#not even over exaggerating it was unbearable

[cherryheairt]

Idea by @itsaslaminak tysm 🩷

In His Arms

Summary- Cregan Stark comforting his wife through a thunderstorm

named! reader with no desc, made up house between Dorne and the Reach.

not proofread just wanted to get something out. I've been so swamped

When Lenora discovered her betrothal to Lord Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, she was confused first and foremost. Her, a firstborn daughter of House Keaton, a house that bordered between the Reach and Dorne, a dry and arid place. Northerners hardly married anyone who wasn't born and bred in the North, let alone married from a house allied with Dorne. Never in Westeros history has such a marriage been prospected, but a sudden need for alliance had sprung up one Winter.

The Starks were in need of livestock in stead of the harsh winter, and Martells were in need of supplies and ships. A pact was made for an annual trade to by conducted every early winter, for as long as relations were well between the two kingdoms. With the Martell Princesses all being married off already, Prince Qoren decided to send a vassel house's daughter instead. So, Lord Lent Keaton provided his eldest daughter to Lord Stark in a marriage and trade alliance, providing a generation of trust between the Dornish and Northerners.

It had taken months to travel North, with Lenora dreading every step that brought her closer to her mysterious bethrothed. Her parents and ladies in waiting could not join her on such a far journey, their services needed elsewhere during the time, so Lenora was left with only two of her maids and the guards protecting her carriage. The weather, too, was almost unbearable. By the time she had gotten there, the boats of livestock had long since reached the North to get the people through the harsh winter. Winter was long over by her arrival. Though, it hardly seemed that way given the powdery show falling over her hair and shoulders the moment she stepped from her box.

A welcome party was in Winterfell's square to greet the young Lady, consisting of Lord Stark, his sister, and a few of his trusted council members and bannermen.

It was easy to tell which one was Cregan. With a broad and tall figure, dusty brown hair that was half tied back, and a massive brown pelt held over his shoulders and clasped together with the signature Stark direwolf. A long face, straight nose, and fine lips turned into a straight line. As she got closer, she noticed steely grey eyes to match the longsword strapped to his shoulder. An intimidating sight, one quite unlike the friendly faces of Dornish men.

Was he unhappy with her? Burdened by the fact that he had to marry a Dornish girl in order for his people to thrive in the cold winters? Or was it simply the face of a hardened Northerner? Lenora had heard they were all miserable and serious, even with their own close families. Glancing at Sara Snow, she wasn't quite sure of that. The girl's pale face was set in a charming smile as she bounced on her feet as if to contain her excitement.

Lenora was glad to see a friendly face in such a cold place. Perhaps even if her husband was distant, she could still have a friend to keep her company.

Her eyes trailed back to Cregan, who stepped forward to meet her. Tilting his chin down slightly, he grabbed her hand to meet her knuckles in a kiss that seemed too delicate for a man like him. "I welcome you to Winterfell, Lady Lenora. I hope your travels were not too arduous."

Even his voice was rough, with that thick Northen accent she had only heard in King's Landings' tourneys. The stark difference between his accent and the usual one of her own kin made her stomach stir with warm nerves, the tone pleasing to her ears.

"It was no trouble at all, my Lord. Though, I dare say that the bite of the North was not at all as I expected. I half-thought the tales of the permanent snow where merely exaggerations."

He smiled, showing a softer part of him that Lenora hadn't expected to see. Truthfully, she was unsure if he could smile at first sight. She decided it fit him well, and hoped such an expression oft graced his comely features.

"You'll find Winterfell much different than the summerlands of House Keaton, my Lady. I will ensure that you can acclimate to our lands quickly. I've had some warm dresses and pelts commissioned for you over the winter, if they please you." He offered an arm to Lenora, which she took with a warmed face.

He glanced up and down briefly at the young lady, assesing her clothes discreetly. She had taken her warmest gowns for her travels, though even bundled up with many blankets in the box, she did not find much warmth. Hopefully, North-made attire would prove to be more useful. The dress she wore now exposed more than she had seen on other women at the passing inns and small Northern towns. In the heat of Dorne, modesty was not taken so prudishly as it was in other places. People were free to wear thin silks, laces, and cottons as well as strappy and more revealing necklines. Skirts were thin and flowy, as they should be for ease of walking and air flow.

When visiting King's Landing, her outfits earned her more than a couple of prolonged stares, either of judgment or unveiled lust. She took them all in stride, only strutting past any onlookers with a striking confidence; as any Dornish lady should uphold.

Now, she couldn't help but feel sheepish under Cregan's steel gaze. Did he think her silly for not preparing garments herself over the winter? Or perhaps unfit to serve as Lady of Winterfell with such improper attire. Sara had dressed like a true Stark, with a light blue dress lined with wolf pelt at the wrists and collar along with brown gloves to match. Even while showing off little of her figure and only her face, she still looked a picture of Northern beauty with blue eyes and contrasing dark black hair.

"Anything you provide, I am most grateful for, my Lord. I am not a difficult person to please." She mentioned, tilting her head up to meet his eyes as they walked into the Great Keep.

Inside, it was much warmer. Lenora felt the Keep's ancient. presence surround her like a safety blanket. It was a heavy feeling, much different from the open walls of her own family house.

As if noticing her relief, Cregan started, "Winterfell is built on a group of hot springs, keeping it warm throughout all the seasons. The water lines the walls," he nodded towards the stone walls surronding them. "To keep us warm. You will find it most comfortable in the Keep, but I hope that does not deter you from exploring Winterfell and Winter Town as you please."

Lenora nodded, taking the halls in and memorizing them as they walked. "I am excited to meet the people of Winter Town. I hope to settle in to my duties quicky." She said pointedly, glancing at Cregan to guage his reaction. Many lords in the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands did not care for their wives beyond just making heirs, and so they were often cast aside and did not have any duties to take care of. Lenora grew up with her mother and father both being busy constantly with their duties, sharing the burden as head of a great House.

Winterfell was an even greater House yet, one that Lenora hoped to be welcomed to by the commonfolk and leige lords alike. That started with being active in the communities, and an attentive Lady.

He nodded, "I will let you get adjusted to the North before anything else. After the wedding, and the honeymoon period, I will teach you the duties of a Stark Lady." Cregan promised her kindly.

Lenora was grateful for the immediate response, and found herself eager for this arrangement. 'A Stark Lady' ran through her mind many times as she settled into her temporary chambers. She liked the sound of it.

Many moon turns later, Lenora had turned her attentions almost fully to her duties. Organizing the Great Keep's staff, taking care of Winter Town's events and charities, and so on. She took to it naturally, with Cregan's help, and found the commonfolk of Winterfell had accepted their new Southern Wardeness with open hearts.

Cregan, too, shared that sentiment. Though the wedding was a beautiful affair, it was a bit tense given that the bride and groom were only just acquainted. The honeymoon weeks were spent purely in each other's company to get to know the other. Horseback rides in the mornings, hunts in the afternoons, settling down in their marital chambers in the evenings; all their days were spent in content and relaxation. At the end of their honeymoon, they finally felt comfortable enough to perform the bedding ceremony without the watchful eyes of any Lords or maesters.

Though Lenora had shown no signs of being with child yet, she was still content. Cregan showed no comtempt with the matter either, telling his wife that a child would come when it was time, should the Gods will it. She agreed quite happily, secretly enjoying having her Lord husband all to herself.

On night's like these, she was ever more grateful for it. After they finished their separate days, Lenora and Cregan settled into bed together. Lenora, in a baby blue night shift and Cregan, in only a loose pair of trousers.

Lenora had oft told Cregan how comforting it was to listen to his heartbeat as she fell asleep, so he took to sleeping without a tunic since their first days together. The chill was kept away by the many pelts on their bed and their own body heat combined.

With her head lying on his chest and his large hand rubbing up and down her back soothingly, she felt herself drifting from the light conversation.

"...not to worry too much about the solstace feast."

"Hm?" Lenora murmured, lifted her head to meet his eyes.

Cregan smiled knowingly, shaking his head. "Never mind, we can discuss that in the morrow. Go to sleep, my girl." He said quietly, kissing her hairline gently.

Unable to resist sleep's great temptation, she only hummed and placed her head back in its place. Thump, thump, thump, and she was asleep.

Lenora was woken by a thunderstrike. It crashed with a piecing 'bang!' and left her jerking awake.

The sound of pouring rain upon cobblestone roofs and glass windows surrounded her on all sides. Bright shots of lightning peeked in from the window in their chambers, followed by more thunderstrikes. Lenora flinched harshly, each strike sending a spike of fear into her heart.

She had rainstorms, of course. But none as ferocious as this one. Never such loud, nauseating thunder and bright lightning in her homeland. Duststorms were common back in her childhood homeland, something she could handle easily. This was a complete turn from that.

When another strike hit, sounding ever more close to Winterfell's keep, she clutched onto whatever her hand was rested on. Coincidentally, it was Cregan's forearm. He stirred then, lifting a hand to his eyes to rub at them tiredly. "What's wrong, my girl?" He murmured.

How had he slept through the noise? Was he so unconcerned with a flood happening, or the roof collapsing under the weight of so much water. Or fire, struck on the Wolfswood trees by stray thunder?

"The storm." She hissed worriedly. He sat up, moving his hand on top of hers and rubbing atop her knuckles soothingly.

"What of it?"

"I've never seen one so strong. Will the Keep not flood, or the woods catch fire? We should prepare—"

A deep chuckle came from beside her. At Lenora's confused and panicked look, Cregan shook his head and cleared his throat.

"'Tis Summer, wife. Monsoon season is upon us for some weeks, it happens every year. We are well prepared for anything that happens. Our roofs are slanted for rain to slide right down, our food is stored in sealed silos, and fires stand no chance of spreading with such heavy rain."

Lenora's heart slowed slightly, calmed at the thought of Winterfell being safeguarded by its years of tradition and preparation. Though, she was not completely calmed by his words alone. The pelting of drops hitting the roof and window still made her veins feel ice-cold, even with the hearth still running strong in their chambers.

Cregan reached out to grasp her face gently in his hands. "It will be like this for only a short time. We are safe in here, I promise you."

She nodded, clutching onto his large hand with one of her own as she leaned into his warm embrace. There, he held her firmly to his chest as he stroked her hair. Kissing the crown of her head, he spoke. "Shall I fetch more pelts? You are shivering, my heart."

Lenora shook her head, not wishing to part from his arms. "Just stay here with me, please."

"Of course." He obliged, succumbing to her whims as easily as the wind blew seeds from a dandelion. His wife came before all else, after all.

Slowly, he layed them both back down on the bed. Covering them up snug under the thick pelts of fur, Cregan rested his wife's head to his chest, covering her exposed ear with a cupped hand.

Wordlessly, he soothed her without needing to be asked. Never annoyed at her soft demeaner, he delighted in taking care of his beloved wife.

Comforted by his steady heartbeat instead of the thundering rain outside of the Keep, Lenora found herself drifting back into the welcoming and warm arms of sleep. Cregan stayed up all the while, ensuring his wife could not be disturbed again that night. He kept a hand held over her ear, adjusting to fit around her whenever she shifted in her sleep. His over arm lie firmly over her waist, rubbing circles at the small of her back distractingly.

Lenora did not wake again that night, oblivious to the raging storm outside. Every night after that, during the season of monsoons in Winterfell, Cregan was exceptionally careful that she rested throughout the night and was never scared again by the storms.

[anotherpapercut]

personal vent post/diary entry incoming:

I've struggled on and off over the years with varying degrees of agoraphobia and in the past like year or so I've made massive strides and got to the point where I was able to regularly attend social or otherwise crowded events. since breaking my foot I've gone backwards so much. I'm like terrified to leave my apartment even for work and have missed a lot of it. I've only tried hanging out in public places a handful of times and haven't gone to a single show since I got hurt over a month ago. it's extremely fucking frustrating having so much progress completely lost in a fucking instant

[assriels]

honeyed temptations

pairing: azriel x reader 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: some smut and suggestive language (mdni 18+ only pls!!), swearing, azriel is whipped for u but is also very stubborn, domesticity/fluff

summary: despite azriel’s relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.

a/n: continuation of my ongoing headcanon that azriel is actually kind of a stubborn baby, especially with his mate; i have a summer oneshot for cassian coming out soon! <3

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Azriel was fucking furious. It was like the sun had a personal vendetta against him, determined to steal any and all comfort from him as he baked in the hot morning sun in your shared bedroom.

Peak summer in Velaris was nothing to scoff at. Though the Night Court was hailed for the beauty of its moon and stars, the same could not be said for its seasons. It was a solar court and that meant that its moon waxed and waned through the full dearth of the seasons. And summer just so happened to be Azriel’s least favorite. 

Though he could handle the strikingly cold winters the Night Court had to offer — it snowed quite heavily in Illyria, afterall — the heat of the summer was unbearably oppressive. It didn’t help that his current residence was the House of Wind, built high on a mountain cliff where the heat rose and was entirely too close to the sun. Not even the House’s breeze helped staunch his somewhat over exaggerated agitation at the rising temperatures. 

It was still morning, but it seemed that the sun had decided that it would be especially insufferable today, showboating its prowess even at 9 in the morning. 

“C’mon Az,” you implored, gentle hand poking his bare shoulder. “Rhys is here, we have a meeting.” 

He pouted at you from where he was sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to get up — or put clothes on — despite having been awake for an hour now. He rolled onto his side to get a better look at you, hoping that if he pouted enough you’d have mercy on him and let him stay naked and as cool as possible; the thought of putting on clothes — most of which he owned were black — made Azriel’s head ache. 

“‘s too hot.” 

You huffed a laugh at his childlike petulance. Who would have guessed the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court couldn’t handle a little heat? 

“You’re being a baby,” you chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed as you attempted to negotiate with your mate to get out of bed. 

It was then that he took stock of your appearance. You had always been much less bothered by the heat than he was — and much more functional in it — and so your morning routines were never disrupted. You had already bathed and gotten ready, pretty little sundress skimming your curves as the hem tickled the skin on your legs. 

“You look nice,” Azriel noted with a hum of appreciation. Ordinarily, he would’ve reached over and pulled you on top of him to make both of you late for Rhys’s meeting for an entirely different reason, but he couldn’t fathom getting any more sticky and sweaty than he already was, so he resisted. Instead, he opted for toying with the hem of your dress in contemplation.

“Is this new?” He asked, taking in the sweet honey yellow linen and thin straps. You nodded your head and smoothed your hands down your front, fixing the neckline of your dress in a way that had Azriel’s eyes burning holes through your skin. 

“Do you like it? I bought it when I went out with Feyre the other day.” You intentionally left out that you had bought it with the explicit purpose of using it to tempt your mate out of bed, knowing that he always needed a little bit of incentive in the summer. 

Assessing hazel eyes tracked the familiar planes of your body, face lit with an entirely different kind of heat now, “Yeah, I like it.” 

His gaze lifted to yours and you nearly gave into him. The adoration in his eyes and the blush high on the apples of his cheeks was mesmerizing, “You’re very pretty, you know.” 

Azriel’s unfiltered affections for you always made your heart beat quicken, and your attention shifted to his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb drawing innocent circles on your skin. You bent over to kiss him briefly in thanks before patting his hand and getting up off the bed. 

You could’ve sworn you heard Azriel whine in protest, but it was drowned out by the sound of you sifting through the dresser, no doubt searching for clothes to throw his way.

He watched you from his spot on the bed, eyeing the way the hem of your dress billowed from your waist and just barely covered the curve of your ass. He was convinced that he could stare at you for an eternity and still find new parts of you to marvel at. 

Before he could get too lost in his greedy appreciation of your beauty and the stunning way your dress complimented every curve and dip of your body, you were tossing clothes at his face.

“Stop staring and get dressed!” You laughed, “You know Cass is gonna give you shit for being late. Again.”

It was no secret to those closest to Azriel that he was an absolute terror when the summer rolled around. Though it only took a week or two for him to adjust and become begrudgingly functional again, the days leading up to his revival were always a source of great amusement to the Inner Circle. Ah, the perfect Shadowsinger finally reveals his flaws, Cassian would consistently tease.

He only groaned in response, rolling onto his back once again to stare at the ceiling. 

You sighed. Truthfully, you found this side of him endearing – and quite funny – but you knew he had a job to do and nothing would get done unless he was, at the very least, clothed. Sauntering over to the bed, you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. You were met only with a stubborn look in return; you could’ve sworn you glimpsed the ghost of a defiant smirk curving his lips, “Make me.”

You reeled at his challenge. Fine, you would make him. 

The bed shifted as you straddled him on all fours, careful not to let any part of you touch any part of him. His hands came up instinctively to grasp your hips as he didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it, at least not now.

You encircled his wrists in your hands, guiding them above his head to pin them to the pillow. Both of you knew he could easily wriggle out of your grasp, but Azriel was aware that this was riling you up just as much as him so he conceded. Allowed his beautiful mate to do whatever she pleased.

“Don’t touch,” you commanded in his ear, punctuating your words with a slow swirl of your tongue along the shell of his ear. “If you listen, I promise I’ll be so, so good for you.”

Unexpected emotion flooded his chest as he resisted the urge to break the tension with his affection for you. You were already so good for him. In more ways than he could have ever wanted, more ways than he ever imagined. But he kept his mouth shut, and focused only on the way he could feel the hem of your dress kissing his skin as your mouth nipped at sucked at all the places that drove him insane. 

“C’mon, Az,” you cooed, licking a sinful path up his neck before you blew on his skin, reveling in the way goosebumps rose on his flesh despite the sweltering weather. “Get up for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss the double entendre as you tracked a scathing wet trail down his body, your tongue — frustratingly — the only part of you touching him. He was being difficult and you were making him pay for it by teasing him in ways only you knew how to. Azriel groaned low and deep when your cool breath hit right beneath his bellybutton, abs flexing as he willed himself to maintain his composure. You still weren’t touching him, and he was already embarrassingly hard, body desperate to feel your skin on his. 

His brow furrowed with concentration and lust as he met your gaze right before your lips puckered and you took the head of his cock – pretty and swollen and throbbing just for you – into your mouth. Azriel’s head flopped back onto his pillow as he loosed a long, deep breath, a cross between a sigh and a moan so pleasing to hear that you nearly forgot your initial intentions. 

One well placed stroke of your tongue had your eyes meeting his yet again, all dark pupils and a thin ring of gorgeous hazel. You were the picture of perfect seduction, pretty lips split open on his cock, bent over him in such a way that gave him an unobstructed view of your cleavage beneath your dress. You released him with a sinfully wet pop! as you pulled back and smiled at him, sweet and teasing before you blew gently on his tip. Azriel shuddered.

Oh, Mother above. He was milliseconds away from flipping you onto your back and tearing your godsforsaken dress right off you — or maybe he’d keep it on — but you were faster, jumping just out of his reach and off the bed, as if you hadn’t just addled his mind with fantasies of all the ways he could fuck you in that dress. 

The wicked smirk of satisfaction curving your lips told him that you’d had your intended effect. Azriel was barely able to recalibrate his bearings in time for him to notice you heading towards the door. He sputtered in disbelief, “Where are you going?”

Before you traipsed out the bedroom door, you turned back to look at him, “To be continued, mate. After you get dressed.”

When you shut the door behind you, Azriel could have sworn he heard your giddy, maniacal laughter echo in time to the sound of your footsteps down the stairs. Now he had two problems: 1) he was still hot as the fires of Hell and 2) he was achingly hard and knew he’d have to make a concerted effort not to look too long at you in that dress all day if he wanted to cling to what little composure he had.

He sighed as his shadows swirled around his ears, barely offering any reprieve from the heat. 

Pretty mate. So, so pretty. Everyone thinks so. 

Make that three problems: 3) Cassian would be making innocent comments about you looking so good in that dress just to irritate him. 

The possession roiling around in his gut – courtesy of the mating bond – was his final straw as he scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Fucking fine, he would put the damn clothes on. 

☾𖤓 epilogue ☾𖤓

“Where’s that overgrown child you call a mate, anyway?” Cassian quipped after you made your appearance in the dining room for breakfast. 

“Exactly where you think he is,” you laughed over a bite of toast.

“What’s wrong with Azriel?” Feyre implored innocently, “Is he not feeling well?” 

Rhys chuckled and shook his head, “Azriel is not very fond of the summer—“

“That’s an understatement,” you and Cassian mumbled under your breaths in tandem.

“—and it’s a nightmare getting him to do anything in heat like this. But luckily we have Y/N.”

Before your High Lady could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, Cassian stole a piece of bacon off your plate, ignoring the way you protested, “I mean, you’ve seen how whipped he is Feyre. He’ll do anything if Y/N even suggests she wants him to. Az only gets out of bed in the summer because she asks.”

In retribution for your stolen bacon, you speared the rest of Cassian’s eggs and forked them into your mouth before he could inch away from you. You didn’t respond, knowing all too well that Azriel actually would not get out of bed even if you asked, leaving you to resort to other…tactics. 

“I’m not a child, you know.” Came Azriel’s petulant interruption as he greeted you with a brief kiss to your head and the rest of his family with a grunt of acknowledgement, “I can do things on my own, in case you forgot.”

“We’ll stop calling you one, once you stop acting like it,” Cassian taunted.

Azriel’s scoff was his only response as he sat down next to you at the table, plating two pieces of bacon in front of you to replace the one he knew Cassian had no doubt probably taken. You smiled up at him gratefully, and despite the still sweltering heat that had only seemed to have gotten worse as time progressed, he smiled back. 

Feyre was in awe; it was like the heat had melted away his stony exterior, leaving the real Azriel exposed for everyone to see. Feyre met your gaze across the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told you she was more than privy to the extraneous measures you had taken to coax your mate out of bed.

“How do you do it?” Cassian not-so-quietly whispered to you. 

“I have my ways,” you responded cryptically with a smirk as Azriel’s hand ventured beneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your thigh.

You would most definitely be paying for your little shenanigan in the bedroom later.  

[xhoneygirlxx]

Juicy

Eddie Munson x big boob fem!reader

summary: the heat causes you to let the girls hang free and it causes Eddie to be a flustered mess

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader has breasts and wears feminine clothing. skin color/ethnicity is not mentioned! Eddie being a flustered cutie. idiots in love :) mentions of high school jocks being gross. 18+ MINORS DNI. smut: heavy making out, grinding, titty sucking, premature ejaculation. mentions of titty fucking and cumming on tits. shitty writing and not proofread.

a/n: hello my honey buns!! i wanted to get something out while i work on some of my current wips. i got inspired to write this bc i have a tig bitties and every time i wear a bra i feel like i'm dying and i'm too insecure to not wear one lmao. also, i just wanted to say that all different shapes and sizes of bitties are beautiful!!! also please be kind! smut is not my strong suit.

The late August heat made living in Hawkins unbearable. That might be an over exaggeration since you've never traveled anywhere outside of your town, but it still felt like the underside of satan's ballsack.

You regret agreeing to hangout with Eddie the minute you saw the afternoon weather forecast and regret it even more when you got into the metalhead's van. With no working a/c in the vehicle, there was no choice but to have the window's down to get some sort of circulation.

It wouldn't be so bad if there was a breeze but the air was dry, burning your lungs with every single intake of oxygen. You could feel the sweat rolling down your spine, making the thin cotton tank top you had on stick to your skin.

The cotton shorts you had on didn't quell any heat that you were feeling, only making your thighs stick together uncomfortably. Eddie being the angel he was, had already stopped at the gas station, picking up whatever snack he thought you might want, including a cherry icee that was already melted.

The sweat the beaded at your hairline, falling down your face like raindrops, matched the sweat on your cardboard cup. Syrupy sweetness coated your tongue as you drank it, coolness going down your throat to extinguish the flames within your body.

You needed to get out his car as soon as possible and into some air conditioning. Eddie on the other hand looked as cool as a cucumber. His cut band tshirt blowing through the warm air, black jeans tight on his lower body, and his brown curls in a low bun.

You almost wanted to hate him for being so calm, never showing any discomfort when it got hot like this. God, you hated the way he looked so relaxed, puffing on his cigarette and driving with one wrist on the steering wheel. The sun shining off of his ringed fingers, the band squeezing at his tiny waist, the black ink on his alabaster skin dancing with every move he took- he was so beautiful and it was making your temperature rise even higher.

When he pulled up to his trailer, you were up and out of the van before he could even pull the keys out of ignition. To your dismay, he was taking his sweet time getting out of the car, making you wait in the blaze of the sun. If you didn't know any better, you'd think the cheeky asshole was doing it on purpose. As he rounds the car, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist, a playful smirk paints his lips.

He's definitely doing it on purpose. Asshole.

"Where's the fire, Cherry?" he jests playfully at you, making you scowl even more.

"It's going to be in your hair if you don't hurry the hell up." You yell back at him. A small laugh leaves his pretty lips, shaking his head as he pulls out his key to unlock the door.

"I'll open the door faster if you say please." You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. Playing up the part even more, Eddie takes his time putting the key into the door.

"Oh please Eddie, would you be so kind and unlock the door?" You smile sarcastically up at him. He mimics you, straight white teeth flashing brightly in your eyes.

"Now was that so hard?" Scoffing at him, you push right past his body and enter the trailer.

The small a/c unit the sits in the window works overtime, buzzing and rattling loudly, to cool down the small trailer. It feels like heaven when you walk in, the immediate temperature drop makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

Plopping down on the well loved couch, you sprawl your limbs out trying to cool every inch of your skin. Placing the bag of treats on the table, Eddie makes his way into the kitchen to retrieve a beer from the fridge.

"Is Wayne off today?" The absence of the older man only coming to your attention.

"Yeah, he went to Darla's house." Eddie mutters his response as he works the cap of the beer bottle off.

Darla was Wayne's new girlfriend he had been seeing the past couple months. You had fallen victim to many of Eddie's rants about his uncle coming home late and never calling letting his nephew know he was safe.

Humming a response, you turn your attention to the television that's currently playing reruns of The Golden Girls.

Now that you've been in the cool air for not even five minutes, the creeping heat comes back into your body. The culprit being your chest, heat radiating in the cups of your bra. It was uncomfortable already with the weight on your back and shoulders, not to mention the sweat that collected in the fabric.

Jumping up abruptly from your slouched position, you work your hands around your back preparing to take off the article of clothing. . Before you it off, you remember that you're not in your own home and that it might make Eddie uncomfortable.

As he walks in from the kitchen, sipping on his chilled beer, he catches your stare. Raising a brow and removing the bottle from his mouth, he turns to you.

"You okay over there?" He questions you, eyeing your posture and how you look like you've been caught in the act of something you shouldn't be doing.

"I need to take my bra off but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Oh boy is he caught of guard, choking on his spit loudly. His cheeks are tinted a deep red, eyes wide and bulging from his face. Of course he didn't care, you guys were friends and he always wanted you comfortable. The only problem was that you would be braless, sitting next to him.

It's not like you haven't before, any time you wore big baggy shirts he knew you didn't have a bra on, but the extra material of your shirt blocked the visuals of your loose breasts.

When you cock an eyebrow at him, he shakes his head, brown curls bouncing with the movement.

"Y-yeah sure. Ya know what we Munson's say, this land is your land, or whatever." He chuckles nervously eyeing you from where he stands across from you.

Letting out a roaring laugh, you reach your hands under the hem of your shirt, undoing the hook.

"I'm pretty sure Woody Guthrie said that, Eds." Forcing out a small laugh, he watches as you pull the straps down your arms and then pulling the material out from under your white tank top.

Yeah he's going to die right here in the middle of his living room. When you finally pull it from your sticky skin and discard it somewhere on the floor, your nipples pebble up from the cold air. You lean your head back and release a sigh of satisfaction.

You don't see how Eddie's drinking you in right now, how he's staring at the way your nipples are visible through the wet cotton of your shirt, or how he can see the fullness of your chest.

It was no secret that you had a bigger bust than most of the girls in town, earning the nickname of Cherry from all the jocks at school, which you took pride in and eventually took ownership of.

Unlike the jocks, Eddie never made any comments about your bust. Not that he didn't think of them when he was beating off in his room every night, but he never commented on them to you which you appreciated. To him you were just you, double d's or not.

While you were in pure bliss, Eddie was living a nightmare come true. The girl he's had a crush on since middle school is braless in his home, right in front of him. He didn't know how he was going to sit next to you now with the way blood was rushing to his cock, the stiff material of his jeans didn't help his discomfort.

"So, what are we watching today?" Cracking your eyes open to look at your best friend, you could still see him standing in the same spot, staring right at your chest.

Oh. OH. He was staring at your chest. You could have so much fun with this, give him a little taste of his own medicine for his little stunt earlier, making you wait longer in the heat.

"Eds?" Your tone was sinfully sweet. Placing your arms on either side of you, you used your forearms to push your boobs together as best as you can.

"Huh? O-oh yeah. Um, we ugh, we could watch Nightmare on Elm Street." He was tripping on his tongue every other word.

Quickly moving from his spot, he knelt down in front of the television to pop in the horror movie. The boy who was so unbothered by record breaking heat, was now a sweaty, heavy breathing mess because of you.

After starting the movie, he slowly retreats to the couch but as far away from you as humanly possible. Maybe it wasn't that he was hot and bothered by you, maybe he was just uncomfortable with your state of dress.

For the first twenty minutes of the film that's all you could think, trying to figure out what you could do to make the situation better. Without thinking, you take a lollipop out of the bag of goodies he bought, popping it right into your mouth.

You took your time, swirling your tongue around the red candy, hallowing your cheeks every so often. You weren't really paying attention to what you were doing, staring straight ahead at the glowing screen. Eddie was paying attention though, growing unimaginably harder than before.

The movement of Eddie taking the pillow from behind his back and placing it right on his crotch, brings your attention the boy next to you. He wasn't as smooth as he thought, the placement of the pillow gave it away right away. His sweat soaked bangs, bouncing leg, and red cheeks definitely gave it away.

Removing the lollipop from your mouth, you place it down on the discarded wrapper laying on the table. Turning to him, your knees criss cross, you say his name softly.

His head turns with speed when you call him, chocolate brown eyes replaced with the darkness of his pupils.

"Are you okay? You don't seem, well you seem bothered. If it's me not wearing a bra, Eddie I can put it back on." You sputter out, worry rising in your stomach at the thought of making him feel awkward with your braless tits.

Releasing a loud sigh, he runs a hand down his face. "Cherry, I'm not bothered by you not wearing a bra. Well, okay, I am but I'm not uncomfortable."

He's staring right at you, almost like he's waiting for you to catch on but you don't. Eyebrows furrowed, you try to understand what he had just said to you. Before you can ask, he reiterates himself.

"Baby, I'm not bothered because you don't have a bra on. I'm very much the opposite and because I'm a gentleman, I'm trying to make myself calm down the best I can. It's just hard to do that when you're deep throating a sucker right next to me." The last part comes out as a joke, dimpled smile to prove it.

So you were right, he was hot and bothered by you. Just like he made you wait for him, you made him wait even longer to rid himself of his discomfort happening in his pants.

"Well Eds, you know if you wanted to see them all you had to say was please." You tease and he groans loudly, throwing his head back.

"Please, Cherry." He begs and you give in, lying back on the old couch. Beckoning him over to you, you spread your legs to give him room. Like a panther, he pounces on you, smacking his lips to yours.

Its heavy and animalistic the way your tongues attack each other. The lingering taste of beer mixes with the cherry from your candy. When you push your hips up to get some friction on your aching heat, he whimpers in your mouth.

He takes your motions as permission to grind into you, the pressure making both of you moan in unison. Pulling away from your mouth so you two can breathe, he moves to his next target.

The warmth of lips meet the chilled skin of your neck, he kisses all around the precious skin to find that sweet spot. When a wanton moan falls from your red stained lips, he thinks he's hit the jackpot. Sucking and kissing the spot under your ear, you're sure there will be a blotch of purple there.

You hiss out when he runs his teeth along the spot, jerking your hips up in excitement. Moving his face so that he's looking at you, you can see the spit that coat his red swollen lips, the lust the pool in his eyes. He's so pretty like this, so fucking pretty and he's all yours in this moment.

"Can I see your pretty tits, Cherry?" He asks so sweetly, like he didn't just sinfully makeout with you. Nodding in approval, he shakes his head at you.

"I need words, princess." He waits for you, who is currently looking up at him like he's hung the stars and moon. You look so fucked out and so disheveled. He's always known he was going to marry you but when he looks at you he has no doubt that he's going to marry you.

"Please, Eds."

That's all he needs to hear before he's pulling the front of your shirt down, revealing your chest to him. He stays there for a minute, looking unbashful at your tits, like they were the eight wonder of the world.

His unwavering gaze starts to make you insecure, worrying that maybe they weren't as nice as he thought they would be. They were heavy and slightly sagged due to the weight, you had stretch marks that decorated the skin like a zebra.

Pulling your arms up to cover yourself, he grips your wrists and pulls them down. Moving his gaze back up to you, his eyes are much softer.

"Don't hide, please don't hide. Not when I've waited so long to see these." A tingling sensation fills your face, making you smile giddily up at him. When you nod at him, he goes in face first into your chest.

"Fuck, I've dreamt of this for so long." You want to respond but you can't when his mouth is placing pecks to the delicate skin of your breast.

Resuming his motions from before, his hips roll right into yours like a wave crashing on the shore. He's everywhere, filling all your senses. Eddie.Eddie.Eddie. That's all that's in your mind, especially when he places your pebbled nipple in his mouth.

"Fuck, Eddie." You hiss out, reaching your hand to the nape of his neck, placing a gentle pressure to keep him there. His switches between swirling his tongue around the numb and sucking on it.

His other hand snakes up to your abandoned breast, groping the fat of it before his fingers pinch the nipple. It's sinful the way it feels, his hard cock hitting right where you need him, the warm of his mouth, and the moans that you release.

Eddie groans, causing your skin to vibrate. Removing himself from your abused breast, he moves to the other one, finally giving it the same attention as the other.

"Fuck, you're so hot." He groans out, eyes closed in ecstasy, high off the scent and taste of you. His movements start getting faster causing him to moan even louder.

Moving away from your chest, he looks down at you, the way your tits bounce with every roll of your hips. He looks at the mark he made on your neck, and how your skin shines with his saliva and your sweat. Your pupils are blown wide, lips puffy and shiny. Then he moves his eyes back to your tits, imagining what it would feel like to run his dick on your sternum, how pretty they would look coated in his pearly white cum, and how hot it would be to titty fuck you.

Every possible scenario plays out in his head when he looks at you and it's too much. With one finally grunt, pulled deep from his stomach, he hangs stops all his motions, collapsing onto of you.

Dazed and slightly confused, you let him catch his breathe. When he brings his face out from the crook of your neck, he has a boyish smile pulled on his cheeks.

"Ed, did you just-"

"Cum in my pants like a teenager? Absofuckinglutely, but if give me about five minutes I'll give you everything you want." You reach your hand up to his face, pushing some of the loose hair that fell from his ponytail, behind his hair.

"If you say please, pretty boy."

He didn't need five minutes, instantly getting hard from the sultry tone of your voice.

_

_

_

_

_

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Hot Summer Nights

Summary - The relentless summer heat in King's Landing becomes almost unbearable for Aemond's wife, yet her flushed demeanour only seems to arouse him. Seeking relief she turns to a cold bath, which then becomes the setting for a different kind of heat.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), strong language

Word count - 2158

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Summer in King's Landing was a blaze, an unyielding inferno that outstripped any heat I'd ever known. The sun blazed overhead, turning the days into a stifling furnace where even the faintest whisper of a breeze was a distant memory. 

At night, the discomfort only deepened, as sleep eluded me, the oppressive warmth rendering rest nearly impossible.

A thin layer of sweat glistened on my skin as I paced the confines of our chamber, my movements doing little to alleviate the oppressive heat that clung to me. I fanned myself with a paper fan, my efforts seemingly futile.

"My sweet wife," Aemond said, his voice tinged with amusement, "do you not think that pacing the floor is only making your discomfort worse?"

I let out a weary sigh, gathering my slightly damp hair with one hand in an attempt to regulate my airflow. 

"I am in misery," I declared, "I fear I may perish." His quiet laugh and the evident delight in his eyes only added to my exasperation.

With an exaggerated gesture, I undid my corset and let it fall to the floor, followed by my outer dress, leaving me in nothing but a thin slip. 

Aemond, momentarily roused from his relaxed position, leaned forward, his eyes hungry and fixed on the skimpy clad form before him. The lack of clothing seemed to capture his undivided attention.

"Princess, perhaps I can run you a cold bath," one of the handmaidens suggested. My eyes brightened as I turned to face her.

"I could kiss you right now, Tyla," I exclaimed, my gratitude spilling over as she laughed softly and began the process of preparing a cold bath.

"How shameful, wife, kissing others while your husband is in the room," Aemond teased, his amusement undiminished.

"Well, maybe if you'd suggested it first, I would have kissed you," I retorted, and he laughed, clearly enjoying himself.

"Princess," Tyla called, gesturing toward the now full tub of cold water. I hurried towards her, pulling her into a grateful embrace as she laughed.

She helped me out of my slip, leaving me naked beside the bath. As I gingerly placed a leg into the icy water, a shiver raced through me, and my skin responded with a rash of goosebumps. 

Aemond's eye was fixed on me, his expression a mix of fascination and desire.

Suddenly, he stood and stalked towards me as I lowered myself fully into the water, soft gasps escaping my lips at the shocking chill.

"Tyla, you may take your leave," Aemond commanded, his gaze never leaving me. Tyla nodded swiftly, her eyes darting between us.

Without a word, she gathered her skirts and quickly exited our chamber, the door closing softly behind her.

The look on Aemond's face, and the prominent bulge in his trousers, made it clear that he was struggling to control himself. I leaned back against the side of the tub, the clear water offering little cover from his intense scrutiny.

"Aemond," I called softly, drawing out his name as his gaze remained fixed on what lay beneath the surface of the water.

"Yes, my dear wife?" he responded, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine.

"I can see that you're quite excited," I said, motioning toward his trousers. "But it's far too hot to lie together" His smirk broadened in response.

"You cannot torment me like this," he said, dropping to his knees beside the tub, his fingers trailing lightly across my collarbone.

"How exactly am I tormenting you?" I asked, grasping his hand firmly which began to wonder.

"Your clothes—or lack thereof," he began with a boyish smile, "the soft sheen of sweat on your skin when you're flustered from the heat. It's all too tempting to resist."

"Well, I refuse to leave this bath until the water grows warm," I protested, reclining against the tub and closing my eyes.

"Then perhaps I'll have to join you," he said with a grin. 

I laughed, not really believing he would follow through until I heard the splash of water beside me.

I opened my eyes to see him lowering himself into the cold bath, his clothes discarded and a mischievous grin spread across his face. The shock of his sudden plunge into the icy water only added to the absurdity of the moment, and I couldn't help but laugh. 

"Come," he beckoned, his voice low and inviting. I sighed, wading through the chilly water to lay against his chest. I nestled against him, feeling his lean, strong body press against mine.

His fingers began to explore my sides, moving up and down with a deliberate, teasing touch. His hands lingered on my breasts, and the sensation elicited soft gasps from my lips. 

"The water is cold," Aemond remarked with a hint of amusement, and I could only manage a nod in response, a low whimper escaping me.

"Perhaps a little intimacy will do little to warm it" he murmured, his voice husky as his hand trailed down my stomach, gently parting my legs. His touch was insistent as he began to caress the sensitive area between my thighs, his fingers deftly rubbing and exploring.

A sigh of pleasure escaped me as he slid one finger into me, his movements slow and deliberate. My body writhed against his chest, the cold water only heightening the intensity of the sensations. 

"Relax, my sweet thing," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. As he added a second finger, he quickened his pace, pumping in and out sending waves of pleasure through me.

My legs trembled slightly, threatening to close around his hand, as I instinctively ground against him, craving more. 

"Don't do that," he admonished softly, using his other hand to keep my legs spread open. I clung to his thighs, my grip tight and desperate.

"Aemond, please," I murmured, my voice a mix of need and uncertainty. His fingers curled inside me, and I was torn between wanting him to stop and needing him to continue.

Suddenly, he withdrew his fingers, and a gasp escaped me, the throbbing emptiness in my legs a contrast to the full, pleasurable sensation I'd just experienced. My eyes flew open, and I glanced up at him, my expression one of frustration and longing.

"What do you want?" he asked, his gaze intense as he looked down at me. I met his stare, my own filled with a pleading desperation.

"You," I replied simply, my voice barely more than a whisper. His smirk widened, and he leaned down, capturing my lips in a fervent kiss.

As we kissed, he shifted his hips, using their movement to guide us both upwards. His hands found their way between us, positioning himself at my entrance. A soft gasp escaped my lips as I felt the initial pressure, my body instinctively sinking into him. The sensation of him filling me was both exquisite and overwhelming.

"I thought it was far too hot to lie together?" he teased, his voice low and husky. 

His thrusts were deliberate, causing soft moans to spill from my lips as I clutched at the edge of the bath, my knuckles white from the intensity of the moment.

"Shut up," I murmured, my voice filled with a mixture of frustration and pleasure. His thrusts were slow and deep, building a rhythm that drove me wild.

"How rude, wife," he chided playfully, his tone rich with mock disapproval. 

His teasing was short-lived, though, as he angled himself slightly, hitting a spot deep inside me that made me cry out in pleasure. The new angle brought a rush of ecstasy, and my body arched instinctively against him, seeking more.

With each of his movements, I felt a growing need, a desire that matched the fervour of his actions. His hands roamed over my body, guiding and supporting, while his breath against my ear was a constant reminder of our shared intensity.

The water around us surged and splashed wildly with each of his increasingly rapid thrusts, creating a chaotic dance of droplets and ripples that splattered onto the stone floor. 

The once-dry surface became slick with the spilt water, adding to the overall sense of wild abandon and urgency that defined our encounter.

I was a moaning mess, every nerve in my body on high alert as he continued to push me towards the edge of bliss.

"That's it, let everyone hear how good your husband fucks you," he grunted, his voice low and commanding. His hands pressed firmly against my stomach, anchoring me as I was buried deep within him. 

His hand trailed down my body, moving with increasing urgency as it rubbed and teased, further heightening the sensations that made my eyes roll back in sheer ecstasy. 

The intensity of the pleasure was nearly overwhelming, each touch and thrust melding into a perfect storm of sensation.

"Gods, Aemond," I whimpered, sinking deeper into the water as he continued to work me toward the peak of pleasure. His lips nipped and kissed at my neck, his touch tender yet insistent, adding to the tidal wave of sensations that washed over me.

"Yes, my love," he encouraged his voice a soothing contrast to the fervour of his actions. 

As my walls tightened around him, he continued his relentless efforts, his movements effortlessly driving me toward release.

"Let go," he urged softly, his words a final, irresistible command. 

As those words left his lips, my body could no longer resist the tidal wave of pleasure that had been building. With a cry of surrender, I let go completely, my release cascading through me in a shattering climax. 

The water around us surged in unison with my body's convulsions, and I clung to him, lost in the all-encompassing pleasure that left us both breathless and spent.

As I took a moment to catch my breath, still reeling from the intensity of our shared pleasure, Aemond's voice broke through the fog of my senses. 

"Was that worth it?" he asked his tone a blend of curiosity and amusement.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure as I moved back to the edge of the tub, my chest still heaving with residual pleasure. 

"It was sufficient," I teased, laughing softly as a perplexed expression crossed his face.

"Sufficient, that's it?" he asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice. I nodded playfully, and he stood up, carefully exiting the water. He extended his hand to me, his touch warm and reassuring.

"Mhm," I mumbled, struggling slightly as I stood. 

Aemond's laughter was soft and affectionate as he steadied me, his hands gripping my waist with a firmness that helped me maintain my balance. 

With ease, he lifted me out of the water and set me gently onto the slick floor, my legs trembling with the aftershocks of our encounter.

"I think losing the ability to use your legs means it was more than sufficient," he said with a teasing smile. 

I swatted playfully at his chest, my legs still quivering as I made my way towards my robe.

"Allow me, dear wife," he said effortlessly, retrieving the robe and tying it around my body with practised grace. In one smooth motion, he lifted me up again, eliciting a gasp from me as I called out his name in surprise.

Cradling me in his arms, he carried me toward our bed. Once there, he gently set me down and retrieved the paper fan from earlier, beginning to fan me with a rhythmic, soothing motion. 

The cool breeze from the fan was a welcome contrast to the residual warmth of our passionate encounter, and I leaned back against the pillows, allowing the gentle flutter of air soothe me.

As I began to relax, Aemond's face sparkled with a new idea and he shifted closer to me.

"You know," he began, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk, "I was thinking, maybe tomorrow we could fly somewhere cooler. Towards the North, perhaps? It's always nice and crisp up there."

I arched an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across my face as I met his gaze. "On Vhagar?"

"Well, of course," he replied his grin widening at the suggestion. "Who else? The idea of feeling that cool Northern breeze while we're high above the clouds sounds perfect, don't you think?"

I shook my head, a soft laugh escaping my lips at his audacity. "Absolutely not. The last thing I need is to be jostled around on a dragon."

He laughed, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you are just brimming with ridiculous ideas," I shot back playfully, "How about we keep our feet on the ground for now and save the dragon rides for another time?"

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, to a teasing whisper "Fine, but I can think of another dragon you might enjoy riding."

I gasped in mock outrage, a burst of laughter escaping me as I swatted his chest "You're shameless, Aemond!"

He caught my hand with a grin, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. "Only with you," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with the familiar blend of affection and mischief.

A/n - Inspired by the sweltering summer I endured abroad

[valsverse]

⠀⠀(୨୧) BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK

. .⠀FEATURING⠀⟡⠀ percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace, luke castellan (respectively) x gn!reader

﹙🏹﹚ in which ：they get jealous. (and it looks good on them) ── masterlist

percy jackson ; percy’s eyes track your every movement as you laugh at something someone else said—a sound that usually belongs to him.

he leans back against the tree, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep in a rhythm too slow, too measured for the thoughts running through his head. across the campfire, you're caught in conversation with someone who seems a little too interested in every word you say, leaning in just a bit too close. the guy’s smile, belonging to a new camper he doesn't quite recognize, is bright, easy, but percy sees the intent in his eyes. it’s the way the his gaze lingers on you a moment too long, the way he leans in as if he’s trying to get just a little closer, as if he thinks he has a shot. percy pushes off the tree, his movements smooth and unhurried, but there’s a coiled tension in the set of his shoulders. he walks over to the group, slipping into the conversation with that casual air that comes so naturally to him, but there’s something different about the set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. “what’s so funny?” percy’s voice rings out, deceptively light but edged with a bite that makes the newcomer falter. the camper catches the tone and falters for just a second before recovering with a grin. “just telling them about the time i—” percy doesn’t wait for him to finish. he reaches for your hand, pulling you away before another word can leave the guy's mouth. as you move away from the fire’s warmth, the tension in his body begins to ease, though he remains silent until the murmurs of the campfire fade into the background. “everything okay?” you ask, even though the answer is already etched in the harsh set of his jaw and the tight grip of his hand in yours. percy shrugs, his attempt at nonchalance as he tries to mask his irritation. “yeah, i just—” he stops, running a hand through his tousled hair, the frustration evident in the way he looks back toward the campfire, his gaze a storm of irritation. “i don’t like it when people think they can just—” he trails off, the words left hanging, but you know exactly what he means.

a smile tugs at your lips.“percy jackson, are you jealous?”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, but the embarrassed blush creeping up his neck betrays him. “of him? please.” still, you notice the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. leo valdez ; you realize he's the jealous type barely three days in. it’s subtle, the way he inches closer as you text a friend, not out of curiosity but a need for attention. “who’s got you so wrapped up?” he asks, draped lazily beside you, lips pulling into a soft pout.

“an old friend. we’re catching up—it’s been a while.” your eyes stay glued to your screen, your smile growing at the messages. his gaze lingers on you, a moment of quiet before he lets out a dramatic sigh and collapses onto the bed, voice heavy with faux despair.

“you’re abandoning me,” he laments, eyes fluttering shut like the thought alone is unbearable. “guess i’ll just have to die.”

“leo, stop,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but unable to fully hide the smirk creeping onto your lips.

“i'm not gonna make it.” he declares, sitting upright with wide eyes, his hand clutching at his chest as if wounded. "any final words for your dying lover?”

you laugh, finally setting your phone aside and leaning in. you cradle his face, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “you’re impossible.”

jason grace ; you’re sprawled on jason’s bed, explaining your favorite character from a new show you’ve been devouring, your eyes bright with excitement. jason, on the other hand, is brooding in the far corner of the bed like a wet dog.

jason slumps on the far edge of the mattress, a moping shadow cast over his features as he listens to your praise. “so,” he interjects, the pout on his lips deepening as you lose yourself in the narrative, “you’re not still caught up on that guy, right?”

his gaze remains fixed on you, sighing in exasperation when you take a second to respond. “seriously, i can’t believe this,” he adds, the words coming out as a half-whine, half-plea.

you glance over at him, observing the childish distance he’s placed between you two, the slight frown tugging at his mouth. “jason, are you really jealous of a character who doesn't even exist?”

after he doesn't respond and attempts to escape your gaze in obvious embarrassment, you laugh and reach out, fingers tracing the line of his jaw with gentle affection, a contrast to his earlier mood. “c'mon, you know you’re my favorite,” you coo at him, your voice a soothing counterpoint to his frown.

jason’s pout gradually fades, replaced by a smile as he leans into your shoulder, his embrace warming. “yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere. “guess i need to hear that more often.” luke castellan ; luke’s been staring at you for a while now, stretched out on the bed with narrowed eyes, assessing you like you’ve committed some unforgivable crime. “you remember you’ve got a boyfriend, don't you?” his words are lazy, almost drawled out, but there’s a bite underneath that’s hard to miss.

you don’t even bother to look up, your mind drifting somewhere far from the edge in his voice. “what are you talking about?” your voice is absent, your attention elsewhere, which only fans the flames of his irritation.

he lets out an agitated sigh, one of those exaggerated, weight-of-the-world exhalations, and points an accusing finger at the source of his distress. “i don't know. just seems like you forgot.” the accusation lingers in the air like a challenge.

you follow the line of his gaze, your eyes settling on the supposed rival—curled up in utter contentment on your lap, blissfully unaware of the brewing conflict. you snort, the sound half amusement, half disbelief. “luke, he’s literally just a cat.”

“tip his stupid ass over."

you laugh as you shake your head. “are you seriously jealous of your own cat?” the question is more teasing than incredulous, though you can’t help but be a little entertained by his sulkiness.

i’s not really jealousy—more like the gnawing need for attention he’ll never fully admit. with a quick, decisive movement, he scoops up the cat, who wakes with a startled jolt, all sleepy confusion and disgruntled meows. luke unceremoniously deposits him on the couch, far from his coveted spot.

you gasp, half in mock outrage and half in genuine concern. “you woke him up!” but luke’s already sliding into the now-empty space, settling in peacefully. his head finds its way onto your lap, and he looks up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“what?” he says, voice dripping with mock innocence. “i’m the boyfriend here, remember?”

(luke is a certified cat owner idc.)

©valsverse— do not steal, edit, or repost my works. plagiarism is prohibited.

[amsznn]

Hey can you do one where the reader has a crush on Matt.She is very much giving heart eyes and tries to do anything to make him happy.Matt being oblivious complains to his brother about it.Nick and Chris smack some sense into him saying how lucky he is to have someone like us care about him.Matt disagrees and the reader hears this causing her to stop not wanting to make him uncomfortable.Matt misses the way things use to be and gets jealous when learning the reader is going out on a date.At the end they have an argument and he tells her how he really feels.Lots of angst in the beginning fluff towards the end please!!

OVERBEARING - m. sturniolo

warnings: slight cursing, angst at start, fluff at the end

-

you couldn’t deny it anymore. and you dont think it went unnoticed either.

the lingering gazes, to the more than normal laughter at his jokes, or the constant acts of service. how you were willing to do anything for him. just him.

matthew sturniolo.

you thought your constant need to be near him was just you wanting to be better friends. that was until your feelings started growing stronger.

“y/n, helloo.”

you brought your attention to the voice you found yourself loving so much.

“sorry, what?”

“i asked if you could pass the remote.” matt repeated while settling down beside you on the couch. you nodded and reached over to grab the remote to hand it to him. it was around 1 AM, and it was just the two of you. nick and chris had went to their rooms while you and matt decided to watch a movie.

“want me to get you a blanket?” you whispered as matt stared at the screen to the opening of the movie.

“no, im good.” matt says. you nodded and turned your head towards the movie. about five minutes or so passed when you asked another question.

“hungry?”

“nope.” matt responds, adding a ‘pop’ to the p to exaggerate his response. you mumbled an ‘okay’. a few beats of silence passed before once again, you asked.

“are you sure-”

“y/n, please m’ just trying to watch the movie in peace.” matt sighed. he was getting frustrated by the second. after a long day of filming with his relatively loud brothers, the only sounds he wanted to hear were the actors on the tv.

but this was only one example of your persistence. you were always clung to matt’s side. following him like a lost puppy at all times.

always there to cook him up a meal after his long day, willing to do any of his chores that he just didn’t feel like doing, even soothing him to sleep on those tough nights where everything went blank.

nick would sometimes make fun of matt. it almost seemed like you were his mother with the way you acted. but thats not what you were trying to come off as. you simply just had a lot of love for the boy that you weren’t really ready to confess yet.

but for matt? he didn’t see your clinginess as a good thing, in fact he began to hate it once nick pointed it out.

on one particular day matt decided to bring it up to his brothers while they were in nick’s room.

“i just don’t get it, like she’s just always there.” matt says while pacing around the room.

“is that a bad thing?” nick asks while organizing the clothes in his closet.

“i mean it wouldn’t be if she didn’t act like im some sort of child.” matt sighed while plopping down at the edge of the bed.

“i dunno, i’d love to have someone like y/n. she literally does everything for you bro.” chris laughs while slightly nudging matt.

“yeah..” nick yells from his closet. “don’t know why you’re bitchin’ bout it she’s literally helps you with like…” nick took a pause to think. “everything!”

matt scoffs before shaking his head. “yeah well it’s nice before it gets fucking unbearable.”

unbeknownst to matt, you could hear this whole conversation. you had came to drop off some food for the triplets, and since you had an extra key you went straight in. now you would’ve made yourself known until you realized you were the topic of their conversation.

to say you were hurt from matts words was an understatement. you quickly rushed out of the house, tears streaming down your face recounting every scenario where you were overbearing.

-

hours turned into days and days turned into weeks. matt hadn’t heard from you in a while. he expected to wake up to your daily morning texts, but nothing. after he shrugged that off he expected you to come over like you usually did. but once again, you didn’t.

he found himself longing for your presence more than he ever did.

you both went no contact until you came over, seeking nicks assistance since you had a date that night in hopes that your little crush on matt would subside.

you had went the whole time without speaking to the brunette. opting for a simple ‘hey’. matt was confused. why were you suddenly so distant? sure he wanted space at times but this is not what he had in mind.

matt finally snapped when you attempted rushing out their house, bidding matt goodbye with a meek ‘see ya’.

matt rose from his spot on the catch before making his way towards you. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or are you gonna keep avoiding me?” matt said while crossing his arms on his chest.

you could only roll your eyes before slipping your shoes on. “i dont know what you’re talking about, but i have to go.” you spat harshly before spinning on your heel.

“woah, what’s up with you?” matt yelled, shocked at your sudden anger towards him. he pulled you back by your wrist so you could face him.

“y’know if you found me ‘overbearing’ you could’ve just told me.”

thats when everything came back to matt. instant regret washed over him as he gazed upon your solemn expression. the same eyes that used to hold so much adoration for him now hollow.

“i’m so sorry y/n. i know theres no excuse to what i said but i was just being stupid.” matt sighed while running a hand down his face. “you’re far from overbearing, in fact i...i really miss you.”

“really?” you mumbled while your facial expression softened. matt nodded before embracing you in a tight hug to which you reciprocated by wrapping your arms around his waist. your date long forgotten.

“you’re amazing the way you are, and im sorry if i made it seem any other way.”

you smiled at matts words before leaning up to look at him. “just tell me next time, okay?” matt smiled and lightly pecked the side of your temple. happy to have finally gotten you back.

the version of you he loved.

and the version of you he would always cherish.

-

A/N: sorry this should’ve came out yesterday but i had to study for an exam. i have also been experiencing writers block but i have a new matt series in mind so stay on the look out for that!

tags:

@junnniiieee07 @tillies33ssss @whore4matt @stellarsturns @summerl986 @inveigledvex @beccaluvschris @stingerayyy2 @bunnysturns @braindead4l @vickyzloserz @sturnzsblog

[azrielbrainrot]

Silent Voices Speak

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: Both you and Azriel find yourselves with some sleep related problems. Who would have thought you could be each other's remedy?

Warnings: barely any angst

Word Count: 3400

Notes: I can't believe it took me so long to write a new story in the healer!reader universe, they're my first babies. Hope you enjoy!

Healer!Reader Universe Masterlist

The killings hadn't stopped. The, by now, tripled security slowed them down and allowed the Inner Circle to be made aware of any disturbances quicker, and the bodies hadn't been found by any innocent civilians since then either, thankfully saving a lot of fae from having to witness such gruesome sights, but the killings hadn't stopped.

Your research has given you some clues as to the motives behind the murders, though you still can't fully understand the ritual behind them. None of the information you've gathered has helped in stopping them from happening or finding the people responsible for them. Amren has traveled to the Day Court and is now searching the High Lord's extensive libraries to try and find more information on a lead she got but, for now, there wasn't enough to make anyone feel safer.

The streets of Velaris felt lifeless, bars and restaurants closing earlier than usual given the unofficial curfew every fae seemed to have set for themselves. The City of Dreamers, heart of the Night Court, was scared of the dark. Apart from the killings, that was what weighed the heaviest on the Inner Circle's minds.

Feyre and Rhysand had been forthcoming with information, letting the public know they were actively searching for the killers and sharing some of the details as a means to stop the rumors that kept going around that were only exaggerating the already awful murders the more they spread. Of course, they'd been careful not to reveal any of the more gruesome details, or the fact that everything pointed to the murders actually being sacrifices to what could be an old God or even worse.

Those had been the details keeping you up at night as you were now, sipping on chamomile tea in hopes of relaxing your body enough to get some sleep without any unwanted thoughts filtering through and spoiling it once again. You wanted to help as much as you could, and weren't considering talking to Rhys and backing down as Azriel had suggested multiple times, but you weren't used to witnessing this much cruelty, not like this.

When you'd been stationed as a healer during the war, you saw a lot of awful things, some of them you won't ever forget, but this felt different. Everything about these killings and the motives behind them had set off every alarm in your body.

The cup was empty before you realized, bringing it up to your mouth only to be met with nothing. You let out a sigh and look over to the comfortable bed, knowing you had to at least lay down and try to fall asleep, no matter how frustrating it was to toss and turn for hours on end or get woken up by terrifying dreams. At least this bed was a lot more comfortable than the one you had at home, it almost made you want to ask Rhysand where he got it from although you probably would never be able to afford it.

You're not entirely sure what brought it on but, after coming back from yet another fruitless mission, Azriel asked you to stay in the townhouse with him. You tried to decline, not entirely comfortable with staying at the High Lord's house indefinitely. You've spent some nights up in the House of Wind when you were helping with research, but this was different. You didn't want to take advantage of Rhysand and Feyre's kindness, but Azriel insisted, a tormented look you weren't used to seeing painted in the shadowsinger's face, and so you ended up accepting.

Just remembering your talk that night made you feel hopeless, wanting nothing more than to make him feel better and take some of the unbearable weight off his shoulders somehow.

“I'm not sure this is necessary,” you try to reason with him, “There haven't been any attacks in the city, with so many eyes on the streets it would be impossible.”

“It also seemed impossible for them to be able to hide for so long but even my shadows are blind to them.”

“I can't stay at my High Lord and Lady's home."

“I can't sleep not knowing you're safe,” the admission feels heavy between you, prompting you to study his face carefully, taking note of the fear and desperation behind his request. “I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Azriel…”

You don't know what to say, not sure what this means for the two of you.

“Please.”

But with that little word he convinced you, not caring if it was Rhysand's house you were going to sleep in, or anyone else's, as long as it made Azriel feel at least a bit more at ease.

Your relationship has been changing ever since that fateful night when he kissed your cheek goodnight. It's a silly thought even now, that something so inconsequential as a peck to the cheek would end up meaning so much for the two of you.

Ever since that day your talks have gotten longer and more frequent, Azriel has also flown you to and from work a few times, has taken you on multiple outings that you can only classify as dates at this point. But things hadn't gotten further than that and more chaste kisses on the cheek.

The timing wasn't right. Not with everything that has been happening and the troubles filling both of your minds, the long hours Azriel had been putting his body through trying to find even the smallest clue about these murders, and your assistance in any research the Inner Circle needs as well as providing mental and physical aid to a terrified city.

Your feelings for him were impossible to deny - even though you've certainly tried to when everyone else asks about him, especially your High Lady, who you've come to learn is an avid busybody, - and you were more than confident that he cared for you just as much, but the timing wasn't right, and so you've been stuck between acting like friends and so much more.

You were still thinking about the shadowsinger when your head hit the pillow, making yourself comfortable and letting your thoughts wander around warm hazel eyes and shy smiles, hopefully lulling you into a peaceful sleep at last.

Rushed murmurs and harsh breaths take you away from the soft grasp of sleep. You try to ignore them at first but as the words grow louder, you try to decipher them confused. A flurry of shadows filters into your room, flying over you when you open your eyes to try and ascertain the situation. You can barely see them with the low lights the moon rays covered by dark curtains provide, but it almost feels like they're tugging at you, urging you to get up.

The thought that Azriel could be in danger makes you leap out of bed, foregoing your robe or slippers as you follow the frantic shadows to his room next to yours. Only hesitating at the door for a moment, knuckles raised against the intricately designed wood as you considered knocking before barging into his room unannounced, but another string of groans and panicked breathing assault your ears, prompting you to open the door.

Your eyes land on the shadowsinger immediately as he lay restless on his bed, blinking a few times as you adjusted to the dim lighting, his room being even darker than yours. A small sigh of relief escapes you when you find him unharmed, although you soon realize that the noises you heard were the result of what appears to be a particularly consuming and terrifying nightmare.

He had struggled so much in his sleep that the sheets were completely thrown off, laying by his feet as his body tossed and turned uninterrupted. A light sheen of sweat covered him, telling you he'd been at this for a while. There was a familiar glint of blue on his nightstand, as Truth Teller and two of his siphons lay close by. You tried not to linger on the fact that he didn't appear to be wearing anything else aside from underwear for too long.

Some of the shadows that swirled around the room meet the ones that had brought you here, moving over you once more as if asking you to save their singer. You wanted to help them, but you're not entirely sure if you should he seeing him like this, if he'd want you to see him so vulnerable.

Aside from that, waking up someone when they were so immersed in a dream, especially a nightmare, could be dangerous and bring more harm than good. Still, you couldn't leave him like this and go back to your room, so you decide to try and call his name softly, hoping the noise or familiarity will be enough to help him wake up in a more organic way.

“Azriel?”

You hesitate in the doorway, feeling like you were already invading his space, but as another weak cry escapes him your body moves on its own. You're at the edge of the bed before you even notice, repeating his name and shaking him softly so as not to startle him too much.

The pain was evident on his face. You didn't know what he was dreaming of but you knew you had to pull him out of there fast. You've never seen him so distressed. Watching him like this felt like a chain was tightening around your heart and lungs, making it hard for you to breathe or think.

At a slightly harder push, his eyes open, one scarred hand moving to grab your wrist, stopping you from touching him, as the other met to the nightstand, finding the hilt of his dagger. His hazel eyes were open wide, clearly disoriented by not only the nightmare but also having someone in his room. You expected nothing less from the Spymaster, of course he couldn't be so easily caught off guard even in his own room, but the tight grip was becoming too much, and you knew it was bruising, not being able to stop yourself from cringing softly at the pain.

As he understands the situation, wide eyes blinking multiple times as the waking world comes into focus, he drops your wrist and pulls away from you, sitting up and almost bumping his head against the headboard in his rush.

Neither of you moves or speaks for a moment, his heavy breathing the only thing that can be heard in the dark room. You wanted to turn the faelights on, to properly check on him, but Azriel always prefered the dark, feeling much more at ease surrounded by it. In fact, his shadows had hurried to him as soon as he woke up.

When his wide gaze settles into a frown, hazel eyes dropping to your wrist, you decide to speak up. You know that look and this was not the time for any other worries that might be growing in his mind, certainly none that concerned you.

“Azriel,” you whisper, not wanting to startle him, “Are you okay?”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No-”

“I shouldn't have hurt you,” he says, more to himself than to you, haunted eyes never straying from your wrist. You had only wanted to help, but now it feels like you made it worse by coming here.

“No, it's my fault. I know better than to wake someone up from a nightmare,” you swallow, throat suddenly dry, “but it looked like you were in pain and I couldn't leave you like this.”

He seemed unwilling to listen to you, a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head the only answer he gave you as you told him it wasn't his fault. Azriel is always too aware of himself, never allows himself any mistakes, as if he thinks he has to prove himself worthy of the life he leads. You don't even want to know what's going through his head now that he's convinced himself he hurt someone he cares about.

You let out a sigh when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything or acknowledge you further, you could almost see him receding into his own mind, getting consumed by his betraying thoughts. If you had listened to your training, you might not have ended up in this situation.

Slowly and very carefully, you move closer to him, giving him time to push you away or stop you if he wanted to. You only stop when your bare knee brushes his thigh, the warmth of his skin spreading through yours. Reaching for his hand, you interlock your fingers and squeeze softly, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.” The pain was evident in his face, and it hurt you far more to think he was beating himself up than your wrist ever did. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no reason to be sorry,” you smile up at him, trying your best to soothe him, “You were disoriented and moved to protect yourself, that's all.”

He still looks unwilling to let go of his guilt, but you can see him settling back into himself, his usual calm expression falling over his beautiful face. He lets go of your hand in favor of cradling your wrist, carefully inspecting it as if he was looking at a broken bone and not at a bruise that would be completely healed within the hour. Caressing the soft skin with his thumb lightly, the scarred skin and affection behind the movement causing goosebumps to erupt.

“You didn't answer my question. Are you alright?”

Azriel looks up at you then, a conflicted look falling over his face once more. It seems he had been too focused on your wrist to remember the nightmare, and the fact that you'd seen him like that. You're almost positive he hates the fact that you've seen him like that even more than whatever haunted his nightmares. He's always been an extremely private person, so you can't even imagine what it feels like for him to be seen in such a vulnerable light by someone he barely knows.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” the expression on his face telling you he doesn't believe it, “You didn't. I've been finding it hard to sleep with everything that has been going on.”

“You're safe here.”

“I know, I've just had too much on my mind.” It feels like you're doing this wrong, you're the one that should be worried about him, not the other way around. “Your shadows came into my room and I heard movement so I came to check on you.”

Disapprovement flashes in his eyes, directed at his shadows of course. You'd find it adorable how he treats his shadows like misbehaving children if it weren't for the situation. Hopefully he won't be too harsh on them, you can almost feel the lecture coming. You're not entirely sure how much they can feel, if they can at all, but they had done good in going to find you, even if Azriel reprimanded them for it.

“I didn't know they could do that without you being conscious. They were very helpful,” you smile down at the dark wisps stationed over his shoulders. He clearly didn't agree with you, a soft scoff escaping his lips, but you hope this is enough for them to know they can come to find you in this type of situation from now on. You don't want Azriel to suffer on his own when you're there for him.

“Thank you,” you look up at him in surprise, “You didn't have to come. It was only a nightmare.”

It's not as surprising that he doesn't want to tell you what the nightmare was about, or even change the subject. If he wants to pretend this never happened come morning, you're more than welcome to oblige, as long as he feels better and knows you're always ready to lend a helping hand.

“You can come to me for anything, Azriel,” your hand finds his once again, thumb caressing the scarred skin on the back of his hand. “I'll always be here for you.”

He holds your gaze in an intense stare, the swirl of emotions written in his eyes becoming almost too much to bear, and still you're unable to break away from the all-consuming hazel. It seems like the world stops around you for a moment, and there's only you and him.

As your surroundings return slowly, you suddenly become too aware of the position you're in, of what it would look like if someone walked in. They would find you sitting on his bed, right next to him, lost in his eyes, hands clasped together between you, disheveled hair and half lidded eyes. The lack of clothing only added to the sight, you had never been so conscious of how short and thin the nightgown you wore to sleep was. You can only be grateful that Azriel doesn't sleep completely naked, though his underwear barely leaves anything to the imagination, and your imagination is desperate to run wild.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the thought settles in your mind, clearing your throat softly to try and break yourself out of those thoughts. Looking up at the suddenly captivating pattern painted on his dark navy walls when his gaze becomes too much. You could swear you saw the corner of his lip rise as he likely noticed the effect he had on you. This was a good thing, it was like the Azriel you're used to, but you needed to get back on track.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” You try to untangle your fingers from his but he holds onto your hand, unwilling to let go of you just yet. “I can get you some tea to help you relax if you can't, or maybe we could go for a walk instead?”

Tiring him out could be a good idea, although his body is probably beyond exhausted from the long hours he's been putting himself through. Maybe tea was the best option.

“Can you stay with me?”

His words cut through your racing thoughts, your lips parting in surprise. You had half expected him to kick you out of his bedroom when he came to, inviting you into his bed was the last thing you would have seen coming.

“What?”

“I think I can sleep if you stay,” he whispers, “but if you don't feel comfortable-”

“I don't mind staying,” you rush to assure him with burning cheeks, thankfully matching his own, “You just caught me off guard that's all.”

Azriel offers you a tired smile and, with a wave of his hand, fixes the sheets, moving to the middle of the bed so you have enough room to settle next to him. Your movements are painfully awkward as you lay down next to him, all too aware of every inch of your body, heart beating out of your chest.

While you're in the middle of deciding how to safely position your hands, stiff body frozen in place, he takes matters into his own hands, an achingly fond smile playing at his lips, his hand falling to the small of your back and pulling you in closer to his body, his scent enveloping you.

Azriel closes his eyes, breathing out a soft, “relax.” Your hand finds his chest, body slowly but surely melting into him as you do as he says and will your mind to stop wandering. Letting the soft beats of his heart calm yours, you decide to listen to your body, and fall into him, arm wrapping around his waist as you inch even closer, your chest finding his, tangling your legs until you can't know where you end and he begins. His grip on you tightens as a satisfied sigh escapes him, one heavy wing falling over your body, until you're impossibly close.

Your face now only a breath away from his, your nose bumping into his chin as he drops a soft kiss to your forehead and nuzzles into you, breathing you in. You almost catch yourself purring as you lay in his arms, completely surrounded by Azriel.

Tangled up in each other's warmths, sleep found you both easily, finally allowing you a few peaceful hours of sleep after the grueling weeks you've endured.

[fairuzfan]

I've recently gone to Amman, Jordan to visit family this summer and the heat over there is absolutely unbearable. I've been across Jordan for multiple years of my life, and the heat this year is nothing like I've experienced. Even residents who live there all the time remark about the unusual heat and can't make plans during the day. They have to wait til the evening to go out for any chores or activities they need to do.

And this is in Amman, which is a city built on mountains. In the desert, which I've also been to recently, you HAVE to stay inside because the sun is just so powerful.

The only thing I could think of while in this heat, was that those in Gaza must be suffering so so much. At least in Amman, there are houses and some air condition... in Gaza, there's almost nothing to protect them from the angry sun except for makeshift tents. And even then, the tent does not have air condition so a lot of the time is stuffy and overheated in the tent itself! Not to mention the lack of water to hydrate with!

I really want to emphasize that even just existing in a tent is a life or death scenario for Gazans who barely have any water and no air conditioning at all. It's difficult to exaggerate just how extreme this heat is and for people who have had everything taken away from them, this is yet another burden they have to deal with while being abandoned by the entire world.

[theshift]

The Lawyer

Jordan exhaled as he packed the last of his belongings into the thin cardboard box that had been sitting on the floor of his cubicle all summer. Internships were supposed to be stepping stones toward the future, glimpses of the career you were about to embrace, but this one had turned into something far less promising. Not because the work was bad. The tasks themselves were what he expected—briefs, filings, the occasional research rabbit hole. No, it wasn’t the work.

It was Angelo.

Jordan glanced toward the office down the hall, the one with the door half-open. Inside, Angelo’s portrait hung on the wall, larger than life, showcasing the full extent of his obnoxiousness. The picture was a glossy, oversized headshot of Angelo in a suit. Eyes narrowed in a “I know better than you” expression—it was hard to imagine anyone liking the guy. But they didn’t have to imagine. They all knew.

Jordan knew it the moment he arrived at the firm for the internship. Angelo was the first to “welcome” him in his own special way.

“Coffee’s on the second floor. Better get used to making a lot of trips down there if you plan on staying,” Angelo had said without even looking up from his desk, flicking his fingers toward the door like Jordan wasn’t even there. After that, it had been a never-ending stream of condescending remarks, impossible-to-please assignments, and public humiliation. Once, during a meeting, Jordan had dared to offer a suggestion about how to streamline a client’s case documentation. Angelo had cut him off mid-sentence with a sharp laugh.

“Leave the legal advice to those of us who actually passed the bar, kid,” he’d sneered.

The rest of the room had laughed along awkwardly, but Jordan felt every word sting.

Now the summer was over, and he could almost taste the freedom of law school ahead. Almost. First, there was the matter of the conference.

Jordan’s last official task as an intern was to attend the firm’s annual legal conference with none other than Angelo himself. Three days in a plush hotel, surrounded by some of the biggest legal minds in the state, and Angelo was going to make sure it was unbearable. But this time, Jordan had a plan.

--

The conference hotel was grand, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the luxury and forget about everything else—at least, if you weren’t sharing the experience with Angelo.

From the moment they arrived, Angelo took center stage. He boasted about his cases at the networking events, hogged the attention at panels, and made crude jokes to anyone who got close enough to hear them. By the time the second day rolled around, Jordan was already at his limit. He had a single goal in mind for the evening: put his powers to use.

That night, they were at the hotel bar, Angelo already half a bottle of whiskey in, his voice booming as he told some exaggerated story about how he had “single-handedly” saved a client from bankruptcy. Jordan smiled thinly from the stool beside him, sipping his beer, eyes flicking toward Angelo’s glass as the liquid swirled inside.

Jordan had a secret, something Angelo had no clue about. He had powers, powers he hadn’t revealed to anyone at the firm. With just a little focus, he could turn people into skin suits—empty shells of their former selves, which he could wear and control like a costume. Jordan rarely used this ability, but for Angelo, he was willing to make an exception.

Angelo drained his glass and slammed it on the bar, his face flushed with booze. “Alright, time for another round! You ready, kid?”

Jordan glanced at him. “I think you’ve had enough, Angelo. You don’t look so good.”

“Pssh. You’re just jealous I can hold my liquor. Gotta be a real man to do that.” Angelo stood, swaying slightly, but immediately waved off any offer of help.

“You sure about that?” Jordan said, getting to his feet. He placed a hand on Angelo’s shoulder, just enough to steady him and activate his power. Angelo wouldn’t notice the change yet, not until it was too late.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Angelo muttered, but there was a slight wobble in his voice. “Let’s get back to the room. I need to lay down for a minute.”

Jordan suppressed a grin. “Sure. Let’s get you back.”

--

Once inside the hotel room, Angelo collapsed onto the bed, groaning. “Must’ve been something I ate,” he mumbled, his face pale, eyes shut tight.

Jordan calmly shut the door, locking it behind him. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you out.”

Angelo tried to sit up, but something was happening. He couldn’t quite place it, a deep discomfort spreading through his skin. “What the hell…?”

His voice faltered as his limbs began to weaken, skin becoming loose and rubbery. Panic flickered in his eyes as he looked down at his arms. They were shrinking, collapsing inward like deflated balloons. “Jordan… what the… what’s happening to me?”

“You’ll be fine,” Jordan said, walking toward him. “Just relax. You’ve had a long summer.”

Angelo's protests turned into garbled noises as his body gave way, softening completely. Within moments, he was nothing more than an empty skin, a suit lying crumpled on the bed, a blank, lifeless replica of himself.

Jordan stood over the hollow Angelo and smiled. He picked up the suit, feeling the weightless form in his hands. The arrogance, the cruelty, all of it was gone. Now, Angelo was nothing but a tool. A new skin for Jordan to wear.

He slipped into the suit effortlessly, feeling the rush of taking on Angelo’s form. His body molded into the lawyer’s, the familiar muscles and sharp jawline of Angelo’s face now his own. He walked to the mirror, admiring Angelo’s physique, enjoying the reflection.

“This summer’s gonna be fun.”

Jordan sat on the bed, pulling out his phone and opening the dating app he hadn’t touched since the start of the summer. It was something Angelo would use, wasn’t it? A guy like him had no shortage of charm or people interested in the well-polished lawyer with a lifestyle to match. Jordan’s thumb hovered over the screen, the pictures and profiles passing by quickly until one caught his eye.

Max. Fit, stylish, and close by. The bio was simple: “Looking for a good time. Let’s make it memorable.” Jordan, still in Angelo’s skin, smirked. Perfect.

He swiped right, and almost immediately, there was a match.

Within minutes, Max had messaged him: “What are you up to tonight?”

Jordan typed back quickly, leaning into the persona of Angelo as much as possible: “Staying at the Marriott downtown. You should come over. I’ll get us some drinks.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t long before the reply came: “Sounds like a plan. Be there in 30.”

Jordan grinned, the rush of anticipation making his heart race. He walked over to the hotel minibar, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and pouring two glasses. As he stood there, looking around the room, it struck him how surreal this all was—inviting a stranger over while pretending to be someone else entirely. But he couldn’t deny the thrill of it. This was a side of Angelo he’d never seen but could easily imagine—flings, no strings attached, and the confidence to pull it all off effortlessly.

--

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Jordan took a breath, steadying himself, then opened the door.

Max stood there, just as sharp and attractive as his profile suggested. He smiled, his eyes scanning Jordan—or rather, Angelo—with interest. “You must be Angelo.”

Jordan nodded, stepping aside to let Max in. “That’s me. Glad you could make it.”

Max walked in, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on the drinks. “Nice setup. Fancy.”

Jordan handed him a glass. “Only the best.”

They clinked glasses, and as Max took a sip, Jordan couldn’t help but observe the whole situation. He’d never been this bold before, never felt this in control. Maybe it was Angelo’s skin giving him that extra edge, or maybe it was the freedom of pretending to be someone who didn’t have to care about the consequences.

The conversation flowed easily, Max leaning against the hotel couch as they talked about the city, work, and the places they’d traveled. Jordan kept up the act, channeling everything he knew about Angelo into his responses. Max seemed impressed, clearly taken by the confident, smooth version of Angelo Jordan had crafted.

But as the night went on, Jordan found himself relaxing more. It wasn’t just about pretending to be Angelo anymore. There was something liberating about being someone else, someone who wasn’t afraid to take risks.

As the evening wound down, Max glanced at his watch, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Well, this was fun. But I’ve got an early morning.”

Jordan nodded, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Yeah, it was. Thanks for coming by.”

Max gave him a knowing look, then made his way to the door, pausing for a moment before turning back. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

Jordan smiled. “Maybe.”

As the door closed behind Max, Jordan let out a long breath. He collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, still wrapped in Angelo’s skin. The whole encounter had gone perfectly—smooth, seamless, just like Angelo would have handled it.

--

Jordan spent the first few days in Angelo’s skin navigating the law firm as if nothing had changed. Nobody batted an eye, not the coworkers who usually fawned over Angelo nor the interns he ignored. Being Angelo wasn’t hard—he had practiced Angelo’s condescending swagger for weeks before he put the plan into motion.

At the firm, it was business as usual. Angelo had a high-profile case that Jordan now had full control over, and thanks to his experience as an intern, Jordan knew how to keep up appearances. The only difference? Jordan was a better Angelo than Angelo had ever been. He wasn’t cruel or dismissive. Instead, he was sharp, methodical, and, surprisingly, more likable.

While everyone marveled at Angelo’s sudden shift in attitude, Jordan took full advantage of his new-found power. He enjoyed the attention, the lavish dinners, and the status that Angelo’s reputation granted him.

But when he wasn’t at work, Jordan was spending time with Anthony.

They had met at a café the first week Jordan took on Angelo’s life. Anthony was charismatic, laid-back, and totally different from the people at the firm. The attraction between them was instant, but the real surprise for Jordan was how much he enjoyed their time together. Being with Anthony was easy—Anthony found “Angelo’s” sudden kindness refreshing and had no idea that the man sitting across from him was really Jordan in disguise.

The summer drifted by faster than Jordan anticipated. Angelo’s life had become his own, and he’d mastered the art of faking it. But as August rolled around and law school approached, Jordan knew his time in Angelo’s skin was coming to an end. He couldn’t keep living this double life forever.

On the final day of summer, Jordan stood in front of the mirror one last time, looking at Angelo’s face. The real Angelo would never know what had happened, but he would feel the consequences for months, maybe even years. Jordan pulled at the collar of Angelo’s suit, his heart racing slightly.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at Angelo’s reflection—strong jawline, neatly groomed beard, sharp eyes filled with an arrogance Jordan had learned to mimic all too well. But the time had come to shed the skin he’d worn for the summer, to let go of Angelo’s life and return to his own.

Jordan took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the smooth, taut skin of Angelo’s chest. He could feel the edges of the suit, where the fabric of another man’s existence began to peel away from his own. Slowly, carefully, he tugged at the seam beneath Angelo’s ear, the skin stretching and giving way like a second layer, still warm and lifelike.

The sensation was strange—like peeling off a tight wetsuit, but more intimate, more visceral. As he pulled the suit down over his shoulders, the air of the room hit his bare skin, cool and refreshing against the sweat that had gathered underneath. Angelo’s form, muscular and defined, slowly gave way to Jordan’s slimmer, more familiar build. The difference in weight, the change in posture—it was like shedding a burden he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

The suit continued to loosen and slide off in a fluid motion, inch by inch, as Jordan tugged it down past his chest and over his hips. The arms came free, then the legs, until Angelo’s skin finally slipped away entirely, pooling at his feet like a discarded costume. Jordan stood there, breathing heavily, his own body now exposed. Angelo’s empty skin lay crumpled on the bed, lifeless and hollow, nothing more than a shell of the man who had once worn it with pride.

For a moment, Jordan stared down at the deflated suit. It looked almost pitiful now, a far cry from the powerful figure Angelo had once been. He felt a twinge of satisfaction—he had lived in Angelo’s shoes, tasted his life, and now, he was leaving him humiliated in more ways than one.

Jordan turned back to the mirror, and for the first time in weeks, his own face stared back at him—sharp cheekbones, a mess of brown hair, and wide eyes that held a mix of relief and something else. Something conflicted.

He moved to the bed, grabbing the clothes he had worn when he first arrived at the hotel. The familiar texture of his jeans and t-shirt grounded him as he slipped into them, the fabric a little too loose compared to Angelo’s tailored suit. He buttoned his jeans, tugging his shirt into place, and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of emotions settle in his chest.

Once dressed, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and opened the camera. He stood in front of the mirror, tilting his head slightly and snapping a selfie. His own eyes stared back at him, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was completely happy to see himself again.

Angelo would wake up in a few minutes, confused, with no memory of the last few months.

But Jordan would remember. And for him, that was enough.

As he packed his things and prepared to leave Angelo's home for the last time, Angelo's phone buzzed. A message from Anthony, asking when they’d meet up again.

Jordan smiled to himself. Maybe his summer wasn’t over just yet.

[jungle-angel]

The Full Moon (Admiral!Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob comes home one night from an event but the sight of something in front of you makes you a little hornier than usual

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN!!! Breeding kink, so much other shit I can't even list out here, you guys know the drill (lol).

Tagging: @bradleybeachbabe @sebsxphia @rhettabbotts

Events, events, events, one after the other with no real end in sight. Bob was sick and damn tired of it, one Navy ball or fundraiser after another and hardly any time to spend with you or the babies at home, something he really needed now that winter had hit and another holiday would be around the corner.

His head, his shoulders and whole body were so tired it was a miracle he could get through the front door of that big Victorian house he shared with you and the kids, let alone march up the stairs to the sanctuary of your shared bedroom. Thank God Rooster and his wife had offered to take the kids and let them have a sleepover with Nicky and Pete. He couldn't have imagined having to keep Auggie and Patrick from running wild before bed.

Up to the room he went and into the bathroom, stripping off his dress blacks and hanging everything up on the door-hook. Bob sank right into the hot bath, letting out a long breath that he had forgot he had been holding in. He scrubbed every part of him down with the Irish Spring body wash and even let it foam in the hot water to help him relax.

When he had enough, Bob stepped out into the bedroom, letting the water out of the bath and throwing the towel into the laundry basket on the other side of the room. Bob's skin pricked with goosebumps as the cooler air in the bedroom surrounded him, more so now that he was completely naked.

He hadn't even seen you standing in the doorway either.

He hadn't heard your feet padding on the floor nor did he sense you sneaking up behind him until he felt it, a sound, hard smack on his left ass-cheek which had been exposed for your eyes to see.

"Well ahoy there Admiral!" you exclaimed, delivering the hard smack to his ass.

Bob yelped, turning around suddenly, cupping his junk in his hand and an over-exaggerated scowl on his face. There you were, (Y/n) Floyd, his lovely, sweet little wifey looking all innocent in your low cut, lacy white nightgown and a laughing smile on your face.

"Stop grabbing my ass," Bob said rather flatly, the expression still on his face.

"But the full moon was out and little wolfy couldn't help but howl," you said teasingly.

"Yeah well, little wolfy did more than howl," Bob pointed out.

You giggled a little, still blushing at your husband's naked form standing in front of you.

Yet the expression on Bob's face seemed to soften as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, catching you completely off guard and drawing a small moan out of you.

"Shhh, not another word," Bob told you gently.

You moaned again, the tingling between your legs becoming almost unbearable as his fingers parted the front of your nightgown, never once breaking the kiss that kept you both together. You arched your partially exposed breasts against his gentle fingertips, moaning when they brushed against your nipples.

Bob drew you in close, your leg flung across his hip as he buried his face in your neck and rutted against you. His groans, though quiet, were still obscene, more so when his hand pushed up the filmy skirts of your nightgown to caress your bare ass.

"You've been hiding this pretty little ass from me, haven't you Mrs. Floyd?" he groaned.

"Oh Bob.....please!"

Bob trailed all the sloppy, open mouthed kisses he possibly could between your cleavage, wanting to draw it out as slowly as possible. He very carefully laid you down on the bed, slipping his already hardened cock between your legs and moaning at the wetness that had already gathered.

"So wet for me, aren't you sweetheart?" he mumbled against your skin.

You could hardly get the words out, wanting him to push his cock further in. You reached in between the both of you, your hand a little cold despite your body feeling like it was on fire.

"Ah-ah!" Bob chided gently, moving your hand aside. "No more grabbing, Mrs. Floyd."

You feigned a pouty look before he smiled and kissed you again, the softness of his lips just enough to make some of your slickness gush onto his cock.

Bob's hips began rubbing against yours, slowly at first but as you both began to reach your high, his thrusting grew more rigorous as obscene thoughts began to fall off his tongue and out of his mouth.

"Wanna give you another baby Mrs. Floyd," Bob mumbled, his hips rubbing against yours. "Can't tell you how pretty you looked with Deidre.......all round and full with her resting in your tummy. Wanna get you full again."

You hissed and swore under your breath as he whispered all that dirty talk into your ear. You felt the wetness between your legs getting worse as his lips nipped at your ear and down your cheeks again. You both let out something akin to a moan and a whimper as Bob's hips stuttered against your own, your lips grazing against each other's as your rapid breathing began to even out.

You felt Bob's lips curling into a smile against your cheek before he kissed you and his heart beating fast in his chest as he lay on top of you. "Gimme a minute and I'll clean us both up," Bob groaned.

You kissed the crown of his head, your fingers running through his curling dark blonde hair that was still wet from the bath. "No need to hurry Bob," you assured him. "We've got all weekend."

You both helped clean each other up as best you could but soon, the sleepiness had gotten to you both. You and Bob both lay against each other in bed, himself still naked as you rested your head on his bare chest, listening to the sweet sound of his heart beating in your ear. Your gentle kissing and caressing was putting you both to sleep, totally relaxed and at ease with each other.

"Did you mean what you said Bob?" you asked.

"About what?"

"About......wanting another one?"

Bob smiled sleepily. "Sweetheart," he said sweetly. "There's always room for one more in the family and so much love to go around."

You smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips as you fell asleep in each other's arms, yet the smiles on yours and Bob's faces had said it all, those same smiles you wore on the nights that Auggie, Patrick and Deidre had been concieved and the same stirring you felt in your belly when it had took.

[ghoulsbounty]

needd lee russell being edged, whimpering and begging all that good stuff !! i love your writing sm, you do all the walton boys so much justice 😭💕

The Edge

Lee Russell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), office sex, oral (f receiving), pussy job, thigh riding, sub/dom dynamic, soft!dom reader, power dynamics/power play, brat taming (kinda), all porn little plot, nipple play, bratty lee, multiple orgasms, cum eating, manipulation, begging, fluff.

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: Anon! Lee Russell whining and begging to cum is seared into my brain forever now. Thank you sm for your lovely words about my writing of the Goggins gang🥲 I hope you enjoy! I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Lee rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against his office chair as you continued to grind down onto his muscular thigh. His expression was almost bored, feigning indifference to your ministrations. However, you occasionally felt him shift under you, seeking friction for his painfully hard cock that you had left unfairly untouched inside his slacks.

Your movements were deliberate and slow, savouring the way his thigh flexed beneath you. The heat between your legs intensified with every grind, the rough texture of his pants adding to the sensation that made your breath hitch. Despite his bored appearance, his hands gripped the armrests tightly, knuckles white from the effort of staying still.

You could see the conflict in his eyes, a dark storm of lust and frustration. He fought to maintain his composure, and it thrilled you to know just how close he was to breaking. Every muscle in his body was taut with tension, his veins bulging and the strain evident. The room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the quiet creak of the chair, the air thick with unspoken need.

“You think you can just tease me like this?” he muttered, his annoyance clear in the tightness of his voice. Even though you were tired, the intensity in your gaze challenged him to meet you on your terms. With feigned reluctance, he gripped your hips and guided your movements, each one growing more urgent as you rode him.

His lips pursed in dissatisfaction, teeth gritted as you trembled around him. His gaze, dark with lust, followed your every movement, drinking in the sight of you. Each drag of your heat across his thigh brought a fresh wave of pleasure, mingling with the remnants of your previous climax.

Goosebumps prickled your naked flesh as you rode him with abandon, undeterred by the prospect of a colleague walking in on you so late past the last bell. Ever since your class had ended, you had been pleasuring yourself on his thigh, anger from an earlier spat still simmering within you as you sulked into his office. The lingering resentment fuelled your movements, the depth of your need overshadowing any thoughts of forgiveness.

But resentment didn’t mean you weren’t ready to take what you needed. The heat between you was almost unbearable, the tension from your unresolved conflict only adding to the vigor of your movements.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied coyly, feeling his muscles tighten and retract beneath your touch. A smile spread across your face as his fingers tapped impatiently at your hip.

Despite his apparent nonchalance, you could feel the evidence of his arousal, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, desperate for attention. Every shift of his hips, every slight adjustment, betrayed his need. His eyes, though half-closed and rolling in exaggerated boredom, couldn’t hide the smouldering desire within them. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, but the thrill of it was intoxicating.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot near his ear as you murmured, “Are you sure you’re not enjoying this?”

His eyes bore into yours, impatient and intense, as he dug his nails into your hips, the pain intertwining with pleasure. You smiled, running your hands over his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt contrasting with the hard, sinewy muscle beneath. His impatience only fuelled your hunger, the mix of sensations heightening your awareness of every touch.

“You like this, don’t you?” you teased, your voice a low whisper, your lips grazing his ear. His breath hitching in response was all the confirmation you needed. You leaned back slightly, savouring the friction, the way his cock strained against your leg, craving release.

Despite him concealing it effectively for the longest time, you discovered Lee’s enjoyment of being taunted and denied after an office romp was interrupted. The memory of that moment still sent shivers down your spine. Later, he sought you out, his eyes dark with unfulfilled desire, moaning about how difficult it had been not to touch himself before getting his hands on you. The timbre of his voice was thick with longing, every word a testament to his struggle. A barely audible plea slipped from his lips, begging to feel you.

He had never sounded so desperate before, and it drove you wild. Something primal ignited within you from the raw need in his voice and the way his body trembled with restraint. It was exhilarating, the power you had over him, the ability to reduce him to a state of pleading desperation like he did with you. It was a revelation, a crack in his façade that you eagerly explored, knowing that beneath his rough exterior lay a vulnerability that only you could coax to the surface.

“I apologised, didn’t I? You always blow tiny, insignificant things out of proportion,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

“Hardly,” you countered, your lingering anger fuelled by his blasé attitude. “And for the record, I haven’t forgiven you yet,” you added firmly.

“Then why are you riding my thigh like a bitch in heat?” he laughed cruelly, watching you maintain your unfaltering rhythm against him. His eyes gleamed with amusement, his mocking tone only spurring you on.

“For my enjoyment,” you shot back, breathless but defiant. “Plus, I think you like it when I use you.”

The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, daring him to deny the pleasure coursing through him as you came on his thigh again and again. Each movement, each grind against him, furthered the power struggle between you and the stimulating connection you both craved.

You trailed your fingers down his torso until they reached the bulge pressing hard against your leg. Teasingly, you hovered your hand over his arousal, revelling in the sharp intake of breath he made, before finally resting it on his knee behind you. Using it for leverage, you fucked yourself against him harder, bringing yourself close to the edge again.

“What do you want, Lee?” You asked, amusement lacing your inflection at the flicker of disappointment that crossed his face.

“You know what I want,” he growled, his voice low and filled with despair as his eyes dropped to the apex of your thighs.

“Let me hear you say it,” you said, squeezing his knee. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

His jaw clenched as he drank in the sight of your pussy gliding over him. The fabric of his pants was dark with your juices, the skin beneath damp and warm. “I want to feel you,” he finally admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Wanna fuck you until you can’t take anymore.”

“If you ask nicely,” you purred, your hand tracing back to the bulge in his pants, teasing him with a tantalizing amount of pressure that caused him to groan.

“Just let me fuck you, and let’s go home,” he demanded, rough but desperate.

You could see the raw need etched across his face, his control hanging by a thread. Seeing him so close to breaking only solidified your resolve to get what you wanted.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” you tutted softly as you continued to grind against him, savouring the friction. A breathy whimper escaped his lips when you dropped your hand from his straining erection. His fingers left your hip to wrap around your wrist as he glared up at you.

His grip was firm, his irritation clear in the way it tightened around you. “You’re torturing me,” he growled, eyes blazing with a blend of fury and hunger.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “don’t you think you deserve it?” Your hips continued to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the pressure building with each tantalizing grind.

His hand on your hip slipped around your back and pressed you tightly to his chest. Your breasts were firm against him, nipples hard against the cotton of his shirt. He looked up at you through long lashes, his hardened stare softening as he placed a tentative kiss on your chin. “Didn’t mean to upset you,” he mumbled, his voice low and sincere.

You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and slightly ragged. The vulnerability in his eyes tugged at something deep inside you, momentarily easing the tension. His hand on your wrist relaxed, sliding up to gently cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that he rarely showed.

“I’m not upset,” you said, your jaw set and brows furrowed. “I’m angry,” you clarified, the ferocity in your voice matching the hard lines of your expression as you mentally fought against his change in demeanour.

He peppered light kisses from your chin to your lips, his touch gentle yet insistent. “Didn’t mean to make you mad, either,” he murmured softly against your skin. His tongue traced your bottom lip with intentional slowness, a subtle plea for forgiveness as he patiently waited for you to grant him entrance.

With a sigh, you parted your lips to allow him access. His muscle slipped inside, exploring with a slow, deliberate warmth that made your heart race. You could feel the sincerity in his actions, the way his lips moved tenderly against yours, each kiss an unspoken apology. He released your wrist, his hands roaming your body with a newfound reverence, his gentle persistence wearing down the edges of your anger.

Your fingertips intertwined at the back of his neck, drawing him nearer as you briefly surrendered to the moment. His touch was everywhere, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves, each caress a promise of his intent to make things right. His kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, as he sensed your resolve weakening.

You broke the kiss before  you gave in any further. “Show me how sorry you are,” you commanded, your voice a low whisper. The undeniable authority in your tone was clear, and you saw the flicker of devotion and submission in his eyes. You had him right where you wanted.

His gaze never wavered, a mix of determination and need burning in his expression. He nodded, his focus entirely on you. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice a hushed promise as he fumbled with the zip of his pants. To his chagrin, you quickly swatted it away.

“Not like that,” you ordered, eyeing him sternly as your fingers entwined around his tie. You gave it a gentle tug, delighting in the flicker of alarm on his face as it tightened slightly against his throat.

The authority in your gaze held him captive, and you could see his appetite intensify as he complied with your unspoken command. His hand reluctantly found your hip again, the grip firm but reverent as he waited for your next move.

“Show me how sorry you are,” you repeated.

“Well? What do you want me to do?” he huffed, impatience and resentment evident in his tone as he dropped his head back against the headrest again.

You maintained your hold on his tie, leaning in closer until your lips were just inches from his ear. “I want you to beg,” you said, your voice low and commanding. “Take what I give you, no more, no less.” You planted a soft kiss on his earlobe, feeling him shiver beneath you. “I want you to be grateful.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze flicking to your grip on his tie as he swallowed hard against the restriction. He responded with a dark chuckle, but his eyes showed his insatiable appetite at the prospect of you taking charge. “You want to play? Fine. But don’t forget who’s really in control,” he growled, the underlying challenge clear in his voice.

A sly smile played on your lips as you tightened your grip slightly, feeling the tension between you heighten. “We’ll see about that,” you replied, authoritative and mocking.

With a swift, practiced motion, you unzipped his fly and released him from the confines of his slacks. His hard cock sprang free, curving against his abdomen, the red, shiny tip glistening with pre-cum. Lee’s eyes darkened with anticipation, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he watched your every move.

You savoured the moment, letting the power you held over him wash over you. His breath hitched as you wrapped your hand around his shaft, the heat and firmness of him palpable against your palm. The lingering defiance in his expression only spurred you on.

His eyes never left yours, following every movement with rapt attention. Your thumb swirled over his tip, spreading the pre-cum over his length as you pumped him. You could feel his body tense beneath your touch, each stroke drawing a low groan from his lips.

Lee hissed through his teeth, hypersensitive to your caress after being denied for so long and forced to watch you cum repeatedly on his leg with no release for himself. You revelled in the sight of his face contorting in pleasure, his mouth falling open as he panted. The raw magnitude of his need made each of your touches electric, heightening your own arousal as you watched him teeter on the edge. The power you wielded over him, the ability to elicit such a reaction, was intoxicating, and you savoured every second of his torment and longing.

Slowly, you leaned in. “You like that?” you asked, your voice dripping with seduction. He answered with a barely audible moan, his hips bucking in response to your touch.

You manoeuvred yourself on his lap, straddling his waist as you settled your ass against his thighs. His length nestled snugly between your wet folds and his abdomen, the material of his shirt already damp from the slick of your arousal and his pre-cum. His eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of you, a deep groan escaping his lips.

With your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought to contain the moans that were on the verge of escaping. You didn’t want him to know how amazing it felt as your swollen clit grazed against the thick veins of his shaft. Your nails bit into his shoulders for leverage as you languidly stroked him back and forth with your pussy.

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he tentatively dragged you across him. You could see the desperate longing in his expression, the way he ached to bury himself fully inside you. Every time he moved you over him, the tip of his cock kissed your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. The intensity of it all hurtled you toward the edge, and you threw your head back, overwhelmed by the sensation.

As you bit your lip to muffle your cry, your orgasm crashed over you. Your muscles tightened as you bucked your hips, determined to extract every ounce of enjoyment from him. The waves of ecstasy rippled through your body, each movement drawing out the toe-curling ferocity as you rode the crest of your release.

Lee cursed at the feeling of you gushing over his cock, using your temporary mind shift to push at your entrance with his tip. The pressure brought you back to the moment, breath heavy as you shook your head, readjusted so that you were gliding over him again.

“Can’t even say my name when I make you cum?” he huffed, irritation mounting with each time you reached your peak in silence. It was the least he deserved, he reasoned, for letting you deny him in so many other ways.

“I made myself cum,” you said, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. He shot you a piercing look, jaw tight as his nostrils flared. “Calling my name would be a little odd,” you joked, breath heavy as you set a leisurely rhythm with your hips.

His eyes darkened, silently demanding the acknowledgement he craved as he watched you, every movement a deliberate tease. “Fuck you,” he muttered, though the flicker of admiration in his gaze was unmistakable.

You were growing tired, spent from riding him for so long previously, but you weren’t about to give in. Each grind was slower now, more teasing, as you savoured the sensation of his cock twitching beneath you. You were resolved to keep control, to extend every bit of the pleasure that he owed.

The sight of Lee looking so on edge, so dishevelled, his cheeks flushed a rosy red and sweat beading his forehead, had you grinning. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, briefly flicking them to yours. Then, with a defiant thrust of his hips, he timed it perfectly to catch himself against the ridge of your cunt, seeking the pressure he craved to reach his peak. Pissed off and well past the point of playing your game, his movements became more urgent, determined to find release despite your teasing.

His jaw clenched, each thrust becoming more forceful as he battled against the frustration bubbling inside him. The room was flooded with the sounds of your bodies moving together, a symphony of your multiple releases coating him, and the deep grunts of pleasure rising from his chest. You could see the determination in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed with every push, his distress to reach his climax clear in the urgency of his movements.

“Just... let me cum,” he gasped, his voice a mix of anger and pleading. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding you over him with a renewed vigour. The friction, the heat, the sheer need in his movements sent tingles of ecstasy through you.

You felt his muscles stiffen beneath you, heard his breath hitch, and knew he was close. Just seconds before his impending release, you lifted off him, your cunt suddenly cold against the air without him nestled inside. He whined in defeat, looking up at you in disbelief, his eyes wide with surprise. The sudden loss of contact left him trembling, his need for you palpable as he struggled to comprehend the abrupt interruption.

“Do you deserve it?” You asked, your voice exuding seductive authority, breath warm against his ear, enjoying the way his body shivered in response.

You could see the internal conflict in his eyes, dominance warring with submission, as he reluctantly replied, “No.” He leaned forward, hesitantly reaching for you, and a small smile flickered across his face when you didn’t move away. You allowed him to pull you back, guiding you to straddle him once more.

He sighed at the warmth as you settled against his cock, the tension in his body easing slightly. His arms snaked around your waist, holding you close as he awaited your next move. The intimacy of the moment, the blend of power and vulnerability, sent a shiver through you.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, the rapid thud mirroring your own excitement. “You know what I want,” you whispered, your voice firm yet tender, brushing your lips against his.

He groaned in reluctance, then dipped his head to catch a hardened nipple with his teeth. His wet tongue circled the bud before sucking, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your body involuntarily arched into him, seeking more.

His hands roamed your back, holding you securely as he continued his ministrations. Each flick of his tongue and soft bite of his teeth drove you wild, the sensations building an irresistible pressure inside you. The soft moans escaping your lips only spurred him on, his own desire clear in the way his cock throbbed against your wet heat.

You grabbed the back of his head, pressing him closer to your breast, craving more of his touch. “Lee,” you breathed, your voice a husky whisper of need. “Say it.”

He responded with a low growl; the vibration adding another layer of pleasure. His other hand moved to your neglected breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple, perfectly complementing the sensations from his mouth.

A moment later, he left you, trailing wet kisses up your chest and throat until he reached your lips. He captured them in a fierce kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming you with a passion that left you breathless.

“Just give it to me, baby,” he breathed against your mouth. Your fingers found their grip in his hair again as you tugged him back to look at you, the tension in the air crackling between you.

The pet name was a deliberate choice, one he used sparingly, either in rare moments of genuine praise or as a sure-fire way to get what he wanted. The combination of his tone and the intimate nickname pulled at your resolve, the manipulation in his voice blending seamlessly with his anguish.

“Is that how you ask nicely?” You said with a mocking pout on your lips.

“That’s how I’m fuckin’ askin’,” he replied, hissing through his teeth when your fingers tightened in frosted tips. His mouth gleamed with spit and his eyes blazed with defiance. You were determined to quench that fire, deliberately sliding your cunt over his pulsating shaft.

“You sure there’s nothing else you wanted to say, Lee?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful menace. He shook his head, muscles tensing and breath caught as you moved in agonizing slowness. He was so close to giving in, his defiance betrayed by the pleading flicker in his eyes.

“That’s a shame,” you sighed, releasing your fingers from his hair as you shifted to lift yourself again, leaving him aching and regretful. His expression shifted to one of despair as the reality of your actions sank in, the loss of your warmth making him shudder. You hovered just above him, the heat of your cunt a tantalizing tease, waiting for him to break.

But losing contact was too much for him, and a deep growl gave way to a pathetic whimper as he scrambled to stop you. “Stop,” he pleaded, his arms tightening around you, holding you close. His chin rested on the swell of your breast as he looked up, his gaze filled with desperate longing.

You eyed him expectantly, waiting for more.

When he realized you would not give in to his manipulations, he sighed deeply before sucking his teeth. “Please,” he mumbled, barely audible, impatience and insincerity dripping from his tone. His eyes flickered with frustration, but beneath it, you could see the genuine desperation breaking through, the raw need he could no longer mask.

The power shifted subtly back to you, your control over the moment reaffirmed. You watched as his defiance wavered, the façade of power slipping away to reveal the true depth of his craving. He was at your mercy, and the realization brought a thrill of satisfaction.

“I didn’t hear you,” you lied, cold and teasing.

“Fuck, please! Let me fuck you, baby,” he whined, the petulance clear in his tone. “Just need to be inside you, please.” His voice was frantic, the raw need in his plea evident as he clung to you, every inch of his body straining towards yours as he licked and sucked at your clavicle.

His words were like music to your ears, a sweet tune that you’d composed from his defiant lips. “Maybe,” you smiled, cupping his cheek as you grazed a thumb over the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “If you beg a little more.”

“Please,” he grunted, hand slipping between your bodies to run a finger through the expanse of your slit, gathering the sopping wetness before circling your swollen clit. You moaned softly, guiding his mouth to yours for a kiss. “You know I’m sorry,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm as you nibbled his bottom lip.

You felt tempted to deny him further, to see how long he could go without release while you continued to use his body for your own satisfaction. But your thighs burned, your pelvis ached from the ministrations, and his fingers dancing over you had you craving more of him.

“Making me feel so good. You’re being a good boy, Lee,” you praised, amusement lacing your voice. His eyes gleamed with longing, the praise only intensifying his need. He sighed against your skin as he rested into the curve of your neck, vibrating through you as his fingers continued their gentle, teasing circles around your clit.

You could feel him trembling with restraint, every fibre of his being focused on your approval. Sliding your own hand between you both, you grasped his thick cock, hard and wet from your juices, pulsing against your palm as you stroked it firmly. He let out a pitiful cry as you worked him.

“I’m not gonna last,” he whined, teeth grazing your skin as his fingers on you faltered with the overwhelming pleasure engulfing him. “Let me fuck you, please,” he drew back, looking at you with pleading eyes, face warm.

Wordlessly, you shifted your hips, aligning yourself perfectly over his throbbing shaft as you held him at your entrance. His eyes widened with a mix of relief and renewed yearning. He took your nipple into his mouth again, a delicious whine escaping his lips as you slowly pushed the engorged tip of his cock inside.

With your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to you, you exhaled slowly before lowering yourself onto him. You felt every inch stretch and fill you as you buried him to the hilt, the sensation exquisite—a perfect blend of fullness and resistance that made your breath catch. The heat of your bodies melded together, each movement drawing pathetic whimpers from him. The intense pressure and friction caused tingles down your spine, nerve endings alive with pleasure.

Your movements became more urgent as his nimble fingers found your sensitive clit again, each grind pushing you further to the edge. The friction of his cock against your inner walls, combined with his hips bucking to meet your every move, was rousing. 

His hands skilfully manipulated your clit while his tongue flicked over the hardened bud of your nipple, driving you wild with pleasure. Your fingers gripped and pulled at his hair, delivering the small tinges of pain you knew he craved. The synergy of sensations was overwhelming, each touch, each thrust, each drag of him sending you spiralling closer to release.

Moans, gasps, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin filled the room, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. He released your bud with a pop of his lips. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of adoration and raw, unfiltered need. You rode him with everything you had.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he sighed, his voice a desperate whisper as he clung to you. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, the connection between you deepening with every thrust, every shared breath.

“Are you gonna cum, Lee?” You asked, fingers releasing from his hair to cradle his face.

“Yes,” he panted, and you smiled against his skin, placing a gentle kiss above his brow. His body shook, nearing release again, and you stilled your hips, forcing yourself upwards until he slipped out of you.

“Fuck!” he shouted, eyes wide and pleading as his chest heaved. He’d been so close, and as you looked down, you saw his angry, red cock throbbing beneath you.

“No more, please,” he whined, fingers of one hand still working your clit and the other digging into the flesh of your hips, willing you to sit. He looked up at you, eyes glistening with discomfort. “Please, I need to cum,” he begged, voice thick with need. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please.”

The sight of him, so vulnerable and pleading, sent a thrill through you. The raw emotion in his voice, the genuine apology and longing, tugged at your resolve. “Alright,” you murmured softly as you brushed a thumb over his lightly stubbled jaw. 

You guided him back to your entrance, the heat and slickness enveloping him once more. He gripped you, leaving pleading kisses against your throat, his groans vibrating through you as he bottomed out. You moved together, the rhythm quickly becoming frantic as both of you chased the edge of release.

“Come on, Lee,” you whispered, your voice a breathy encouragement. “Give it to me. I want it.”

His response was immediate, hips snapping up to meet yours with renewed vigour as desperate pleas fell from his lips. “Fuck, I’m cumming, I’m... oh, fuck,” he whimpered, the tension that had been building between you finally breaking. You felt him pulse inside you, and then, with a strangled cry, he came in hot spurts of milky white, filling you to the brim. His body trembled beneath you, every shudder and gasp evidence of the intensity of his release.

The sensation of his warmth spreading within you, combined with the pitiful sounds of his sobs as you clenched around him, sent you hurtling towards the edge. Your climax washed over you with a force that left your legs shaking, nerve endings alight with pleasure.

“T-thank you,” he mumbled, lips crashing onto yours in a sloppy, appreciative kiss as he continued to rut into you, getting every bit of satisfaction from you he could. You moaned into his mouth, your mind reeling from his gratitude for finally giving him release.

Lee’s hands continued to roam your body, gentle and grateful, as you both rode out the aftershocks together. With a ragged breath, you fell against him, tired and aching as you found comfort in his embrace. His head fell back against the chair, gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought for his breath to slow.

“Have you forgiven me now?” He whispered, smiling devilishly against your hair, tracing patterns over the expanse of your back.

“Almost,” you replied, lifting yourself from him slowly with a shared groan, your cunt contracting as you stood and braced yourself against the desk. You placed your feet on the arms of his chair, spreading your legs wide.

Lee eyed your swollen pussy, wet and messy from your many orgasms, his load dripping down your ass and pooling on the desk below you. He licked his lips, eyes glazed over as the fucked-out state of you spread before him held him captive.

“Clean me up, Lee,” you instructed, and he didn’t hesitate. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the desk as he dove into your sopping heat. Your nails dug into the skin of his arms as you grasped at him, his tongue lapping over you with fervent passion. A lewd slurping sound filled the air as he devoured every drop of your mixed releases, his mouth working tirelessly to give you what you desired.

You leaned back against the desk, enjoying the sensation of him between your legs and the satisfaction of having him under your control, even if only briefly. He would soon return to his familiar brash self, but the anticipation of his hidden submissive side excited you for the next opportunity to bring it out. Until then, you would savour the ecstasy found in his usual rough handling and sharp words of degradation that consistently left you spellbound.

Eyes fluttering shut, you surrendered to the pleasure of his tongue. With fervent devotion, he moved, drawing you into bliss with each lick and suck. The room filled with the sounds of your cries as you finally called his name, his grateful murmurs of thanks against your skin following soon after.

Lee taglist: @its-in-the-woods @lolaalee @megangovier @coolranchdavidian @justme12200

@ivyinthesun @ladygreylavender11 @crowley--aziraphale @its-a-show-stoppin-number

@muschimuschi @serrantsaloto @catclaw1 @staarboyyy @shinydixon

@spookysquids @inthemercifuldark @itsyellow @caspersshadow @honey-tree-evil-eye

[princessoflalaland]

Passenger Bitchᝰ.ᐟ

synopsis: jin was kind enough to "help" you out yet again, so you reward him with more than just a free ride home.

.ᐟcontent: nerd jin itadori x bully fem reader, oral (m receiving), cum swapping, ball fondling, slit tormenting, reader has a tongue piercing, degradation, slight humiliation

.ᐟword count: 1.2k

.ᐟa/n: is it obvious im slowly becoming obsessed with a character that I haven't even met yet?

he sits in the passenger seat of your car, his face impossibly feverish. jin is having a rough go at breathing with your lips wrapped around his cock. he’s grateful to you as this being your new form of payment for getting you an A on your physics thesis, but he’s not sure how much he can take, especially when your low growls and moans travel right through his immense length and down his spine.

he peeks down at you, his glasses almost sliding down his nose, watching you swallow his length like a popsicle on sweltering summer day. his tip prods at your uvula before passing right past it with ease. he hiccups a moan as his head snaps back against the head rest, you throat constricting with small gags feels intoxicating. “Oh God, y/n…y-you’re getting so deep…”

a raspy chuckle vibrates from your throat onto him, making his sensitive dick jump. you release him from your skilled jaws with a pop and a (not so) exaggerated gasp, stroking him harshly and spreading your slimy spit around his length. your serpentine gaze lands on him and sends a chill down his spine.

that pathetic look on his face makes butterflies dance in your stomach, dampens your panties even more.

“feelin good, four eyes?” you sneer. he opens his mouth to respond, but your hand sliding down and squeezing his balls like a stress ball chokes him up.

you pout like his silence actually hurt your feelings. you jut out your bottom lip and furrow your perfect eyebrows.

“y’gotta learn to answer people when they talk to you. it's bad manners if you don't.” your voice is so saccharine with its faux concern. he whimpers from the arousal stemming from the embarrassment. he really can’t understand why he lets you treat him this way, humiliate him.

and he can’t understand why it makes him so horny. you don’t give his brain enough time to actually function long enough to ponder this when your pierced tongue begins teasing his slit.

“fuck!” jin rarely swears, wanting to uphold his reputation of a respectable student. you groan at his vulgar language, suckling harder on his embarrassed, red tip.

jin has messed with his slit before in those quiet, dark moments when his house is asleep. his thumb would tentatively prod at it, triggering a chain reaction of muffled whimpers and arching his back perfectly off the bed like a whore. he avoids doing it too often because he cums almost instantly every time, painting his body and bed in his milky seed.

but of course you, being the mastermind of his torment, manage to make this even more unbearable for him; fondling his balls and using that pink stud in your tongue assaults all of his nerve endings, has his mind melting in his skull, his eyes rolling back as if to witness that happening. his toes curl in his black loafers, his heart doing its damnedest to try and beat out of his burning body.

jin’s large hand, instead of residing on the head rest like you instructed, plops down carelessly onto your head as his shaky pleas tumble out of him haphazardly.

“p-please don’t do that, i-i’ll cum if you do—”

“you cum in my fuckin mouth I’m gonna spit it back in yours, ya hear?”

his jaw drops, but he can’t tell if it’s from your threat or the pleasure that builds in his abdomen the longer you suck him. he’s never tasted himself before, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t even a little bit curious…

you hover your lips over his cock head, trickling the silky liquid of your spit onto it salaciously. the way you look at him as you do it is lecherous, hypnotic. he can’t look away, even if he wanted to (he doesn’t want to). you look ready to devour him whole, the same look you get when you tease him in the halls or in gym.

it’s a look he’s grown to adore, even in the face of your treatment of him. something in him tells him there’s more to you than the power-hungry, sadistic bitch he’s had to deal with since his first year of high school. and with this new..relationship you guys have, maybe he can finally peel back those layers and find the real you.

jin holds your stare longer than you anticipated, and it disarms you for a moment. why isn’t he averting those pretty caramel eyes?

you huff some air out of your nose and resume your previous ministrations. your pink stud prods mercilessly at his slit and he bucks his hips with a bitchy whine.

“y/n, please! d-don’t, i’m g’nna fuckin cum!” he now grips a fistful of your hair, eliciting a sharp hiss from you.

jin can’t hold it anymore, he just can’t. your warning rings like a tornado siren in his skull before his brain fills with white noise as the pressure in his core reaches a tipping point. with one last harsh drag of your wet muscle across his poor urethra, jin arches his back clear off the seat and sprays his cum into your awaiting oral cavity.

"fuck, y/n- fuuuckk!" he cries, the sound dissolving into a sweet symphony of whimpers and incoherent babbling. his cum is sweeter than you expected, and you let every last drop sit on your tongue, you have a promise to fulfill after all.

after sucking him dry and leaving him a shaking, blushing mess, you right yourself. your predatory gaze finds him once again, and he feels himself getting aroused all over again. oh, the power you have over him...

"open." is your only command.

he remembers your words from earlier the second he blindly obeys and you deposit a mix of his seed and your saliva onto his tongue. you then grab his throat and force your wet muscle into his mouth. "mmph- mm, hmm..." he hums as his eyes become heavy-lidded.

he can't believe how...good he tastes. maybe its because he's on your tongue that he tastes irresistible. anything would taste good coming from you. the hand that had vacated your hair when you sat up finds your nape, his thumb caressing the smooth skin.

a filmy saliva trail forms between your mouths when you two part. you're both breathing hard, the receding ecstasy allowing your facial muscles to finally relax. in the midst of your collective cooldown, jin notices how your face soften. your eyes, for a short-lived moment, aren't hard and hungry for his pain. he sees a different side of you, a vulnerable, almost innocent side; it's something in that brief second you're unarmed that he desperately wants to explore.

it's in that same second you regain that abrasive demeanor of your. "get out of my car, four eyes." you spit with a simper.

and as he is collecting himself, you cup his chin and yank his face toward you. before you even say anything, he can sense what you're about to demand of him by that signature smile on that damned gorgeous face.

"i didnt say to zip it up, did i? walk into your place, just like that."

[planete777]

꒰ RED LINES .:. LN4 ꒱

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n finds her fate hidden within two red lines, and fears the demise of her and lando's relationship. [based on this ask]

pt. 2 .:. 'red hearts'!

WARNINGS. pregnant!reader, both her and lando aren't ready so there are discussions about potential abortions, mental break downs (i.e panic attacks, crying, you know the drill), angst, mentions of throwing up (no one does it i promise), attachment issues (like me fr), a little bit of fluff (because im not that evil >:])

NOTE. first non-high!lando fic!! i've never written a pregnancy fic, so like, forgive me if it's bad haha 🥲 i put so much effort into my banner, like i'm so proud of it lmao. anyways, enjoy reading luvs 💗

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any high!lando thoughts, scenarios and requests, or any other trope too 🤍

edited to add tag in banner

y/n is almost blinded by it.

two bold, red lines.

she finds it completely comical how she didn't know it sooner, for the ink that runs down the result window is so palpable, it might as well have been written with a permanent marker.

the test taunts and mocks her as she stares at it in complete despair and confusion as she so sure that they had been careful. but now, she lets herself cry over spilt milk because having a baby, on top of mountainous piles of stress that came hand-in-hand with uni, was not a checkbox she would've liked to tick off amidst her status quo.

the bathroom pounds with an deafeningly eerie silence, as she stares, and stares, then blinks as tears flow, then stares again. her ears are swallowed by loud static and her vision fuzzes around the edges, making the test in her hand seem further away than it actually is, and she allows herself to completely fade out.

she feel utterly sick. like she wants to throw up, but the upcoming bile, instead, remains dislodged in her throat and presses immense weight into her chest. it shortens her breaths, she's hyperventilating as if she's been strangled, then panic completely overwhelms her. everything before her zooms in and out like a malfunctioning camera and the pregnancy test clatters to the ground as she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

she doesn't remember the last time she had a panic attack this severe, and neither does she know if she'll get over it solus. yearn for a presence beside her devours her brain and she wishes that lando–

lando.

the way her heart seems to squeeze in her chest is almost too animalistic to be normal, and it arrives at the thought of him being unacceptable of the baby. he's barely situated in one place, fuck, he basically travels for a living, and all her mind conjures is how he won't be there when she needs him most. she tries to wish it away, because just thinking about her makes her spiral even more and she knows she cannot survive with a child whose father decides to be absent.

codependency isn't great, that she's thoroughly aware of, but lando's presence brings a wave of comfort braided in the brightness of his smiles and the warmth of his embrace, and it has become her whole lifeline.

yet, the bathroom she's in feels too small and too cold to be anything other than unbearable, and her body feels to weak to remain upright, sliding down to the tiled floor. she sobbing and spluttering so much that lando can hear it from two rooms down, and he rushes into the en suite without a thought in mind.

he crouches down in front of her, hands flush against the skin of her cheeks. he's shaking, fucking terrified out of his wits, and his words are enunciated with a tremble.

"hey, hey, y/n breathe with me," he desperately takes her hands into his, and places it on his own chest, making exaggerated breaths as y/n's start to simmer. it feel like hours stretch by, the air surrounding feels tense with fear and devastation, and by the time she settles, y/n senses nothing but exhaustion.

"what's wrong, love? you're scaring me," lando gently asks, and she struggles to respond, mouth rid of any moisture as if it had been scraped dry. lando takes the initiative to look around in hopes that anything would give him a clue to his girlfriend's break down.

then he freezes.

the white stick lays there, gleaming and glowing like it's fucking sent from heaven, and he feels his heart plummet into the depths of his guts. he knows he can deny it all he wants, but it's undeniable, what he's seeing, yet prays like a grieving mother that what he thinks is not true as his quivering hands reaches for it.

two bold, red lines.

"oh fuck," it punches out of him, every inch of energy disperses like fleeing birds, "you're pregnant?"

it's so small, so timid that he almost doesn't see it, but she nods, and his arms fall like he's been shot and the test leaves his fingers. he swears he's drenched in ice cold water and he remains silent, bound by stunned numbness. his lack of response spurs y/n again, and she begins sobbing, pressing her face into her arms and wiping it furiously. all she thinks is that he doesn't want it, and out of sheer terror, she starts rambling utter shit.

"i can get rid of it, if you want, lando, just please i'm begging you, don't leave me."

he's crying himself now, doesn't know what to feel at the suggestion, but it makes him gag.

"get rid of it if i want to? fucking hell y/n, i'm not a prick like that," he fumbles out, words wet and hardly cohesive, "as long as you want to keep it, i want the baby too."

she looks up at him, eyes so full of hope that he immediately takes her into his arms.

"you sure, lando?" she's still hesitant, burying her head into his chest, and as further reassurance, he kisses her forehead, "as sure as i'll ever be."

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 2

Part 2:

Tashi Duncan was a force. Everyone knew it. Everywhere Tashi went, a crowd of people gathered, seeking some form of contact with her. A brief conversation about her day, their day, the fucking weather. Just so they could say they talked to the Tashi Duncan. Liana hated her. She didn't hate her personally; she hated the fact that even at Stanford, everything revolved around tennis, and accordingly, everything revolved around Art Donaldson and his blonde curls. Art, who showed up at her dorm at unreasonable hours with a box of fries he didn't even eat but knew she liked, Art, who was at every party she attended, Art, who wouldn't stop babbling about Tashi Duncan. "Look, I just think she's not the right girl for him..." Right now, Art was lying on her bed, bouncing a ball while she was trying to finish a paper for her Intro to Economics class. "I don't understand why you're here..." she mumbled in response. Somewhere in the second week at Stanford, she had stopped fighting his presence. He refused to let go. Every scowl she sent his way only encouraged him to do stupid things like waiting for her after class to walk her to the cafeteria or calling her mom and casually asking if she knew why Liana stopped coming to his open practices (she never attended his practices anyway, the little shit was an unbearable liar who made her mom talk for half an hour about how you can't neglect friendships like the imaginary one between her and Art). "Because you didn't come to practice today. Again." He looked at her. "Are you back with James?" he asked casually. "You know his name is Jake," she rolled her eyes, realizing she'd been reading the same line for fifteen minutes and deciding to close her laptop. "Are you sure?" he asked with a half-smile, pleased that for the first time that evening, he had her attention. "Why do you care that Patrick and Tashi are together?" she asked. "I don't care. I just know Patrick, and you know Patrick-" "Do I?" she cut him off, causing him to squint for a second. "You know Patrick well enough to know how he treats girls. He doesn't take them seriously, and now he's with Tashi. He's going to mess her up and ruin her season." He shrugged, as if it was the most logical thing anyone had ever thought about his best friend. "Aren't you supposed to worry about Patrick's season, Art? Like the good friend you are?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Everything felt too charged with tension she couldn't figure out. "You didn't answer me about James. Are you back with him? He's kind of a loser," he changed the subject, not taking his eyes off her. "You're kind of a loser. Sitting in my room and whining about your best friend dating the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Get over your crush and move on. Use your blonde hair to find a hookup instead of bothering me while I'm studying." She turned her back to him and opened her laptop again. "And no, I'm not back with Jake," she concluded the topic, not wanting to reopen the wound of that relationship. Certainly not with Art Donaldson, who had started moving towards the door, finally getting the hint.

Liana put Patrick on speaker while she searched for her earrings. She had promised Daria (the only friend she had managed to find so far) that she would go out with her to the bar across from the university, and they would try out their fake IDs. Liana was sure no one would believe she was 21, no matter how revealing the dress Daria forced her to wear, how much makeup she put on, or how high the heels she wore were. No one with eyes would believe she was old enough to buy alcohol. "The referee kept making mistakes. I think Marcus paid him off. His dad probably promised the guy a new Aston Martin if I lost." Patrick, who had been complaining for the last ten minutes about the terrible game he had today, continued talking while she tried to apply lipstick as straight as possible. "I don't know much about tennis, but that sounds exaggerated, Pat." Liana didn't know what to say to cheer him up. The truth was that since the season started and Patrick decided he was pursuing professional tennis, Liana didn't know how to support him. "I'm telling you, something was off there." He spoke, maybe to her, maybe trying to convince himself. "I think you should call Tashi or Art. they would understand better than me what went wrong..." she said, wiping off the lipstick, the bright color felt too much. Like she was trying too hard to draw attention to herself to show everyone she was pretending to be an adult. "Oh, if you think Tashi hasn't already called me and told me everything I did wrong in that game while reminding me of all the mistakes from the previous game, you're wrong." He answered. She recognized the bitterness in his voice. "That sounds like a healthy relationship. you should write a book." She tried to lighten the mood, again not knowing how to help him. She didn't know Tashi, only heard stories about her, and currently, they weren't great. "Art will just keep saying I should have taken the Stanford scholarship like him and be with you guys in the beautiful college bubble, drinking beer from a keg." He continued, ignoring the jab about his relationship. "Imagine how much fun you could have had with me at Stanford, Pat. I'm on my way to use my fake ID at a bar. In heels and everything." Liana tried to do everything she could to steer the conversation away from tennis. "Whoa, Liana Levi, breaking the law. Who would have believed we'd reach this moment? What's your fake name?" he laughed, which made Liana smile. Something about hearing Patrick so broken felt wrong to her. It didn't fit the curly-haired boy who always tried to make her laugh and include her in everything he did when she was around. "Amanda Jacobs," she replied. Silence fell on the line. "Amanda Jacobs like Amanda James who went to boarding school with me and Art?" Patrick asked, and she could hear the octaves in his voice change. She already knew he wouldn't let this go. "I had to come up with something on the spot. I panicked," she defended herself as his laughter slowly became the only thing she could hear. He couldn't see her right now, but it made her smile even more, even though it was at her expense. "Alright, Amanda, don't drink and drive. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He said after he calmed down. "Okay, Dad." She rolled her eyes. "You know I love it when you call me-" he couldn't finish the sentence because she hung up.

Art was sitting on her bed when she came back from the bar. Not only had her fake ID worked, but the bartender had also been hitting on Daria all night, so he kept pouring them free shots. It was safe to say Liana had never drunk that much alcohol in her life. "Am I imagining you?" she asked with utter seriousness. "What? No. I was waiting for you." He looked confused. "Are you drunk?" he asked the obvious while Liana tried to take off one of her heels and almost fell, causing Art to quickly get up and stand next to her so she could lean on him. "How did you get in here, Arthur?" she put her hands on her hips, causing him to look at her and flash his most charming smile. The kind that made all the girls melt. "Your dad gave me a key for emergencies," he said, without taking his eyes off her as he sat back on the bed and she approached him with clumsy steps, a little disappointed that taking off the heels didn't help her stability much. "Do you want to sit?" his tone was amused. He had never seen Liana so drunk. Almost every summer, they managed to sneak a few beers when Patrick came to visit. But it was never serious. "My dad gave you a key? You realize that's not normal, right? We need to talk about boundaries, Donaldson," she turned her head to him while he was already looking at her, just inches separating them as they sat next to each other on the bed. "Patrick told me you were going to a bar, something about a fake ID? wanted to see if you're ok" he said, not moving. A little afraid she'll be the one who suddenly moves away. He couldn't remember the last time Liana was this close to him. He didn't think she would ever get this close to him again. "Patrick is a snitch, and I'm not telling him anything anymore," she sighed and threw herself on the bed dramatically, spreading her arms, causing Art to do the same and land on her arm, closer than she would tolerate any other day. "I can't believe you didn't invite me. I'm disappointed," he tried to sound amused, but he was genuinely disappointed. By this point, he was sure she understood they were friends, that they were connected by such a strong bond that he sometimes doubted if he could ever unravel it. If he even wanted to unravel it. He just didn't understand how, while he saw her so clearly, she didn't see him at all. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew his name. Then he would see her in the crowd at one of his games, and the world calmed down; he always won when she was there. "You don't drink anyway," she noted quietly. The fatigue started to overcome her, and Liana's eyes closed on their own. "Hey, I do drink," he defended himself, even though they both knew he was lying. He tried to maintain his diet as correctly as possible, as fitting as possible for his athletic lifestyle. "I think Patrick is sad," she suddenly said, and Art felt his heart beating quickly. "How do you know?" he asked in a quiet, almost defeated voice. "Because when I talk to him, I'm sad too."

sooo, here's the second part. I think we're getting somewhere, but it's going to be a slow burn, so stick with me, I guess. I'm kinda clueless as to if you like it or not, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking ❤️

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 47

part 1 | part 46 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking; fatal levels of fluffy idiocy

They make their way over to the kitchen, where Eddie snags them two cans of beer off the counter — warm, but unopened, which is really as much as you can hope for at a house party by this time of night.

Steve doesn't mind, anyway. Doesn't want Eddie's hands to be cold.

"You think you're good to step outside for a few minutes?" he asks, tugging at the hem of Eddie's leather jacket. The black hoodie he has layered underneath. They're not nearly thick enough for an extended stroll through the two-inch blanket of snow outside, but he's hoping it'll do for just a few minutes.

Eddie cracks his beer with a grin. "Why? You wanna have a snowball fight?"

"Something like that."

Eddie follows him out back, down the slope of the lawn toward the property's edge. Away from the rest of the party until theirs are the only footprints in the powdery sheet of fresh snow.

It's bright out tonight. Moonlight bounces so fully off the white canvas that Steve doesn't even need to use a flashlight, and Eddie's pale skin shines; dazzles in the moonglow, all shimmer and sparkle and so utterly alive, his limbs in constant motion to keep the cold out of his bones. He's taking these big exaggerated hop-steps, shaking the snow from his shoes with each lift, compressing the fluff beneath his feet with each heavy stomp down so it doesn't creep into the eyelets of his boots and wet his socks.

Steve's gonna thrift him a new jacket. A big, puffy one, he decides. New boots, too, next chance he gets; gonna wrap him up in a big knitted scarf and crocheted mittens and a hat with a silly little pompom on top. He'd look cute like that, all bundled up. Warm and safe.

"What are you smiling so big for?"

"No reason," Steve smiles wider with a shrug. He doesn't bother trying to explain himself, 'cause he never sounds half as eloquent out loud as he thinks he does in his head; shit gets all jumbled up on the way out of his mouth, but he just thinks, "You look cute."

Eddie stops short. "Excuse you!" he squawks, one foot still hovering in the air. Arms out wide to keep his balance on one leg. "I am not cute."

"Uh huh," Steve licks his lip. Your eyes are bigger than the moon and your cheeks get all pink when you're offended, but sure. You're not cute. "Whatever you say."

"That's right," Eddie insists. He sticks his nose up in the air with a little hmph! noise. "I'm mean and big and scary, and you like doing what I say."

"Also true," Steve agrees.

Eddie's face comes back down, expression softening into something sickeningly sweet; desperately so, almost unbearable to look at.

Steve's heart squeezes hard enough in his chest to bruise his lungs.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?"

"Not much further," Steve says. The party’s on a cul-de-sac that backs up to Maple, to Tommy’s old street — weird, considering how much newer and nicer this neighborhood is compared to Tommy's, but that's how all of Hawkins is. The zones stacked on top of each other, new money swooping in and taking over them like kudzu.

In between the neighborhoods there’s a stretch of untouched woods: old trees and tall grass, brambles and dark mulch and the remains of reedy stalks, and through the center of it all runs a massive, winding storm drain. Like the bones of a concrete snake, blanketed by moss and leaves and snow.

Steve and Tommy used to play here. Used to perch where the drain pipe let out to a shallow open groove; dangle their legs over the edge and pretend they were sitting on a lake dock instead of sweating their asses off in the woods beyond Tommy’s yard.

“This one year,” Steve says as he leads Eddie toward the spot, pausing to hold a branch back so it doesn't pop them in the face. “There was this, like- this crazy flood, and the water got so high that we could almost splash our feet in it from the top of the pipe.”

He points out the drain in question. It’s smaller than he remembers; comes up to maybe shoulder height, but it used to be huge. Used to be that he could stand up in the opening and spread his arms out wide and only just scrape the tips of his fingers against the gritty walls.

Now it looks like he’d tweak his back trying to hunch over to crawl in. Guess he was a lot smaller than he remembers then, too.

"Okay..." Eddie says as he takes wide steps toward it, eyeing the curve of snowy concrete. "I can't tell if this is secluded in a romantic way, or if this is just some creepy Stephen King shit."

Before Steve can so much as roll his eyes, Eddie gasps and spins on his heel; snow spraying under his feet, eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, my fucking god," he breathes.

It puts Steve on high alert. "What is it?" he asks as he steps in close; gets Eddie by the elbows, backs him up against the side of the pipe and uses himself as a shield so he can look over his shoulder and scan the undergrowth. Is there an animal out here? Something worse? Did Eddie see something? "What-?"

When he turns back around, Eddie's clamping his lips shut so tight it looks like it hurts. "I just realized..."

His nostrils flare as a snort escapes him.

Oh, goddammit. Steve thought it was something serious! He slouches in relief, letting his hands slip around Eddie's waist; underneath his jacket, to the dip at the small of his back. "Yes?" he sighs, prompting Eddie to spill whatever's got him trying so hard not to laugh.

"Your- your name is Stephen."

Uh. "Yeah?" What the hell...? "I mean, it's Steven with a V, but- yeah?"

Another giggle breaks free. "And- and you're The King."

"...Oh, my god."

He's so stupid. He is so fucking stupid. Eddie's snickering so hard it's making his nose wrinkle up, his whole face flushed a brilliant pink, and there are fireworks going off in the neighborhoods all around them; Steve can hear the countdowns starting, the muted chorus over the hills, people shouting 'ten! nine! eight!' and Eddie's so fucking tickled he can barely get his words out.

"Baby," he gasps as the crowds chant four! and three! "You're Stephen King."

Two!

Steve has to kiss him.

One!

Has to kiss him and never stop.

"You're an idiot, Eddie Munson," he smiles against laughing lips, and their tongues meet in the middle as they ring the new year in.

—

part 48

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)