you!”

You raised a brow, holding back an amused smirk, “that’s all? I don’t reply for a couple days and now I’m a douche? Babe, you’re being like really emotional right now, calm down.”

“And that too!” Jaehyun exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at you, “why are you asking me if it’s my time of the month when I’m talking about something that’s bothering me? I want you to support me. You did the same thing when I texted you looking for advice when I was handling the whole mixers and sponsors thing.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, “well, I don’t know what you want me to say right now.”

Jaehyun raised his brows and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what the hell he was hearing. Was he in some kind of alternate universe? Had aliens come down and planted worms in your brain? What happened to his sweet girlfriend?! “Well, an apology would be really nice,” he replies while cocking his head at you.

“And have you ever apologized to me for any of that same behavior?” You ask in a calm voice.

“Wha- me apologize?! This isn’t about me! It’s about you!”

“Oh, so it’s only a problem when I act like this and not you? Got it.”

“When?! When have I acted like you?” Jaehyun asks in exasperation, eyes wide with shocked confusion.

“Hmmm. Let me think!” You exclaim before dramatically placing the tip of your finger on your chin, “just like everyday we’ve been together, you dummy!”

“Give me examples. I can’t believe this.”

“Alright, how about how I’ve had to train you like some kind of pet to learn some very basic texting etiquette? I let you get away with being a shitty texter for months and the one time I do it, you go crazy. I got used to not getting a response from you after days on end and I act like you did one time and you almost call campus security to my dorm to see if I’m alive,” you state, counting out a single finger. 

With the next finger, “I come to you for advice regarding my single roommate considering you have like a hundred of them, and what do you do? You say, damn, buy me wings? Who the fuck does that?! So it didn’t feel very good when I did it to you, huh? Did you like looking for advice only to be hit with some bullshit response and then asked for food? Which I never got by the way!”

Third finger, “And just now. Oh no, did you not like being told your issue meant nothing? Awww, mmmm, are you sad?” You pull your face into a very sarcastic sad face, “now imagine how I feel when you asked me if I was on my fucking period?! Like, have you never been around someone with a vagina? Even Mark and Haechan who barely pull know better than to ask some shit like that! And these are just three of your douchebag behaviors! Shall I continue, Mr. so called I’m-perfect-and-can-never-make-mistakes-because-that-would-be-impossible!”

Jaehyun stood speechless. Was he really that bad? Well, clearly he was. He had to admit he didn’t think he was this bad. He had been really good about adapting to his new role as a boyfriend and thought everything else that came his way was just going to be easy to handle. Apparently, he hadn’t handled it all the right way.

“I didn’t realize I was this bad, I’m sorry. Wow,” Jaehyun sighed, sitting on the bed with his folded over his mouth, “sweetheart, I’m really sorry.”

But that was another way Jaehyun had adapted. He didn’t start arguments while being hard headed, he listened when the issue was serious, he accepted wrong doing, and made changes. 

You crawled across his bed, sitting beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been petty. I should have told you these things bothered me in the moment instead of using them against you… but it was kinda fun.”

Jaehyun rested his head atop yours and chuckled softly, “I think I’m really glad you’re not one of the frat guys because we’d always have girls in here yelling about you gaslighting them. How did you handle me doing this for so long?”

“It helps that you listen when it matters. You’re sweet, you can be romantic, you care about me, you make an effort for me, I can tell you’re trying to be better for me even if it doesn’t all come easily for me,” you explain in a calm voice, “and you’re hot as hell, the abs don’t stop, and you keep that body nice and tight for mama, don't you baby boy?”

Your cackle rings out across his room while he jumps away from you with flushed cheeks. “Don’t… don’t talk like that. It’s totally freaking me out!”

“Come on, babe,” you tease while deepening your voice playfully, “bring me that ass.” 

You manage to grab him while he tries, and fails, to jump away. You playfully knead his (lack of) ass while grinning up at him. You pucker your lips, to which Jaehyun playfully rolls his eyes before kissing you sweetly. “I’m so glad you’re a girl because you would be an absolute terror as a guy,” he states while shaking his head and cupping your cheeks.

“I think I should rush, baby,” you respond playfully, “you could be my big, dude! Come on, bro!”

“Enough of this!” Jaehyun jokingly hisses, “I want my sweet girl back.”

“Fine,” you drawl out with pout, “let this be your lesson though, Jae. When you go low, I can go lower. And I will go lower.”

“Trust me, I’ve learned. I’ll be better at texting, I’ll be an active listener, I’ll give you advice when you need it, and I’ll never ask you if you’re on your period again,” Jaehyun nods.

“See, you’re such a great learner. Let’s go get you a treat, baby,” you smile sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking his hand and leading him down the stairs toward the kitchen.

“I don’t know how I feel about you talking to me like I’m a dog…”

You smile at him, “you like it.”

Jaehyun raises a brow, “do I?”

You hum, grabbing the ice cream from the freezer, “yup, you have a praise kink.”

Well, if you say so…

[vampyr-ss]

family outing | t. fushiguro

authors note: happy holidays freaks.

summary: toji decides to take his pretty little stepdaughter out for a picnic

pairing: toji fushiguro x stepdaughter!reader

wc: 4k

warnings: smut under the cut + dark content (stepcest) + public sex + spitting + pussy/ass eating + mating press + breeding kink + comparison + dumbification + dacryphilia + ‘daddy’ + creampie + overstimulation + infidelity + praise + degrading + squirting + age gap (15 years) + slut shaming + lmk if i missed anything mwah

others: inspired by these videos: 1 2, unedited

toji never really cared for your mother. she was decent, had a good job and held his attention for long enough. it didn’t take a genius to know you hated her, though. you were hostile whenever you were home and spent most of your time far away from her in the mansion you called home.

you were home for your brief holiday before you began grad school, and toji had failed to keep his eyes off of you from the beginning. when he came home to were laying on a pool chair wearing the tiniest fucking bikini he’s ever seen. you’d barely looked over your sunglasses to greet him. that was the first time he wanted to bend you over, though excitedly not the last.

you barely spoke to anyone while you were home despite your mother pestering you about getting to know toji. they got married while you were out of the country, not that you’d bothered making an effort to see her or him anyway. however, toji was enjoying watching you shift in false discomfort when your mom suggested you two go off and do something together while she works. he watches the way your legs cross and your eyes light up albeit subtly. that’s why he takes the perfect opportunity to smile evenly at your mother.

“we could go out for a picnic. it’ll be an easy way to get along. everyone likes food.” toji’s lips quirk up into something more sinister, but no one seemed to notice but you. you arch an eyebrow at him and glance down at your phone briefly for the time. “it’s almost 4, a little later for lunch don’t you think? plus, it’s getting dark soon.” excuses. toji clicks his tongue in false approval, knowing damn well you’re trying your best not to be alone with him. and you are. because you have no idea what you’ll do if you’re left with him.

“you afraid of the dark, sweetheart?” he snarks easily at you, jutting his chin slightly. you puff air from your nose, rolling your eyes irritatedly at him. oh, how he wished to make them roll differently. “no. i'm worried about the people wandering parks at night.” oh? toji smiles but decides against voicing the nasty thought that ran through his head. “listen, we’ll head out to the park and you can go ahead on to work. don’t worry about us, honey. we’ll get along just fine.” toji’s eyes cut to you briefly as he speaks but most of his words are focused on your mom.

oblivious to the rising tension between you two, she smiles and claps her hands excitedly. “good! good! okay, i really have to go but i love you two. send me pictures and be safe!” she kisses the side of your head (much to your dismay) before kissing toji. she’s out of the door faster then you can blink and you slowly realize exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into. toji watches you carefully before he decides whether he wants to make his next move now or later. your legs are tensing, he can see that because of those tiny fucking shorts you have on. you’re biting down on your lip and scrolling aimlessly on your phone.

he steps closer to the couch and hesitates, looking down at you before resting his hands on your shoulders. “i think you should go get ready,” he purrs, letting his hands slide forward just slightly. you jolt but pretend that you hadn’t, swallowing thickly. “don’t need to stay out late, you know. we don’t know who might be wandering the park at night.” suddenly you hate yourself for speaking earlier but also thank yourself because the chills running down your spine are unimaginable.

"you're right." you murmur in response. "maybe we shouldn't go at all, would be much easier." you side-eye him out of the corner of your eye. toji ignores how you're glaring at him, settling for leaning down to whisper in your ear. "i'm going to put some finger food in one of those cooling bags your mom has. by the time i'm done, you better be down here. understood?" his voice is light, but there's a certain edge to it that makes you sit up straight.

you swallow and turn to face him fully. you've given up on distracting yourself with your phone, your heart is fluttering and your pussy clenching at his tone. "whatever." your voice shakes but you ignore it for the sake of your sanity. toji's jaw clenches but he doesn't work to say much. you finally stand to push past him on the other side of the couch, glancing up at him briefly as you go.

toji felt irritated, but he decided it was all in due time. he'd have his way with you one way or another. and this stupid little date would be perfect. perfect for him to fill your cunt.

that's exactly how you found yourself on your stomach, clawing at the blanket toji had oh-so gently sat down earlier. his strong hands grip the fat of your ass cheeks, spreading them so he can spit on your asshole. you clench subconsciously, whining softly at the foreign feeling. "shut up." toji hisses as he watches the glob of spit slide from your asshole and down your already wet folds.

"you're already showing me this fucking hole in public, you wanna get caught too? fucking slut." his words go straight to your pussy as it clenches around nothing. his tongue slides around the skin near your asshole. he teases you with long slow licks nearing closer and closer to your puckered hole. he wants to ease his fingers inside your ass and threaten to fuck the tight hole, but he needs to know how your cunt feels. he needs to know how tight the pussy you've been teasing him with is.

you dig your face impossibly deeper into the soft blanket underneath you. your fingers are already clenching the blanket and if you moan any louder someone will know exactly what's going on in your little secluded section of the park. toji's ministrations don't cease at your whines. instead, he slips his tongue in your ass while his fingers dig into your ass cheeks to pull them apart further.

"pretty fucking ass." he mumbles, pulling away briefly to admire the slick forming. "you've never had this ass eaten before? tell me, baby." you tilt your head back briefly to attempt to make eye contact with him, but this notion fails when he places harsh smacks on both of your ass cheeks. your back bends as you moan with a shaky hand covering your mouth.

he watches your ass and pussy clench around nothing, begging to be filled. toji traces his fingers along your pussy lips, laughing darkly when your cunt twitches in anticipation. "don't be a slut, baby. wait patiently and i'll give you what you want." the words are ironic coming from him because if it was up to him, he'd have fucked you into the ground by now. however, you looked so fucking good and you deserved to be ruined. so he'd ruin you.

his fingers slowly slide into your cunt, eliciting a loud squish! as they enter you. somehow there's already cum sliding down his fingers and he lets out the harshest scoff. "how long has it been? barely started eating this-" he emphasizes his point by thumbing at your asshole. "fucking hole and the other one 's wet? slutty, slutty baby. should've fucked you sooner."

if you weren't already feeling the effects of toji on you you'd have refuted his claim. he shouldn't have thought of fucking you at all...but you liked it. you wanted your stepdad to take time out of his day, out of his work week to fuck you. you wanted to feel bad and be scared to get caught as he filled you the exact way you needed to be filled. you wanted to sob an cry while his cock stretched you beyond what you’re used to.

toji’s tongue returns to your ass while his fingers slowly begin to pump in and out of you. his tongue ignores the resistance of your hole, pushing through to lick sloppily at the inside. every time his tongue slips inside it comes back out with a soft pop!, and the sound mixes with the loud wet noises coming from your poor cunt. toji’s fingers start to pick up the deeper he begins to get in your ass.

toji shifts slightly from behind you, adjusting to he can use his free hand to put his thumb in your ass. he laughs at the way you clench around his fingers. you’re so fucking needy. your pussy sucks his fingers in deeper every time he pulls out to thrust back in. “you always this fucking tight? or you just been waiting for this?” you whine, freeing your hand from your mouth to grip his wrist.

“i haven’t-! no! i’m not like that!” you cry desperately. toji snorts, pulling his thick fingers out of you to watch your reaction. your hips stutter, pausing briefly before shaking back against him to search for that fullness you’d lost. “‘not like that’? this pussy’s hungry for me and i ain’ even fed her properly. do you dream about this?” you shake your head again, parting your lips to argue with him when he shoves his fingers back into you.

you cry out again, softer this time despite your lack of secrecy the second he slipped his fingers into your cunt. toji laughs, kissing up your neck and across your jaw before landing at the corner of your lips. “shhh, baby girl.” he coos, kissing your lips as his fingers begin to piston in and out of you. your moans are swallowed my his hungry lips as they move against yours, sloppy and uncoordinated kisses being exchanged between the two of you. toji’s tongue slides against your lips before finding its way inside your mouth, wrapping around your tongue sloppily. you groan louder when his fingers find that spot deep inside of you, roughly pressing at the soft spot.

your hips twitch erratically at the newfound pleasure of having your g-spot abused. toji pulls away from your mouth, watching the fucked expression on your face as he dug his fingers further in you. he watches the way your eyes water and your lips pout before parting into a ‘o’ shape. you’re so fucking pretty, he really just cannot help himself. “behave and i’ll let you cum the first time.” he purrs sweetly, pressing a kiss to your parted lips.

toji doesn’t give you a real chance to reply. by the time you’ve barely come to your senses to reply, you feel his hot tongue nudging its way back into you. his fingers pump into you in quick, short pumps as his tongue assaults your asshole. he pulls away to spit harshly onto your open hole, chuckling lowly to himself as it winks back at him. you’re overwhelmed. you’ve never had someone pay so much attention to your ass, let alone lick at it like you’re some kind of dessert. you push your ass further into his face, desperate for the feeling to continue.

you start to feel that burning feeling in your tummy, your heart’s pounding and you temporarily forget you’re outside. you’ve forgotten toji’s words about being quiet but you still find yourself covering your mouth. this feels wrong, but it feels so so good. you sob loudly as a third finger slides into your pussy, glancing back at toji who only meets your gaze. you can see the smugness in his face and it does little to nothing to deter your orgasm. your face pinches, thighs tensing as the burning sensation overcomes you. “‘m gonna- oh fuck!”

the noise that leaves your throat is inhuman. you rock forward at the strength of your orgasm as your cunt flutters around toji’s fingers. you thought he’d stop but you can still feel his fingers pumping in and out of you still. toji’s tongue somehow finds itself deeper into your ass as you cum. the sensation renders you speechless, your voice escaping you. “don’t worry baby we’re not done.” toji shifts behind you, sliding his fingers from your drooling cunt. he presses a wet kiss to your asshole before pulling away completely. he spreads his fingers to watch your slick nearly keep them together, thick strings of cum spreading between each finger.

“don’t spent too much time coming down. i still have to fuck this pretty pussy.” he slaps your pussy for emphasis, laughing when you find your voice again to whine at the pain. "no toji. can't" you mumble into the blanket. your chest moves rapidly as you try to gather yourself. despite your protests, your pussy clenches as the cold air hits you with toji moving out of the way. your hips jut much to your annoyance, hips shifting forward and away from imaginary fingers.

"shh, sweet girl. daddy's gonna give ya what ya need." he murmurs, laughing to himself when your asshole clenched. toji teases your pussy, sliding his fat tip up and down your pretty, drenched pussy. he watches as his tip starts to glisten from your slick, the way his cock slides easily against you from how wet you are. he slaps his cock against you one more time before he decides to pull away, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

he slaps your ass with a sense of finality, gripping your hips. "turn over, baby girl. c'mon. don't make me wait." you push up on shaky arms to turn yourself over. somehow, the top of your sundress had stayed up and you were hoping he'd allow you that sense of conservation. knowing toji, though, he wouldn't. and he didn't. the second you turned over his hand was on the top of your dress, pulling it down to free your tits.

toji palms your tits roughly, pulling at your nipples as he ground his cock against you. his eyes flicker over you, the way your lips are parted and drool escapes them. he watches your lashes flutter as you blink in a futile attempt to become more aware. your dress is a little damp from both of your fluids, and your pussy looks so so pretty in this position. he's won the jackpot, he thinks. if only he married this pussy.

"enough. you ready for this, pretty girl?" you grunt harshly under him, glancing up at him to nod. toji slaps his cock against you one more time before beginning to slide into you. his fat tip begins to press into you, forcing a soft sob from your throat. it's an uncomfortable feeling because he's so big. you've been fucked before—plenty of times—but toji's cock is stretching you wide enough for you to be nervous. he'd had you on your stomach so long you hadn't gotten a chance to see how big he was. clearly, he was big enough to split you in half.

"toji..” you pause to frown up at him. “‘s not gonna fit.” he's nearly as thick as a soda can and long enough for you to be concerned. still, you peek at him through your lashes to beg him to stop or slow down. toji only rolls his eyes. "we're gonna make it fit, pretty baby. can you do that f'me? hmmm?" he settles his hands on either side of you, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. your eyes shift over his face, flickering up to his eyes before slowly making their way down to his lips.

if you hadn't gulped already toji would be convinced you were joking. you were questioning the fit but the way you were squeezing him--the way you gushed, toji knew you weren't scared. his hips shift as he pushes further into you. he smashes his lips against yours before you can cry out, quieting your moans and loud pleas. he knows you can take it because you're his good girl. you'd just have to prove it. "tight fucking cunt." he hisses against your mouth, shifting his hips forward once more. "not even halfway and she's tryna bully me out. why 's that, hm? she too shy? can't take this fucking dick?"

you whine against his lips, sniffling softly as tears begin to spill. "no, no! you're too big, toji. i can't- can't take it! please!" your cries fall on deaf ears as toji presses down on your hips to slide further into you. he watches you squirm with a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. your body is warm and the tears that slip from your eyes are scorching. he watches in pure satisfaction as your cunt clenches tightly around him the further he digs into you. "bet this pussy wasn't shy when you were in college." he tuts at you, releasing one side of your hip to spank your clit.

he relishes the way your hips twitch and your back arches. you're so fucking responsive. "remember your mom said you're a sorority girl. how many times were you gettin' fucked in the bathroom? now you wanna tell me 's too big? you're my little slut, baby. you can take it." you're not gonna tell him when you can take it and, frankly, toji doesn't care. his eyebrows twitch in annoyance at your escalating whines. you've come to your senses because you're pushing at his stomach. your eyes are closed in both discomfort and pleasure, and tears are starting to accumulate on the blanket.

"fucked those college boys with no problem but the second a real man tries to take this pussy you wanna cry." he rolls his eyes in pure irritation, gripping your hips tightly so he can finally slam you down on his cock. he groans in relief as your warmth surrounds him fully. his cock twitches inside of you and he already knows he's fucked. you're so fucking wet, so fucking tight. he can't take it. he moves his hands to slide underneath your thighs, pushing them up so that he has more room.

"move...toji please." your voice is so soft he would've missed it if the wind was blowing. your stepdad tuts at you, spreading your legs further to settle between them. "please what? what's my name?" he watches the conflict in your eyes. you're contemplating if you want to give in (as if you hadn't already). your eyes flutter shut before opening again. "please," you pause, a disgusted frown pulling at your lips. "daddy please? fuck me! i need it- need you so bad."

a warm feeling starts to brew in his chest after your little declaration. toji hadn't given a fuck when your mother mentioned she had an adult daughter but now? god was he grateful he met her. he would've never found this pretty pussy on his own. "since you asked so nicely, princess. gonna take it realll good f'me, huh? slutty fucking pussy." he practically purrs his words to you. toji doesn't bother starting slow, immediately starting with pounding in and out of your cunt.

your cunt makes the nastiest, wettest noise as toji's cock slides in and out of you. he's not going nearly as fast as he wants, but your pussy gushes around him nonetheless. your back arches off the ground as his tip kisses your cervix. he keeps hitting deep inside you every time he pulls out halfway just to fuck right back into you. "oh my god.." you murmur. you shift your hips in an attempt to fuck yourself forward as he continues to pound into you.

"oh my fuck- daddy please! harder! need it!" you're practically sobbing for him to fuck you harder. your fingers press weakly against his stomach and you find yourself unable to decide if you really want him to go harder. your pussy feels so full--you feel so fucking full and you feel like you're going to explode. "whatever you say, baby. been so fucking good." toji leans over, pressing your legs back further. his lips attach to yours in the neediest kiss you've ever taken part of. it's sloppy and desperate and it's so fucking good.

your tongue slides against his in near perfection, one of your hands reaching up to grasp at his hair. you pull him closer to you, jutting your hips against his. toji's pounding is incessant, and your cry against his lips. "let go of my legs, toji. i want you to cum in me." you whine against his lips. toji releases your legs reluctantly, letting you wrap them around his waist. he grunts as you push him impossibly deeper inside of you. "fuck i should've met you sooner." his hisses, pressing down on your stomach. "should've married this fucking cunt. could be inside you for days, keep cumming inside of you, get you pregn- oh fuck!"

you press toji inside of you to keep him there. your fingers grasp his hair tightly, forcing his lips to remain against yours. he's groaning despite your attempts to keep the both of you quiet, his hips beginning to stutter and your fingers beginning to twitch. "then fucking do it. fill me up daddy, please." he laughs against you, pulling back to slam back into you. "yeah, baby. knew this fucking pussy would want me. i knew you'd fucking love this." you nod dumbly, muttering incoherently about how you need him.

toji grips your neck as his hips begin to stutter. your pussy tightens around him and flutters as he nudges your g-spot. every time he pulls back he hits it with perfection only to push forward and kiss your cervix. you need him to cum inside you. you need it the same way you need oxygen. you just want to feel the same warmth you've craved since you met him a week ago. he's right, he should've married you. you'd give him what he wants and more. "is this pretty pussy gonna cum for me?" he's whispering so close to you that you can feel the warmth against your wet lips.

you nod hard and fast, squeezing your eyes shut as the knot in your stomach tightens. you move your hips to no real avail. he's fucked you so stupid you can barely match his rhythm. your pussy almost hurts from the stretch and the overstimulation from your first lingering orgasm. you can feel your asshole flutter whilst your pussy attempts to shut around toji's dick. "ohhh i'm gonna- fuckfuckfuck." you sob your words out, nails clawing angrily at toji's back. he doesn't let up, continuing to fuck harshly into your pussy even as he feels spurts hit the bottom of his stomach. he ignores the fact that you've squirted on his dick, fucking you like he needs it.

"this is what i needed from you. knew you weren't a brat. jus' needed to be fucked." he chuckles, though the joke is lost on you. he watches the way your eyes have rolled. your pretty lips are parted, but no sound leaves them. you're done for and he's about to cum so deep in you that he knows it'll take. toji slams his hips forward, his balls slapping against your ass as he finally cums. he glances down to see the white ring of your cream at the base of his dick, now watching his own cum drip down. he can see your pussy twitch and he presses meanly on your clit just to watch you practically howl.

"too much." you murmur, eyes opening just slightly to see his face. toji presses a kiss to your lips, licking at them to let himself in. he gives you one more sloppy kiss, relishing in the after of the harsh orgasms the two of you had. "you did so good." he coos, pressing kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. "good fucking girl. c'mon, we'll go home so you can take a bath." you grunt, blinking your eyes completely open to watch his face. he was looking at you differently. softer. maybe you'd like having a stepdaddy after all.

[marsmaximoff]

🦑 hwang jun-ho; headcanons 〇△□

content warning: gn!reader. fluff. mentions of death, coma and jealousy. pet names. no season 2 spoilers. let me know if i missed anything.

word count: 941

author’s note: well, my man is back, and i had to write some headcanons for him. the OBSESSION that i had back in 2021 needs to be studied, omg. anyway, as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, english is my third language, so i apologize for any mistakes. in case i don’t post anything else this year, happy 2025 everybody!! enjoy! 🩷

divider by @k1ssyoursister

〇 pre-games

best. boyfriend. ever.

that’s it, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

🙃🙃🙃

his love languages are:

1) quality time

he may be a police detective, but he ALWAYS tries to make time for you 

and see you every day, and if he can’t, he’ll save some minutes to call you

loves to hear about your day

big on communication, that’s key on your relationship 

type of boyfriend that picks you up after work, or anything really

he just wants to see your cute face :3

takes you out on cool dates

to the park, to eat, to cute animal cafés

he’s okay with staying in too, just cuddling, talking, watching something….

and 2) acts of service 

will drive you anywhere you need

you get ‘good morning/night’ texts every single day you’re not together

makes you breakfast 

and has no problem with cooking for you

opens doors for you 

pulls out the chair at the restaurant ☝🏻

he’ll simply do anything you need

loves coming home to you, it doesn't matter how shitty or overwhelming his day was, you just put a smile on his face

his favorite thing to do with you is eating

it may sound boring, but he loves to see you taking care of yourself, well-fed and happy

takes you to meet his family

his mom loves you

even his brother likes you

he’s a tease and enjoys seeing you all flustered

i feel like he’d be the type to have many pics of you on his phone that he goes back to whenever he misses you

you’re probably his wallpaper, perhaps even on his wallet too 🤭

some pet names like: “honey”, “love”, “beautiful”, “cutie”

would never cheat

a guard dog

not super jealous -a bit tho- but won't hesitate to step up if someone acts stupid 

(picture that one scene in season 2 when that man mocked him and didn’t believe he was an actual police detective hehe)

shows you off 🤩

checks you out :p

his hand is on you in some way when you’re out

has good emotional intelligence

big spoon

reminds you to take your make up off before bed if you wear any -he may even do it himself if you're too tired

or to take meds

he is just really caring and supportive

doesn't like seeing you worried or anxious because of his job

absolutely hates to see you suffer

doesn’t mind that you may be struggling financially, it won’t change what he feels

will help you with whatever it is

just don’t hide it, he hates secrets and lies

i hate doing it, but there always has to be some 🚩 

he’s the first one that would do it (lying and hiding stuff) to ensure you’re okay and don’t get worried

on a particularly overwhelming day, he will raise his voice at you

can get really overprotective 

some days you may not hear from him, or at least not much

will sometimes struggle to open up about his issues or what’s upsetting him

△ during the games

after your sudden disappearance, worry and fear ate him up

while checking your house he found a weird card

and once he discovered the exact same one at his brother’s, he knew something was going on

heard gi-hun at the police station rambling about some weird symbols and immediately recognized the design

interrogated him about you, desperate to know about your whereabouts 

as soon as he successfully infiltrated the games, he began your search

almost had a heart attack when he spotted you

had to make the effort of his life to stay calm and not run to you

would somehow manage to get you two alone so he can get you out of there (i wrote about this)

almost gets caught

feels betrayed you didn’t tell him and quite angry you’d risk your own life like this

but mostly relieved you’re okay (and still alive)

watches you like a hawk from the distance, ensuring your safety

constantly around, you continuously sense his presence close by 

□ post-games (you died)

had to see your death and practically went numb

blurry vision, ringing in his ears, shortness of breath, sting in his throat

the worst thing tho, was finding out his brother had been behind everything

how could he have done this to you? you trusted him! 

feels completely disgusted

after his coma, he blames himself for everything

your name was his first word after waking up

dreams about you 

gets you a cenotaph given that your body will forever remain strayed

nevertheless, he still talks to you like you’re there

tells you about his recovery and his progress finding the island

you are his strongest motivation

he’s doing this for you, to provide the love of his life a much deserving peaceful rest

gets you new flowers every few days

he’ll never stop feeling guilty

〇 post-games (you survived)

has nightmares he failed and left you to meet your demise on those cursed games

always there when you have them, and so is his shoulder if you need to cry

reassurance king

hides the identity of his attacker from you

becomes even more overprotective

shared location on at all times

gets paranoid if you don’t text him all day

he swore to never miss a single detail of your possible struggles. not again

you can still tell he holds himself responsible for your time on that island

stays awake at night just watching you sleep safe and sound (will never say it tho)

babies you

bigger spoon

doesn’t let you go out on your own if it’s late, afraid that something may happen and those psychopaths will reach you again

[no-144444]

the grid: dealing with your childhood stuffed animal!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

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Oscar Piastri: cutie pie 

Bro is a gentleman through and through

He will tuck it in 

He always grabs it if it falls of the bed

When he washes it he calls it a ‘spa day’

Cutie patootie

During sex he does usually push it off the bed, but he puts them back after. (he understands it doesn't want to see that).

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Lando Norris: drama queen 

Could he complain more? 

He’s not even that jealous of it, he just doesn’t like when you’re cuddling with it instead of him.

When you do that, he will cling to you like his life depends on it, sighing and groaning every time you laugh at him. 

“Wow, I wish I had someone who could hold me right now, too bad you’re busy cheating on me..”

Drama queen. 

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George Russell: tentative 

He’s friendly with it, but he’s not its biggest fan. 

When he came into your room for the first time, he was quite startled by it.

But he’s grown to appreciate it. 

He knows all its name for sure, and when he’s putting it back, he puts them with its ‘friends’ 

(Bro has made up story lines in his head about it and your other teddies). 

Definitely got the stuffed-teddy version of himself that Mercedes has and gave it to you. 

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Lewis Hamilton: chill guy

He’s chill with it. 

He doesn’t make it a big deal, but sometimes if Roscoe isn’t in the room, he’ll talk to it about you while you're taking ages to get ready. 

Like pretending it can hear him and complaining like a sassy man.

You almost always throw a pillow at both of them.

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Kimi Antonelli: confused but supportive

Supportive, but he doesn’t really get it. 

He likes it, but when it ends up on the floor, he’s not immediately picking it up to take care of it. 

He does take lots of photos of it when you’re away.

It becomes his buddy when you have to travel, he brings it everywhere.

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Alex Albon: very much into it

Bro understands 

He also has one. 

They’re also in love.

When you both have to go away, you send each other pictures of your stuffed animals ‘missing’ each other. 

That’s what happens when you date someone for a long time. 

Cringe shit. 

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Logan Sargeant: complainer! 

Supportive, but will shove it off the bed every night. 

When you go looking for it, he’ll whine about  “You have me right here!”

Which never ends well. 

He ends up on the other side of the bed with a pillow between the two of you. 

But he always sneaks back over. 

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Franco Colapinto: gossip over anything

Again, supportive but confused. 

At the beginning he was like ‘that’s for kids’, but when he sees how much joy and comfort it brings you, he changes his tune. 

He loves that thing.

Like Lewis, NO.1 gossip partner when you’re taking ages to get ready. 

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Daniel Riccardo: IT’S A PART OF THE FAMILY 

Treats it like your child. 

Brings it everywhere with you

Even jokingly ra children buggy for it.

Made an Énchante design with it on it. 

Loves it. 

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Liam Lawson: menace to society 

His no.1 enemy. 

Hates it.

Hates that it gets more attention than him. 

Cannot stand it. 

Literally fights it. 

Throws it away from you at any chance he gets. 

He is a menace. 

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Charles LeClerc: hot and cold 

He’s on the fence with it.

Sometimes they’re on good terms, sometimes he chucks it across the room.

Will cuddle you and push the teddy away sometimes but will also go and find it for you if you need it. 

Duality of man!

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Carlos Sainz: liar

Literally makes fun of you for it, despite loving it himself.

He will bring it on bike rides and all that shit, only to take pictures of it for you.

But the second you start looking for it.

“Aren’t you a bit old for that?”

And every time you remind him that he takes it on bike rides, to which he responds “only for you!” which always ends up in a play fight of some sorts where you both are trying to get the stuffy. 

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Arthur LeClerc: beginning of his villain arc

He hates the damn thing.

He will hide it.

He will take it.

He doesn’t care. 

He hates it. 

Every fibre of his being hates it, only because you treat it like him. 

You tuck it in, cuddle it, always have it close. 

He is so jealous. 

When you kiss it? 

He actually screams. 

He demands like 5x more kisses than whatever it got. 

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Ollie Bearman: ummmm

Supportive, but also kind of tough-guy about it. 

“You don’t need that, you have me”

Rolls his eyes when you ask him to go find it because you know he hid it and you’re already comfy in bed. 

Goes and grabs it anyways

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Max Verstappen: passive aggression!

He’s fine with it.

Chill but not the biggest fan. 

Doesn't hide it or anything, just make passive aggressive comments when you cuddle it instead of him

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Paul Aron: he is a father 

Cutie patootie 

He again, treats it like your child. 

Takes it away with him sometimes.

Takes photos of it, and with it all the time. 

The teddy had gone on many a boys night, all of them taking photos with it. 

You have the entire F2 grid holding it for photos with Paul. 

Even fans know about it and love it. 

Brought it to the FIA gala and took photos on the red carpet with it since you couldn’t be there. 

It has become a legend in the F1 community so even the team principals and drivers asked to be in photos with it. 

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Jack Doohan: thief! 

Would rather die than admit that he love sit

Hides it, complains about it 

But secretly would kill for it. 

You find him cuddling with it sometimes.

He takes it on trips as a ‘reminder of you’, but you know it’s actually because he likes it a lot.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Things I think about late at night

-discowing was Dicks dads costume

-the mullet everyone cracks jokes about (same) was given to him my mirage

- the OG Robin costume was based on his parents and his circus costumes and now it’s black, gray and orange

- Jason Todd’s biggest fear is not living up to Dick Grayson (in Bruce’s eyes)

- Damian Wayne’s biggest fear is disappointing Dick Grayson

- DC tried to make Dick and Donna a thing (no..just no)

-Dick and Damian both have a compulsive need to pick up strays (is this Bruce’s fault or did they bond over this?)

- Tim Drake is so cool in the comics and I wasted so many years hating him cuz fanon Tim is a lil bitch boy

-Jason Todd is such a loser in canon but it works so well on him god damn

-I’m actually rlly annoyed that Steph is never a contender for nightwing I think she’d do rlly well tbh

- Steph’s backstory is way sadder than Tim’s we should absolutely talk about it more

-Lian Harper :(

-Tim is so funny when he’s just some dude who ADHD hyperfixationed his way into a “I got adopted by my favorite band” y/n self insert fic except the band was a collection of deeply unstable people who fight crime and also happens to have an IQ of 180

-

This image

- the fact that Bruce and Dick/Damian/Tim have a deeply dysfunctional relationship and I need them in family therapy

- Cass isn’t actually Bruce’s favorite she’s just the one that should be.

- the fact that Jason Todd canonically likes Dick Grayson and doesn’t like Nightwing

- the fact that Donna and Stephanie Brown aren’t friends and have never had a run together in canon (they should be- give me mentor-mentee vibes fr ong)

- Damian wants to become a doctor like his grandfathers and his mom <3

-the fact that Dick missed a solid portion of Damian’s development if you consider both spryal and the Ric arc to have happened in the same timeline

- Dick stole Bruce,babs and Damian’s super

- Garth, Dick and Donna are a sliding scale of blue to black costumes (they come in a set!!!)

- the fact I don’t have enough Dick and Garth fanon and canon content

- Jason/ Red hood needs an iconic establishing story like Nightwing year 1. I feel like Dixons Grayson is so easy to reference as like the “standard Grayson” before you add all the other (imo better) stuff from other future runs and tbh I don’t think Jason has any (if you disagree gimmie some recs)

- the fab 5 are called that in canon

- Garth didn’t have any friends pre joining the OG titans

- nightwing is on every Pride cover every damn year and he hasn’t kissed Roy or Wally yet? Sir? Plz

- Wally lost his wife and children multiple times in canon

- young Roy was bitter and wanted to compete with Robin!Dick but adult Roy wants to punch Bruce in the face bc he realizes bby Grayson was so abnormal

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths

Cregan x Wife!reader

pt. 1

named reader (aye-leese) no description, from house Glover.

summary - Cregan comes home from war with a scandalous surprise, much to the horror of his wife. Though, it is not all that she expected when she heard of her husband's infidelity.

Inspired by Ned and Catelyn Stark (obviously lol)

It had been four moons since Cregan Stark returned from King's Landing, ending the war and placing Aegon iii on the Iron Throne. Four moons since he presented his bastard for all to see, declaring to his wife that they would raise the boy as a legitimized Stark.

Aelys Glover, now Stark, had never thought her husband would betray her in such a brutal way. To bed another woman down in the South, in a time of war, to father a bastard. To give the bastard his Stark name.

She hadn't even had her first babe yet, due to the young couple deciding to spend their first few years of marriage having each other all to themselves. Had it all been a lie from Cregan? A masterful deceit to make his mistress' son his heir? Perhaps he had regretted their marriage and chosen to disregard any of her future children, thinking her genetics undesirable. Whatever dull excuse he had, it would never be enough to balm her heart.

People whispered about which mother's son might be Cregan's heir apparent.

It was not yet decided, and would not be until years ahead when Aelys showed if she could bear him more sons or not. Until she did, Brandon Stark would be Cregan's unofficially heir as his eldest son.

Aelys had refused to share a bed with Cregan since the night he returned. She would not perform her marital duties anymore, not until she was either dead or he forced her, which she knew he at least had the honor to not. Aelys would give him no children of her own, spitefully intending to leave the Stark line to a bastard who would forever be known to the world as such.

She would make it clear that her husband's stupidity would end the Stark's honorable history streak. The babe would be legit, yes, but never trueborn. It was said that bastards were born nasty and cruel, and Aelys had not believed such rumors until she met the babe herself. Her spite grew in spite of her previous kind and understanding nature, driven to hate the babe without knowing him.

Even with the same House name as his father, the boy was nothing like him. He seemed to carry his mother's traits, instead, whoever she was. Dark black hair and even darker eyes to match, though the Northern pale skin Cregan carried had stayed through the genetic battle.

At least Cregan did not bring her home, too. If he had, Aelys would have thrown herself from The Wall in shame and disgrace. She would not be the other woman in her own marriage.

His words when he returned burned at her heart, even now the dust had not settled nor had the fire quelled.

"It was a one-time tryst, I swear this to you. A night of vulnerability, when it got rough in King's Landing." He said, voice strained and undereyes dark with the heavy weight of guilt and responsibility. She'd never felt such an intense urge to hit a man before.

His bastard sister, Sara Snow, a woman whom Aelys had grown to see as her own sister and close confidante, returned from King's Landing a month after her brother.

She looked even worse than her elder brother, who still could barely hold Aelys' eyes when she wordlessly passed him in the halls. She looked gaunt and exhausted, though she claimed that the journey back was tiring. Sighing, Aelys could only welcome her back into the Great Keep to catch up over all that she had missed. Apparently, Sara had stayed in the Riverlands for most of the moons Cregan had hosted in the Crownlands. She was housed by the Blackwoods, becoming fast friends with Alysanne Blackwood and Davos Blackwood, the fierce aunt and nephew who fought together against the Greens.

No useful information about the whore that Cregan had bedded that night, Aelys bitterly thought for a moment. Then, a wave of guilt and regret hit her. It was not Sara's fault for her brother's mistakes. She was truly glad to have the conpany back, seeing as Winterfell had felt cold and emptier now that Cregan was back than it ever had before. She had been avoiding his for these four moons, leaving only a few rooms accessible for her privacy and peace of mind.

She never entered the nursery room's entire hallway. Even when needing something past it, she chose to go the longest possible route to avoid it. She didn't wish to think about the boy more than she already did. She saw him during dinners, being presented to Cregan by his wet nurse before being put down to sleep for the night. Those mere glimpses were plenty to feed her anxious mind.

Today, the adjacent hall towards the Keep's hotsprings was closed. "A few cobblestone in the wall have cracked, m'Lady. You mustn't enter for one might accidentally fall on you." A young servant boy had informed her, thoroughly apologetic as she sighed and headed him. The nursery's hall was the only one that also held the door outside, lest she chose to go all the way around the outside of the keep in this blizzard.

The thought was tempting but childish. Steeling her courage up, Aelys had fixed herself to stride past the door. She could not help the subconscious glance inside, seeing the glimpse of curly black hair laying alone in his crib, but wide awake and almost flailing around in a fuss.

Looking around, Aelys was surprised to see not one attendant or wet nurse. From her experience with babes, they were rarely left alone unless they were sleeping. Even then, some mothers and nurses liked to hover to ensure its safety while unconscious. Aelys stepped into the dim room, finding that Brandon's attention immediately focused on her. He whined out, reaching out grabbing hands toward her. Grimacing, she reached into the crib to lift him up, holding him at a safe distance from her face.

Up close, she could reluctantly admit that the babe was cute. He was well-doted on in the Keep by all the maids and even visiting Lords. Though his parentage was questionable and whispered about, none actually had the courage to ask why the boy had been legitimized so quickly. Aelys guessed it had been the circumstances. Aegon, the new King, was young and suseptible to influence, so legitimizing a bastard like Brandon was done without question.

"What are you fussing on about, you spoiled thing?" She asked, though her tone was soft and gentle. Brandon smiled a gummy smile, face lifting as he reached out again for her. This time, she allowed him to rest on her shoulder as she supported him, gently rocking back and forth as she stood. The faster he was asleep, the faster she could leave without feeling like a monster.

She already had that feeling nagging at her mind too much. Hating a babe took a lot of energy. She knew it was wrongfully placed, but Brandon's very nature and sire had wronged her more. The physical reminder that his father had not loved her.

Soft snores filled the room as she hummed lowly, the vibrations and comforting sound putting the fussy tot to sleep quicker than she had anticipated. Gently placing him back in the cot, she hands gripped the wooden edges harshly, a sharp contrast to her previous touch. Was she betraying herself for not demanding that the babe be taken away? Warded with another great House until she finally had a son? No. Cregan would never allow it, even as Lady of the House she held no true power over the Warden.

Turning, Aelys was met with her husband in the doorway. Silent as a stalking wolf, he leaned against the doorway and looked upon his son and wife with pools of affection. There was a slight gloss to them as she looked closer that she opted to ignore. "Cregan." She greeted curtly, moving to slide past him and speak no more of her presence in the nursery.

"He has a way of melting one's heart, does he not?" He asked, tilting his chin to look down at her. A branch, left out and hanging by Cregan's strong arms. Too bad that she did not need it.

"He disgusts me." She said instead, shouldering past him and continuing back to her rooms. She changed her mind in the few minutes that she spent with the bastard Stark boy. She could stay here no longer, could not bear for her own husband to bring this embodied lie to live in the very home that she did. Wouldn't raise any children to be in their older brother's shadow.

Ignoring the hushed plea from Cregan, Aelys went straight to the Maester's tower. Maester Parek had been a helpful and understanding ear for Aelys to rant to when dealing with arisen problems, whether with her moon blood, achy bones from the cold, or questioning if any ravens had come from mysterious women. None had, as far as she had been told. That is, if Parek had been entirely truthful to his Lady.

Hurriedly knocking on the man's door, it was soon opened after a grunt of physical labor had been heard from the other side. The Maester had always complained about his bad knees and how they were made worse in the winters.

"Lady Stark?" He asked, shocked to see her at midday. It was a rarity, as she usually made her visits in the morning after she broke her fast.

"Maester." She greeted, shifting on her feet. "I need to send a letter, urgently."

"May I ask to whom?" He inquired, earning a solemn nod from the young Lady.

"I'm sorry, Parek. It is private."

"Of course, my Lady. The room is yours." He bowed and left the chambers to occupy himself while she busied herself as well. She immediately made for the small attached room in the tower, made into a raven nest hundreds of years ago. A few perched black birds squaked or raised her heads at the unfamiliar sight curiously, but they were well-trained and did not spook.

Bending over the crickity desk, she quickly drafted a messily-writen yet vague letter.

Father,

Some troubles have come up in Winterfell, and Cregan Stark has advised me to return to House Glover's protection while he deals with matters here. I will be returning swiftly, though the snow will hinder the horse a few days.

See you soon,

your dearest Aelys.

As soon as she finished, she hastily melted the powder blue wax and sealed the direwolf sigil onto the rolled paper. Tying the scroll to a raven's foot, Aelys sent it off. The bird would reach House Glover's Maester quickly, and in the meantime she would ready herself for departure.

As she was shoving clothes and pelts into various bags, the very ones that carried her belongings to Winterfell over two years ago, Aelys could not stop the hot, angry tears that fell to her cheeks. Wiping away at her face with scruffy sleeve fur, gifted to her by Cregan himself, Aelys felt the frustration and loneliness sting at her soul. The loneliness was a choice on her part, most would say. That she was dramatic and most Lords sired bastards. She should be grateful he did not bring the mother back, too, and house her in his home next to his Lady Wife. All whispers she heard from her ladies-in-waiting, whom she immediately dismissed from service upon hearing such impudent things.

She would not be subjected to the humiliation. She wanted love, and she once had it. Oh, she had it. Cregan treated her like a goddess walking amongst humans for the moons they spent together before his leave to King's Landing. If she could not have Cregan's loyalty or love, she would at least find a man who she did not have high expectations for. An older Lord, perhaps, one who just wanted a young and pretty woman to give him final heirs during his last years of life. Aelys would know her role, then, and would live contently knowing she did not love foolishly while expecting faithfulness in return.

First, this marriage had to be annuled. In Lord Glover's home, she could easily ask for such a thing. The marriage had been commsumated, but there were no witnesses and no babes to confirm this to outsiders. Aelys would simply have to claim that she and Lord Stark never once bedded before he left to find another woman, and then she'd be an unmarried Lady once more. A Glover, not a Stark.

She realized she'd been quite fastidious in her packing. Unlike her carriage ride to Winterfell, her luggage could not be carried easily on one horse. She picked only one of her bags, with the thickest dresses and warmest pelts she had, rushing out of the room while clipping a cloak over her shoulders. Dark blue in color, Aelys almost cursed at the thought that almost all of her wardrobe and fine things had been gifts from Cregan. Her pelts, gloves, and even the horse that she would take home.

Cobalt, she had named the steed, noticing how his pure black coat almost gleamed blue in certain lights. Cregan had a wide and cherishing smile on his face as he walked the young stallion out of the stables a few days after their wedding. They often took walks on trails in the Wolfswood together on horseback, just their muffled conversations filling the still air. She remembered every moment with her husband fondly before he tarnished everything. Now, she knew all of it to be a facade, just like any other Lord in Westeros might have done. At least other men had the decency to be nasty plain to your face, unlike the Stark.

Aelys sneaked into the armory to pick up a few extra things, knowing no one would occupy the room when the whether was so unfortunate.

Striding towards the stables with squinted eyes, Aelys shivered at the temperature change. Luckily, the journey would be quick, with only a few days to walk on horseback. Cobalt was a resilient horse built for such harsh weather, and she was a Northern woman through and through.

She attached the bag and waterskin to Cobalt's saddle after she tacked him up. His long and unruly made quivered in the breeze as the light blizzard raged on as it had been for two days now. It did not deter her. She attached her bow and quiver to the other side to keep weight even, knowing she'd have to hunt for herself during the journey.

Steadying herself on the saddle, Aelys glanced once more at Winterfell's Great Keep, where Cregan was surely in his study or councilroom. She squeezed Colbalt's side lightly to urge the percheron onwards, giving herself no room for second guessing her choices.

At the wall's gate, the two snow-covered men regarded her with weary looks. "My Lady, there is a blizzard—" Ron Frasel told her, ginger brow upturned in question.

"I have eyes, Ron. I will return soon, I have buisness in Winter Town." She said tiredly, not wanting to be interrupted by the men at such an important time. It would not be long before a maid reported her missing.

Ernest, the guard's most frequent partner, inquired gently. "Will you require any assistance, Lady Stark? I'm sure Lord Stark would feel more at ease knowing you are escorted."

"He is fine with me going on my own, it is a short ride." She said curtly, anxious for Cregan to find out about her plan.

Ernest nodded and gestured for the iron gate to be lifted. "Safe travels, my Lady." Before bowing his head politely.

As Aelys walked through the opened gate, she urged Cobalt to a faster trot to create quick distance between her and Winterfell before she set up camp.

Ron shared an uneasy look with Ernest as the woman passed. "Lord Stark has never allowed her out without a guard before." He whispered.

His friend nodded, eyes glancing between her fading figure in the snow and the Keep. "Perhaps we should go see Lord Stark himself, just to be safe."

Ron shivered. "If he finds out we let his wife go into the blizzard without him knowin', who knows what'd happen to us."

"Quickly, then." They were both skidding off towards the Keep with no time to waste.

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[loveanddeepdick]

Please could I get anything to do with an obsessed geto when he’s feeling jealous/possessive- I’m a new follower and I love your obsessed geto work😩

hii anon i’m saurrr excited this is my first req! so ask and you shall receive! if u guys want more then just lmk >.<

obsessed!geto x f!reader || no genitalia is present but I marked it f!reader because shoko and geto refer to you with feminine terms, continuation of my previous obsessed!geto post

cw and notes: sfw but suggestive, geto is extremely possessive and jealous on the dl, SHOKO AND HIGURAMA CAMEO YAY, mentions of handcuffing you, shoko is concerned that geto is too clingy with you hehe

obsessed!geto who sees you talking to higurama at school when while drops off yuji’s items. he watches from the doorway into the courthe knows it’s unreasonable for his blood to be boiling at the sight of you talking to another man but he knows you’re loyal. no matter where you were, you were his girl and he was your man.

higurama’s eyes catches geto’s as he’s closing his conversation with you. both men are silent, staring at each other.

“thanks, hiromi! i’ll see you when yuji comes back from his school trip!”, you waved higurama goodbye, not sensing the eyes burning in your back.

“uh—yeah, i’ll see you”

right as higurama turns around, you yelp, almost dropping the box of yuji’s items when you feel two hands wrap around your waist.

“hi angel”, geto mumbled into your ear. you turn around, meeting the pretty face of your boyfriend. his eyes were closed and his eyebrows were furrowed against your head.

“whats going on, sugu? usually you hate pda”

“just missed you, that’s all”

“is this because of hiromi? are you jellyyy”, you giggle, squeezing his cheek. he gives a low chuckle before nodding his head again.

“aww.. you big ol’ baby, you know you’re the only for me!”

“yeah, i know sweetheart. im the only man for you”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

obsessed!geto who hates when someone actually notices and points out how clingy he can be. of course, geto knows he's possessive and wants to stay as nonchalant as possible but it’s so hard when he finds you so attractive.

it's a friday night in your house and you're laying on the couch with shoko, binging love island season six while snacking on some popcorn. you two are complaining about the men on screen when shoko brings up that geto is as clingy as the men on love island.

“heyy, girl, you know.. suguru is really clingy toward you, don’t you think? i've never seen him act this way", shoko mumbles, letting out a small giggle

geto overhears shoko from the kitchen, stopping in his steps. shoko was his friend too and knows her too well. before he could deject, he hears you instead.

"hm? i don't think he's too clingy. i think it's just right, actually", you reply with a mouth full of popcorn.

"you two talking about me?" geto smiles as he snakes a hand on the nape of your neck and down your back as he approaches you two from behind the couch.

"jeez, give us a warning, suguru. i was just telling your wifey here that you need to lay off her back a little. i mean, you two are way past your honeymoon stage and you're still connected to her as if you're handcuffed or something", shook shrugged.

well that was an idea for later

"shoko, i think i know what's best for my girlfriend. if she wants space, she would've told me", geto plants a kiss before leaving the room again, chuckling at shoko, "maybe find a girlfriend of your own, ierie".

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

after shoko left, it was 1:27am and you were cleaning up the blankets. you felt geto's looming presence in the doorway of the living room as you threw away the unpopped popcorn bits into the trash. you turned your head and he smiled when he noticed that you finally acknowledged him. it was almost eerie the way he could show up, go places, and just stalk there without anyone noticing. you, being his girlfriend, of course became accustomed to it and it didn't scare you anymore.

"hi, baby, not sleeping yet?" you shuffle over in your comfy slippers and give him a small peck on the corner of his mouth before brushing your thumb on his cheek.

"nah.. just waiting for you, angel", geto stepped forward towards you and cupped your face. his calloused hands englufed your cheeks as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression.

"am i too clingy for you, doll? do you want some space?".

geto almost smirked knowing your answer. of course it'd be no. he knew you and had dug up everything about you before you two had officially started dating. it's not like he had to change anything about him, he always was and will be your perfect man.

"mm-mm!", you shook your head, "don't think about was ierie said too much, sugu".

geto visibly relaxed a little. his shoulders slightly came down before his right hand trailed down to your waist and his other hand reached into his pocket to pull out something metal.

you were his. you'd always be his no matter how people looked at you too.

"so... about the handcuff thing that she said earlier.."

[amaranthinespirit]

I hate to say it but I think we need a pt 3 to piercer!simon once readers piercing is healed

piercer!simon riley when your piercing has finally healed

1 2

after a patient couple of months, a handful of personal checks from simon himself—how helpful and kind of him really—with assistance cleaning the piercing too, it's finally healed.

the pretty little piercing on your sensitive clit is now healed, which is what simon told you that caused a frown on your face. now it means he won't be between your legs anymore! how disappointing!

i mean, you looked forward to these check-ups, being up-close, and personal with the intimidating brute that pierced a very intimate part of you! and chose to stay face level with your pussy, often swiping his thumb through your folds as a means of 'checking the healing process.' he's so kind!

sweet touches to your hips, a hand splayed over your lower back, or a hand across your waist whenever he'd drop by your apartment, often showing up with flowers to replace the wilting ones in the vase by the front door. he's just the sweetest! (who would've guessed)

of course, you didn't want him to feel like you were using him (oh, but he's so smitten with you, he didn't even care), so you often invited him 'round without the intention of getting his face between your legs—even if the thought did make your thighs clench and pussy throb.

I mean, it was hard! you were paying him back by sucking that heavy cock of his, taking it down your throat 'like a good girl' he'd say. he was one to praise!

but it made your cunt ache, desperately dripping and sopping with slick and arousal every time his cock was in front of your face, his cockhead tracing your bottom lip. it wasn't fair!

you couldn't even get yourself off because he specifically told you not to do anything of the sort. so you listened, and patiently waited for the healing time to finally be over.

countless nights of tossing and turning with arousal, whining at the friction of your cotton panties.

warm, burly arms pulling you back against a firm, hard chest, "shhh, luv, jus' g'to sleep," a raspy, sleep-roughed voice spoke softly to you, causing the chest against your back to rumble with each word.

forget to mention how you let him sleep over? it would just get so late at night, you didn't want him to have to drive home! plus more time together!

but now the time had finally come, laid on your back with your panties hooked around one ankles, his head between your thighs as his eyes critically analyzed your now healed clit piercing, his teasing fingers tugging at the metal. a low chuckle escaping past his lips at the small yelp that it excited from you, the warmth of his breathing grazing over your sopping pussy.

the sight was enticing, it would be hard not to notice every time your cunt was dripping and soaked with arousal. he had a lot of self-control to not run his tongue through your folds, to get just a taste—he had already got a sample with every time he thumbed over your cunt, he'd suck his finger clean when you turned your back.

groaning lowly at the hint of your arousal, he grew hard behind his pants, but you were already such a doll, sucking and jerking him off at the time, he could do it himself this time.

but now, pussy laid bare in front of him, he could finally indugle himself in the sweetness you bared to him, the temptations between your thighs.

he couldn't help himself when he ran his flattened tongue along your soaking cunt, his eyes fluttering shut as he reveled in the way you tasted. sweet, as he expected. you flinched, your back arching off the bed at the unexpected feeling of...metal...?

his tongue piercing clanked against yours, and you questioned on how you must've missed this piece of information, though you chalked it up to the mask he always seem to wear.

your head fell back against your pillow at the sudden wet warmth that lapped at your pussy, teeth grazing your puffy folds that had you tugging at the blond strands at the back of his head.

forcing his head closer against your drooling cunt, his nose pressed to your pierced clit, causing a shudder through your legs.

it wasn't long until you had your legs clamped around his head, a chuckle reverberating through your skin, sending vibrations straight to your clit, forcing another cry out of your throat.

like a man starved, he lapped at your cunt, desperately slurping up every drop of your juices, like nectar, sweet and fulfilling. he couldn't help but groan at the taste of you, one hand wrapping up around your thigh, squeezing the fat under his palm as his other hand snaked around your waist.

his fingers quickly slicked with your arousal, spreading your folds for better access, thumb pawing at your clit, now extra sensitive with the piercing through the little pearl. it only caused your thighs to clamp harder around his head, but he didn't mind, he was trapped right where he wanted to be—the gates of heaven.

"fuck, y'taste s'gud, luvie," he muttered into your folds, mewls slipping from your lips at the sensations it caused, "been waitin' patiently like a good'boy t'have y'r cunt on m'tongue."

you could only moan in response, strained, incoherent words that fell off your tongue before they could even form into a proper sentence. you were lucky if you managed to get his name past your lips, legs crossed over his shoulders in an attempt to draw him closer, tugging at his hair only earning a rough grunt from him.

it didn't take long to feel the knot tying in your stomach, the one you had been waiting months for, the one you wanted him to tie into a pretty bow before it unravels by the pull of his teeth, the drag of his piercing along your spongy walls as the pink muscle forced its way into your drooling cunt.

his eyes fluttered shut again, his crooked nose pressing into your clit that caused you to squirm under his face, only held in place by his firm hands.

you had tried to writhe away at the feeling building, the ribbon tying itself in your lower abdomen as it built, and built, and built. a feeling now stronger than you had ever felt because of its absence. it had been too long.

tears pricked your eyes, the way you were simultaneously dragging him by his hair closer, legs crossed behind his neck, and yet squirming away was contradictory, but it didn't matter. only you unravelling on his tongue.

you couldn't even form proper noises anymore, short, strangled whines were the only things that managed past your lips. chants of his name on your lips like a prayer, his merciless tongue lapping at your cunt, desperate to keep the taste of your sweet nectar on his taste buds, teeth grazing along your puffy folds which pushed you over the edge.

you swore your ears started ringing as your vision went hazy, with tears most likely, and noise, like static. your grasp on him loosened momentarily when you were under the impression that he was going to pull away.

he didn't.

you're in for a long night. he's only had his first course so far, and there's four in store for the night. but don't worry, he's just paying you back, little doll.

[maxriss]

★ voicemails from lando norris

— voicemails from your bf when you’re asleep & some from the times you just want to hear him <3 LIBRARY

27th april 2024 at 5:32 pm

— hey babe! . . . hello? oh it’s voicemail [silence] call me back alright? [silence] uhm [silence] i miss you . . . a lot. seasons been tough. wish you here with me rn. [silence] ah fuckin hate the time differences. ‘nways i love you gotta go.

1st march 2024 at 7:30 am

— hey babygirl you’re probably sleeping rn but just wanted to say i love you. last night was beautiful because of you. loved the online date. [silence] wish i could take you out on a proper date. [laughs] fucking hell been days since i last touched you or kissed you. man [silence] i love you i miss you. alright call me once you’re up bye

7th march 2024 at 1:23 pm

— okay, so I just had a brilliant idea, and I need to tell you before I forget. what if we—wait. wait, no, it’s actually so dumb. never mind. you’re going to bully me for this. I’ll just [silence] tell you later. love you.

11th march 2024 at 3:45 pm

— baby [silence] [sighs] why aren’t you picking up? where are you? [silence] stop leaving me on voicemail. i’ve a race in 12 hours. [silence] need you.

13th august 2024 at 6:37 am

— babe, you left your charger at mine again. at this point, i think it’s just an excuse to come back. [silence] not that i’m complaining.

4th september 2024 at 12 pm

— i may or may not have accidentally bought three kinder maxis instead of one. [silence] don’t ask how. come over and help me eat them. [chuckles]

28th october 2024 at 8:45 am

— you’re so mean for leaving me on read. do you even love me anymore? [silence] actually, don’t answer that. [sighs] just call me back before i start singing sad taylor swift songs.

29th october 2024 at 10:04 am

— i know you’re sleeping, but i just had the weirdest dream. you and i were racing in F1, but instead of cars, we were in go-karts, and for some reason [silence], daniel was the referee. [yawns] anyway, good morning. text me when you wake up.

2nd november 2024 at 11:11 am

— babe [chuckles] stop leaving me on voicemail i know you’re up. you just wanna hear my voice don’t you? [sighs] well here we are i love you i love you i love you there okay? now call me back babygirl

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