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delusional-day-dreamer · 3 months

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U My Everything - p.b

‣ paige x grumpy reader: part two here!

‣ wc: 3178

‣‣ synopsis: paige's harmless joke is taken a little too personally by her sensitive and grumpy girlfriend; slight angst? but very fluffy by the end! (the song is most relevant for the end part of the fic as it's inspired by KK's 05/31/24 live, can u tell I live for uconn lives?)

‣‣‣ a/n: I'M SORRY, i know y'all chose emily in the poll but I alr finished this one and I've promised myself I would try to release at least one fic a day; emily's will be out very very soon, writing smut for the first time is just very nerve wracking lmao. this is lightly based off the, good morning gorgeous, tiktok trend going around rn; Also, I'm so sorry for the amount of times I use y'all, like, literally, and really because I try to make my dialogue and what not as realistic as possible, but as a Southern Californian they're literally engraved into my vocabulary 😭😭.

Rolling over in bed half-conscious, your arms reach out, patting around the bed in an attempt to locate your girlfriend's warmth without having to open your eyes. However, to your sheer disappointment, your fingers are met with cold, rumpled sheets on Paige's side of the bed.

Now fully conscious with confusion as to how your girlfriend managed to slip from bed without you realizing, the pounding in your head became all the more severe as you sat up in bed, frustrated that the one person who could comfort you simply with their presence was nowhere to be found.

With your right hand massaging the temple, attempting to soothe the deep ache that had settled into the front portion of your head, your left hand blindly felt around your nightstand for your phone, knowing Paige wouldn't have left you alone in bed without so much as a simple text message. But to your surprise, her name was absent from your list of notifications.

Even more annoyed than before, you forced yourself out of her bed, stumbling your way to her adjacent bathroom, wincing at the sudden intrusion that was fluorescent lighting. By the time you began brushing your teeth, you heard the front door open, hearing Paige call your name as she entered the dorm.

"Bathroom," you yelled out to her, despite your head screaming at you to shut up and crawl back under the safety of Paige's comforter.

"Hey baby," Paige greeted as she entered the bathroom while you spit toothpaste into the sink, coming up behind you to hug your waist, resting her head on your shoulder. As you stood back up to meet her gaze in the mirror's reflection, you saw her tuck her bottom lip into her mouth, clearly trying to hide her shit-eating grin.

"Well don't you look... interesting this morning," she teased, the sarcasm apparent in her low voice. You knew her mocking was all in good fun, the two of you often poking fun at each other for little things. But perhaps it was the headache still waging war in your skull, or the final three midterms you had to take later today, or your remanent annoyance at having to wake up alone, despite her knowing your favorite part of the day was waking up, warm and all loved up in her arms, or perhaps it was the fact that looking in the mirror, you genuinely looked wrecked this morning.

Your curly hair was reduced to nothing but a puff of frizz overnight, sticking out in all directions, your eyebags particularly prominent this morning, combined with the pesky anxiety breakout that had settled into your forehead a few days prior, you just couldn't handle her jokes today.

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out Paige," you shot back, setting your toothbrush back in its cup holder, exiting her hold to wipe your hands on the small towel before pushing past her to get dressed in her room.

Paige followed close behind you, curious as to why you were giving her so much attitude so early in the day, especially over such a harmless statement.

"What's up with you, this is the first time I've even seen you this morning," She questioned from her seat on the unmade bed as you began changing your clothes with your back facing her, which was another thing that struck out to her as odd. After dating for over a year now, the two of you were incredibly comfortable with each other, and it was rare for you to completely turn your back on her, even when changing.

"Nothing, I'm just not in the mood today," you grumbled, tugging your, her, sweatshirt over your head. Heading over to her floor length mirror with your makeup bag and necessary hair products in hand, you settle down on the floor in front of it, convinced to improve your appearance a bit before you head off to your exams today. Still ignoring Paige's presence in the room, you began getting ready.

Hearing her scoff as you started applying your makeup, she got up and began making the bed, intent on ignoring your bratty mood until you fixed it. You knew you were being petty and acting bitchy to your girlfriend, who had technically done nothing wrong, you just couldn't force yourself to drop the attitude. By the time you finished your makeup and smoothed out your slickback, you managed to go the entire twenty minutes without so much as looking at your girlfriend through the mirror, who had now perched herself on her side of the bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone.

Your headache hadn't subsided yet, but now that you were more awake, you had gotten used to the throbbing sensation. Making your way over to your side of her bed, you collected your phone, headphones, watch, school bag, and other items from your nightstand and around the area to get ready to leave.

"Your heading out already? You still have over an hour before your first class," Paige finally addressed you, putting her phone in her lap to look at you as you packed your things.

"Yeah I'm gonna head to the library early so I can review before my first midterm," You answered, speaking to her normally for the first time in the last hour she had returned.

"But what about breakfast, you're not gonna be able to concentrate and stuff when you're all hangry," she said, only slightly teasing you with her statement.

"I'll just grab something to eat from the coffee shop next to the library, I was gonna stop by and get matcha from there anyways," you responded, a small part inside of you glad that despite your attitude, Paige made sure that you were well taken care of.

"Dude I still don't understand how you drink that stuff, tastes like straight grass," she had dropped her concern and switched back to joking, her automatic setting. "But I guess it's fitting," she continued, "cause yk, cows just love their grass," she sighed, holding back her laughter at what she thought was a brilliant joke.

In her defense, if it was any other morning, you would've joined in on her teasing, either mooing at her in response or poking fun at her in return.

But today, it just ticked you off even further. I mean, you were clearly already in a bad mood, stressed the fuck out, hangry (but Paige didn't need to know she was right), and the sharp pressure in your head was only getting worse. Plus, Paige had already easily finished off her midterm exams two days prior, which meant she didn't truly understand why you were so worked up over your exams. And the worst part, your bloating and exhaustion really did make you feel a little bit like a cow.

“P I'm just not in the mood to deal with you right now," you sighed, exasperation laced in your tone. "I already feel bad enough this morning, I can't handle you piling more onto my plate, I'll see you later," you barely even said goodbye to her properly as you gathered your stuff, put on your shoes, and left her dorm.

The second you closed her door behind you, you could feel the pit forming in your stomach, full of regret and shame. You knew it was unfair to be so rude to Paige when she was just trying to lighten your mood, but your anxiety always caused you to last out at anyone who tried to help you. You made a mental note while walking to your favorite coffee shop to apologize and make it up to her when you saw her in the evening, after the stress from midterm week had diffused and your raging headache calmed down.

***SMALL TIME SKIP***

You were flipping through your study notes and flashcards while listening to one of Paige's playlist on the lowest volume possible when you saw your phone screen light up from next to you. Deciding it would be good to take a quick thirty second break, you reach for your phone and matcha latte at the same time, clicking on the text message you received from Paige.

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From P 💜:

I'm so sorry for making fun of you this morning baby, I know you're stressed about your tests today and I had no intentions of making you feel worse with my jokes, I just wanted to cheer you up a bit because I know how bad your anxiety can get. Good luck on your test today killer, i love you 🤍.

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Shit, now you really felt bad for snapping at her earlier today. All remnants of your misplaced anger had long since disappeared, now replaced with embarrassment. She was right, your anxiety was hitting you hard today, but that was no excuse for bitching out your girlfriend just for trying to improve your mood. You quickly hearted her message and began typing out a short response, as you knew you needed to apologize in-person for your behaviour.

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To P 💜:

Thank you so much P, I'll see you later tonight baby. I love you too 🤍

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

***SMALL TIME SKIP***

You breathed a sigh of relief as you finally reached the floor of Paige's dorm room, exhausted from your long and mentally tiring day of midterms, but you were finally done, your headache was finally gone, and you now had the weekend to relax and spend time with your girlfriend.

As you reached for your keys in your pocket, you heard the loud commotion of voices that you recognized to be KK, Aubrey, Sarah, Allie, and Paige in the living room. It wasn't uncommon for the girls to be over, as the team always spent hung out together outside of practice, and since you started spending more time at Paige's dorm, you had quickly stocked her near bare kitchen full of snacks, baked goods, and home-cooked meals the girls loved to steal.

You entered the living room greeting everyone as you took off your shoes, making a beeline straight to where Paige was sitting on the couch. You stood in between the space of her legs, wrapping your free arm around her shoulders to lean down and plant a kiss on the top of her head.

"Hey P," you spoke softly, looking down at the small smile that had settled on her face.

"Hey yourself, how were you midterms? Today was your last day right?" She questioned as her fingertips began running up and down the back of your legging covered thigh.

"They were fine, I think I did good on majority of them. My math midterm was a little shaky, but not too bad yk?" You answered her quietly, afraid to pop the little bubble of peace you two had created around yourselves among the chaos of the living room's occupants.

"I," you began, as your hand had made its way to the front of her face as you pushed back a small piece of hair that had escaped out of her bun. "Will you come in the room with me real quick?" You asked her, practically whispering at this point.

"Yeah of course baby," she answered quickly, letting her hand travel up your body to rest at the small of your back as she stood up, leading you past everyone to her bedroom.

"We'll be right back," she announced to the group as the two of walked by. "Oooo, Paige is in trouble," KK sang out as the two of you reached her closed room door, Paige still standing behind you. She turned the knob quickly, gently pushing you into the room first as she turned around to stick her tongue out at KK before she closed the door.

By the time she turned around from the door to face you, she barely had a moment to adjust to your body barreling into her, as you had already dropped your bag off next to her desk. She quickly wrapped her arms around you, being able to sense that you just needed to be held for a minute before speaking.

She lightly rubbed your back and shoulders with her hands, knowing exactly what it was that immediately calmed you down. You stayed silent in her comforting embrace for a few more minutes, having craved her touch all day when you were around campus.

"I'm sorry," you finally spoke up, unburying your head from her chest to look her in the eyes. "I was really rude to you for no reason this morning. My headache when I woke up and all the stress I had was completely unrelated to you, but I still ended up taking it out on you," you sighed before continuing, "I really appreciate the fact that you were trying to cheer me up this morning, even though I was being a total bitch. And you are never a burden or someone who adds more onto my plate, I love you and I'm so sorry I said that to you, I would never want you to feel that way and-" as your eyes began to well up with tears, the last of your apology was cut off by Paige.

"Hey hey it's okay baby," she pulled you slightly away from her as the tears began flowing from your eyes. "I know you," she maintained eye contact as she reassured you, "And I know you would never act like that normally, you are not a bitch. You were just stressed out and not feeling well. I understand, and I promise I'm not mad at you at all," her right hand moved up from your back to your face, wiping the tears streaming down your face.

"Thank you P, I have no idea what I would do without you," you sniffled lightly, your hand coming up to wipe your face as well. "I love you so much, you have no idea," you professed.

"I love you too y/n/n," she whispered as her hands wrapping around your waist as she pulled you into her, leaning down slightly to kiss you. Your hands flew up the moment your lips connected, one cradling her jaw while the other rested on the base of her neck. The kiss was slow and languid, an apology met with forgiveness as your lips moved together.

The loud rumbling of your stomach, interrupted your sweet moment with Paige, forcing the two of you to separate as a giggle slipped out of her.

"Didn't realize a small kiss made you that hungry for me," she smiled, now at peace knowing that you were no longer upset. "Shut up," you smiled back, lightly hitting her chest as you broke away from her. "I am for real hungry though, but I need to shower first," you told her as you moved around the room, grabbing your towel and a fresh pair of pajamas to change into.

"I'm pretty sure Aubrey is ordering Domino's so I'll tell her to add in something for you, and it'll probably be here by the time you get out," she kissed your cheek as you went to exit the room, heading for a quick shower as she remained in her room.

***SMALL TIME SKIP***

As you entered the living room, curls freshly washed, a soft pair of Paige's sweatpants resting low on your hips, and a small off the shoulder sweatshirt over your sleep tank top, you witness KK showing her tik tok live her "hips dance", if it could even be referred to as that.

"Oh wow," Paige commented dryly at the sight while getting up from the couch so she could grab her laptop from the kitchen counter. You moved past her to Aubrey's desk, grabbing a piece of garlic knots from the Domino's box she left partially open (i don't think she actually bought any but I'm craving them so i added it in here). You rested your hip against the table, waving at the live while KK queued up Sexyy Red on her Siri.

Everyone knew you and Paige were a couple, when Paige accidentally hard-launched you by posting a cute couples pic on her main instagram story instead of her close friends. But since then, the two of you kept a private but not secret relationship, very occasionally posting together, but fans often saw candids of the two of you on dates or together in the team's lives or other events.

You licked the remaining cheese and butter off your fingers as you watched Paige, KK, and Aubrey dance in front of the camera to "U My Everything", smiling at their so-called dance moves, especially Paige's.

"Man we go together tell them hoes we go together," Paige sang, before doing her little "attitude now walk" move, making you double over with laughter at her with the other two girls.

You scratched the back of your neck as you continued to watch the girls mess around, too tired from your day to join them, but content just from watching them. As the second chorus approached, Paige walked up to your leaned figure on the desk, grabbing your bare waist and pulling you into her as she sang.

"Bae, I love you, you my everything, I'm your main bitch, fuck a wedding ring," you laughed at her awful singing, but you couldn't deny the blush that rose to your cheeks at the thought of her singing you the lyrics while very clearly in the live's frame. "We both in fast cars and we switchin' lanes, when I'm away from you, you always on my brain," she continued, adding in her sassy facial expressions with the corresponding lyrics.

You couldn't help but laugh at her actions, the pure giddiness coursing through your veins was a complete 180 from your mood this morning, and you couldn't help but think there was nowhere that would make you happier than in her arms.

Thank you for reading all the way through! The recent support has been crazy and I appreciate all of you! Should I make a part two to this with smut so r can properly apologize to p.... 😏😏😏

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macfrog · 9 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there's ever anything you feel i've missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 9.2k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

#*hits post*#*throws laptop from bridge*#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel miller #neighbor!joel #babydaddy!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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victoria-daydreams · 3 months

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The Winner Takes It All || Challengers

Part I: Sugar & Spice

AN: Oh my god, taking a 6 week summer course 0/10 don't recommend. Seriously, y'all I'm sorry this took so long, I've had assignments due every week and I still have 2 more weeks to go so it will be awhile before another update, but oh my gosh guys, thank you so goddamn much to everyone who liked, reblogged, and commented! This chapter is hella long so hopefully this will make up to you! I've never written a character that's messy nor have I written a toxic friendship so I'm praying that it's somewhat accurate.

Trigger warnings: It gets real hot and heavy by the end of the chapter so MDNI!

Word Count: 6.3k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kailkailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everdayimagineer @pnkstalli @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssoverover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don’t know if you’ll get the notification.

Part Two: Maneaters

THREE MONTHS EARLIER - MAY, 2006

For the past ten minutes, Gianna had done nothing but blankly stare up at the ceiling of her sun filled bedroom. Splayed out on the soft, gray carpet, she laid in the middle of the floor as "Girl" by Destiny's Child played quietly in the background. A slow release of air escaped her lips, a weak effort to calm her overwhelmed mind that was currently battling a maelstrom of emotions. Gianna lifted her head up from the carpet and looked to her right.

"Maybe I was too hasty with breaking up with Drew," she remarked, a note of doubt creeping into her voice and tainting her usual confidence.

A small, thoughtful frown creasing her features before letting her head drop back on the floor with a soft thud.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Gia?"

Gianna wasn’t alone in her bedroom. Glancing sideways, her gaze landed on waves of brunette hair, warm golden skin, and nude plump lips. Tashi’s and Gianna’s heads laid beside one another, their bodies sprawled in the opposite direction.

"He was not worthy of any of your attention," Tashi stated, a sneer curling her lips. "Drew failed to realize who was the prize in your relationship," she added

For Gianna and Tashi, this was not an uncommon occurrence, lying side-by-side on the floor of Gianna's bedroom discussing tennis or boys. But, it was this aspect of their friendship that raised more than a few people's eyebrows, including both of their parents. Tashi exerted an unhealthy amount of influence over Gianna's love life. Gianna could probably count on one hand the amount of boyfriends she dumped based solely on Tashi’s input. There was always some type of flaw, big or small, which Tashi would zero in on to determine whether or not if a boy was right for Gianna. And was that oh so terrible?

Tashi was only looking out for her friend, weeding out the bad apples until Gianna meets the perfect guy. However, deep down they both know there was never going to be a boy that would meet Tashi's ever changing standards. There was no point, not when Tashi Duncan was the standard by which all boys would be judged and there was no one comparable to her, she was the cream of the crop.

"Drew's a little forgetful, but there could be worst qualities in a boyfriend," Gianna said airily.

"He's a future CTE candidate, Gia," Tashi said flatly. "How many matches did Drew 'forget' to come to?"

"He has his own football games and practices he has to attend," Gianna excused.

Tashi scoffed, "Doing what, riding the bench?" she retorted. "You need a boy who’s utterly devoted to you, worships the ground you step on," Tashi reasoned.

Gianna let out a dry, breathy laugh which sounded more like an exhale of air. Turning her head, she looked back up at the ceiling with her hands resting on her stomach.

"That's the difference between you me and Tash," Gianna began, looking back over to her. "I don’t want to be deified by a boy," she revealed, shaking her head.

"Why? Is it because my devotion is enough for you?" Tashi questioned, a smirk on her lips.

"Yeah, something like that," Gianna answered, her own lips quirking upwards.

"Hey," Tashi called, raising her pinky finger. "Pinky promise boys won"t come between us,"

"Easiest promise to keep," Gianna said, lifting up her pinky finger. "I promise boys will not come between us," she swore, hooking her finger with Tashi's.

Tilting her head forward, Tashi pressed a kiss to Gianna's forehead.

"We don't need them anyway, not when we have each other,"

~~~x~~~

There was nothing but Gianna's breathing and her music blasting as she tuned out the world. Her feet barely touched the ground as her arms pumped quickly back and forth at her side. It was a beautiful day for a morning run, the sky cerulean blue, littered with a few wispy clouds. Gianna's skin was hot and flushed, and sweat beaded at her hairline; the hot, humid summer air biting at her lungs. Luckily, a faint breeze kept off the worst of the heat.

As the notes of "If" by Janet Jackson came to end, Gianna had finished her run. Her pace slowed to a jog, then to a walking pace with her eyes closed, catching her breath.

"On your left,"

Gianna's eyes popped open to see a familiar, strawberry blond haired boy next to her, his tennis gear resting on his shoulder. A breathy chuckle left Gianna as the beat of "I Wanna Be Down" floated into her ears. Pausing the iPod tucked away in her arm band, she removed her earbud on her left side.

"Hey you!" Gianna greeted, smiling at Art and coming to a stop.

"Hey Gianna," he greeted back, with a shy smile of his own. "I didn't expect to see you out here until later on at the match," he commented.

"Oh, why is that?"

"I figured you'd be resting from your match yesterday," Art replied. "It's well earned after all,"

Gianna gave a small, amused huff, "It couldn't be any clearer that you have not met father yet," she joked, shaking her head. "This is punishment for losing to Irina in the semifinals," she explained, shrugging her shoulders.

Art frowned slightly, "That's not really fair," he remarked, adjusting his grip on his bag. "A line call decided your match," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well, if I played smarter and better, then it wouldn't have," Gianna countered easily. "My dad believes the same," she added, crossing her arms together.

"Your dad takes your tennis career pretty seriously, it's admirable," Art commented. "Most parents would just treat it as expensive hobby,"

"I hope he would he would take it serious, he is my coach after all," Gianna revealed, watching Art's eyes slightly widen in surprise.

"Guess that explains why you didn't want Patrick and I to walk you back last night," Art noted. "You were already past your curfew, but then to show up with two boys by your side…" he trailed off, sucking his teeth . "I'm sure that would’ve made for a fun conversation," he joked.

"Trust me, my dad would've gotten creative with his workout plan had the three of us shown up together," she assured. "You headed to the stadium?" she asked, nodding her head at his gear.

"Yeah, gotta start preparing for the big match today," he answered.

"Mind if I walk with you there? It would be a great cool down for me,"

"As if I would say no to Gianna Langdon," Art responded, grinning at her.

Walking alongside each other, the two of them found themselves consumed in idle chit chat. Art was an only child, Gianna was the youngest of four siblings. He started playing tennis because his parents took him to a match, she began playing because her father withdrew her from ballet after he saw her play one match of rec tennis. Art was born and raised in Upstate New York, Gianna was raised on a ranch in New Orleans most of her life until moving to California.

"I've always wanted to meet a real life cowgirl," he teased.

They drifted into a brief, companionable silence for a moment before a thought occurred to Gianna. She turned her head in Art's direction, smiling a little.

"So, a little birdie told me, this is a high stakes match today," Gianna mentioned, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"You could say that," he agreed sheepishly, his face instantly flushing.

"I also heard that some fun was had last night," Gianna hinted, mischief dancing in her eyes.

Art's face reddened deeper, "We did..."

"A shame I had to miss it, but you know what they say," Gianna began, interlocking her fingers behind her back. "Three's a party, four is a crowd," she quoted, with a small shrug.

"Not with you it wouldn't have been," Art disagreed quickly, looking over at her.

His intense eyes stared at her, through her. With it being daylight, Gianna could now fully appreciate how striking his eyes were. One was blue, while the other was partially brown and blue. Gianna let a bashful laugh, looking ahead to escape Art's gaze while pointedly ignoring the warmth blossoming within her. In the distance, the Arthur Ashe Stadium was peeking over the horizon.

"Hey Gianna," Art called, as the two stopped at the gates of the Billie Jean King Tennis Center.

"Yeah?"

"I’ve got a question for you that I’ve been dying ask you," Art said, both turning to face each other.

"Ask away," she answered, with a chuckle.

Art glanced down at the Gianna, completely towering over her.

"Why didn't you and Tashi compete in the girls duo this year?" Art questioned. "You two would've mopped the floor with your competition as you usually do," he remarked, a small, exhaling laugh leaving him.

"Well, I couldn’t do the girls singles, the mixed doubles, and girls doubles all at the same time. It would’ve been a scheduling nightmare, not to mention downright exhausting, so a decision had to be made," she explained, mindlessly twirling her earbud around in small circles.

"And Tashi decided—"

Her earbud twirling ceased, "Tashi, didn't decide anything. I did," Gianna corrected sharply, feeling a vein pulse at her temple.

Irritation threatened to surface on her face, but Gianna managed to keep her composure. It was that, the implication that she was not capable of making her own decisions as a player without Tashi being her invisible, guiding hand. Momentarily, neither of them said anything. Art's eyes flicked over her face, as if studying her expression.

"What is he looking for?"

"Oh my god, I've offended you, haven't I?" Art realized, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Apology accepted, though I shouldn't have been short with you either," Gianna replied, folding her arms together. "But, you see how you just automatically assumed it was Tashi, when it was me who didn’t want to do it?" she pointed out, sighing tiredly. "It's for that exact reason why I wanted to pursue mixed doubles this year," she went on. "I love Tashi to pieces, but as a tennis player, I needed space from her this tournament," she explained, unfolding her arms to gesture with her hands by pulling them away from one another.

"I really didn’t mean to be the cause of a sore subject," Art promised, sincerity ringing in every word.

A half smile appeared on her face, "Art, I just met you 24 hours ago, you didn't cause this,” Gianna reassured, with a dismissive wave. "No, this year I had a point to prove to silence both my haters and critics," she informed, nodding to herself.

"And what point was that?"

"That I couldn't win without Tashi Duncan by my side," Gianna answered, her eyes unconsciously narrowing in the corners.

"Well, I think you shut them up pretty definitively this tournament," Art said, laughing gently. "You won the mixed doubles championship while essentially playing two on one the entire time," he quipped.

She chuckled, "Maybe," Gianna agreed. "However, I didn't get the chance to face Tashi in singles, winning against her and being crowned the girls singles US Open Champion would've been the ultimate 'fuck you' to those who doubt me," she finished, lightly laughing.

"Had you won against Irina, you think you could've beat Tashi?"”" Art asked.

Gianna contemplated his question, briefly casting her eyes downward while toeing the ground with her sneaker. Her mind flash backed to when she was 15 years old, the bellowing war cry that pierced the air from her when she beat Tashi in the Southern California Junior Sectional Championship. A career-defining moment for Gianna, putting her name on the map once and for all and also signaling that Tashi Duncan was not untouchable as most people wanted to believe.

Gianna's eyes focused back on Art, "I do think I could’ve actually," she said, her mouth quirking up just a tiny bit. "Tashi has beaten me several times, but I also have won against her a handful of times too," she continued, rocking a little back and forth on her feet.

"And what does that feel like, beating Tashi Duncan?" Art questioned, slightly leaning closer to her like they were sharing a secret, but his voice was still loud enough for any passerby to hear.

Gianna let a few seconds pass in silence, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. To win against Tashi was akin to eating caviar, it was a rarity and must be savored. It was Gianna's own kind of adrenaline rush, that feeling of euphoric confidence which she swore got more intense after each victory. This brought a full blown smirk, not of arrogance, but pride on Gianna's features.

"Like David slaying Goalith," she responded, triumphantly. "Although, every time I win against Tashi, I don't know things get….weird between us. Sometimes it's only for a few hours, other times it’s the entire day," she remarked, shaking her head. "This never happens when I lose to her, I mean losing is apart of the game. But with her, it's like she can't believe she lost…" Gianna trailed off.

"To me,"

This mere thought bothered her. It was only a hunch, but it was not for the first time this lurking suspicion wormed itself into the back of her mind. Her own mother implied it, that perhaps, their friendship dynamic was not built upon the sturdiest of foundations. Gianna's parents didn't get it though, Tashi was her only friend that really understood her, pushed her to be her best. Her dominant motivation in playing tennis. Tashi was the one where she could always rely on, no matter what. So, until she had any concrete proof, Gianna would continue to deny that notion.

"Gianna?"

Her eyes snapped back to Art, a light summer breeze blew sending a few strands of his curls across his face. The effortless charm he possessed, Gianna could almost guarantee he was unaware he was using it.

Gianna shook her head a little, "I'm sorry, went into a trance there," she apologized, with an embarrassed chuckle. "Must be the run catching up to me," she claimed. "I've wasted enough of your time, you have a match to prepare for," she reminded.

"Hey, there's no such thing as time wasted when talking with you, Gianna," Art corrected. "Who are you betting on today, me or Patrick?" he asked.

"I'm not a betting woman," Gianna quipped. "May the best player win today," she wished. "And for all I know, I may be staring right at them," she commented.

"Maybe," Art echoed.

~~~x~~~

Jogging up the bleachers to the tennis court, Gianna's Vans clanged against the metallic steps with each step, her skort swishing around her legs and her braids dancing across her shoulders. All around her, spectators cheered loudly in the stands as they all awaited for the the boys singles championship match to begin. Gianna strolled towards the center row, greeted by a cheerful Tashi who stood up from her seat once she saw her friend approach from a distance.

"You left me," Gianna greeted, with a fake pout.

"You were taking too long," Tashi retorted playfully, guiding Gianna to sit next to her.

"Yeah, because I was forced to go on a run this morning," Gianna reminded, laughing while pulling her braids back into a half up half down style.

"I got up early too Gia, to go hit around on the court. The only difference between you and I, is that you got sidetracked," she pointed out.

Gianna turned in her seat, "Sidetracked?" she repeated dryly.

"Yes, sidetracked," Tashi affirmed, shifting to face her. "I saw you and Art this morning on my way back from the courts," she said. "You two, however, were to engrossed in your conversation to notice me," she teased, but there was an edge to her voice.

Cocking her head to the side, Gianna chuckled and reached to lightly grasp Tashi's chin in between her forefinger and thumb.

Gianna leaned forward, their noses almost brushing, "Aww, is someone jealous there's another being blessed with my attention?" she teased back, squeezing Tashi's cheeks lightly.

Tashi shook herself free of Gianna's hand with a smirk of her own.

"Babe, come on, I'm just trying to protect your heart," Tashi informed, rolling her eyes in faux exasperation. "You just got out of a relationship, I don't want you to potentially dive head first into another is all," she explained, shrugging her shoulders.

She nodded her head, "Oh, is that right?" Gianna questioned, a bright smile on her face, but a challenging glint in her eyes.

Suddenly, a man over the speakers announced the names of the two contenders in the championship match. Both Tashi and Gianna turned to the court, watching Patrick and Art walk out before drop their gear down on their respective benches.

"Oh my God! Sugar and Spice! Can I please take a picture with you two?"

Gianna's eyes flitted from the court and to the right of her where an adoring fan stood.

"Why, of course!" Gianna exclaimed, waving the girl over. "Tashi, you take the picture, you have the longest arm out of all of us," she stated.

After posing for the photo and signing an autograph for the fan for good measure, Gianna refocused her attention to the boys below. Instantly, she met two pairs of eyes looking back at her and Patrick raised his racket in Tashi and Gianna's direction with a cocky grin. From the corner of her vision, she could see Tashi playfully roll her eyes at Patrick while applauding with the rest of the crowd. Not wanting Art to be left out, Gianna sent a small wave to him which Tashi mirrored, both flashing smiles at him. At this, Art beamed, giving them a brilliant grin as he waved back.

Gianna softly nudged Tashi in the side, "Ignoring your spying—" she began, but Tashi's light scoff interrupted her. "You should know, because I love you so much, that I made sure to put the cherry on top on this match so you can watch some 'real fuckin tennis' today," she informed, lazily looking over to her friend.

"How?" she asked, raising her brow.

"I told Art that I might be looking at the best player after wishing him good luck," Gianna divulged, her lips curling upwards. "I'm sure he relayed that message to Patrick in the spirit of competitiveness," she reasoned smugly, crossing one leg over the other. "Not only are they playing for our numbers, now they're playing to see who I’ll crown as best," she added.

Tashi laid her hand on Gianna's knee, "I could fucking kiss you," she said lowly, squeezing her knee.

A mix of admiration and a hint of hunger sparkled in Tashi's eyes.

"If only, but I don't think Adidas would approve of that," coy smile on her lips

The match began with Patrick being awarded first serve. Bouncing the ball off the blue grass court twice, the brunette lifted his racket to serve it in the non traditional way Gianna has come to know him by. Patrick struck the ball with a resounding pop, as a flash neon yellow went whizzing across the court to Art's side.

He returned the serve with equal force, lobbing it back over the net. In Patrick fashion, he made a big show of returning the hit; a curved shot which flew past Art, who lost his foot and slid a little trying to get to it.

"15-love,"

Immediately, Patrick looked over at the two girls for approval, looking pleased with himself while Art on the other hand gave a look that Gianna could only be described as despair. It went on like that for several minutes, each point scored their heads would whip over to Gianna and Tashi to gauge their reactions, until the boys gradually forgot all about them and did what everyone came here to watch them do. Play some fucking tennis.

Gianna couldn't recall the last time two people looked so hot playing tennis outside of her and Tashi, but Patrick and Art were quickly putting that belief to bed. With every hit that Art made, Patrick would return it with ease. Any advantage that Patrick gained, Art would neutralize it. Their grunts, oh god, don't even let Gianna get started on the grunts echoing in the air, it was the fucking sexiest thing ever to grace her ears. Her body reacted on its own to the sounds, her thighs pressing tighter together against each other than before. Gianna prayed that Tashi hasn’t noticed her reaction yet, but she had an inkling she had because Tashi's grip on her knee had grown in strength.

Another grunt pushed itself past Patrick's lips as he smacked the tennis ball back to Art's side. The impact reverberated in the stadium as Art was able to smoothly counter the shot with a topspin of his, but Patrick came with a drop shot. Sprinting, Art rushed forward to return the ball, but It lands on the ground, his racket only inches away from reaching it.

Patrick Zweig had done it, he was getting Tashi Duncan's and Gianna Langdon's numbers. The dark haired boy turned in their direction and dropped into bow as the girls gave him applause for his performance.

"That was such a godamn good match," Gianna commented, looking at Tashi.

"You see what we were capable of bringing out of them?" Tashi said proudly.

"Ugh, our power!" Gianna exclaimed, a giggle bubbling out of her as Tashi stuck her pinky out for Gianna to link with. A wordless promise between them and Gianna did it without having to think about it.

"Come on, let’s go congratulate the victor," Tashi instructed, standing up and extending her hand out.

Placing her hand in Tashi's, Gianna rose to her feet and two walked away, descending down the bleachers.

"You go on ahead," Gianna replied, coming down the last step. "I'll catch up," she added.

"Hmm," Tashi hummed, her eyes scanning over her in curiosity before leaving towards the exit.

Going in the opposite direction, Gianna made her way back to tennis court and walked to the fence separating the stands and the court. As she approached the fence, she saw Art gathering his gear a bit rougher than necessary.

"On your left!" Gianna called, walking alongside the fence.

Art froze what he was doing and snapped his head up to look in her direction. Instantly, Gianna watched the tension in his shoulders lessen slightly and his jaw unclench.

A small smile tugged at his lips, "Hey you," Art answered, repeating her own words from earlier.

"That was a good match, Donaldson," Gianna complimented, bearing her arms on top of the warm metal.

"Yeah, for Patrick maybe," Art replied, moving closer to the fence. "Seeing how he won the championship and…" he trailed off, now standing in front her.

"Our numbers," Gianna finished.

"Aren't you supposed to be giving that to him, like right now?" Art wondered, attempting to be lighthearted about the situation.

"I like building anticipation, it makes it all the more fun," Gianna joked, causing Art let out a genuine laugh and her smile widened from the sound of it.

"I'm sorry that you were not staring at the best player today, Gianna," Art apologized, his chin dipping a little as he looked down at the ground.

"Hey," she called softly.

Boldly, Gianna reached out to him, using her thumb and index finger to gently lift his chin back up. Her eyes gazed at Art's porcelain neck, as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down at her gesture. Gianna glanced back up at him, his eyes already staring deeply into hers.

"Not today, maybe," she whispered. "But in the future, possibly," she encouraged, feeling his breath fan out shakily against her hand.

"Oh Gianna!"

The sound of Patrick's voice echoing from within the stadium concourse caused her to whip her head around, her fingers falling from Art's chin.

"Can't have spice without sugar!" he yelled.

She smiled, "Coming!" Gianna yelled back, before facing forward again. "I gotta go, see you around?" she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.

Art's eyes darted to her lips, but just as quickly as he did, his eyes found hers. The action didn't go unnoticed by Gianna.

"Yeah,” Art answered, a dazed, blissful smile on his face.

Beaming one last time at him, she spun on her heel and jogged back to the entrance of the concourse where Patrick was already waiting for her, leaning against the wall.

"For the record, I want you to know that was the corniest joke I've ever heard, Zweig," Gianna informed, stopping in front of him as he effortlessly pushed himself off the wall.

"It made you laugh though, didn't it?" Patrick countered easily, taking a hold of her hand as if it was second nature to him.

Gianna could only laugh, letting herself be led away from the bleachers.

~~~x~~~

The Juniors US Open was officially over and Gianna could confidently say playing there was the greatest moments of her life. She glanced back at the Arthur Ashe Stadium that she had passed by only a few minutes prior.

"One day, I’ll be playing in there and the world will know my name," she thought.

Gianna had barely taken two steps from where she stopped when two sets of footsteps fast approaching behind her.

"Gianna!"

She stopped mid step, her lips curling into a smirk knowing who was behind her. Spinning around, she was greeted with a slightly winded Art and Patrick.

"Hi boys," Gianna greeted warmly, crossing her arms against her chest.

"So, Patrick and I got to thinking about—" Art began.

"It's your last day in New York," Patrick interrupted, but Art didn’t seem to mind as he nodded his head along to Patrick. "What are you going to do?" he asked curiously.

"You know you could've texted me this?" Gianna pointed out.

"I prefer taking advantage of seeing and speaking to you face to face," Patrick reasoned, which brought a bashful smile to her face.

"I haven't decided yet," Gianna said, finally answering his question.

"You and Tashi don't have plans together already?" Art questioned.

"No, she's spending time with her family before they all go out to dinner," she explained. "So, it'll just be little oh me, by myself today," she mentioned.

"By yourself? Where are your parents?" Patrick questioned.

"I convinced them to have a night on the town, just the two of them. They deserve it," she replied, with a shrug when idea popped into her mind. "You know, my hotel has a pool. You should come," Gianna invited, eyes dancing between them.

"Me?" both boys asked in unison, pointing to themselves.

"Both of you," she clarified with a giggle. "It's not a pack of beer, but I think we can still manage to have some fun" she said.

"What about potentially having to play of 21 questions with your dad because of the two, random white boys by your side?" Art recalled, smiling at her.

Gianna looked over her shoulders before turning back to face them, "I don't my see dad anywhere, do you?" she asked, watching a grin grow on Patrick's lips.

"No I don't,"

"That's what I thought," Gianna agreed. "My hotel at four o'clock, be there or be square," she warned teasingly.

"We didn’t pack swim trunks," Art remarked, the realization dawning on him.

"Oh," Gianna breathed. "Well, I guess another time then," she suggested, going to turn around but stopping once she heard the protests coming from their lips.

"What, wait—"

"I'm sure we can think of something,"

Laughing, she looked back at them, "So, I'll see you there?" Gianna questioned, and the boys nodded eagerly. "I'll text you the address, Patrick, and one more thing," she said.

"Yes," they answered simultaneously.

"My friends call me, Gia,"

~~~x~~~

The moment the doors to the elevator opened up to Gianna's floor, the three of them took off. Running down the hallway, laughing and giggling as they raced each other to her door. Gianna was sure the guests below her and the ones who shared the floor would not be pleased with their heavy footsteps bounding across the floor, but did she really care at the moment, no.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, reaching the door first.

"I let you win, actually," Patrick claimed, coming in just behind her.

She rolled her eyes, "Sure, whatever you say," Gianna said sarcastically, grabbing her key card. "Did you let me win too, Art?" she asked, sticking the card into the door.

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all, it is ladies first,"

"Oh fuck off," she laughed.

The door unlocked with a quiet click and she removed the card and pushed it open. Entering the room, the boys followed Gianna into the bright, airy space. Immediately, a shiver ran down her spine, her muscles tensing from the air conditioner blasting.

"God, it's freezing!" she hissed, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Here," Patrick offered quickly, shaking off the stripped linen shirt he was wearing.

He held out his shirt for her to put on. Smiling graciously, turned around Gianna slipped her arms through the sleeves.

"Better?" Patrick murmured, his nose grazing against the shell of her ear.

"Much," she confirmed, smirking to herself.

"I can turn off the AC for you," Art volunteered, scrambling from the door to the other side of the room where the unit was.

"Boys are too fucking easy," Gianna thought.

"Oh, I don't know what I’d do without you two," she teased, unwrapping her towel from her waist. "I'll be right back guys," she informed, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Tossing the towel onto the edge of the tub, Gianna stared at her reflection. Her dark brown eyes almost twinkled in mischief as a sudden, bubbling snicker burst forth from her lips. Gianna clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, shaking her head in amusement at her current situation.

"Holy shit, I cannot believe this is working," she whispered.

Tashi had told her the two boys were egregiously horny, but seeing it in person made it ten times funnier. She had been teasing the moment they got to the pool.

"You think you can help put sunscreen on my back?" Gianna asked, holding out the lotion over her shoulder without looking.

Behind her, she heard loud shuffling before feeling the lounge chair she sat in dip on each side of her.

"You two don't have to fight over the honor," Gianna said, giggling at their antics. "As they say, teamwork makes the dream work," she quoted, before feeling the bottle be pulled from her grasp.

"Y-yeah, sure Gia!" Art said quickly, stumbling over his words.

Sitting up straight, Gianna heard the sunscreen cap crack open and expected to feel the coolness of the cream against her skin soon after. Instead, nothing.

"They're fucking ogling at just the mere sight of my back," she thought.

A devilish grin grew on her face.

"Boys, I'm waiting," Gianna sang playfully.

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry,"

They both nervously laughed a little. To her right, Art slowly placed his hand against Gianna's shoulder, running his palm up and down against her skin to spread the sunscreen. Patrick's fingers slid down her left shoulder blade, alternating between quick movements to spread out the lotion or rubbing deeply along her spine to massage her muscles.

"Ah, thank you boys, you’re doing so well," Gianna praised, as Art's and Patrick’' continued gliding over her back.

Grinning to herself, Gianna stared out across the pool area behind the square frames of her sunglasses. The excited screams of children playing in the water rung through the air, while a decent handful of parents and teenagers sat poolside. Unexpectedly, Gianna locked eyes with two girls across the pool, one blonde and one brunette. Pushing her glasses down slightly, she wordlessly arched a challenging brow at them, maintaining eye contact. Gianna smirked watching as their expressions morphed into a mixture of jealousy and disgust.

Gianna knew why they were staring at her, boys like Patrick and Art were not supposed to be fawning over a girl that looked like her.

The feeling of fingers along her waist and against the small of her back, snapped Gianna from her musings. They precariously close to her bottom and she gently swatted their hands away before they could reach it.

"You two were such wonderful helpers," Gianna complimented, sighing sweetly.

Slipping on a pair of thin shorts, Gianna exited from the bathroom and walked over to the suite living room where Patrick and Art were seated on the couch.

"You know, you could've turned the TV on. You two didn't have to sit in awkward silence," Gianna informed, now standing in front of the with a smile. They let out an embarrassed chuckle as Art's leg began to anxiously bounce up and down. Gianna cocked her head at the sight. "Why are you bouncing your leg, Art? What's got you so nervous?" she questioned curiously, still wearing a smile.

Art only giggled and shrugged his shoulders, "I-I don't know," he stuttered, gazing up at her.

"Well," she began, raising her foot up from the floor. "Stop," she demanded, placing her foot right above his knee. Art froze mid bounce and Gianna watched him visibly swallow. "You're making me nervous," she said, and Art vigorously nodded his head. Gianna shifted her stare to Patrick and he straightened up his posture. "Patrick," she called, batting her eyelashes.

"Yes," he responded, a goofy smile on his face.

"As you said earlier today, it's my last day in New York," Gianna said, smoothly lifting her foot from Art's leg and plopping down onto the couch in the empty space between them. "Wanna make out?" she asked boldly, with a playful and daring smile.

"Fuck, do I ever," Patrick answered quickly, a groan leaving him.

Leaning toward him, Gianna let her lips brush against the corner of Patrick's mouth and almost by instinct his hand came to rest on her hip. Breaths mingling in soft pants, Gianna stared up at him through her eyelashes and he surged forward, pressing his lips fully against hers. A soft, surprised moan escaped Gianna as his lips devoured her own, but she responded just as eagerly. Her tongue dueling with his in a sensual dance for dominance. Gianna's fingers threaded themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck, holding Patrick in place as their kiss only deepened. His hand roamed up and down her leg, squeezing appreciatively at the flesh as he went.

His touches set her body aflame with heat, caused little noises to leave her mouth and she pulled away needing air, or else he was going to kiss her dizzy. Their lips barely parted and Gianna breathed out a laugh and Patrick joined her, his sounding almost giddy. She turned to Art who staring at her with the biggest puppy eyes, desperately wanting to be played with. Without hesitation, she guided his mouth onto hers and the noise that left Art was probably the filthiest sound she's ever heard. The deepest moan left him and it reverberated through her entire body.

Teasingly, Gianna bit down on Art's bottom lip pulling it towards her and another groan from Art. He brought his hand up to her neck, cradling her jaw as her tongue lapped at his. This time, there was not a battle for dominance, almost immediately Art allowed Gianna to take control as his other hand ran up and down her thigh. The sudden sensation of warm breath fanning the slope of Gianna's neck, followed by a pair of lips gently kissing down her neck made her moan hotly into Art's mouth.

Leaning back into Patrick, his hands reached around her back and cupped his hand around her breast and squeezed. Another high pitch moan was drawn from Gianna, which Art readily swallowed as their kiss turned greedier as. She trailed her down his chest, caressing his pecs and lightly trailing her fingers down his abs. Her hand found its way to the waistband of Art's shorts and slipped underneath.

Then, Art released the loudest, guttural moan known to man, his face falling into the crook of Gianna's neck.

"O-oh…fuck, Gia,"

Her hand had found his stiff member, and wrapped her fingers around it. Art inhaled sharply as she tightened her grip, placing desperate, feverish kisses to her neck just as she began to move up and down the length of him.

Not a second later, the shrill ringing of her phone playing a distinct ringtone made Gianna jerk away from Art causing pathetic whimpers to escape from him.

"Shit, that’s my mom calling," Gianna informed breathily, her eyes almost fluttering close due to Patrick's continued ministrations.

He kissed her neck lightly, switching between his tongue or his teeth to nip graze the sensitive area.

"So ignore her," Patrick suggested simply.

Art murmured his agreement, mouthing kisses along the length of her throat. Rolling her eyes, Gianna untangled herself from both of them, pushing Patrick's hands from her body and removing her own from Art's.

She hopped up from the couch, much to the displeasure of both Art and Patrick, verbally making it known by their groans of frustration.

"You two have two, have to go," she stated firmly, her finger moving back forth between them.

"Are they even back from dinner?" Patrick asked incredulously.

"No," Gianna answered, and Patrick threw his hands up in disbelief. "But my mom told me she would call to let me know when they were on their back, and I now know," she said, placing her hands on her hips.

"You're really making us go home?"

"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here,"

"Gia, come on I-I cant go out like this," Art said, glancing down at the obvious boner poking through his shorts.

"You are today," she retorted, shrugging off Patrick's shirt. She tossed it to Art, hitting him square in the chest. "Here, wear this, tie it around your waist," she instructed, making Patrick snicker.

The next few minutes involved Art trying to will his boner away, but it was losing cause, much to Patrick's amusement before Gianna shuffled them out the door. Just as she was about to close her door, Patrick's hand stopped it.

"Hang on,"

"What Patrick?"

His answer came in the form of him swiftly ducking down to kiss her one last time. Gianna pulled away from the kiss first, placing a hand on his chest.

"Go!" she urged, with a laugh as she pushed him away.

Patrick retreated with a pout and walked away from her door with Art by his side, sending one last boyish grin over his shoulder. Closing the door, Gianna leaned back against the door with the biggest smile.

God, this really was the best Juniors US Open in more ways than one.

Part III: The First Crack

#black!reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #black fanfiction #black!oc #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 8 months

Note

I NEED a part 3 of the step-cest one like the cliffhanger omgg ✋😭

left me wanting more 😖

Here ya go! :)

Pleaser - Stepbrother!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader - Part 3

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Ethan has more creative ways to sneak around with you

A/N: I got so many requests for this within the last 24 hours. I hope y'all like it, and if you want me to write more for it, let me know!

You were almost asleep when you heard your phone vibrate on the nightstand beside you. You checked it, curious to see who would be texting you at almost midnight. You smiled when your eyes adjusted and saw Ethan’s name.

Ethan: You still up?

You: I was almost asleep, but someone decided to text me🙄

Ethan: I’m sorry, I’ll let you get some rest, but I wanted to show you something😏

You waited as you stared at the screen, seeing a video pop up. You clicked on it to see Ethan shirtless with his pants halfway down his thighs and his hard cock in his hand. He was quietly moaning your name as he stroked it, before his bottom lip went in between his teeth to keep himself quiet when his whimpers got louder. His tip was red as his precum was leaking out, his hand movements speeding up because he was so needy. Within seconds, his head fell back as his cum shot out, all over his abs.

You were salivating at the video, wanting nothing more than to be with him.

You: I wish that camera wasn’t in the hallway. I’d lick that cum off you👅

Ethan: Fuck I wish you could

You: Why’d you have to send that to me? I’m so wet right now

Ethan: I didn’t get to cum earlier, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing your pussy feels

You: What’s this plan you have? Because I don’t know how to not have you in my bed with me

Ethan: I’ll tell you tomorrow, baby. Get some sleep.😘

You: Goodnight

It took you forever to fall asleep as the thoughts of Ethan ran though your mind. You couldn’t believe how crazy the day was. You couldn’t believe you got caught. But the one thing you really couldn’t believe was that your mom and Wayne separating meant you actually had a chance with Ethan.

The next morning, your mom walked into your room to wake you up. You hadn’t spoken to her since she mentioned wanting to install the cameras, and you hated that she no longer trusted you.

“Good morning,” she said, opening the curtains to let the sunlight pour in.

“Ughhh,” you groaned out, the exhaustion from only a few hours of sleep made you pull the comforter over your head.

“You need to get up. I want to discuss a few things with you before I leave,” she said, taking a seat at the foot of your bed.

You pulled the comforter off your head, your tired eyes meeting hers.

“I’ll get a notification every time there’s movement in front of the cameras. Don’t think I won’t be watching. If I see anything happening that I shouldn’t be, you’re going to stay with your dad until Ethan and Wayne move out,” her tone was stern, and it took everything in you to not roll your eyes.

“Why is it that the second you find out I’m not perfect, you think I can’t be trusted?” you asked, genuinely curious.

She sighed, not knowing how to answer your question.

“I graduated with honors, I got early acceptance into college, and I do everything you ask of me. I just don’t get it,” you said, sitting up. “I know that wasn’t something you wanted to see, but if you and Wayne are separating, why is it a big deal?”

“It’s a big deal because right now, he’s still your stepbrother. You’re under the same roof. I just can’t trust you around him. All the teenage hormones are obviously too much for the two of you,” she said, standing up to leave. “I’m sorry you feel like your privacy has been stripped away, but it’s the only way I feel comfortable leaving you here with him and not sending you to your dads house two hours away from here.”

She closed the door behind her as she walked out. You threw your pillow at the door, the soft sound it made when it hit the floor very unsatisfying.

“Fuck,” you said, grabbing your phone. You saw a text from Ethan.

Ethan: Good morning, beautiful. I’m going to make you breakfast. Come to the kitchen in 20.😊

You: I didn’t know you could cook🧐

Ethan: There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me

You smiled as you locked your phone, deciding to get up to shower. You couldn’t shake the creepy feeling of the cameras, so you looked all around the bathroom, making sure there wasn’t one in there before shedding your clothes.

You looked over your tired appearance in the mirror, hoping the shower would help. You cut the water on, noticing that it wasn’t getting very hot. You assumed it was from everyone else showering before you, so you decided to make it quick. As you tried to wash the shampoo out of your hair, the water turned ice cold. You squealed at the sudden temperature change, your teeth starting to chatter as you hurried through the rest of your shower faster than you thought was possible.

After you got out, you saw a text pop up from your mom.

Mom: If you’re showering, don’t walk out in a towel. Put your robe on.

You rolled your eyes as you dried off, still freezing from the cold shower. You put your robe on, stopping to do a spin in the hallway for your mother that seems to be watching your every move, before going to your room to get dressed.

When you walked towards the kitchen, the delicious aroma of what Ethan was making made your mouth water. You walked up beside him as he stood in front of the stove, wanting so badly to hug him. You looked behind you to see the camera on the wall.

“I feel like a prisoner,” you whispered, as Ethan started to laugh.

“The good news is, I disabled the audio. They can’t hear anything we talk about,” he said, placing a pancake onto the small stack he’d already made.

“Aren’t they going to notice?” you asked, speaking at a normal volume.

“No, I told dad to tell your mom that it doesn’t record audio. He doesn’t see the point in them knowing what we talk about,” he let out a small laugh as he spoke.

“You should’ve heard the awkward conversation I had to have this morning. If we get caught doing anything, I have to go live with my dad until you move out.”

Ethan started to laugh again as you cocked your eyebrow at him.

“I wonder if your mom realizes you’re two windows down from me. This is a one-story house,” he said, smiling.

“So that’s your plan? You’re going to get into my room from the outside?” you smirked, as he carried the stack of pancakes over to the table he set for the two of you.

“Yep. She’ll never know.”

After breakfast, that’s what he did. He went to his room a few minutes before you went to yours, hoping that it would seem a little less obvious. The last thing he wanted was for your mom to get suspicious. You opened your window, your head hanging out as you watched Ethan jump out of his. He walked over to you, placing a kiss to your lips before climbing in.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping his arms around you as you stood in front of him.

“Hi,” you said, as you nuzzled into his chest.

He held you there for a while, not wanting to let you go.

“You look so beautiful today,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Yeah, the whole ‘no makeup, damp hair, after an ice-cold shower’ thing really makes me feel attractive,” you joked, finally pulling away from him to lead him towards your bed.

“You’re always beautiful,” he said, sighing as he relaxed on your bed. “Come here, baby.”

You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as the two of you cuddled in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. His hand rubbed against your back as you started to doze off.

After a couple hours, you woke up to your phone ringing. You smiled as you looked at Ethan, his eyes dazed as he tried to wake up too.

“Fuck, it’s my mom. Be quiet,” you said, as he laughed a little. “I’m serious!”

Your eyes were staring him down as he watched you answer the call, a smirk playing on his lips as he got in between your legs.

“Hello?” you answered, as his hands started to run up your thighs.

“Hey, just wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing,” she said, as you heard her eating her lunch.

“I’m not with Ethan if that’s why you’re asking,” you mumbled, your eyes going wide as his hands slid under the waistband of your leggings. He slowly slid them, along with your panties down your thighs, his eyes looking into yours as he smiled.

“I know you’re not. I’ve had the camera app pulled up at my desk all day,” she said, as Ethan started to place open-mouthed kisses up your legs, starting at your ankles.

“Well, I’m trying to watch a movie, can we talk when you get home?” you asked, as his mouth started to reach your inner thighs.

“No, I wanted to talk. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you asked me this morning about not trusting you,” she sighed, as your bottom lip went in between your teeth. When Ethan’s eyes met yours, he raised up to mouth ‘Be quiet’. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he leaned back down, gently licking your clit.

“Are you there?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. This movie is just really good,” you said, your hand tangling in Ethan’s hair.

“Okay, maybe we should just talk later, then. My lunch is almost over, anyway,” she said, as Ethan’s tongue started to move faster against you.

“Okay, love you,” you said, your voice sounding a little strained.

“Are you okay?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s a scary movie,” you said, trying to pull it together long enough to get her to hang up.

“Oh, okay. I’ll be home in a few hours. Love you, too,” she said, before you heard the beeping that the call had ended.

You let out all the whimpers you had to keep deep inside of you as you locked your phone, your hands lightly tugging at his hair.

“Oh fuck,” you mewled, as you felt one of his fingers slip inside of you. He soon added another one, angling them just right to hit the spot you needed him to. “Right there, baby.”

His fingers started to press harder into that spot, as the sounds of your moans and wetness echoing off the walls. He looked up to see your lip between your teeth again, your moans muffled as your eyebrows knitted together. Over the last few days, he’s taken in what all of your facial expressions mean during sex. He knew your current one meant that you were getting close. Well, that and the tightening grip on his hair.

He groaned against your clit at the feeling, your hips starting to shake at the vibrations. He started to hum against you as your hips moved against his mouth and fingers.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moaned out, your core spasming around his fingers.

His movements slowed down as he worked you through it, not wanting to overstimulate you too much. He placed one last lick to your clit, before crawling back up to lay on the bed beside you.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, your breathing still irregular.

He laughed as his hand ran up your arm.

“I think I have a new kink,” he said, looking over to you. “There’s just something so hot about the idea of getting caught.”

You playfully smacked his chest as he faked hurt.

“Hey, you liked it, though!” he uttered, defending his actions.

“You just wait until it’s your dad calling one day to check on you,” you smirked, as your hand ran over the hard cock in his jeans.

He pulled your hand away, lacing your fingers with his. You gave him a confused look as he smiled at you.

“I don’t want you to think the only thing I care about is fucking you. You’re way more than that,” he said, “As bad as I want it, making you cum is all I needed.”

You smiled at him, leaning over to place a kiss on his lips.

“So are you just going to hold out until later tonight and send me another video?” you joked, laying your head back on his chest.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve jerked off thinking about you,” he said, his hand moving to your hair.

#ethan landry #scream smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut

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huramuna · 4 months

Text

banshee's lament - chapter 10.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 6.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

and here we have it! the end of act 1 of banshee's lament. it will be going on a hiatus while i plan and write most of act 2. so sorry for the long wait. i hope y'all enjoy!!

content: smut (specifics under the cut), angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

story playlist

warning: p in v, loss of virginity

The silence was stifling– the usually bustling keep was quiet. It didn’t breathe nor creak like normal. It was lulled to sleep.

The scent of fading smoke still permeated the air, lingering down into paltry ash. Shera wasn’t sure if it was her dream still at play. The world around her suddenly felt different. Not just at Aegon’s pronouncement, but the tone of reality was slightly askew. Askew and off color. There was a throbbing deep within Shera’s skull as if she’d lost something dear— or mayhaps, a memory she was never meant to have was shoved into her cranium. An intense pressure pressed at her mind, threatening to drive her mad.

Shera held onto Aemond for as long as she could, as long as he would have her. His arm was tucked under her legs to hoist her up, his other arm secure around her back, pressing her to him. She felt safe, peering over his shoulder like a stealthy cat. He held her up with ease as she observed Aegon, now apparently pronounced ‘King’. She should be shocked– but she knew Viserys had passed. She watched it, in some twisted semblance of the vision her poppy-addled mind had concocted.

“How long have… I been asleep for?” she asked Aemond tentatively, whispering into his ear.

“Five days.”

Five days. Much happens in five days, then.

“Is everyone… alright? Helaena? The children?” she posed the question to Aegon then as Aemond sat her back down on her bed. She squirmed slightly, not wanting to stay in bed any longer.

“Everyone is fine,” Aegon said, quirking a brow to Aemond. “She’s awake now. You should go before grandsire gets any more cross.”

Go? Where are you going? She stared at Aemond with a pinched expression, tilting her head.

“I will return, Shera,” he paused, brow furrowing. “I promise. Then, we shall speak. ‘Tis a quick flight to Storm’s End.”

“He is petitioning Lord Borros on my behalf, so the Baratheon seat will declare for me.” Aegon answered swiftly as Shera’s mouth opened to protest.

“Petitioning?” she interjected.

“Daeron will be a suitable match for any of his four daughters, I assume.” Aemond nods to Aegon, whom tips his head in agreement. “Keep Shera safe, brother.”

“‘Tis no greater honor upon a King to guard the banshee.”

Shera scowls, folding her arms over her chest. Even with the crown upon his head, Aegon was still an agitation.

Aemond rolled his eye in turn, prying one of Shera’s arms from her chest, turning her palm upwards. “We will speak further, little wolf,” he whispered, leaning down to the shell of her ear. “I hope to never see you in red again. You’re better suited to blue.”

Shera’s eye wandered to the bedside table where her dress, the red and black garment worn at the Lucerys’ inheritance hearing, was strewn.

“You should have Vhagar burn it, then,” she hummed back, the ghost of a smile curling at her lips. “Along with any other pieces of my wardrobe you deem… unsuitable.”

“I’d say what you’re wearing currently is, in fact, unsuitable, my lady,” Aemond responded, his thumb pressing into her upturned palm. Not a warning. It was a promise.

Aegon cleared his throat. “If you two are going to fuck, get on with it. Make it a show for your king, then! I haven’t got all night.”

Heat burned at Shera’s cheeks as she hid her face sheepishly in Aemond’s shoulder. He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and let go of her hand. “If I were a lesser brother, you would be eating a meal of your own teeth, Aegon.”

And then he was gone. The door closed behind him and the warmth of the room vanished. Aegon didn’t make a move to leave— in fact, he adjusted himself to be more comfortable.

“You’re… staying?” Shera questioned softly.

“I promised my honorable brother I would keep you safe, did I not? I cannot very well do so if I leave.”

A long silence stretched between them. It wasn’t awkward, per se, but it felt overbearing. It felt… heavy for both of them. A proverbial woolen blanket casted over them, warmth rising to a point of discomfort, to which Shera couldn’t be silent any longer.

“Why did you do it, Aegon? This… this will bring disaster for everyone,” she exasperated suddenly, the breath leaving her lungs as she thought of all the things that could, no, would happen. She worried her lip between her teeth as she stared at Aegon. “You usurped her. You usurped Daemon.”

“Why? You really ask me that, Shera?” he responded, lazed back in his chair.

“Explain it to me– so I might… understand.”

“They will do anything to secure their position. You know that– they… they would kill my children, kill my siblings, my… my mother–” the king choked on the last word like it was bile stuck in his craw.

“You don’t know that for sure, Aegon.” She didn’t want to believe it, even if it was likely true. Undoubtedly true. she thought.

“Look what they did to you, Shera. They mauled you like beasts and then expected you to be okay with it. They betrothed you to one of them. I may be a drunken lecher, but even I know it's wrong,” he took a shaky breath, the heights of his cheeks reddened. “They took my brother’s eye and no punishments were brought forth. Daemon caved his first wife’s head in with a rock and was allowed to marry into Velaryon money, even. They killed Vaemond in the throne room in front of two dozen guards and the bleeding King for fuck’s sake– and nothing happened.”

“Aegon…”

“I am not my mother’s favorite child, I know that. I am not my sister’s favorite brother. I am not your favorite Targaryen by any means. I…” Aegon twisted his rings on his fingers in a way so reminiscent of Alicent. “I cannot sit by idly and let them take and take and take until we,” he gestured between the two of them, then beyond to the general direction of his mother, sister and children’s chambers. “Until we are nothing but dust and ash,” his knuckles were white as he was straining, fist clenching the back of his chair. “Make no mistake, I do not want this. I don’t want the burden, the strife. I’d be much happier stripped of all titles and frills and be nameless in Essos–” he paused, swallowing. He could say it all he liked but knew it not to be true. He needed his family-- as much as they needed him in this moment.

Aegon had always been the eldest of them all, shouldering the brunt of what it meant to be eldest child, but never the favorite. Expectations set upon him the moment he exited his mother's womb, but never sought to fruition. The deep set dark circles under his eyes were reminiscent of someone much older, who had been through much more– but his posture; defeated for the last time as a disappointment, slouched, veins bulging from his hand was a painted picture of a child, a child who wanted to do better. Who had to be better. This would be his metamorphosis.

“Mother said that he professed me his heir with his dying breath. Mother is many things— but I do not think her to lie like this. Especially against Rhaenyra.”

Aegon’s dream. The depiction of the younger, much more alive Viserys danced before Shera’s gaze once more. If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king.

Or a queen.

But the latter was left unsaid, wasn’t it?

“Then… this is… war?” she finally uttered, looking down at her hands.

“Indeed.” Aegon acknowledged, his voice hollow.

—

The sky finally cleared, if only for a moment. The roiling clouds opened a pathway to Storm’s End, allowing Vhagar to ascend towards the land with ease. Aemond kept his head low as he scoured the palisade, seeing the puny figure of a green and yellow tinged dragon. He felt Vhagar tense beneath him ever so slightly, the bubbling of a growl stuck in her craw.

Vermax. Aemond would recognize his eldest nephew’s bile colored dragon anywhere. Steering Vhagar outside of the castle walls and as far away from the snack-shaped whelpling as possible, he slid down from the saddle.

He didn’t fancy much having to beg and plead Lord Borros against Jacaerys— it was unbecoming. He loathed having to beg for anything, especially from an oaf like Borros. The man could not even read and apparently only knew how to sire girls. Aemond pitied Daeron having to deal with the Baratheon lord as his future good-father.

The prince’s steps were quiet and measured, hands behind his back. The clouds swirled above, threatening to dole out the Gods’ wrath once more.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen has arrived, Lord Baratheon,” the page announced, leading him to the seat of Storm’s End.

It was a terribly bleak room, Aemond thought. In tune with a bleak castle and bleak house. The Baratheon house words were ‘Ours is the Fury’. There was certainly nothing ferocious to be seen, however.

Borros Baratheon lazed in his stone chair like a sloven boar as a maester read off a missive next to him. “Another Targaryen prince graces Storm’s End. The house of the Dragon is confused on who rules it and the realm, it seems. The young pup here is asking for a declaration for the Queen. Might I ask what you are asking, prince Aemond? And what you might offer.” he balanced a single gold dragon between chubby, sausage-like fingers.

“I’ve come to seek House Baratheon’s alliance with the true king— King Aegon, second of his name. May I remind you that the current sitting monarch does indeed have the Conqueror’s name, his crown, and his weapon,” Aemond began, standing with a rigid back.

Jacaerys was there, as well, meandering on the outskirts of the room. Anxiety roiled off of him like smoke from a dragon’s nostrils— albeit, a puny one.

Aemond paid him no mind as he continued. “I fear the Queen that my naïve nephew proclaims for is a farce. My father named Aegon his heir upon his dying breath, denouncing Rhaenyra.”

“Grandsire would never!” Jacaerys butt in. “My mother has been named heir and upheld for years. The vipers are spewing their poison, my lord. Their lies are not to be believed.”

“Aegon was crowned in the Dragonpit before Gods and men, as well as blessed by a Septon. I do not recall your mother being coronated with the conqueror’s crown, nephew? Ah, that would be due to her incessant need to hide upon Dragonstone.”

“My mother was crowned b—,”

“That is enough!” Borros bellowed, sitting up in his chair slightly. “I don’t care what the Gods have professed, nor a dead King. What can you offer me, Prince Aemond?”

“A betrothal of my brother, Prince Daeron, to one of your daughters.” Aemond said simply. He knew that Rhaenyra did not have any sons to offer up, all of them being betrothed or still in child’s nappies. It was a fruitless affair.

“May I remind you, Lord Borros, of the oath that your father took in favor of my mother, the rightful heir?” Jacaerys cut in again, voice raising in urgency. Aemond could feel the nerves pouring off of him, no doubt feeling the pressure of failure weighing upon his shoulders.

“That is all well and fine, young prince— but I am not my father, am I? Am I so beholden to the oath of someone who is dead? An oath made when your mother was barely fourteen?” Borros perked a brow as he continued to flip the coin between his fingers. “You weren’t even a thought yet, nary conceived.”

Jacaerys shifted his weight between both feet, clenching his jaw. His leather gloves squeaked under the balling of his fist— and yet, he stayed silent.

“Your uncle brings me quite the offer. I can wed one of my daughters into the King’s family with ease. What do you offer, little prince?”

“My mother’s favor, my lord. The Baratheon name will be sung through the halls of court when she ascends to her throne, rightfully.”

“Her favor? And what can I do with favors and minstrel’s songs? I cannot even wipe my arse with those pitiful offerings.”

“Lord Baratheon—,” Jace attempted to interject.

Borros silenced him with a firm hand. “You’ve lost, boy. Go back to your mother with your tail between your legs,” the stout Baratheon looked at Aemond, who was quiet all the while with his hands neatly behind his back. “House Baratheon declares for King Aegon, second of his name.”

—

Finalizing the affair with Borros was surprisingly straightforward— Daeron would have his pick of four brides when the war was over. Borros didn’t seem to favor any of his four daughters to be wed over one another, but he did mention his youngest being the most ‘comely’.

Shera crossed his mind for a moment, thinking of the situation— she was no different than any of Lord Baratheon’s daughters, was she? In circumstance, merely a pawn for treaties, alliances to be forged, bloodlines to be mingled and heirs to be conceived. Surely, the state of the realm severed her betrothal to Jacaerys, wasn’t it? And if not, surely Aegon would be prevalent to dissolve it.

But Aegon wasn’t the only one with power or a voice. He was the final say and could invoke absolute authority if needed— but it would be wasted on something as tedious as a betrothal during a war. Cregan wouldn’t forsake his oath to Rhaenyra for anything, it seemed. Not even for his own sister. Nothing would be gained by marrying Shera, not in the eyes of the council at least.

Aemond curled his lip in agitation as he left the Keep, fearing that his brain may wither and die if he were to share any further words with that oaf. The ground rumbled with the promise of thunder, as well as Vhagar’s looming presence beyond the walls. Heavy clouds loomed above, dark and swirling.

He felt something cold against his throat as he was suddenly pushed backwards, undoubtedly with a weapon to him. Grabbing his attacker’s arm, he twisted it at an awkward angle and shifted his body weight to stagger them. Wringing their arm behind their back, he spoke evenly. “Drop your weapon.”

A clang of metal upon stones was heard as Aemond got a look at his opponent’s face. “Jacaerys. That was a pitiful attempt, truly.” he drawled, hoisting his nephew’s arm higher behind his back.

The young prince grunted in pain, thrashing against his uncle like a pinned animal. “Where is she?! You and your damnable brother have her captive, you cowards!”

Aemond blinked once. Twice. He was referring to Shera. Did his nephew actually care for her? Or mayhaps the reaction of her brother, instead, that he was afraid of. “She’s safe, ‘tis all you need to know. She’s away from you and your inept side of the family. In fact, I daresay, she is with her real family.” he let go of Jace’s arm, shoving him away and sending him spiraling on the cobble. He drew his dagger, twirling it. “Do you really think anyone believes your charade, nephew? That you actually like her?”

Jacaerys got back to his feet, unsheathing his sword. His grip was shaky, but with some intention. “You know nothing, uncle! I care for her— we are to be married!” he professed the words with hollow conviction, a dullness behind his deep brown eyes giving way to his true emotion: doubt.

“You care for her? If that’s true, you’ll climb upon your puny dragon and go back to Dragonstone with your tail tucked between your legs. Cry to your mummy and tell her to cease this silly charade of war— and never, ever mention Shera’s name again. She’s too good for the likes of you, bastard.” Aemond spat.

Jacaerys surged forward, sloppy and fueled by anger alone. Aemond shouldered his blow, clashing the metal of his dagger with the shortsword. “A rematch, then, nephew? I don’t believe your guard dog is here to so valiantly come to your side, is he?” the elder prince taunted, felling another haphazard strike– sparks flew from their respective weapons, years of resentment, the bullying, prods and exchanges, taking his Shera, it had all finally come to a head. An elude to a dance between them.

Metal bit metal, flickers of those flames bleeding from their blades with each strike, strike, strike.

“Since you very well fancy yourself a dragonrider, nephew,” Aemond continued to tease, gaining ground on Jacaerys with ease. “How about we take this fight to the skies, hm? Vhagar would do well with a snack out of your shitty little whelp.” he cocked his head to the side as lightning struck behind them, near the sea. The skies churned and toiled, swirling like a threatening witch’s brew. Then came the thunder, rumbling and shaking the ground beneath them. “I shall give you a head start,” Aemond hummed, twirling his blade. “Run.”

It was a blur of adrenaline, the pressure of the storm and something ancient brewing in his blood. He did not remember mounting Vhagar and beginning the chase. But as the rain pelted his face like shards of ice piercing his soul, his whole body sung. It was alight with fire, with molten lava straight from the molten hells of Old Valyria. Vhagar rumbled beneath him, as if to share sentiment with his thoughts.

“Dakogon, valītsos!” Run, boy! He yelled into the raging storm, not caring that he was thoroughly soaked to the bone. He felt alive.

The blur of Vermax dodging and weaving through the clouds, above and below the storm, was all Aemond saw besides the red in his vision. Crimson fury coursed through him as he thought back to Driftmark, feeling a ghost of the pain light up his nerves. The roar of the storm was muted over the ringing, the white noise playing in his ears, the echo of his own screams as a child being mutilated. He never told Shera, nay, anyone, but he had heard her cries. He had heard the colluding of his family to murder her.

“Kill her! She’s going to tell on us, Baela!” one of the other kids had cried.

“I-I can’t! I can’t kill her, Jace!” Baela wailed back. “T-That would be… wrong!”

What was left of his strength at that moment, Aemond mustered it. Baela had the knife pressed to Shera’s throat, hand shaking. The Stark girl was eerily still, soft whimpering cries coming from her. Blood was everywhere, the whites of her eyes no longer white, but stained red.

He would save her, he had to!

He hardly remembered moving, it was all autonomous, as he pushed his cousin’s arm wielding the knife away–

The tunnel was silent, save for the noise of sickly gurgling as blood filled Shera’s throat. It wasn’t the action of Baela that cut it. It was Aemond’s paltry attempt to save her.

It was truly an accident.

Aemond was pulled out of the memory by Vhagar’s agitated roar, Vermax spitting fire at her from in front. It wouldn’t hurt the old dragon, no, the whelp’s flames didn’t burn hot enough for that. But it was an annoyance to her– she was the Queen of Dragons, how could a lowly little hatchling think himself big enough to challenge her? Any semblance of clarity in Aemond’s clouded mind was snuffed out at Vermax’s display of aggression.

Instead, he plunged deeper into it. He embraced the madness. “Ao sylugon naejot vīlībagon se dāria zaldrīzoti, nādrēsy?” You dare challenge the Queen of Dragons, bastard? “Kesan jikagon ao arlī naejot aōha muña isse ñuqir!” I will send you back to your mother in ashes.

An updraft lifted Vhagar, her gargantuan wings billowing like sails as she rode the wind. They were approaching a craggy outcrop of cliffs which would spell doom for any would-be sailor. But they were not sailors. Tucking in her wings, she dove downward towards Vermax. Vhagar was not the fastest dragon by any means, but her size coupled with gravity pulling downward made her as fast as an arrow, barrelling towards the pair.

They were at war. It would be justified, surely. It was on the tip of his tongue. Dra—

No. No.

“Keligon,” he whispered. Stop. “Keligon, Vhagar!” Stop! He pulled at the reins to steer them towards the open sea.

Vermax and Jacaerys Velaryon disappeared into the hovel of crags, just small enough to slip into them.

Vhagar protested, growling, snarling, blowing fire into the air as they skimmed the surface of the ocean, more water spraying across Aemond’s face, some droplets turned to stinging steam.

Why did he stop?

He could’ve killed Jacaerys and then Rhaenyra’s side would be down one dragonrider. Shera would not be betrothed any longer. It would be revenge.

But– he remembered Shera rambling about something a few weeks prior.

Shera held a red leaf between her thumb and forefinger, observing it with a careful gaze. They had liaised into the Godswood after his morning training. She was wearing her usual garb of black and white with a lacy train that was getting caught in the twigs and grass as she walked. Her veil was off of her face, pulled to rest behind her neck for a moment of reprieve.

“The leaves are falling,” she murmured, her moonstone jewelry on her hands shining as the sunlight filtered through waving foliage. “Do you think the Gods are watching us, Aemond?”

He glanced at her as he was loosening his armored gauntlets, unstrapping the leather beneath them. “Mayhaps.”

“They’re selective when they do see, don’t they? What makes a God? And what are we…” she dropped the leaf, letting it float away on the breeze. “But just spaces in between? We wish to be blessed by being good, by adhering to their rules. The faith of the Seven condemn bastardry as a sin. The old Gods of the North behold guest rights as an immutable law. Both hold Kinslaying to the highest of faults, none are more damned than a Kinslayer,” her eye met Aemond’s as she tilted her head. “I want to believe in it all, to be good, to appease… but sometimes I feel as if it’s never enough. It seems they only pay attention when you are to be cursed for your wrongdoings.”

Aemond clenched his jaw as he guided Vhagar back to King’s Landing.

—

“You’re inevitable, you’ve always been.” he muttered, loosening the fingertips of his gloves before removing them.

Shera poked her head up from the doorway, nightgown billowing around her like a ghostly shift. It was late— extremely so. The candles had burnt out, the only light available illuminating from the moon. “Aem… ond?” she squeaked, voice laden with sleep. A poor pageboy had been sent to wake her, the shaken lad citing ‘The prince requested your presence immediately in his chambers’. It remained a mystery to her how Aemond had even found a servant at this ungodly hour.

“Why are you inevitable to me? It’s as if I’m looking at my death when I see you, think of you— you’re a parasite upon my own mind, like I have no self control.” he continued, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight. One hand was clutched at his head, fingers running through his hair. The luminosity glared off of the sapphire embedded into his socket— he looked quite mad. Mad in a beautiful, haunting sort of way.

Shera thought them made for one another. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her. Moongeist had escorted her, but he was left outside the chamber now. It was only her and Aemond. “I didn’t think… I occupied so much of your mind.”

“I could’ve killed him tonight, you know. Chased his whelp of a dragon through the storm and scattered him across the bay,” Aemond rambled on, not addressing that Shera was even speaking. “I should have. Put the title of Kinslayer on me, over my head. I’m already damned.”

Walking closer, he was soaked head to toe, rain water still dripping from his leathers. His hair clung to his skin, curled softly in its dampness. It almost brought a smile to her face, the curls she thought he lost were still there— but the mood of the room, the distant rumble of thunder, was oppressive. It felt like a hood over their heads.

“Would you still love me if I was a Kinslayer?” he turned to her completely. Even in the dark, she could see the smallest rim of violet in his eye— eclipsed by his blown out pupil. His expression was blank, mood unknowable.

Her stomach twisted at his words, legs feeling shaky beneath her once more. She hadn’t told him that she loves him, afraid of denial, rejection. Taking a seat in his desk chair before him, she looked up. “Y-you… you must know,” she whispered hoarsely. “You must know my feelings.”

“Speak it into existence, Shera,” the prince pleaded, almost. “Make it real.” he got on his knees now before her, putting his hands in her lap, palms up— as if he was praying. His head laid sideways on her thighs as he looked onto the darkness, ear up, waiting.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach, to the deepest depths of the hells below them. She never thought herself brave, no, she was quite cowardly, in truth. She would catch a fright from odd shadows and most certainly would never stand up to the face of adversity. She wasn’t made for it. But this— this was something she needed to do. It wasn’t an act of bravery nor valor. It was selfish, cowardly. The words she spoke made it real between them both. And they could not be taken back. Her lips parted slowly, her voice soft as she whispered into his ear. “I love you. I love you irrevocably, irreversibly, irresponsibly, all consumingly,” her words were jagged and unhewn, but it was so much like them. “You are everything, Aemond.”

Aemond let out the smallest puff of air from his nostrils. He still did not speak, nor verbally reciprocate her declaration. He was, of course, a man of action. His hands slid up to her face, pulling her downward into a ferocious kiss. It wasn’t the sweet one they had shared in the Godswood before— no, this was different. It was the exchanges of breath, tethered to one another’s oxygen like lifelines. His fingers threaded in her hair, tugging, teasing.

The heat in the room was rising, much like the fervor of their kisses. Tongues fighting, fingers roaming to snatch at exposed skin— anything to be closer, as close as they could be without their veins intertwining. Soon enough, Aemond lifted her up from her seat with one arm, not breaking their connection for even a second.

“You,” he huffed between her lips as he sat her down at the edge of the bed. “Are mine. You are mine,” his hands left her body as he unbuttoned his soaked jerkin and discarded it to the side carelessly.

“Yours,” she echoed, her voice not sounding like her own. It was an autonomous thing, to give oneself to another, wholly and completely.

Laying back on the bed, her nightgown pooled beside her like silver ichor. The ichor slipped through his fingers like silk, pulling it taut. Aemond pauses for a moment, throat bobbing in an unheard ask for consent to go further. Despite his bravado with starting it, there was an air of apprehension swirling around him, an uncertainty that was almost unheard of with Aemond.

She knew it right away, seeing that own feeling within herself many times. Warmth grew in her chest as she reassured him without words, both hands making a home on his face as she swept him into a kiss that left no room for any other interpretation: she wanted him. Desperately.

To her delight, it seemed he felt the same, if the hardness prodding against her stomach was any indication. He peeled away her lone garment, leaving her bare before him. He blinked, chest rising and falling with a slow, feather light motion. He was observing her with extreme scrutiny, much as he had when he sketched her before. This was something he wanted— needed— to commit to memory. Then, after what felt like an eternity of staring, he let out a deep breath, hands back on her once more. His fingers notched themselves in the soft skin of her hips, silently marveling at them with a less than subtle squeeze.

They didn’t need words between them. Not now, not for this. Words only got in the way, cluttering what could so clearly be said with action. With reaction. Shera let out a gentle sigh as he continued his exploration, palming her heavy breast, once again giving a squeeze. On mere instinct, to want more, to taste more, her lips latched to his neck and jawline. He wriggled out of his smallclothes and finally there was nothing between them.

Nothing but skin and warmth, on display for one another. All of their collective scars washed away with their extremities as their chests cracked open, bones falling away with all pretense, all duty, all expectation. It was just them. The two colors of their souls mingling together rightfully at last.

He prodded gently at her entrance, testing for any discomfort. She sung her consent by melding their lips together again, tongues taking one another and savoring as her arms looped around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. As he breached her, sliding in slowly, Shera paused for a moment, mouth open against his, peering at him beneath fettered lashes.

His eye was closed— the one he could still see from. The other, embedded with the sapphire, did not close completely. The puckered skin tried, eclipsing the gem ever so slightly, leaving a crescent of blue to shine through. Aemond’s brow was furrowed, lips pursed in deep concentration as he finally bottomed out inside of her, hand clutched against her thigh, fingers indenting against her skin.

It didn’t feel right to say anything else at the moment, truly. Her heart hung so heavy in her chest that she feared it would abscond from her ribcage and fall upon the floor. Softly and almost inaudibly, she whispered against his lips. “I love you.”

Theirs was a muffled pleasure, besotted by one another’s presence that all sound ceased. Only once they had finished, the union of dragon and wolf, Aemond planting his seed deep inside of her, did he speak. “I love you.”

–

It was silent, save for the tandem pitter-patter of two bare feet and four paws. Her heart fluttered in her chest, her body still tingling from the encounter. She still felt his hands on her waist, his lips on the soft column of her neck– he absolutely worshiped her after they got over the awkwardness.

It felt like second nature after the initial moments– it felt right, to give themselves to one another, to profess so strongly…

She couldn’t stop smiling. Her cheeks hurt, actually hurt, from smiling so much. When has she ever experienced something like this in her life?

Her fingers skimmed Moongeist’s soft fur as they went back to her chambers. She had wanted to stay with Aemond, to sleep beside him, to wake up next to him– she had to put mind over matter when she left while he was sleeping. She always figured him a light sleeper due to his incessant training with Ser Cole. She was surprised to learn that he even slept at all. When she had awoken from the tiny nap after their coupling, he was, in fact, asleep– soundly, even.

This was probably the only time he did sleep. She giggled to herself as she imagined it again, sipping at her herbal tea left on the side table, left presumably by the maids. It was lukewarm and could use a bit of heat. When did they leave this?

Perched on the settee, she attempted to cross one leg over the other, but was met with a dull, aching pain in the apex of her thighs.

Oh, right.

Her mind began to swirl as she thought of Aemond waking up… and seeing that she wasn’t there. Would he be upset? Angry? Despondent?

Their time together for the past half year had been enlightening. About herself, about Aemond. The fact of it was– he was just as damaged as she was. He had just mastered the art of masking it. She had a lot to learn from him.

Mayhaps she should write him a note– saying she didn’t want to leave, that she liked what they did, that she loved him, that she wanted to do it again and soon because she was absolutely aching for him–

She needed to calm down, beginning to feel wanton. Her head felt full of cotton, leaking from her ears like one of one of the stuffies that Moongeist destroyed as a puppy. Grabbing a quill and piece of loose parchment from the table.

I have always liked blue.

What color do you think we make together?

I think it would be a shade of periwinkle, a beautiful layering of vinca on the forest floor.

Please return to me. And we shall see what color we make.

I feel bereft without you.

She did not address it, nor sign it– Aemond should know her handwriting by now, shouldn’t he? As she folded it up, fuzzy bundles of sheep’s wool cotton spread across the room. When she tried to move, intending to stand up, a sudden illness rose through her, the quill slipping out of her hand. As she stood up, her vision went sideways. Moongeist began to whine, prodding at her hand with his wet nose.

This wasn’t normal– to be frank, nothing about her usual illnesses was normal. But this was different. She was numb in her extremities, shots of ice spreading through her fingers and toes. It felt like being caught beyond the wall in the maw of an ice dragon, rime-wrought teeth burying into her skin. Moongeist was growling suddenly, snarling and snapping his jaws. She hadn’t heard him so upset in so long, nary ever.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell! There’s a damn wolf in here!” an unfamiliar voice boomed.

Who is that? What is happening? Shera clutched the fabric of the chaise as she attempted to right herself, to right her mind and rid it of the cacophony of butterflies that were making a host in her ears.

“‘Course there is, damn rogue wouldn’t mention it! Stave ‘em off while I grab the girl.” another voice responded.

Please don’t. Please don’t touch me. Moongeist snarled, she heard, his body barrelling toward one of the intruders, knocking over furniture in his way. The wolf was a force to be reckoned with, sizing up to the burglar’s height with ease, over six feet when standing on his hind legs.

The former man’s voice wailed, his scream bloodcurdling, followed by a sickly crunch. “Fuck! Fuck! My fuckin’ fingers!”

Strong and careless arms hoisted Shera up, her vision still spinning. “S-St… stop… stop,” she whimpered, her limbs feeling like jelly. She tried to wrestle out of his grasp– he smelled terrible. Twisting her body as much as she could, she wriggled against him.

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunted, looking around the room as Moongeist mauled his companion.

He tore out a chunk of flesh from his arm, then silenced him by ripping out his throat. The first intruder gave a sickly gurgling noise before he went still.

The man holding Shera bolted towards the opening behind the bookcase.

“A-Ae-,” Shera rose her voice, trying her damndest to yell, to scream. Her consciousness faded like a failsafe, her voice cut off by a sharp hit to her throat. It felt like a steel ball ripping through her, her voice going dead and falling from her tongue like vomit.

She felt blood in her mouth, flesh in her teeth. She needed the violence, the rage–

I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll rip you apart, you fucking craven.

She slipped into Moongeist’s being with ease, with urgency, jaws snapping as they whipped around, seeing her corporeal body being taken away.

No, no, no!

They howled, lamenting.

NO!

Their paws moved fast, chest heaving, lungs ballooning and deflating– so close, so close.

The bookshelf closed in their face. They howled again, their song filled with anguish. Their nails scratched against the wood, tearing books apart and splinters embedding into their paws. The physical pain was nothing– nothing compared to the tether between lady and wolf wavering. It flitted across the breeze, pulled taut, taut, taut.

Lost.

Taken.

Stolen.

SNAP.

The cord was severed. She was back in her own body again. Her nose was bleeding. She couldn’t speak. She was well and truly silenced now.

Her vision went dark again as she heard the distant sound of seagulls.

#aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc #my writing #banshees lament #fic: banshee's lament

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beefrobeefcal · 2 months

Text

The Mouse Turned Little Bird feat. Frankie Morales, Ezra & f!reader

Summary: The lead up to dinner was stressful - but are you ready to take it further? Part 3 of There are Other Fish in the Sea

Pairing: Frankie, Ezra & Mouse | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,052

Content Warnings: Kissing, mentions of food, overcooked salmon, unseasoned quinoa, wine, playing hooky from work, deep thoughts, deep feelings, Ezra being a patient wonderful human being, Ezra also has two arms (sorry for not mentioning that previously)

Author's Notes: Mouse is trying, y'all... she really wants to move on and get better, but as we all know, healing isn't linear.

Thank you to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for brainstorming this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled, @mothandpidgeon and @neverwheremoonchildfor their eyes and love.

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You couldn’t sleep.

Despite the initial joy you got from rebuffing Frankie and getting a yes from Ezra, you weren’t able to settle. The day’s events, while not enough to move mountains, had moved you a little farther on your path to…

Fuck.

You had no idea where this path was leading you or if there even was a path. Maybe you were lumbering through dense forest towards a chasm, or wandering aimlessly through a desert. Or maybe there was a path, but it was the wrong one and you were trudging to certain doom and not self discovery.

The room was so quiet as you laid back and blinked in the dark, thoughts and worries swirling in your head as your heartbeat thrummed loudly in your ears. You felt guilty on top of the uncertainty. The guilt gnawed at you; Benny had opened up his home and put the relationship with his brother and his best friends below you and you felt that there was nothing you could do to repay him or even let him know how much you appreciated it.

But there was something else, under that guilt, picking away the last bit of shrunken-in-the-night confidence you had left - regret.

Regret for denying Frankie the chance to show you he was a better man now and regret for perhaps moving on to Ezra too soon. What if Frankie was truly sorry? What if Ezra was no better? What if you still loved Frankie and you could never love Ezra?

Why the fuck am I thinking about loving Ezra? I wonder how big his dick is.

Your face skewed in shock at yourself.

“I didn’t mean that.”, you hissed out in urgency, as if that would atone for the alleged sin of thinking about Ezra’s manhood. You paused, waiting to see if someone would answer then you furrowed your brow.

“Who the fuck am I talking to?”

*****

You’d taken a sick day since you got so little sleep, opting to stay in bed and mull over the irony of a sick day while you had a work-from-home job. After texting Benny to let him know, you tossed your phone down and rolled over.

There was a knock at your door, then it opened and cats came in, wailing their morning song, followed by Benny carrying two cups of coffee.

“So you’re moping.”

“M’not moping.”, you groaned into your pillow.

“Hey, man - I am all for taking advantage of sick days, but you’re not sick. You’re moping.”

Benny places the coffee cups on your bedside table and sat on the end of the bed, then laid back, his head on your blanketed calf.

You shifted your leg in irritation and huffed, and he in turn grabbed your ankle from under the blanket and tugged gently.

“Tell me again why I should go away and abandon you for a weekend?”

“Benny…”, you sighed.

“Just say the word, Mouse. I’ll stay.”

You said nothing because you knew your silence was enough of an answer.

You both laid there quietly for a period of time, the cats both joining you on the bed, and you were just about to lull off to the sound of Bagels purring as he rolled up in the crook of your neck when Benny spoke, the shit eating grin on his face apparent in his tone.

“You’ve got a fuckin’ date tonight.”

*****

Benny left for work, taking his packed bag with him and said he would see you Sunday night, and you spent the day tidying up the apartment. Grocery shopping 2.0 was far more successful and you got the items you needed for making dinner.

You knew Ezra was not a vegan or vegetarian - based on his declared love of trying exotic meats on his travels, and you knew he did not like mashed potatoes, given the face he made when another patron at the bistro mentioned them and he responded with, “Solanum tuberosum was meant for roasting and nothing else, friend, Saying otherwise is an affront to nature herself.”

The memory made you smile, recalling how Ezra smirked and winked at you after you googled what a slolanim toobera som was and mouthed Potato? at him.

*****

You buzzed Ezra up to the apartment and nervously fixed your dress. You heard his footsteps in the hallway and preemptively opened the door. His hand was up, ready to knock, and his eyebrows were raised. You both look at each other, nervous excitement charged between you.

“You are an eager host, little bird.”

Even though you forgot the salt in the quinoa and the salmon was over cooked, Ezra never let on that there was anything wrong. He talked at length about him and his life, and repeatedly gave you the chance to step in and share, which you did albeit cautiously. His eyes never carried judgment - just curiosity, like the kind you might find in the eyes of someone trying to solve a riddle. And he didn’t prod too deeply, but rewarded you with his smile when you did share.

“Any more family beyond Benny?”, he queried as he took a bite of very well done salmon.

“Benny has a brother, but he and I are… we’re not close.”

Ezra nods. “I, too, have family that I find associating with beyond my mother’s annual yule note to be grating.” He took a sip of wine. “Which is why I firmly believe in the family you make.”

You nodded and watched him. You wanted to know why he took such an interest with you. You’d wondered aloud to Benny once, asking if certain people were drawn to broken things and if so, was it because they wanted to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable state. Benny had smiled and responded with, “Some people are just tinkerers and want to help fix broken things.”

Benny’s words had reminded you of Frankie and his innate need to pull apart engines and electronics and rebuild them in a way he thought was better - like he wanted to control the make-up of the things around him and make them work better for him. Maybe even you fell under that banner.

Ezra didn’t seem like that. Less concerned with control, he was more of a poet: he watched and observed and made commentary. He seemed to be more along the lines of ‘let the pieces fall where they may’ and that is what drew you to him. But what was it about you?

“How long have you lived with Ben - “

“What’s the catch?”

He raised his brows at you and put his wine glass down, huffing a chuckle. “Catch?”

You nodded, grinning slightly and leaning in. “You said yes to coming for dinner after I left you in a panic. I’m just curious.”

He sucked his teeth a bit and sat back, crossing his arms.

“You looked lost when you darkened my doorway the first time.” Looking you over, he seemed to be contemplating how to answer. “You seemed to find yourself a little more each time you sat across the bartop from me. And the more I saw of that little bird, the more I wanted to know why she could not fly.”

Your question was answered.

*****

After the table was cleared, you stood in front of the kitchen sink, rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher.

“Mouse.”, he murmured softly.

You looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at a picture on the fridge - the one that was torn in half, its partner probably thrown out or burned. It was you and Benny from a few years ago, both wearing shirts with your names crudely spray painted across them. The other side of the picture that held Will, Santi, Hannah and Frankie was left behind in your old home.

Ezra kept his eyes trained on you in the photo, leaning in, and his index finger gently grazed the torn, ragged edge. You swallowed, wondering if his mind was trying to imagine what the missing piece held that rendered it unwanted, and solve another riddle you had set out for him. The longer he stayed quiet, the more fidgety and anxious you felt.

“I assumed Mouse was a pet name reserved only for those in your inner circle.”, he mused softly, taking one last look at the photo before turning to you with a lopsided smile. “You prefer Mouse or…”

You let go of the breath you were holding with a nod, relief washing over you. You moved toward him in a few small, slow steps. “Uh - Mouse was a nickname from when I was a kid that stuck. I- uh, didn’t really have a say. I… I kinda like Little Bird - but you can call me Mouse. Whatever you want.”

The nervous, forced titter of a laugh that you ended with made his eyes soften. Ezra nodded, turning his body towards you. He grinned, giving you a flash of his gold tooth. “Then I dub thee Little Bird.”

****

“... and I made Benny swear that he’d go to his grave with it, but I’m sure my mom knew something was up - how could she not?”

Ezra’s eyes creased as he laughed. “You are as devious as you are beautiful.”

As you sat on the couch, turned towards one another, both nursing a second glass of red wine. God, you wanted to kiss him. That freckle on his neck, the dimple on his cheek… you imagined kissing him and running your tongue over the golden tooth in his mouth. His fingers played the sleeve of your shirt and his eyes softened and darted to your lips and back up. His jaw ticked as if he were weighing his options and deciding on his next move, seemingly thinking the same thing as you were.

“A conundrum you are, Little Bird.” His voice was so soft, yet it held so much power. “Sublime, soft, sweet, vexxed - but wounded.”

Your face heated up and you looked down at your glass of wine, clutched in your hand. You mulled over how much to share with him; you didn’t want to scare Ezra away, but you felt he deserved to know at least something about where you had come from.

“The last guy I was with… He and I had- well, we ended things at a low point… badly.”

He shook his head, hushing you. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re - “

“He had issues and I couldn’t- didn’t help. Communication was not his strong suit and eventually, it felt like I didn’t know him anymore. And… he hurt- we hurt each other. A lot. And he cheated on me.”

Raising your gaze, you looked at him, cautiously, waiting for the fallout. Instead you met with Ezra leaning in, taking your wine glass and putting it aside, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a moment. As he moved to pull away your hand came up to his face, silently begging him to not stop. He pushed in further, running his tongue along your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth. It was nothing like you imagined; for the last six years, you’d only ever kissed Frankie and his kiss was dominant and forceful, like a freight train. Ezra though - his unfolded like a slow, enchanting dance. There was nothing rushed and you felt as though you were falling hard for him.

It was too soon. Too fast. You barely knew him outside of the almost two months you’d spent sitting at the bar and tonight’s dinner. Your mind began to panic, racing with the thought of Frankie’s crestfallen face as you rejected him and now you were kissing another man so soon after.

You parted from him, clenching your eyes and you rested your forehead against his. His large hand held your jaw, his thumb soothing over your cheek and murmured, “Little Bird…”

Sitting back, you felt foolish and vulnerable, but you forced yourself to speak.

"I... I don't think I'm ready. Ezra, I - I'm sorry." He took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the grooves in your palm.

"You'll take flight again, Little Bird. And when you're ready, I'll be there to help open your cage."

Oh fuck me.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #🥩#the catfish & the mouse one shot #ezra fanfiction #ezra prospect

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soobinskii · 6 months

Text

strawberry flavored sun

warnings : switch!camboy!theo, fem-bodied reader, squirting, masturbation; mentions of weed, sex toys, gooning.

a/n : y'all want a part two? (& i'm trying out a new layout pls lmk if u like it!)

whenever you got the notification that "sunyangie" was starting his live, most times, you would drop what you were doing, crawl into your bed & grab your favorite bullet vibrator. you would cast your phone screen to your tv like you were some type of perverse, corrupt gooner. however, when it came to your favorite camboy, you were.

it just seemed like your mind slipped into mush when you watched him. you would wrecklessly spend your money to make his cock ring vibrate against the base of his shaft. you would watch the way his precum leaked out of his pretty pink tip. his expressions, his eyes rolled back and puffy lips spread, gasps and wanton moans coming from his mouth.

you had basically memorized his streaming schedule, and you always found time to watch one of his streams. you found yourself in your bed, his stream up on your tv and with your vibrator pressed up against your clit at least twice a week. every monday, wednesday, friday and sunday, you found yourself completing tasks sooner than you would on any other day, just because you knew that in the back of your head, sunyangie was streaming today.

you were layed back on your bed with pillows stacked up just enough for you to see the tv, the volume low to not alert any neighbors of what you were doing, and soft music playing as you waited for him to start the stream. your vibrator and new pink dildo that you had gotten earlier today were layed out next to you.

you looked up at his stream and as soon as you did his face popped up on screen. he was absolutely glowing in the luminescence of his sunset lamp and fairy lights. the dainty silver chain hanging around his neck was glimmering in the dim lights and, the camera angle was low enough for you to see his face, down to just above his thighs. his pink hair framing his fave perfectly, hands resting on either side of his thighs as he was checking to see if people had joined.

he gave a bright smile and waved. he greeted the chat; voice soft, low and sultry, "hello guys, how have you all been? i've been okay! sorry i missed monday's stream, something came up."

he seems calm, but as you inspect him further, the erection in his pants is anything but calm. as he's reading the chat and getting ready to start, you watch him palm himself. you rub yourself through your panties at the same speed, wanting to keep in time with theo.

as he's reading through the chat, you feel as if he's looking at you, you feel so incredibly turned on and flustered at the way he's skimming through the messages that flood in. his eyes are slightly red and low from what you can tell, as if he just smoked a joint (and he probably did for all you know.)

"are you ready to start?" theo asks, pulling his hard cock out of his grey sweatpants, squirting a bit of lube into his hand. as he spreads it along his tip he hisses, "fuck.. it's cold." with his eyes screwed shut and his hand slowly working up and down on his veiny shaft, you slip your hand into your panties and decide on rubbing small, leisurely circles around your clit.

you hear a soft giggle come through your soundbar and you open your eyes to see his eyes open, with his plump bottom lip between his teeth. he grabs the pink and white cock ring from his desk and holds it in view for the camera to capture. "let's have some fun." he purrs out.

you whimper at the sound of his smooth voice, grabbing your vibrator and pulling your underwear off.

you watch as theo pushes the ring down towards his balls and grabs his new hitachi vibrator. "hmm.. i got this new toy today, shall we try it out?" he has a smirk on his face while glancing at his chat going crazy, being spammed with positive answers.

you decide to donate 10 dollars, sending a message, along with making the pink ring around his base vibrate. you see his hips jump out as he lets out a whimper, he reads out the message as his voice slightly shakes. "please use it? okay.. does it turn you on to see me like this, (username)? i've seen you in here a lot.." he chuckles and tilts his head.

you gasp and your eyes shoot open at him reading out your username, you've been in his chat before but you didn't think he would remember you. you decide to type in the chat, using a few of his channel points to highlight your message, "i love watching you, you're absolutely gorgeous yangie." typing out a quick message, short enough for your horny brain to process.

he smiles at your comment and thanks you, typing something into his phone quickly & then turning his vibrator on at the lowest setting. he presses it to the underside of his tip and sucking in a sharp breath at the new feeling. "shit.. oh- that feels amazing.."

you see his stomach contracting with each gasp and moan he lets out, his forehead starts to glisten in the dim light of his bedroom. as he runs the toy up and down his cock, he starts to get a little more used to the odd feeling.

he turns it up onto the second setting, throwing his head back and whimpering as the vibrations get stronger. he's rolling his hips as his shaky hand holds the large white toy in place.

"damnit- guys.. i don't think i'm gonna last too long.. hah-" theo is already panting, whimpering and moaning. he's a mess already and it hasn't even been ten minutes into the stream.

he pulls it away and decides to take the cock ring off "need to cum- 'm so needy today.." he pouts as he places it on his desk and continues with his ministrations on his dick, his free hand coming up to rub against his chest and play with his nipples.

you're working the dildo into your sopping cunt, moaning out with him. if someone were to hear you, it'd sound like something straight out of a porn video.

you push the dildo into your pussy at the same pace as his hips on the screen. fast, yet not rough. you hold onto your chest with your other hand, also playing with your hard nipples.

"fuck- fuck!" he moans out, stuttering as he turns up the setting on his toy once more. you can tell he's about to finish, his eyebrows are knotted together, eyes tightly shut, he has blush dusting his cheeks. "please.. so close.. gonna cum, gonna-" he cuts himself off with a moan as cum shoots from his tip. it paints his stomach, and the head of the vibrator; even going up to his chest.

his back arches out of his chair and his legs shake as he rides through his heavy orgasm, slightly overstimulating himself.

you cum at the same time as him, tears prickling at your eyes and your thighs clamp down on your wrist. the hand on your chest moves up to your hair and runs through it, as you moan and heavily breathe, your fingers now moving to work at your clit as you squirt and convulse around the dildo. your orgasm leaking down your ass and onto the bed.

as you start to come back down from your peak, you glance back at your screen and see theo shutting the toy off and putting it down to scoop the white substance off of his stomach. he shows the camera the cum on his fingers before he licks it off, making a spectacle of hit fat lips wrapped around his fingers. he opens them to show you his tongue circling the digits in his mouth.

"mmm.. sweet.." he says after he pulls them out of his mouth, licking his lips.

after a minute or two of basking in the afterglow, and speaking to viewers, he wraps up the stream, smiling and wishing the chat farewell, apologizing for the shorter stream.

as you exit the site and put on a random youtube video, getting ready to clean up, your phone dings with a notification from your instagram.

you decide to check what it is and you see a message request & follow from.. theo-?

#p1harmony smut #p1harmony #p1h theo #p1harmony theo #theo p1harmony #theo smut #theo p1harmony smut #kpop smut

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delusional-day-dreamer · 3 months

Text

First. Love. Part¹ - p.b

playlist. next part.

‣ paige bueckers x oc (reader?, tbh i'm not sure how it works!)

‣ wc: 1790

‣‣ synopsis: people say in life, you have your FIRST love and your first LOVE, but what if paige was both?

‣‣‣ a/n: y'all i'm SO SORRY for my inactivity, summer classes and morning practices are awful. i promise i will try to release more fics on a more regular basis. For the sake of the FICTIONAL story, pazzi simply does not exist, they are best friends but denied the rumors during azzi's freshmen year and she has a boyfriend. Songs that are underlined are linked to tiktok covers just because I love them!

Us Weekly : Tuesday June 13th, 2023

Just this friday, upcoming singer-songwriter Jenna Smyths performs her own song, Means Something and an instrumental cover of Holy Ground by Taylor Swift at BBC Live Lounge to introduce her soon to be released debut album, Eternal Us (not my most creative moment I know 😔). The young singer has just graduated from UCLA after completing her three-year Bachelor's Degree with a double major, her focus being Business Economics with a minor in Film, Television, and Digital Media.

This Friday was Jenna's first televised performance, and her constantly sold out small-venue concerts have been applauded all over social media and by celebrities for her vocal maturity, depth and intricacy within her song lyrics, and her ability to convey raw emotion through her performances. However, this song cover was announced by the singer-songwriter to be particularly special to her, as she mentions that this song "brings back specific memories".

The twenty-one year old kept her composure throughout both songs, yet fans on various media platforms have pointed out Jenna's seemingly tear filled eyes during Holy Ground. The artist addresses the emotions she felt during the song during her first appearance on the Jimmy Fallon Show after performing her first released single, Promise, which is prominently featured as it’s one of her most popular singles.

The Tonight Show: Monday June 12th, 2023 "Please welcome to The Tonight Show, Jenna Smyths," Jimmy introduced you as you walked onto the set of the show, the live audience cheering loudly as you took your seat on the couch.

"Thank you so much Jimmy, it's such an honor to be here, sitting on this sacred couch," you joked, bringing some of your recently curled hair over your shoulder in hopes of disguising any traces of anxiety the crowd or camera may pick up. Thankfully, it worked as you heard the stir of laughter on set, allowing you to relax further into the couch, it actually was quite comfortable.

"It's incredible that we have you sitting here, I mean almost two years ago you blew up on TikTok for your incredible song covers, and then you started playing live in a bunch of LA venues, then you started releasing your own music, and now you're a UCLA Alumni sitting here," as he summed up your rise to fame, the audience began another round of applause.

"Oh my gosh I know right," you giggled, overjoyed that the audience was showing so much support towards you and that your first big interview was going so well. "I swear it was like two weeks ago I was singing on TikTok and then freaking out about my notifications and somehow I just teleported here," you laughed off the slight tinge you felt in your heart.

College had gone by far too quickly, and you were constantly consumed with stress regarding your future. Up until a few weeks ago, you had no idea what you were going to do with your life. What if your album flopped? What if you never made it big? How would you move on and get a regular job from there?

"Yes yes, I remember seeing some of your earliest covers on tiktok. In fact," a smirk appeared on his face, he clearly had something hiding up his sleeve. "We just so happen to have a little video edited together of your old covers, for old times' sake just to show how far you've come," he laughed at the nervous expression on your face and the crowd's enthusiasm.

"Oh god, some of those are from questionable times," you mumbled, raising your right hand to slightly cover your mouth as the video played.

Clips of you singing in your old college apartment bedroom appeared, switching in between guitar covers and piano while singing Katy Perry's Teenage Dream, We Can't Be Friends by Ariana Grande (yes pretend it was out at the time), Bags by Clairo, to the Man Who Can't Be Moved, and a few others. You watched your younger self, heartbroken and healing, singing songs to post on the internet just for your friends to watch, and yet somehow your voice had reached millions of people.

"Well you can see it here clear as day folks, Jenna has clearly always had a knack for those gut-wrenching songs, the ones that make you wonder if you're depressed or the artist is just incredibly good at what they do," you knew he was introducing your live performance with this, sneakily rubbing your sweaty palms over your jeans. You weren't nearly as scared as your BBC performance, but the combination of fear and adrenaline before any performance was overwhelming compared to logic at times.

"So what do you guys say, because I think we need to hear it live to determine which one it truly is," the small crowd erupted at Jimmy's rhetoric, eager to watch your performance.

"Well when you ask so nicely how could I ever refuse Jimmy?" You grinned, standing up to make your way over to the performance area with the live band.

With your guitar in your hands, you let the unique sense of calmness and security wash over you as you adjusted the mic in front of you. Music had always been one of the biggest parts in your life, and even know it never failed you. Not in your best moments, and not even in your worse.

"This is Promise from my new album, Eternal Us, out June 30th"

***Post-performance part of the interview***

"Jenna, you know I have to ask you this, because so far the songs on your album, your covers, and even your performance at the BBC Live Lounge were all fairly depressing songs," Jimmy insists. The two of you had been joking and answering the interview questions with a sense of ease after the performance aspect of the show. The audience was eating up the playful energy the two of you seemed to have, despite the twenty-seven year age gap.

"Please, ask away Jimmy," you quipped, enjoying your time on the show. The steady laughter from the live audience had long soothed any remaining nerves. Growing up, you always felt as if you were born to perform, and this type of live interview was right up your alley.

"And I swear I'm being serious with this, but does the emotion in your music affect you the same it affects your listeners? Because after your cover of Holy Ground aired, you blew up on social media even more then you were before. But one of the things your fans noticed was that it looked like you were gonna cry?" Jimmy inquired, you could hear small murmurs from the audience section at his question, no doubt intrigued to hear your answer.

"You know Jimmy," you began, "Honestly it was just a heat of the moment kinda thing. Like obviously I changed the song in a different key and sang it that way intentionally you know? Taylor is known for her ability to write the most gut-wrenching lyrics and then syncing them up to a catchy beat in a pop song and boom, it's a hit," you explained to both him and the crowd.

"But when I was offered the opportunity to go on BBC Live Lounge and I was trying to decide what song to cover, the lyrics of the song just really stuck out to me in a personal way and I wanted to convey to my listeners the emotions I felt reading and experiencing the lyrics, not listening to it as an upbeat pop song. But don't get me wrong, it's an incredible song just the way it is!" You ended your ramble enthusiastically, trying your best to not delve into the deeper emotions laced within your statement.

"Of course, I mean it was your first televised performance and to a Taylor Swift song no less, but this song has a very meaning to it, unlike some of Taylor's other doctorate-level essay worthy songs you could spend hours analyzing," Jimmy jokes, lightening the mood as always before asking the hard hitting question you had been dreading the entire interview.

"Why did you choose to sing a song about reminiscing of a past relationship, an ex lover if you will. I mean, a good majority of your songs follow the heartbroken post-breakup theme, but the media isn't aware of any relationships you may or may not have had during your time at UCLA, was there someone before?" He questions.

"You're right, I didn't have any actual relationships while at UCLA. My only serious relationship was during my last two years of high school, and a lot of my songs I'm releasing now were written during that time or even earlier, I've just polished them a lot. And of course, my earliest covers are from my freshman year of college, so the wound was still pretty fresh you know?" You skimmed over the topic, keeping the discussion as light-hearted as possible.

"Oh my god, all of that was from one person?" Jimmy jokes, unaware of how hard his statement hits home for you.

"Yeah I mean, I guess your first love will just do that to you, you know?" You joked back. You refused, refused, to let Paige Bueckers affect you in this way on national television. It had been three years for god's sake, you needed to get a grip of yourself.

"Well, they must have been one heck of a first love to be such a long-lasting muse for you," Jimmy pried, and you could tell he was waiting for you to give more details about your relationship.

"Nah nah, cut the cameras, I think we're out of time for tonight right," you nervously laughed, jokingly leaning over to gesture in an over the top manner to the camera crew to stop filming, which roused hefty laughter around set at your antics.

"Don't worry Jenna, we'll leave that topic for next time yeah?" Jimmy chuckled at your immediate refusal, using his perfected charm to continue the interview without any bumps or awkward conversations.

Before you knew it, the interview had been long over and you were laying in your hotel's bedroom. In your opinion, the NYC suite was luxurious and was far too large for just one person to reside. But fortunately for you, you were used to the sense of loneliness you felt in the empty room. To think that you were only a few hours away from Paige, your first love, your first everything, and yet you had never felt more separated from a person you used to love with your whole being.

Thank you for reading all the way through! Part 2 of So High School will be out soon I promise, this series just happened to randomly inspire me and I want to finish it asap before I lose motivation or hit writer's block!

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mono-dot-jpeg · 10 months

Text

stop playing league - k. kenma

summary; a callout to me and my fellow league players. (not league enjoyers. players.)

genre/extra tags; one shot(?)/drabble, fluff, comedy, slight crack, kenma (kind of) slanders riot games and you, relationship unestablished and unmentioned, if you know the games cool (i hate valorant), self indulgent

[can be interpreted as romantic or platonic] [gender never mentioned] [i make many references to different games and use game terms, sorry]

word count; 489

a/n; no one except for league players can make fun of league in this post now, i make the rules and enforce them. (/hj) you ever think abt the difference between making fun of your favorite things and someone else doing it? yeah it's like that basically. i genuinely like the characters league has to offer, but people always think i like the game. (i play it but i usually end up hating most sessions)

"don't you dare hit that button."

your cursor hovers over the fated "find match" button. the button that has been torturing you for at least a few hours now. your dying urge to play "one more game" has you in a chokehold when you just want to win once.

"kenma..." you whine. the pudding head is playing a much more chill game compared to yours, which was slime rancher. it was a little bit nerve-wracking with how easily he almost slipped off ledges, deal with the occasional tarr slime, or the adorably angry slimes in certain paths. but nonetheless, it's a much healthier game to play than league. "it's not like i can even play slime rancher with you, it's not multi-player. just let me have this. i'm gonna win this time. surely. i'll switch to val after this, promise."

"you still won't be playing with me because i don't play valorant." you can imagine his cat-like glare staring at you through the screen. "and you rarely play tft and legends of runeterra."

"it gets me dizzy, alright?! and also you should know how painful it is to get those annoying people who hold my three stars from me!" you pause when he mentions the card game, "the card game isn't that bad. just not my favorite. what about overwatch?"

"isn't the new hog rework annoying?"

"that's... it's something. what about plate up?"

"you're gonna rage."

"stardew?"

"you're too lazy to update your mods."

"shut the fuck up, actually." you hissed at him as he huffs out a laugh. "i'm waiting for the next update. i think everyone is at this point."

"literally play anything but league for fucks sake, y/n."

"but cute neeko skin.." you pretend to cry, "i just want to play my sillies. maybe even win a game, dare i say." you angrily wave your mouse over your screen. kenma watches your screen share, unamused.

"you spent money on that skin."

"WRONG, I SPENT MONEY ON ONE OVERWATCH SKIN AND TWO BATTLEPASSES."

"still spent money."

"that's a lot of backtalk coming from you. you buy skins and dlc too. you're not clean either." despite kenma trying to prolong the inevitable, you click "find match" and sit back and wait as kenma groans in annoyance. "your signs can't stop me because i can't read." you read the burst of notifications in discord of kenma and your friends making fun of you for even playing league willingly. "fuck y'all. god forbid, i have a hobby." you huffed.

"it's league."

"just let me play my silly champions in peace, kenma! you don't see me judging you for picking sebastian every stardew save!"

"he's not even that bad!"

"you always steal him from me!"

"you don't deserve him!"

"fuck you!"

a blanket of silence falls over you both as you end your silly bickering.

"you wanna play a pokemon soul link run after your match?"

"fuck you, yeah i do."

#haikyuu kenma kozume #kenma kozume x reader #kozume kenma x reader #haikyuu kenma #kenma x reader #kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x male reader

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tieronecrush · 1 year

Text

hot & heavy

chapter twelve: sunshine baby

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), feeling familial and self-pressure, established relationship, spanish cause joel is latino, oral (m receiving), dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of parenting, angst, arguing, i'm sorry </3

a/n: everyone go give @northernbluess all the love for always helping me with beta-ing AND cause we are gonna be writing a fic together :)))) more info on her monthly recap posted the other day xx love ya bestie! y'all enjoy this chapter (i have a feeling it will be RIP to my notifs)

Mid-week, your usual nanny family lets you know that they won’t need you for the day and to take the day off. With no other plans, you decide to visit Joel at his work site for the day to bring him lunch. You throw something together and head out from the neighborhood, calling him on speakerphone. It rings a few times before the line clicks and his voice projects from the small speakers on your cell phone.

“Hi, Mari baby. What’s going on? Is something wrong? You never call when you’re working.” Joel’s side of the line is filled with background noise, men shouting, and construction sounds of hammers, saws, and machinery.

“Hey, J. Nothing’s wrong, I actually have the day off. Kristie called this morning after you left to say she was staying home for the day so I’ve got nothing to do,” you hold up your phone as you come to a stoplight, “So I thought I would come to visit you for a little bit. I made you some lunch. Where are you at today?”

Joel’s smile is evident throughout his response, his voice getting louder to be heard over all the noise, “We’re at the Maple Avenue site. Right at the corner of Lake St. Not too far from home, so I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“I will see you in, like, ten minutes. Already on my way.” The two of you make a bit more conversation before Joel has to hang up, saying that he has to go tell someone ‘how to correctly install a support beam’.

“Alright, gotta go, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you too, J. See you soon.”

Exactly ten minutes later, you’re pulling up outside of the work site, confronted with the vague shape of a house with the framing up. You grab the cooler bag from your passenger side and climb out of the car, crossing the road and walking up to the younger of the two Miller brothers that you see standing in front of a table of plans and chatting with an employee.

Tommy looks up and grins when he sees you, clapping the other guy on the back to grab his attention, “Look who it is! Y’know, George, you better tell the guys that they better thank this woman right here — she’s the one who’s made Joel less insufferable.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stride up to Tommy and give him a hug in greeting before stretching out your hand to introduce yourself to George. He excuses himself to get back to his task at hand, leaving you with Tommy and waiting for Joel.

“So what d’ya bring me, sis? If you bring a treat, better have enough to share with the class.” He grins mischievously and reaches for the cooler in your hand.

“Eh, none of that, Tommy! If you ask nicely, I’ll give you the food I so graciously brought for you.” You smile and set the bag on the makeshift table of folding saw horses and a plank of composite. Unzipping the bag, you pull out the extra food you made for Tommy and pass it over, laughing when he pulls you in for a squeezing hug.

“God bless you, Posey, I was gonna have to have a gas station lunch today with the amount of shit we have to get done.”

“Quit squeezin’ the shit out of my girl, Tommy.” Joel’s voice fills your ears and you laugh when Tommy pulls away, happily picking up his sandwich and unwrapping it to take a large bite out of it.

“Hey, just thanking her for feeding me, too. Also, this is good as fuck.” He points to the food in his hand while Joel sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“You’re welcome, Tommy,” you reply, grinning before turning to your side while Joel gently squeezes your shoulder. “Do you have some time for lunch now? Or should I wait around for a bit?”

Joel shakes his head and smiles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your lips, “I’ll make time for you whenever, darlin’. Think everyone can survive for a bit without me.”

“Y’all are too much. I’ve never seen my brother like this, Posey. Please continue to keep him happy cause he’s a much better boss these days.” Tommy laughs loudly when Joel shoots him a look of annoyance, the younger Miller turning to head into the framed home to check in on the rest of the work being done. Joel picks up the cooler bag from the table and takes your hand, nodding toward the street.

“C’mon, Mari, we can eat in the truck bed. Probably better than a construction site.”

The two of you sit on the edge of the truck bed, eat, and chat about the day. Joel mentions how much work he has left for the day, clearly stressed about getting enough done before he has to leave to get Sarah. You offer to pick her up from camp and bring her home, planning to make dinner so Joel can stay longer to get some extra tasks checked off his to-do list before the weekend.

After finishing up your meal, the two of you walk back up to the site, Joel taking you on a tour through the bones of the house. He explains the vision for each room and the finishes he’s going to propose to the family building it. You follow along with him, smiling at his enthusiasm as he gestures about bay windows and oak flooring.

When the two of you are standing alone in what will at one point become a bedroom with a view of the tree-lined backyard, Joel pauses and turns to you. Taking your hands in his, he looks down at them as he laces your fingers together before meeting your eyes with a tender smile.

“Y’know, I could build somethin’ like this for us one day. We could find a piece of land we love, maybe a little bit further out of the city to get some more space. Really make it our own…”

A squeeze of his hands reassures him in the moment, matching his sweet smile with your own, “That sounds wonderful, J. But I have to say, I like our house now.”

Your smile grows wider when Joel’s does, his brown eyes catching the midday sunlight and creases at their outer corners deepening along with his dimple. He pulls you into a tighter embrace, kissing you gently before nudging his nose against yours.

“Te amo, mi Mariposa.”

“I love you too, J.”

Music is playing from the CD player when Joel walks through the door later than he usually does. His shoulders are tense, his back is aching, and all he wants to do is sink down onto the couch and relax with you and Sarah. Toeing off his work boots and tossing his keys onto the entryway table, he bites back a smile hearing the slight commotion that is you cooking — some of that noise contributed by Sarah messing around with everything, too.

The next song clicks over on the tracklist, the beginning notes of ‘Sara’ by Fleetwood Mac, a favorite in the Miller home since his little girl was born. He remembers singing it to her when she was an infant, letting her dance on his toes when she was younger. It’s been a while since he heard it, and walking to the doorway into the kitchen, a wide grin stretches across his face. The deep, dull ache in his muscles lightens at the sight of you dancing with Sarah, singing all of the words to her and her singing along with what she knows.

“Said Sara, you're the poet in my heart…Never change, never stop…” your voice carries over the stereo, Sarah’s popping in on the last two lines. Joel stands to the side, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the two of you twirl around the island. At one moment, you catch his eyes and beam brightly at him, waving him closer and reaching out a hand for him to join.

He does just that, scooping up Sarah with a grunt to hold her in his arms while you rest a hand on his shoulder and one on Sarah’s back. The three of you move and sing together, the butterfly in Joel’s chest rapidly pounding its wings and bouncing against his rib cage.

This is all that matters, this is what he envisions for his future. Small moments like this, altogether, his girls — and maybe another baby or two.

A simple life.

The next couple of weeks are packed with nights spent between all three of you, weaving your unit tighter together. Board game night with Sorry and Monopoly, and a sore loser Joel who insisted that the official rules be read aloud, even in the instance that his own daughter was the game winner — only just pushing him out of the top spot.

There was another evening spent at the arcade and bowling alley, a rainy day that washed beyond sunset. All of you ran from the truck into the building, shaking off the droplets before weaving your way through the games until the bag of quarters you and Sarah had gathered dwindled completely. A round of bowling was played, Joel being ‘generous’ (his words) to allow the bumpers to be put up for Sarah…and you.

The latest evening, Friday night, was spent alone with Joel while Sarah was at a sleepover. Your parents were out of town with friends for the weekend, and Chris was out with some college buddies who were visiting Austin, leaving the house free for you. Joel came over, crawling into bed with you after another long day at work, and the two of you languidly spent the evening shifting between random conversations, lying together quietly, running ghostly touches over each other until the tension snapped. Intermittently, the air between the two of you would heat up, leading gentle touches to be filled with more pressure and building up until the room was filled with breathy moans and begging.

Joel unravels you once with his hands, another with his mouth; the third time he reaches for you, soft and low pleadings to fill you up, you flip him around onto his back. Trailing kisses down his bare torso, you stop at his waistband and peel away the cotton of his boxers from his sweat-sheened skin. A long sigh deflates his chest when you take him into your mouth, his precum and your saliva mixing in slick as you work your head up and down at a steady pace. He’s propped against your headboard, pillows shifted behind him, and a mesmerized, open-mouthed, and heavy-breathed look on his face as he watches you. His voice hits your ears in your focus on his pleasure, the things he’s compelled to say flooding between your legs all over again.

“Fuck, Mari…”

“Tu puta boca perfecta…(Your perfect fucking mouth…)”

“Such a good girl, a perfect fucking girl. Bet you love this, don’t you, mi zorrita? Love sucking my cock and makin’ me feel so good.”

“Gonna come — oh fuck, sweet girl, gonna let me come down your throat? Let me see you swallow it all, Mari baby?”

Your name leaves his lips in a breathless moan, his come shooting in thick ropes and spilling onto your tongue as he finishes. Lifting your head off of him, you show off the pool of it on your tongue before swallowing it and giggling as he quickly pulls you up for a sloppy kiss.

At the stroke of midnight, the two of you are treading water in your pool, only illuminated by the bulb string lights running across the pool deck. The water is warm from the sunlight simmering over it all day, the perfect bath temperature surrounding your bare bodies as you mess around. Evading Joel’s arms, teasing him as you swim away before he corners you, a satisfied smirk on his face when he stalks up to you and towers over you, tilting your head back with a dripping wet hand. He leans down to kiss you deeply, stealing the air from your lungs with its delicate intensity.

The light bounces off the surface of the water, reflecting in his eyes as you hold his gaze and silence falls over the two of you for a handful of heartbeats.

He speaks in a hushed voice as if any louder would shatter the moment, “M’gonna marry you. Gonna give you whatever kind of life you want — a house, babies, I’d move across the world with you if you wanted. Middle of nowhere. Whatever you want, Mari.”

A smile grows on your face, droplets littering your face as you match his volume, “The only life I want is one with yours.”

It’s morning on a Saturday and you’re rushing around the kitchen, sloshing coffee in your half-full mug and waiting for your toast to pop out. You have only about twenty minutes until you had promised to meet Joel and Sarah at his truck in his driveway, the time counting pressuring you, especially considering you’re still wearing your pajamas and have a bad case of bedhead.

There’s a brief moment to breathe as you take your finished toast out of the toaster and stand in front of the island to butter it, reaching for the jam as your mom walks in from the living room. You glance up at her before continuing your task, passing her a greeting that she returns while refilling her coffee mug.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.” Your mom turns toward you, leaning back against the counter. Your stomach flips at the statement, nerves at the ready to start to hear something along the lines of ‘So you and Joel…’ But that doesn’t come; instead, your mom continues with a different line of questioning. “You know Sherri’s son that was about a year older than you all throughout school?”

“Um, yeah, I think so. Isn’t his name Ollie?”

“Well, he goes by Oliver now, according to his mother, but yeah that’s him.”

Another look is exchanged when you glance up at her, picking up a piece of your quick breakfast and taking a bite. You speak with a mouthful, “Okay, so what about Oliver?”

There’s a look that your mother has given you over the years of being her daughter. It’s a smile, but not any old smile that she gives out willy-nilly. No, this is a smile for specific situations. When she really wants you to hear her out, to do what she’s suggesting — if you can even call it that. Most of the times she’s used it on you, it’s left you no choice but to follow through on what she wanted.

The look on her face is exactly that right now.

Along with that persuasive face, she stands from her place at the counter, striding over to you and resting a hand on your shoulder while she looks you in the eyes.

“Well, sweetie, you have been home for nearly the entire summer and I haven’t seen you with anyone but your college friends a couple of times or Joel and Sarah. And I mean, they’re lovely people, but you probably shouldn’t be spending your entire free time with a nearly ten-year-old girl and her dad…”

Inside, you find yourself flipping straight to anger, ready to defend those two with your life, to defend your actions by telling your mother everything. How Joel isn’t only Sarah’s dad, how he’s the man you’re in love with and have been in love with for the last few years. How Sarah isn’t your ten-year-old next-door neighbor, how she isn’t only a little girl you nannied for a summer. She’s a light in your life, a wonderful addition that you’ve received on top of your love for Joel. Sarah’s become like — like a daughter to you.

All of these words die in your throat, fearing the outcome — disappointment, possibly resentment from Joel, and confusion and likely anger from your parents for keeping such a secret. Instead, you continue to listen to your mother’s request.

“I was talking to Sherri about you, and she said that Oliver moved back from Chicago to Austin this summer, about a month ago, and he’s been looking for some people his age to hang out with — is that what y’all young people call it now? Basically, she said he’s been looking for a girlfriend. I thought, knowing he’s a sweet boy, that maybe you would be interested in meeting up with him?”

“Uh—um, I don’t—” you ramble, feeling your cheeks heat up in the scramble for a legitimate excuse.

“I mean, you don’t have to say anything now. But I got his number from Sherri so I’ve got it if you want to reach out to him. She said she chatted to Ollie—I mean, Oliver, and he said he remembered you and would absolutely be interested in gettin’ reacquainted.”

That same smile paints your mom’s face, tilting you in the direction of simply agreeing to get her to stop. But then your mind flashes you an image of Joel, laying next to him a few nights ago in bed with his boyish grin, giddy like a schoolgirl when you casually said ‘I love you’ to him before going to sleep. That is what you’re thinking of when you address your mother again, a smile of your own on your face from imagining your man.

“I’ll think about it, Mom,” you say, a flat out lie to appease her. You finish up your breakfast and down the rest of your now lukewarm coffee, rushing around her to the basement door leading to your studio. The answer is enough to satiate your mother, her returning with her filled coffee mug to the living room and leaving you to finish your mad dash to get ready for the day.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! I woke up late and then I was trying to eat breakfast quick and my mom came in and was trying to talk to me and I still had to get ready—” you ramble as you rush across your yard to Joel’s driveway where he is awaiting next to his truck with Sarah already seatbelted in the back row. Joel holds his hands up and laughs, interrupting your train of explanation.

“Woah, woah, slow down, Mariposa. You’re like a minute late, we’ll still make it on time.” He nods to the truck, leading you around to the passenger side and opening the door for you, lending a hand for you to get up. While Joel rounds the front of the car again, you turn around in your seat after belting yourself in, smiling at Sarah.

“Hey, sweet pea. Excited about your softball game?”

“Hi, Posey! I’m excited, but also I know that Daddy’s gonna get annoyed about something the umpire does or the other team, so I’m sure he’ll get yelled at again.” Your head snaps to Joel when he climbs in, guilt all over his face as he cringes. The engine rumbles to life as it turns over, and the three of you start the drive across town to the tournament fields.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, turning back to Sarah. “Don’t worry about him today, I’ll keep him in line so y’all can have one game without him gettin’ too competitive for you all. You just have fun with your teammates and do your best.”

“Hey, I always want her to jus’ do her best. And I want the other team and the umps to do their best and not make poor calls or crappy plays.”

Sarah laughs at your playful back and forth, the two of you resigning the conversation to listen to the radio. Joel reaches across to take your hand in his, resting them both in your lap while the breeze from the open windows blows your hair around.

Before you know it, Joel is pulling into a parking spot at a park district site, the screams and laughter of children melding with the clink of metal bats and soft thuds of softballs landing in leather gloves. It pulls you back to your childhood, endless summer weekends spent across the state of Texas for your younger brother’s baseball tournaments.

Sarah whips off her seatbelt and scurries out of the car, running across the grass to meet her teammates at the dugout of their assigned field. Joel chuckles to himself and shakes his head, cutting the engine and turning to you.

“Ready to witness some riveting sportsmanship?”

“Well, from what Sarah said, I think I’ll have to keep an eye on you for your sportsmanship. Are you really one of those dads?” You lift an eyebrow, a smirk held back on your face.

“Maybe…”

With a shake of your head, you reach over and pat his thigh, warning him, “Be a good boy, and we’ll get some ice cream after. Deal?”

His thigh tenses under your touch, a quiet puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. He shakes himself out of the daze, licking his lips and holding your eyes, “Do I get something else if I’m a good boy?”

“Maybe…” You throw his response back at him, peeling your hand from his leg with a satisfied smirk, and climb out of the truck to follow him toward the bleachers. Joel makes a detour to drop Sarah’s bag at the dugout, wishing her luck while you send her a wave from the seating area.

Climbing up a few rows, you shoot a friendly smile to the other parents there, all of them giving you a curious look. Settling on the bench, you rest your hands on either side of you, gripping the bleacher out of anxiety. The sun is beating down on you this afternoon, but it is nothing compared to the scorching stares you can feel from everyone around you, especially the mothers. A cool relief only comes when Joel makes his way over, stopping halfway up to you to chat with a couple that greet him cheerfully. You watch the umpires prepare the field, popping the rubber bases into place. The next moment, you hear your name called, following the sound to see Joel waving you over with a grin.

Carefully climbing down, Joel reaches out a hand when you’re close, helping you down to stand on the aluminum beam in front of him.

Introducing you to the couple seated in front of you, you share a smile with them while Joel’s hand rests on your waist, “This is Adam and Maria, they’re the parents of Sarah’s friend, Katie. Adam and Maria, this is my partner…”

You tune out the rest of the quick introduction when Joel uses your name, feeling a flip of your stomach when he drops the title so nonchalantly. You haven’t heard him say anything but ‘girlfriend’ in a lighthearted manner to Sarah or Tommy, and this feels way different. The word is definite, solid, and much more committed than the flippant terminology.

Getting out of your distraction, you make light small talk with Adam and Maria before Joel excuses the two of you as the game is about to start. He follows you up to the same spot you were holding before, sitting down next to you and tuning into the game immediately. Nothing more is said about how he introduced you, the tiny, one-word difference saying much more to you than any explanation could.

As Sarah’s team takes the field, Joel raises his hands and claps loudly, calling out encouragement, “Let’s go, Comets! Y’all got this!”

Sarah’s positioned at third base, with an ideal view of her from where you’re at on the bleachers. The game’s start is delayed from a change in the other team’s lineup being sorted, the pause in the fanfare causing Joel to turn to you and wrap his arm around your lower back. Wordlessly, he leans in for a chaste kiss, smiling sweetly when he pulls away and pushes his sunglasses back down on his nose.

“Didn’t get to give you a kiss when I first saw you.”

Instead of responding, you lean into his side when the umps break from the circle with the two head coaches and both of your focuses turn to the field with the first batter up.

It’s a fairly standard game until the top of the fifth inning. The field umpire called a batter safe at third after Sarah tagged her first, Joel standing up immediately and gesturing wildly as he yelled toward the field.

“What are you blind, ump? She clearly landed the tag before number twelve’s foot was on the bag. I could see it clear as day from here and I’m way older than you are, kid!”

The umpire crosses his arms, giving Joel a warning look as he strides over. Sarah stands at her base, shifting her weight back and forth uncomfortably as the girl running the bases gives her a glare. You can tell Sarah’s turning into herself, the unwanted attention making her second-guess in the moment. Every young girl has been there before, and it makes your stomach turn knowing the feeling she’s having.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you keep your thoughts to yourself and take them up with the head coach at the end of the game. We’re all trying to play a fun and fair game, and I’m calling everything how I see it.” The umpire stands at the fence in front of the bleachers, projecting his voice up to Joel. He can’t be any older than nineteen years old, likely a college kid with a summer job. And definitely not one that pays enough to fight with a man like Joel.

“Calling ‘em how you ‘em? You really must not have great eyesight then, son, ‘cause that was a horrible call. I’ve got reading glasses in my car, d’you think you need ‘em?” The last line gets a few laughs from surrounding parents, and one glance over to Sarah again and you see her talking to her coach, shoulders slumped and arms limp. Her face tells you she’s asking for something, a gesture toward her father standing on the bleachers.

“Sir, if you keep this up, I’m going to have to eject you from the field area.”

Reaching up next to you, you wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and tug harshly enough to draw his attention. One look into his eyes with a subtle glare — invisible to most bystanders but communicating everything it needs to in the moment to Joel. He resigns with a sigh, waving his hand up in understanding as he takes his seat again.

Speaking only loud enough for him to hear, you give him a playful pinch and roll your eyes, “We’re leavin’ if you pull shit like that again, ‘cause you’re mortifying your daughter and it’s not a good look to be kicked out of your kid’s little league softball game, J.”

He rolls his eyes in return, the reprimand getting him riled up again, “But that was such a bullshit call, Mari. I couldn’t let the ump—“

“You can and you will. Sarah’s here to have fun, and you’re here to watch her have fun. If she gets serious about wanting to play softball and wants to join a league outside of the park district, have at it arguing with umpires and coaches. Cause you’ll be surrounded with other parents doin’ the same shit.”

“And how d’you know that?”

“I was a witness to the dramas of travel baseball for, like, seven years of my life. Dragged to tournaments for Chris every weekend over the summer. And saw plenty of dads like you.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head, leaning closer to speak low in your ear, “Sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a dad out there who’s like me…At least I hope there isn’t, ‘cause then what’s my appeal to you?”

You snort out a quiet laugh, shoving him away lightly before jesting, “Convenience. Barely had to walk fifty feet to find a hot dad. Didn’t need to prowl the baseball games anymore.”

“Convenience? Is that all it was?” He fakes shock and disappointment, a slow shake of his head until he breaks out into a cheeky grin, “Should’ve moved sooner.”

“Well, not that much earlier, manther.”

“Manther? Enlighten me, Mari.” Joel gives you a curious stare while his arm makes its way around your back again, resting at your lower side next to your ass.

“The male equivalent of a cougar. You’re a manther.” Beaming up at him, you laugh as he pinches your side, acting offended all the while he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Only for you, Mari baby, only for you.”

The Comets, Sarah’s team, won the game 6-4. To celebrate, the team agreed to meet at the Tastee-Freez nearby to hang out and get some ice cream. The drive there was filled with Sarah and Joel recapping her plays, and a strong scold from the younger Miller about the older’s argument. You kept to yourself, smiling along with the jokes shot between them, sitting back to admire the two of them.

You never could have expected this kind of life with them when you saw their small family moving in from your front living room window.

Joel reaches over, takes your hand, and links your fingers together with a soft squeeze. When you turn to him, attention focusing away the road in front of you while the truck rolls to a stop at the red light, Joel meets your eyes with a tender look. His mouth lifts at the corners, pursing his lips as he brings your hands up to kiss the back of yours. The small gesture and the glint in his eyes fill your chest with a warm rush of syrupy ooze, enough heat to spread to the rest of your body and between your ribs, and leave you with tingling nerves.

The parking lot is packed when you arrive, Joel opting to park along the side of the road in the mix of grass and gravel. Hopping out of the car, Joel is quick to get around and take your hand again, pressing his lips to the top of your head as the pair of you walk behind Sarah up to the snaking line filled with her teammates and their families.

“Remember our first date here?” Joel inquires, tilting his head with a growing smile.

Chuckling, you nod and reciprocate his smile, “How could I forget? You got a butterscotch-dipped cone, weirdo.”

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you’re the one who polished off my cone and I took yours. So quit knockin’ the butterscotch dip, Mari,” Joel’s voice is dripping with nostalgia, the date you two had two years ago feeling like a lifetime ago. While the line moves forward, you lean back against his chest, and his hands find your sides, skating up and down along the fabric of your sundress. In front of you, you reach out and rest your hands on Sarah’s shoulders, smiling when she leans back into your touch. Her tiny frame sways drowsily in your arms, one of your hands reaching up to play with her curls gently.

“Feelin’ tired, Sare Bear?” Your chin tucks into your neck to look down at her and she looks up, nodding slowly and stretching her arms in front of her. Reaching your arms around her shoulders, you hold her comfortably against her chest, the three of you in a tight-knit row in line. “Well, you’ll get a sugar high from the ice cream and then you can crash at home after you hang with your friends. You just give us the word and we’ll head home, yeah?”

Joel orders for the three of you at the front of the line, refusing your offer to pay and shooing you off to find a spot to sit. Sarah eyes a table of her friends and you nudge her side, nodding and telling her to go sit with them, “I’ll survive with your dad myself, I promise.”

Sarah giggles and jogs off, leaving you to find a spot at a small table for you and Joel. He drops off Sarah’s sundae to her before he makes his way over to you, handing off your chocolate-dipped twist while he keeps his butterscotch cone. It’s always easy conversation for the two of you, discussing plans for the next morning about when to leave to take Sarah to the aquarium and what to do for dinner when you’re home.

Things are simple. Reminiscing on old memories while making new ones, watching Sarah laugh and smile with her friends.

“So, what are you gonna do when she’s a teenager?” You inquire, taking your attention away from Sarah’s posse and focusing back on Joel.

“What am I gonna do? I think you mean what are we gonna do? I’m gonna need all the help I can get, and well, you’re the one who’s been a teenage girl before.” He gestures to your cone with his, and you reach it out to switch with him. Continuing to snack on his vanilla and butterscotch, the two of you talk about what you were like as a teenager and what you think Sarah will be like.

Before you know it, your cones are completely gone and you’re left with a pile of sticky paper napkins. Sarah walks over, plopping down next to Joel on the bench of the picnic table. The three of you chat for a bit longer before heading back to the car, en route to home for the evening.

Sarah’s tucked upstairs in bed, Joel’s sock-covered feet bouncing down the stairs that you hear from your place in the kitchen, finishing up your wipe-down from cleaning up dinner. Joel plops down on the couch as you walk back into the living room, greeting you with a sleepy smile and an arm-lifted to invite you in.

Happily, you cuddle into his side, giggling quietly as he pepper kisses across your profile while you flick on the TV. Mindlessly channel searching, you’re reminded of the conversation with your mother from this morning, and remember how you wanted to tell Joel all about it.

Sitting up and turning to him, you laugh quietly as you start to recollect, “Guess what I forgot to tell you this morning?”

“Hm, what, baby?” Joel answers, trailing his fingers along the bare skin exposed from your camisole.

“My mom came into the kitchen as I was makin’ breakfast and she told me about this kid, well, I guess he’s not a kid anymore, but anyways, this kid from high school that was a year older than me and is my mom’s friend’s son. And she was saying how good he’s doing, how he just moved back here from Chicago and is looking for people to hang out with, and then she gave me this look — oh my god, if you could see this look she does, it’s like she’ll completely shatter if you don’t do what she’s asking of you — and she tells me that she got his number. For me,” you guffaw, shaking your head before continuing, “And I mean, that look, I just couldn’t say no and so I told her I would think about it—”

“You would think about it?” Joel interrupts, sitting up straighter and brow knitting together as his voice grows half a decibel louder.

You squirm in your seat, cringing at the harshness in his voice and inching away to look him in the eyes, “Um, yeah. I mean I couldn’t just come right out and say ‘no’, she would ask me a million questions why.”

“Okay? And?” Joel removes his arm from around your shoulder and tilts his head in disbelief, exhaling out a laugh as he shakes his head.

“And what, Joel? Was I just supposed to tell my mother about us?”

“Well, no, but you could have said somethin’, Mari. That’s not very fair to me—”

“What would you have wanted me to say? You aren’t ready, Joel, or at least that’s what you said, and I have been more than willing to wait but I know my mom and I know she would have picked up on something if I said no.”

“What am I supposed to think when you’re telling me this, too? Like it’s some joke, ‘Ha ha. Isn’t so great and funny my mom tried to set me up with some other guy?’ That’s not funny to me.”

“Oh my god, are you serious right now? It’s not like we’re a joke to me, I just thought it would have been a little bit of a chuckle for us. I don’t want anyone else, Joel, and I thought you would have known that by now. If anything, I should be the one feeling some type of way about having to lie to my mom about my relationship status cause you don’t want to tell them yet.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have the capacity to deal with your parents right now, I’ve got my own business to run and my daughter to take care of and you've got your own shit—”

“Don’t. Don’t even start with that, Joel. You’ve had the same business and daughter for the last two years and you’re still not ready when I’ve fully committed myself to you and been as vulnerable as I possibly can with you. I am trying really fucking hard to get better for you, going to therapy and possibly starting medication. I don’t know what else would make you feel ready. Us being married? We kind of need to tell them before that point. And also, you seem more than ready to tell everyone else in the world. Your daughter knows, your brother knows, random parents at Sarah’s softball game know. Why can’t I share you with the people in my life?”

Joel groans and leans his head back, reaching his hands up to press the heels of his palms against his eyes. You can’t help but roll your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at him on the couch. After a moment of silence, he drops his hands and opens his eyes, looking up at you with a dead stare.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not right now.”

“And when are we supposed to do it?”

“I don’t know, Mari! I. Don’t. Know. But I do know that I can’t do it right now, and I don’t want to do all this right now.”

“Oh, so everything in our relationship is operating on the basis of ‘when you’re ready’.”

“Quit bein’ ugly, this isn’t like us.”

“It doesn’t feel like it right now. I don’t know what else you need to be ready to be fully a part of my life, Joel. We're always going to have shit going on, life is never going to get to a perfect place.”

“Mariposa, I love you, but I don’t want to do this right now. I’m going to bed.” Joel shakes his head to himself again, pushing up from the couch and rounding the coffee table. He brushes against you, hand bracing on your side while he gets past you and heads up the stairs, leaving you in the dark.

Only the glow of the television illuminates the room, tightness in your chest as you glance around the otherwise empty room. Tears fill your eyes, a trembling hand reaching for the remote to turn off the screen and the sound, punishing yourself in the lonely silence for a few minutes before tiptoeing up the stairs. At his open doorway, you tentatively linger within the threshold, Joel’s form slumped on his side but adjusting its position and breathing unsteady — still awake.

Without a sound, he sees you standing there before he lifts the covers, a normally welcoming invitation with a smile and a ‘C’mere, Mari baby.’ Instead, you walk on eggshells to the bed, slipping under the covers before he drops them on top of you, his arm tucking against his side. When you open your mouth to speak, he rolls over, back facing you. As you fall asleep, you study his broad shoulders and the curls at the nape of his neck, itching to reach out and touch him, show him your care, tell him about your love. Apologize for everything, promise to continue the seemingly endless wait until he’s ready. But you tell yourself you have to stand your ground on this and just discuss everything later like he wants.

Later. Always later.

taglist:

@beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholic @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @thereaperisabitch @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic @xyzstar @cumberpegg

#joel #writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller series #tlou fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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multifanhoe99 · 1 year

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Kinktober Day 3- Lingerie

This is gonna be self-indulgent as hell and I am not sorry but also I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: non-idol!JB x afab!Reader

Warnings: Pet names (Daddy, Princess, Baby), mentions of panty stealing, mentions of masturbation, oral (fem. receiving), PIV intercourse, creampie (fem. receiving), no condom (be safe out there y'all), spanking, hair pulling

=Please let me know if I missed any.=

PROMPT LIST

MASTERLIST

~18+ MDNI ~

It was not often that you wanted to buy fancy things. Even less often the fancy stuff you happen to buy turns out to be something sexy to wear for your husband. This time you couldn't help it. One day in your boredom you decided to do some online shopping and found a gorgeous lacey emerald green set that you knew would look amazing against your skin tone. Even better it was on sale! One night's bored purchase is another night's fun. Honestly, you had almost completely forgotten you bought it until it came in the mail today. It was a pleasant surprise, a gift from your past self and you couldn't help but be thrilled. Just then you got another idea. You were going to make an event of it. You had the day off to relax anyway why not make it worthwhile. With that determination in mind, you went to take a shower to get ready for what you had planned. After your shower, you applied some light makeup and fixed your hair into neat french braids that finished off as low pigtails. He liked your hair like that for very obvious reasons. Then you put on the new lingerie set you bought. On top of it, you put on the dress you know he loves seeing you in the most. It's a long red sundress with flowers on it and a slit that goes up the middle rather than down the side. Once you were all dolled up and ready you decided to head to the kitchen to fix up his favorite meal and to set the table like they would in a restaurant.

When you were finally done you sent a quick text to your husband, -I have a surprise for you when you get home! I hope you like it I love you. See you soon!- You knew he should be on his way home by now and the notification would come up on the dash screen of his car. A few minutes later you get his reply, - I can't wait! I am almost home. I love you too!- It was exciting waiting in anticipation for him to come home. Not even five minutes later while you were putting the finishing touches on the meal you heard the front door open and close. You went out to greet him, "Hello my love how was work?"

"Ah, you know same old-," he pauses when he finally looks up from taking off his shoes to switch to his house slippers, "Wow, what's the special occasion that my beautiful wife feels the need to make my knees weak."

"There is no special occasion I just felt like pampering my handsome husband because he's been working extra hard lately," you replied moving closer to give him a kiss. He instantly returned the kiss and placed his hands on your hips. Before the kiss could get any more heated you pulled away, "Dinner is ready in the kitchen. I made your favorite."

"Have I ever told you that I love you," he asks following you into the kitchen/dining room.

"Only every single day Jae," you respond with a giggle at his affection. No matter how long you two have been together Im Jaebum gives you butterflies like it's still the very first date. Upon seeing the spread you had laid out on the table he came up to hug you from behind and whispered in your ear, "So you did all of this just because I have been working extra hard? I feel like you are planning something, Princess."

"What I can't just want to do something nice for you," you ask trying not to give your true intentions away.

"Okay, I will believe you for now. Let's eat then," he says giving you one more kiss on the head before going to sit down. You both enjoy your meal together and he helps you clean up. When everything was cleaned and put away you went up to JB and wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed his hands back on your hips. You lean closer to whisper in his ear again, "There is more to your surprise. Join me in the bedroom will you?"

"See I knew you were up to something," he says with a smile but follows you to the bedroom anyway. You sit him down on the edge of the bed and tell him to close his eyes. Once you are sure he isn't peeking you remove the dress you were wearing and throw it into the hamper in the corner of the room. You let him know that he can open his eyes and when he does you don't fail to notice the way his eyes darken when they look at you. His expression shifts from one of pure admiration to something darker and full of lust. You can hear it in the timber of his voice when he says, "Come here princess let daddy get a closer look at you."

You can't help but do what he asks this was your plan after all and you couldn't be more glad that it worked. As you step closer he places his hands on your thighs. It is gentle at first and then he moves up higher. Wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer so he can see as he moves his hands up to your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Then he lands a sharp spank on your left cheek and soothes it by rubbing his hand softly over the spot. "Look at you, baby. You look so good for me all wrapped in lace like this. I will try not to ruin it while I am busy fucking you into oblivion," he growls from his position below you. From that same position, he lifts you up with no issues and tosses you gently onto the bed so that you're lying on your back.

He takes his sweet time kissing and nipping at your inner thighs. He makes his way so slowly to the place you need him most. You can feel how wet you are just from this and he hasn't even properly started yet. You know that he is doing this on purpose and are sure this was his own plan ever since he became suspicious of you planning something. He was moving so slowly and so gently and you knew that he could see how much it affected you from the ever-growing wet patch on your new panties. "Da-daddy please don't tease me anymore I c-can't take it. I need you please," you beg gasping when he nips just a little bit harder at your most sensitive parts.

"That's it, baby beg for me. Beg for me to use this pretty little pussy however I want," he replies finally giving you some type of relief by rubbing a thumb up and down your covered folds. He continued that for a little while longer and then gave in at the sound of your desperate moans. He pulled the panties down your legs and once they were fully off he shoved them into the pocket of his slacks. You already struggled to think and he was only getting started. It only got worse when he finally gave your pussy the attention you wanted him to. He licked a long stripe up your glistening folds humming in satisfaction at your taste.

"What do you think princess should I take my time eating you out until you cum again and again on my face or would you just like me to get you ready enough to take my cock," he asks. It was getting hard to form words. The combination of his tongue and his two fingers that joined shortly after his question was blurring your mind with pleasure. He stops all movement to say, "Come on baby use your words. Already so fucked dumb and I have barely even done anything yet. What do you want you can say it."

"I w- I want to-to-to- wanna get ready for daddy's cock," you say barely able to string the sentence together. Jaebum had a way of doing that to you and you loved it. You loved being able to give yourself over to the pleasure he brought you and he loved it too. Hearing your answer JB dove in like a man starved. After so many years he knew your body like nobody else and he knew exactly what to do to bring you over the edge. His mouth licking your sensitive clit and his middle and ring fingers plunging deep into you. Every time you'd touch yourself when he wasn't around you could never get your fingers to go as deep as his. He brought you ecstasy like nothing else. You could feel yourself getting closer.

"Daddy I am so close please can I cum I really wanna cum on your face please please, please," you begged almost crying.

"Cum baby cum all over my face and then again one more time on my cock after," he said temporarily removing his mouth from your clit and then going right back. When he replaces his mouth you feel yourself let go coming all over his face and fingers. It feels so good but you know you aren't done yet. He wastes no time moving away to remove his own clothes and then flipping you over. He pulls your hips up and once he has the right position he slides right in. He gives you enough time to adjust to him and as soon as he's sure you're okay he sets a fast pace. At first, his hands are on your hips giving your ass harsh slaps every so often that make you yelp and moan at the painful pleasure. Then his hands move to your hair each hand taking one of the pigtails and then pulling back making your back arch and he is able to hit a new deeper angle. He can feel you tightening around him and he knows you're close again which is good because so is he. He leans down into your ear, "That's it, baby just a little more, and then let's cum together yeah?"

He keeps up this pace and it is only a matter of time before you're falling off the edge cumming all over his cock and he follows seconds after. Cum spurting out in thick ropes into you. It takes a moment for you both to calm down but when you finally do he goes to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean you up. "That was amazing and you should online shop more often if this is what it leads to," he jokes.

"Yeah I will get right on that," you respond with a laugh. He helps you clean up, take your make-up off, and let your hair down. You both fall asleep in each other's arms after exchanging a sincere 'I love you' and you couldn't be happier to end your day with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: HOLY COW!!! I am so sorry for being so late on this one but like I said it was really self-indulgent and I definitely got super carried away. Luckily day 3 is done and day 4 will be out later today so as a bonus for this one being late you technically get two in one day! HOORAY!

#k-pop smut #got7 smut #jb smut #JB x reader #x reader #im jaebum #got7 #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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victoria-daydreams · 2 months

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The Winner Takes It All ||Challengers

Part II: Maneaters

AN: I'm back y'all! I'm sorry for the delay in posting, classes are over but my god did work quickly fill the vacuum of the little free time I had. Buckle up everyone, we're experiencing our first time jump! And once again, a big thank you to has followed this story!

Trigger warnings: slight homophobia

Word Count: 6.1k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kalikailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstali @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl @igotmajordaddyissues

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don’t know if you’ll get the notification.

Part III: The First Crack

13 YEARS LATER - NEW ROCHELLE, AUGUST 2019

In the mostly empty lobby bar of The Ritz-Carlton, a woman occupied the furthest seat of the counter, alone. Her eyes were glued to the screen of her iPad Air as vibrant, moving images reflected perfectly in her eyes. "Electric Lady" by Janelle Monae played in the background of the video while several women and a few men were dancing or goofing around against a lilac backdrop. The camera cut to a shot of a smiling woman, striking several posses for it, showing off the makeup flawlessly applied to her face. Suddenly, the woman was lightly shoved out of the frame by two laughing women all sharing resemblance of each other as they began using the camera as a mirror to apply lipstick or lip gloss. The camera zoomed in on the round and square tubes of the products, displaying the white lettering printed across it.

Another model popped up on screen doing a twirl before the camera focused in on the eye makeup painted on his face. Just as the music was slowly beginning to fade out, the camera positioned itself into an overhead shot, showing the set in its entirety. On both sides, models were crowding in front of mirrors inside a beauty bar. The woman from the beginning of the video confidently strode down the middle of the space, the camera slowly panning down to bring it down to eye level.

"Ace Beauty. Keeping your game face effortlessly chic and always classic," she recited smoothly, a charming smile on her face as she signed her name on the lens with lipstick.

Gianna stared at herself in the video, the end of her Apple Pencil pressed against her lips. Her own makeup line, Gianna could hardly believe that's a sentence she could say. It made sense to pursue the business endeavor though, her makeup looks off the court were always being discussed by her fans. Her Instagram comments were constantly flooded with questions: what techniques does she use, how did she achieve a certain look, what products is she wearing, etc. The makeup line scheduled to drop the same day as the start of the US Open Tournament, this of course was by design; what better way to promote your new brand than doing it on the same day when millions of eyes are already on her.

"You actually came,"

The sound of his voice made a grin tug on Gianna's lips.

"Well why wouldn't I, Patrick?" she questioned, placing the stylus down onto the bar. "I said I would I come, and here I am," she said, turning to look at the dark haired man with a laugh.

Gianna slid down from the stool and onto the floor, holding her arms open invitingly for an embrace. Though they were a few feet apart, she couldn't help but notice that Patrick was a little worse for wear. Like he was constantly at war with life itself and lost many battles in the process, but somehow was still here. Gratefully, Patrick accepted the hug, but Gianna was unprepared for how tightly he held onto her. He was like a child holding their favorite stuffed animal, it couldn't have been clearer to Gianna that Patrick was in need of comfort. In need of a friend.

"Okay, okay, Patrick, it's great to see you too buddy," Gianna said, patting his back lightly a couple of times. But you are squeezing the life out of me," she wheezed, and Patrick immediately released her.

He pulled back, running his hands down her arms while letting his eyes roam over her freely.

"You look damn good Gianna," Patrick complimented, shaking his head and laughing.

She shrugged her shoulders, "Hmm, I know," she agreed, twirling around in her ivory Ralph Lauren sleeveless jumpsuit. "You don't look so bad yourself, Patrick," she complimented back.

Those gray eyes, worn and tired, but still the same eyes that lit up whenever he had seen her. Still the same boy underneath it all.

"Come, sit with me," Gianna encouraged, walking back to her corner stool.

Taking a seat next to her, Patrick propped his arm up against the counter and leaned his head against his fist.

"How's your dad?" he wondered curiously, smirking a little.

A breathy chuckle escaped her, "It is very brave, kind really, of you to ask about the well being of my dad," Gianna commented, something which Patrick laughed at. "He's fine all things considered, misses coaching me, but with his heart attack it's best he focuses on his tennis academy. Less stressful," she answered, unlocking her IPad.

"And what does father dearest think about you coming to a challenger tournament to see me?"

Another laugh left Gianna, this one harder than the previous one, "You do not want to know," she warned, dragging her finger across the screen to start her makeup ad from the beginning.

"Come on, what did the old man say? You piqued my curiosity now," he said, wearing a challenging smirk.

Gianna's eyebrows shot up, her head tilting to the side to wordlessly convey the question of, "You sure about that?" It only made Patrick's smirk deepen.

"Alright, you asked for it, but don't say I didn't warn you," she began, lifting her hands up. "My dad said it was beneath me to even be anywhere in your proximity," Gianna answered bluntly.

"You know, I gotta admire the old man for his never wavering in his hatred of me," Patrick joked. "At least you still came and didn't listen to him like you would've before,"

"Yeah, I did take some words of wisdom from you the day we broke up," she admitted, looking over to him. "You were right, you know? I always allowed my dad's words to sway me much too easily," she remarked. "Though, you are wrong about one thing. My dad doesn't hate you. Initially, he did," she informed, watching Patrick's eyebrows rise. "No, what he hates is watching you squander the potential you had as a tennis star," she corrected, shrugging her shoulders.

"Ouch," Patrick said, pressing his hand over his chest in fake pain.

Gianna thought she saw a brief flash of hurt in his eyes, but in an instant, it was gone and she was forced to think she had imagined it.

"Listen, not saying this tournament won't work out for you, but if doesn't, I have a proposal that my dad is probably going to kill me for," she said, resting her arms on the counter.

"And that is?"

"I'll get you a position at the Maurice Langdon Academy as an instructor," Gianna offered.

Patrick's head jerked up from his hand, "You serious, Gia?" he asked, a glimmer of gratefulness shining in his eyes.

"Serve normally, and I can almost guarantee you that my dad will take you on," she assured, pointing her finger at him.

"This isn't charity, right?" Patrick asked, a flash of skepticism appearing on his face. "My dad, who's a big fan of yours and a donor to your dad's academy, didn't put you up to this?" he questioned.

"Patrick, the only person who put me up to this was me," she answered. "Plus, it's like what you told me over the phone, you have one good season left in you. Who's to say after this challenger you don't go on to achieve your dream," she suggested, shrugging slightly. "This is a job offer, Patrick, one that is waiting for you no matter which way the wind blows," she said simply, smiling at him.

Before Gianna knew it, she became the receiver of a very tight bear hug that seemed to last for an eternity. Patrick shook with laughter, the sound reverberating against her as Gianna found herself smiling at his reaction just before he pulled away from her.

"This is the kindest fucking thing someone has done for me in a longtime," he informed, his voice slightly muffled against her shoulder. He pulled back. "Tennis superstar, Olympian, philanthropist, fashionista, friend," Patrick listed, shaking his head as another laugh escaped him. "Is there nothing Gianna Langdon can't do?" he wondered.

She chuckled, "I'm still working on that last part," Gianna said, shaking her head. "I haven't been the greatest at it in the past," she admitted, her eyes lowering.

Patrick grabbed a hold of her hands, "But you're here now, Gianna," he pointed out, bending his head so he could meet her stare. "I called your number with little hope that you would pick up, but you did," he reminded softly, running the calloused pads of his fingers across the back of her hands. "Hell, I thought the moment I dialed your number it would go straight to voicemail," he confessed, with a small smile before the two shared laughter.

Gianna glanced up, "It means a lot to me that I was the first person you thought to call for support," she confessed.

"Couldn't think of a better woman to be in my corner," Patrick reasoned, letting a lopsided grin grow on his face.

Just like that, old butterflies that Gianna believed had gone dormant awakened inside her stomach, fluttering and flickering about wildly. Giggling, she slowly pulled her hands from Patrick's and ran one of them through her freshly silk pressed, honey brown hair.

"Control it," she thought.

She cleared her throat, "You forgot to add one more feather to my cap," she commented, deliberately changing the subject.

"And what's that?"

"Entrepreneur," she beamed proudly. "Patrick Zweig, you are looking at a future beauty mogul," she proclaimed.

"You know once upon a time, the woman in front of me was worried no one was going to take a chance on her, glad to see those worries were unfounded," he recalled, mirroring her expression.

"I am too," she agreed. "Want a sneak peek of the fruit of my labors?" she offered.

Answering with a grin and nod, Gianna unlocked her IPad and tapped play on the screen. Just as Patrick began to watch her commercial, Gianna let her eyes wander into the hotel foyer until they landed on a pair of strikingly blue ones. Her breath hitched uncomfortably in her throat, while her heart nearly stopped in her chest. For a fleeting moment, time suspended itself and it was as if they existed in a universe all of their own. Nothing was there, nothing except for those bright blue eyes, boring into her own. Gianna could hardly believe, stomach, who the set of eyes staring back at her belonged to, for it was none other than Arthur Donaldson.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as blood thudded audibly in her ears from the erratic rhythm of her heart beating. Gianna swore the thumping of heart would drown out the sound from the video and be heard by Patrick. They stare at each other, nearly a decade of unspoken words flowing between them without either of them ever opening their mouths. In truth, the silence was far louder than anything they could have said. Confused shock painted itself all over Art's features, an expression mirrored on her own.

Instantly, Gianna's mind was flooded with memories with the force of a tsunami. The two of them goofing off in her dorm room when they were supposed to be studying for class. Her birthday dinner date, that was not a date. His touching gift to her on her birthday which led to a moment of weakness that set off a terrible domino effect. Gianna remembered everything. The catalyst event which decimated a friend group within a single day, tore best friends apart, and formed a rift which Gianna believed would never mend. She couldn’t forget their history, it defined who they were now.

"Were those your sisters in the commercial?"

Patrick's voice was faint and faraway, everything for Gianna was muffled and distorted, like voices being heard underneath water. The impact of a hand on her knee ripped Gianna out of her trance. Blinking a few times, Patrick's face came back into her focus.

"I-I'm sorry what did you ask?" Gianna questioned, pointedly ignoring Art's eyes being trained on her and burning holes into her face.

"Was that Alicia and Farrah I saw in the commercial?"

"Yeah—Yes, they were," Gianna confirmed distractedly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You alright Gia? You've been looking over my shoulder for a solid minute now," Patrick remarked, raising a brow. "Is there someone you know here?" he questioned curiously, beginning to turn around.

Gianna had never moved quicker in her life, her hand darting out to grasp his chin with two fingers and redirecting his attention back to her. The world's awkwardest ex-friend's reunion was not going to happen on her watch.

"No one worth mentioning or addressing," Gianna assured, an easy smile on her lips. Releasing his chin, she lightly hit her palm against the counter. "Let’s have a drink, yeah?" she suggested, getting the bartender's attention.

"To celebrate you or me?"

"You, silly," she answered, before motioning to her drink for a refill and ordering for Patrick. She still knew his drink of choice despite the passage of time. "And a little bit of me as well," she admitted playfully, moving her head side to side. "I'm serious though, Patrick. I know how much this tournament means to you and how much you have riding on it. I am proud of what you accomplished, truly," she praised, her eyes twinkling in delight.

"Receiving high praise from Gianna Langdon," Patrick began, as their drinks were slid across the counter in front of them. "I'll be damn near unstoppable on the court now," he joked, grabbing his glass.

Gianna grabbed her own drink, "To future successes," she wished, raising her glass.

"To future successes," Patrick echoed, the rim of his glass softly clinking against hers. They both take a sip of their drinks and Patrick grinned against his glass as if he just remembered something. Lowering the cup from his lips, he placed it on top of the counter. "I forgot to wish you a happy belated," he mentioned.

"Birthday?" Gianna asked, bringing her glass down from her mouth. "That was way back in early spring, but thanks regardless," she said, with a laugh.

"No, silly," Patrick said, with a grin. "Happy belated Pride! Congrats on coming out as bisexual!" he cheered.

"Oh fuck off!" Gianna said, laughing heartily and hitting his arm.

"What? It was very brave of you to do so," he complimented, laughing himself.

With a playful roll of her eyes, Gianna shook her head.

"Bravery had nothing to do with it," she corrected. "I mean, it's what I am. I discussed coming out to the public with my dad, and he said no better time to do it than in the month where it celebrates folks like me," Gianna recalled, shrugging and lifting her glass to her lips. "I'm already a beloved athlete, it was only going to be a net positive for me," she reasoned, leaning back against the backrest of the barstool.

"Always about the optics with you, Gia," Patrick said, his tone biting.

Gianna lifted her drink to her lips, "I am my father's daughter," she said dryly. "For better or for worse," she added quietly, knocking back the rest of her drink.

~~~x~~~

13 YEARS EARLIER - STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 2006

Move-in day was hot. Scratch that, it was scorching outside underneath the California sun. The blistering heat made the task of transporting Gianna's belongings to her dorm room a miserable one. The thought of forgoing her clothes all together floated about in Gianna's head if it meant some relief from the heat. Though, she knew her mom and dad would be none too pleased at the gesture, especially since the two helpers in their amidst was Art and Patrick.

Being the ever helpful boyfriend, Patrick lent his hand in assisting both Gianna and Tashi move into their dorm rooms. Despite his helping hand, Gianna's dad was still none too impressed by Patrick.

"I don't like it, he's too arrogant for my liking," the salt-and-pepper haired man groused, shaking his head, clearly displeased by Gianna's taste in a boyfriend.

Mrs. Langdon snorted softly from her seat within the trunk of their truck.

For as long as Gianna could remember, her mother had always exuded an air of sophistication and chic that she hoped she could match one day. Of course, when her mother being a former American Ballet Theatre ballerina, it came with the territory. People always told her she had mother's soft face or most commonly said she, “stole her whole face from her momma”. To Gianna, her mother was absolutely stunning, like straight out off the front cover of Ebony magazine. More importantly, her mom was the yin to her dad’s yang, her gentleness balanced his sternest.

"What? He's just a younger version of you Maurice, but," she paused, tapping a finger to the palm side of her hand and smiling at her husband.

"Well, unlike him, I didn't have wandering eyes," he retorted, taking off his horn rimmed glasses, to wipe away the fog from his lenses. "Gia, darling, are you sure that Patrick is dating you for you, or because of your access to Tashi?" Mr. Langdon questioned sincerely, his brow arching.

"Ohh, this is awkward," Gianna thought.

Telling her mom and dad she and Tashi were both dating Patrick, she would simply have to be waterboarded for them to get that information out of her.

"Patrick is dating me for me," Gianna reassured, nodding her head while wiping at the thin line of sweat trickling down her forehead.

"Your dad is worried about Patrick, while my concern is with your friend, Arthur," Mrs. Langdon stated, shifting her body to face Gianna fully.

"Art?" Gianna repeated, disbelief all over her face. "What, come on? Art is probably the nicest, sweetest guy I've ever met," she defended, an incredulous laugh belting from her.

"Honey, those are the ones you have to be the most careful of," Mrs. Langdon warned, placing her hand on Gianna's knee. "Boys like Art, are able to get away with much because people believe the same way as you do," she explained. "I've seen the way he looks at you, how he looks when you and Patrick get affectionate with each other," she noted, staring pointedly at Gianna. "I say this as your mother, as a woman, be careful around Art. I fear he's the type to throw stones and then hide his hands, if it means getting what he wants," she advised.

Gianna rolled her eyes, "Mom, that's ridiculous," she protested.

"Gia!"

"Speak of the devil," she thought.

Standing at the doorway of her dorm building was Art with his trademark backwards Stanford hat and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"I guess that's our sign to hit the road again," Mrs. Langdon noted, with an exhale. "Your dad and I still have to go to UCLA to visit Farrah and make sure she's all squared away for her sophomore year," she reminded, pushing herself up from the trunk bed and reaching her hands out for Gianna.

"Call me the moment you make it to campus," Gianna ordered, taking her mom's hands to jump down onto the ground.

"Yes, ma'am," Mrs. Langdon answered, nodding her head and chuckling. She ran her hands up and down Gianna's arms, giving her a once over. "Can't believe I'm dropping off my baby girl to college!" she exclaimed, bringing her in for a tight hug. "One step closer to being a big name tennis superstar!" she cheered, as Gianna returned her hug. "I'm so proud of you!" she stated, pulling back from her.

Gianna beamed at her mother's words as the older woman pressed a kiss atop of her head.

"Your mom offered you some words of wisdom, now it's my turn," Mr. Langdon said, gathering Gianna in his arms for another tight embrace and swaying them side to side. Pulling away, he gave her biceps a squeeze as his demeanor became a little more serious. "Don't let her run you," he instructed vaguely.

Gianna frowned, "What?" she questioned, her head tilting.

"Do not let Tashi Duncan run you," he repeated slowly. "You've allowed her to get away with it for too long, but starting today, that shit dies," he said sternly.

"Tashi does not run me, Dad," Gianna disagreed, scoffing quietly. "I think we both witnessed that at Juniors this year," she pointed out.

"You seem to have a great handle on that, tennis wise," Mr. Langdon began, pressing his palms together. "But for life in general, you're lacking severely," he retorted. "Let this be the last day I ever hear you say the words, 'Tashi says', 'Tashi wants', or 'Tashi believes', alright?" he questioned, staring over the rim of his glasses. "I'm trying to make you a superstar, not a sidekick to another superstar. It's time you shed that image once and for all, and to do that, you must start thinking for yourself. Making a name for yourself. Got it?" he asked, both his brows raising.

"Yes, sir," Gianna answered tightly.

Mr. Langdon nodded approvingly, "Atta girl," he replied, before bringing her in for a second hug. "Have fun in college, but not too much fun," he murmured, against her head. "Kick ass and take names, we have a dream to fulfill," he said, with a pat against her back.

"Yours or mine?" Gianna thought bitterly.

Her dad released his hold on her, moving to shut the trunk door close. Gianna watched her parents get into the truck, the doors slamming close in unison.

"Gia, just please consider what I said earlier, for me," Mrs. Langdon said, looking back at her from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, I will, I will," she answered, brushing off her mom's concerns.

With one final wave, her parents pulled off from the parking lot and Gianna felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She was finally free. For the first time in her life, Gianna would be able to navigate life where tennis and her dad were not wholly the center of her universe. She now had the chance to do something she always dreamed of doing, just being a normal 18 year-old. Exploring old hobbies and new, hanging out with friends, going to parties, it was all there for the taking now that her dad could no longer constantly breathe down her neck. Smiling to herself, Gianna turned around and jogged to the entrance of her dorm building where Art patiently waited for her.

"Everything good?" Art wondered, as she climbed the last step up.

"Never been better!" Gianna answered, a delighted smile on her face.

Walking past him, she nimbly snatched Art's hat from his head and ran into the building.

"Hey!" he cried playfully.

Gianna sprinted up the staircase to her floor, giggling every step of the way as Art was hot on her trail and laughing along with her. Just as she approached the doorway to her room, she suddenly felt herself being lifted off her feet and spun around, briefly feeling weightless.

"Your girlfriend is a thief!" Art informed breathlessly, with a laugh as he put Gianna back down on her feet.

Another series of giggles left Gianna as they entered her room, "Do not listen to such slanderous lies! I'm innocent!" she proclaimed, placing Art's hat on her head.

Making a beeline to her bed, she plopped down on it next to Patrick who was casually stretched out across the mattress. In an instant, his arm naturally wrapped itself around Gianna's waist while he shifted himself into a sitting position.

"Look at this face Art," Patrick began, using his free hand to take her chin in between his fingers and playfully squeeze her cheeks. "Does this look like the face of a thief?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head in his grasp, her eyes warm with mirth. "Exactly Gianna, that's what I think as well," he agreed, before swooping down to attack the side of her face with kisses.

"Patrick!" Gianna shrieked in laughter, writhing in arms.

Tashi started making fake gagging sounds and Gianna eyes flickered over to hers.

"Don’t be like that Tash," she said, a fake pout on her lips. "There's plenty of love to go around," she reminded, outstretching her hand towards her girlfriend.

"You sure about that?" Tashi asked, her face contorting in a look of faux outrage. "Because it seems like Patrick is hogging you all to himself,"

Gianna only snickered in response, her eyes rolling before meeting Art's stare. It made her smile falter when she did. There was the faintest twitch of a muscle in his jaw, a scowl threatening to cloud his features. His eyes hardened at the edges to the point they resembled ice. And she was the only one noticing the drastic shift in Art's cheery demeanor, it sent shivers down her spine. Vaguely, Gianna felt Patrick's lips peppering kisses up and down her neck while talking to Tashi in between each one. Without taking her eyes off Art, she reached behind her and lightly tapped the side of Patrick's face.

Gianna cleared her suddenly dry throat, "Alright, alright, easy there lover boy," she joked, tearing her eyes from Art's face for a quick glance to his throat where his Adam's apple bobbed in agitation.

Patrick chuckled against her skin and pulled away from her, resting his back against the wall while bringing her down with him.

"So uh, what do you guys wanna do now?" Art wondered, his usual bright attitude returning without missing beat. "The day is still young," he added, lowering himself down to have a seat onto the plush rug covering the floor.

"Hmmm," Gianna hummed in contemplation, adjusting Art's hat to fit snug on the top of her head.

It was an action that left Art's gaze lingering on her. Gianna wished he would quit staring at her like he was a man dying of thirst, ready to drink her up and gulp down like a glass of water when placed in front of him. And it was not because she found it creepy, it was the fact that it was stirring up physical and emotional responses she should not be having when her boyfriend and girlfriend are literally in the room with her.

"I think—" Gianna began.

"We should go hit around on the courts," Tashi suggested, swiveling back and forth in the desk chair. "Can't think of a better group to do it with," she reasoned, her lips curling upwards.

"What? Oh come on, no!" Gianna complained, raising up from Patrick's chest. "We're all gonna have plenty of opportunities to hit a tennis ball around the court," she said in exasperation. "We're in college guys—well most of us are in college," she corrected, earning her a squeeze to her side from Patrick. "Let's be normal college kids and have some fun for once and enjoy our freedom," she suggested.

"What did you have in mind Gia?” Patrick asked, his fingers softly trailing up and down her waist.

"There's a mini golf course not too far from campus. I saw it on the way here with my parents," she answered, looking around at everyone.

"That does sound fun to do," Art grinned, nodding his head in agreement.

"Gia, you know complacency breeds mediocrity," Tashi warned.

"God, does she sound like dad!" she thought.

Gianna spoke before she could stop herself, "Yes, and, being hyper focused on one, single thing makes a person super fucking boring too," Gianna shot back.

The swiveling of the chair came to an abrupt halt. Gianna could almost physically feel all the air sucked out of the room. Nobody moved and Gianna found herself engaged in a staring match with Tashi in a battle of wills.

"Are you calling me boring?" Tashi challenged, her eyes narrowing.

Art breathed out a nervous chuckle, "Tashi, I don't—" he started.

"No, no, let Gianna answer," Tashi interrupted, holding her hand up in his direction without looking.

"Yes," Gianna thought.

"I didn't say you," Gianna pointed out. "It was a generalized statement," she continued.

"Is that so?" Tashi asked, doubt coloring her tone.

"Yeah, it is," Gianna answered, arching her brow in challenge.

"Come on Tash," Patrick called, sitting up from his spot against the wall. "It's not a bad idea, all of us are going to have our hands full for the next couple of months," he said, his eyes dancing between the two girls.

"We can make it a going away party for Patrick before he's off to the pros," Art chirped in.

"Yes, exactly Art!" Patrick agreed. "And what better way to be sent off than having my two, beautiful girlfriends by my side,”

Gianna stole a quick glance at Art after hearing Patrick's words and she swore she saw his forehead vein pulse with unusual intensity.

"Okay, fine," Tashi huffed, and Gianna's eyes flitted from Art back to her.

Gianna softly pushed Patrick's arm from her waist and stood up to sit on Tashi's lap.

"It'll be fun, Tash!" Gianna promised, looping her arms around Tashi's neck. "You'll see," she encouraged, pecking her forehead.

"Yeah, yeah," Tashi groused.

~~~x~~~

With pursed lips, Gianna drew her arms backwards then forwards to make sure that the little, white ball was aligned with her club before gently swinging at it. The precise hit sent the ball rolling down the green in a perfectly straight line, right into the hole.

"Nice shot Gia!" Art cheered, sticking his hand out for a hi-five.

"I try," she smirked, slapping her hand against his. "Your turn, partner," she said, motioning him to take his position.

It was Gianna's idea to split the group into teams, that way both Gianna and Tashi could both somewhat get what they wanted, a fun but fierce competition. Art set his ball onto the green, getting into his stance and took aim.

"So, are we gonna talk about it?" he asked, the club solidly hitting the ball in the center.

Gianna frowned, "Talk about what?" she asked back, watching his ball stop just short of the hole.

Art turned around, an incredulous look crossing his face at her question.

"What happened in your hotel room," Art supplied as if it was the most obvious answer, before moving closer to his ball.

"Oh, that..." Gianna trailed off, following behind him. "What about it? What is there to talk about?" she questioned dismissively, twirling her club in her hand.

Just as the questions left her lips, Art tapped his ball into the hole with ease.

"That what happened between us is constantly replaying in my head 24/7," he explained, turning around again. "And it's torturous," he went on, his eyes desperate.

Gianna only blinked in response, genuinely perplexed on what Art wanted her to do or say about that.

"Well get it to stop," Gianna suggested lamely, lazily tossing one arm up. "I don't know what you want me to tell you," she added, with a shake of her head.

"Get it to stop?" he repeated, in disbelief while taking a step closer to her. "Gia, you gave me a handjob!" he exclaimed lowly, so only she could hear. "You can't do that to a guy and expect him to just forget it!" he insisted.

"What I did could hardly qualify as a handjob, Art," Gianna argued, her voice matching his. "It was one pump at max," she pointed out.

Gianna knew this was childish, to be arguing the technicalities of what is a handjob, but she needed to quash what she thought Art was poking at. They didn't need to talk about that ever again, it was… it was a good time, it basically meant nothing. All she had to do was bury her budding feelings deep down, and make an active effort to never acknowledge them again.

"Why did even tell me this, knowing I'm dating your best friend?" Gianna questioned, anger rising in her voice.

"Because despite that, I think you like me too," he countered, his frustration growing more palpable by the second.

"Look Art, we had some fun in my hotel room. You, me, and Patrick, we all did," she deflected, shaking her head again. "Fun," she emphasized.

"Fun? That's all that was?"

God, did she feel like a bitch, watching Art's face crumple made her almost reconsider everything, but she was in too deep now to back out now.

"In that instance, yes," Gianna answered bluntly, watching how that verbal blow knocked the wind out of him. "I'm sorry, did you think it was more?" she asked coldly.

With each word she uttered, it visibly pained Art and the lines in his forehead grew deeper and deeper. He looked like a kicked puppy, and god did she hate when he looked like that. Silence fell between them, the most uncomfortable silence of Gianna's life.

"Fuck! This was supposed to be a fun night!" she groaned, before turning away from Art and walking away from the hole they were at.

"You never denied it," Art remarked, his words were spoken softly, barely a whisper, but to Gianna they were deafening. So much so, that she abruptly froze mid step, her shoulders visibly stiffening. "That you had feelings for me," he finished quietly.

Gianna was like a deer in headlights. She had hoped the harshness of her words would cause Art to fail to notice what she didn't say. He was far more attentive than she realized. Swallowing uncomfortably, Gianna all but sprinted to where Tashi was, not daring to look back.

"Hey Tash," Gianna greeted, forcing a smile on her face as she approached her. "How's your game going? Where did Patrick go?" she questioned, praying she wasn't noticeably acting strange.

Tashi didn't bother looking up at her, "Oh, you know," she began, her voice monotone. "It goes," she answered, barely making an effort to hit the golf ball into the hole. It pitifully only moved a few feet from them. "Patrick, on the other hand went to buy food for us," she answered flatly.

Gianna felt her grip tighten around her club, "You know could at least make an attempt to actually try and have fun," she commented.

Tashi's head whipped up, a frown already etched on her face.

"I didn't want to come here in the first place, and you know that," Tashi stated, carelessly letting the golf club fall from her hand. "Fun, fun, fun. That's all you seem to care about now!" she snapped, folding her arms against her chest.

Gianna rolled her eyes, "Excuse me for daring to indulge in my newfound freedom from being under my dad's thumb for the first time in years," she responded sarcastically.

"I'm sure he'll be just thrilled to learn the placeholder for his own lost dreams immediately took her eyes off the prize the second he left her alone," Tashi said, a derisive chuckle leaving her.

"Fuck you! That's a low fucking blow even for you Tashi!" Gianna hissed, stabbing her finger in the air toward her best friend. "I pray you never find yourself in the same position which I've been put through," she wished.

Once upon a time, much like Gianna, her father was a talented tennis prodigy who was on the cusp of a promising career in the pros. However, just as his career started, it was snatched away within a blink of the eye with death of his father, forcing him to return home to take over the family horse ranch. And Gianna has had to suffer for circumstances beyond hers or her father's control ever since.

"You don't know what it's like, to have your own dad be your coach as well," Gianna went on, her fist balling up. "And being forced to reckon that you begin to see him as less of a father and only as a coach," she added, faintly feeling her nails digging into her palm.

"Poor fucking me, I'm Gianna Langdon who's had a silver spoon in my mouth since I could walk," Tashi mocked. "My life is so difficult because I have to play a sport I'm wonderful at and my dad has went above and beyond to make sure I excel at my craft, like having a fucking personal tennis court built in my backyard!"

"And you think that's a blessing?" Gianna asked, the pitch in her voice rising. "It was a curse! My own personal gilded cage, a constant reminder that I've never really had any say at all to explore life outside of tennis," she exclaimed, dropping her own club now.

"You like baking,"

"Ooh one whole hobby," Gianna deadpanned, raising her hands and shaking them. "You know what you're supposed to do at college besides learn?" She questioned. "Party and find yourself,” she listed, ticking them off with her fingers.

"You're at Stanford to play tennis on a full ride scholarship," Tashi reminded firmly.

"Well it's a good fucking thing I can multitask," Gianna retorted. "Come on Tashi, think about it. Outside tennis, what else do you and I do in our spare time? Talk about boys?" she said exasperatedly.

"Yes, and its worked for us this entire time. Why change now?" Tashi replied, a soft frown creasing her forehead.

"Because we were friends then, but now we're girlfriends—"

Tashi scoffed, "Girlfriends? You haven't even publicly came out and stated that we're dating," she pointed out.

Gianna could only bite her tongue, because Tashi was right, she hadn't. Although, she had her reasons, they were wholly self-serving, but there was logic behind them.

"I know you haven't told your mom," Tashi began. "And I know damn well you haven't said anything to your dad," she stressed. "So, what is it? Are you afraid of ruining your ‘golden child’ title if your parents find out you're queer?" she taunted.

"You think my parents care if I'm gay?" Gianna asked incredulously. "They've known Farrah is a lesbian for nearly two years now," she informed.

"She plays women's soccer, I'm positive your parents weren't surprised about that revelation," Tashi said dismissively. "The closet was made of fucking glass," she quipped.

If Gianna wasn't so frustrated and infuriated with Tashi, she would've laugh at Tashi's remark.

"Alright, fuck it, you want to know why I don't to want go public? Why I refuse to?"

"I'm waiting with bated breath," Tashi answered sarcastically.

"It's because I have a goddamn name and image to uphold," Gianna said frankly. "We both do," she added, her tone softening.

"Oh my god!" Tashi complained. "It's always about image with you, with your dad!" she snapped.

"I'm being pragmatic here and you know it, you're just being too stubborn to realize I'm right," Gianna claimed, crossing her arms.

"Billie Jean King, a tennis legend is an open lesbian,"

"Yeah, and did you skip over the part where she was forcibly outed, shunned, and lost all her endorsements soon after?" she shot back. "Do you want that fate for the both us when either of us have barely even made a start in our careers?" Gianna questioned, no trace of anger in her voice only sincerity.

Tashi never got the chance to respond as an arm snaked its way around Gianna's waist.

"Now, what are you doing around in these parts?" Patrick asked humorously. "Is Art doing that bad you had to switch sides?" he guessed.

Gianna looked over at him, "I came to see how you two losers were doing," she lied, grinning at him.

Her eyes found Tashi's once more, their argument from moments before still raging silently between in stares, and all the while Patrick is none the wiser. He didn't notice the obvious growing tension between his two girlfriends, between two best friends.

#black!reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #black fanfiction #black!oc #challengers fanfiction #tashi duncan #art donaldson #patrick zweig

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ronearoundblindly · 5 months

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Zones and Photography for Fools Rush In! Steve. Preferably pre-nomad 😆

I read every update of yours as soon as I get the notification. Keep up the good work. You are amazing <333333

From this dirty ask game but okay, wait, I hope I'm understanding this correctly.

Fools Rush In!Steve is post-canon--he's a version of Steve that came back after replacing the Stones from Endgame,--so technically, he already went through his actual Nomad years. I'm gonna have to assume you me pre-Dignity of His Choice (since that's when he kinda looks like Nomad or Ari Levinson whoops again) which is fine because after all of Dignity's angst, I'm sure people are afraid of where that leaves us--terrible of me to leave y'all hanging so long, sorry. OH CRAP! Welp. This is gonna have some spoilers sorta kinda for the honeymoon fic in the works...Yes, Ro, but when will we ever get that f***ing thing???

So. Right. Here we go! Sorry, but MINORS DNI for these still.

woahhhhh omg he glows so pretty 🫠🤤

Z - Zones

Oh boy, oh boy!

Is it hot in here??? Just me? Sure. That checks out.

Steve has diminished sensitivity after the serum. It makes him stronger to feel less pain, but it's slightly more difficult in nearly ever other aspect of life. He feeds his tactile experience with the acuity of his enhanced senses. Ever heard the expression 'eating with your eyes?' Like that.

The sight of you, the smell of you, what you sound like, how you taste, these are all things he can absorb to fill in the gaps of his touch.

Now, the caveat? He's not a fucking idiot. He can tell if you are kissing, biting, scratching, or gripping him. He knows these are things you do for your enjoyment as well, so that fuels his entertainment during sex. After a whole lot of wallowing over how disconnected he felt without sensitivity, he understands this actually brings you two closer together because pleasure and intimacy is truly a shared experience.

Uh. Also. His neck. No judgment but he can hear and smell you very well if you pay attention to his neck. That's pretty great. He likes that.

P - Photography

Honestly, I just want to burst out laughing even imagining Steve taking a dick pic much less sending it 🤣 If he did do something like that, it would be an accident, and that boi would rush into some lab and insist there was a super secret mission to completely delete the contents of your phone before you opened it. I feel like he'd be lucky if he didn't just smash the phone itself out of panic. Seriously, I'M IN TEARS. Just no, hard no on the sending nudes.

I also think he'd be super worried about privacy if you sent them. The idea is sound, and it's not like he wouldn't enjoy them. Steve doesn't trust technology that much though, so not digital. Analog. Old school is the way to go. Which bring us to this cheeky bastard on his honeymoon with Keeps.

Enjoy this excerpt I've sat on for a year!

“What’s that?” “Your wedding present,” Steve beams. He fakes a frown at your following ‘we weren’t doing presents’ look. “Not big ones. They’re just for fun.” He picks up another Canon film camera, a hefty black and silver thing from his hard-sided suitcase, and hands it to you. “Thought they’d be nice for the trip.” You weigh it in your hands and eye the Polaroid then switch with Steve. “That’s more of an artsy-fartsy Sketch thing,” you say, stepping around him with your new toy, rushing to grab toasty sweatpants from your own bag. As you bend over to pull out the garment though, you hear a mechanical click and whip around. Steve still faces away from you, but his head is slightly turned and he softly whistles, so of course, you lift your camera and snap a picture of his ass, too. He wrinkles his nose, looking over his shoulder with an unhidden smile. You shake out the photo card provocatively while he suits up for the fireside in a sweater and jeans. He glances at the developed shot and, seeming satisfied, plants one more kiss on your forehead. He hums as he holds up his picture of you entering the tent, thumb tracing the line of your hip exposed like it was on the glossy magazine pages after your bear debacle. “Yes, out there distracting all the wild animals,” you joke. “It’s working,” he mutters. “Hungry, Misses Rogers?”

Also, lest we forget, Steve has an incredible memory. He does not need footage to remember exactly what it looks like when his cock is slowly dragging in and out of you, or how your ass jiggles as he ::cough:: enthusiastically fucks makes love to you ::cough::

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

SKETCH, MY BELOVED...

#ro answers #dirty asks #ask game #fools rush in series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine

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1800-fight-me · 1 year

Text

Thunderstorms & Heartache Part Two

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

You can find part one here!

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending of course - wink wink), oral sex (f receiving), and PiV sex

Word count: About 3.8k

Synopsis: After a tumultuous reunion with Aemond, will one lie be all it takes to push you apart for good?

Author’s note: Here's part two! Sorry it took me literally a million years - I hope y'all enjoy! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

Recap from Part One:

“I must tell you that I was not completely honest with you before,” he said, his voice low and vulnerable.

“About what?” you asked carefully.

“I do know who my brother intends to betroth you to,” he replied.

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, wordlessly asking him to explain, even as you extricated yourself from his grasp and crossed your arms.

He pressed his lips together.

“You are to marry me,” he said finally.

“What?” you gasped.

Part Two:

You already yelled at him and called him a liar. There was nothing else to say.

You felt empty, numb. When the anger was released you weren’t sure what else was there.

He hadn’t defended himself when you raged at him like you expected him too.

Aemond took the verbal lashing with guilt and understanding in his eyes, and it took the wind and the anger out of you.

He helped you settle into Vhagar’s saddle in silence.

You rode in that same heavy silence, and soon the sky overhead broke and rain poured.

The raging storm matched your mood so you could not bring yourself to complain.

Besides, the rain hid and washed away your quiet tears at his betrayal. Of course he lied to you about something as important as your future and your duty.

You thought he knew how much fear revolved around your future, so for him to keep such vital information from you was gutting.

Though if you were truly honest with yourself, a future with Aemond inspired significantly less dread than your former betrothed. And it was nothing compared to the ice cold terror you felt when you had no idea who you would be wed to. You knew the kind of man that Aemond is, and you cared for him deeply. Even still, you were hurt.

You could sense that he wanted to talk and attempted to get himself to say something several times, but your sullen quiet kept him from trying to start a conversation.

Hours passed and soon you could see that you were near King’s Landing.

“We shall be there within the hour,” he said as he leaned close enough to your ear in order for you to hear him that you could feel his breath caress your skin.

You felt a spark of anger at yourself that your body reacted so strongly to him as you shivered.

Your back was fully pressed into his chest and there was a part of you, and not a small part, that wished to forget what happened between the two of you and relax into his body and allow him to fully embrace you.

You nodded curtly but said nothing else.

The rain did not let up and neither did your mood.

As Vhagar landed on the outskirts of the city, you allowed Aemond to once again grasp hold of your waist and help you off the massive dragon.

It was unfortunate that anger did nothing to dispel desire, though you supposed that was the story of your life.

He said your name softly as your feet reached the ground and you were pressed against him.

“What?” you asked, your voice broken.

He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“Aemond, what is there to say? I am exhausted and filthy. Can we not just allow this wretched trip to end without another fight?”

He pursed his lips and nodded.

He helped you onto the back of yet another horse after he had done the same.

He reminded you that while you rode through the city it was important to still be as discreet as possible, so you both pulled up the hoods of your cloaks.

You sat behind him and tentatively wrapped your arms around his trim waist.

You gave into the desire for comfort and pressed yourself against him fully and buried your face in his back as the horse began a light trot.

He placed his hand over yours and ran his thumb back over your skin and you relaxed immediately.

You knew it wasn’t fair to seek his comfort when you had been so angry with him, but you could not choose your feelings for him.

Besides, you were covered in mud and remnants of blood, traumatized, and tired beyond belief.

You actually began to doze off, glad for your tight grip on Aemond that prevented you from falling, and were nearly startled when Aemond pulled the horse to a stop.

There were hands on you that helped you off the horse, as you realized it was a king’s guard and not Aemond, you stiffened and pulled back.

Aemond chuckled at your befuddled expression and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

Queen Alicent was suddenly there and she looked at you and Aemond in concern, placing a hand on both your faces.

“Are you alright?” she asked somewhat breathlessly as if she had raced across the Red Keep to greet her son.

“Still in one piece,” Aemond replied.

She sighed in relief and ordered you to be escorted to your new chambers.

With one last look back at Aemond, you allowed a king’s guard to guide you then complied when the maids within undressed and bathed you.

You tumbled into the large four poster bed, slid between satin sheets, and allowed sleep to pull you under.

_______________

Your hands were covered in blood. You stared at them in horror, recognizing the hands before you as your own but also not comprehending that fact, as you turned them palm up.

Blood pooled in your palms and dripped down onto the grass before you. You looked up and saw that you were in a meadow filled with flowers of the most violent bright red. Your breathing quickened as panic threatened to consume you.

You turned around, hoping to escape the horror, but stopped short when you saw an enormous mirror with intricate gold details that decorated the frame.

In the mirror you saw yourself, hands still coated in now drying blood, but to your terror, there was a large dragon behind you.

A dragon with blood coating its teeth and maw as it snarled. You trembled where you stood, unable to do anything but stare into the mirror.

The dragon had snow white scales, piercing eyes of sapphire blue, and sharp claws that were dark with the coppery color of dried blood.

You were petrified, and yet….

The dragon cocked his head in a motion that felt all too familiar. You turned around slowly and made full eye contact with the dragon who slowly laid his head down at your feet, showing you complete loyalty.

A sudden feeling of comfort and safety filled you.

Your name was being called, though it sounded far away. You began blinking rapidly and soon your location changed.

You were dreaming, you realized as you blinked your eyes open to find yourself in the bed you had tumbled into the night prior.

And for the first time in days, the person that woke you was not Aemond.

There was a pang of something that felt dangerously close to disappointment at the realization that the person that woke you was a lady’s maid.

“My lady, it is nearly midday and the prince is here and has requested you meet him for lunch,” the kind woman said.

You nodded and began to rise, even as your heart skipped a beat.

After dressing and being fussed over enough, you stepped out of your chambers and smiled as you saw him.

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he smiled at you warm enough to melt your heart.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with concern. You took the half step forward and hugged him tightly, and after a moment of surprise, he hugged you back.

He chuckled softly. “I came here to beg your forgiveness, I did not expect to obtain it so easily.”

You laughed, the sound thick with unshed tears.

“I am sorry that I was not honest with you,” he said as you pulled back and stared up at him.

“I would be more willing to let you completely off the hook if you explained yourself,” you said with a smirk.

He smirked right back at you and said, “I would be happy to, my lady, would you allow me to escort you to lunch while I do so?”

You nodded and took his offered arm.

You walked through the halls of the Red Keep and into the beautiful gardens full of blooming flowers of purple and white.

“I thought you understood me. That you understood…”

“Understood?”

“The amount of fear and dread that I have felt about my future, my duty.” you said as you looked down at the ground.

“You did not always feel that way though,” he said, clearly thinking back to your shared childhood.

You felt a stray tear fall down your cheek.

“I was certainly more carefree when we were young. And also…also I had deluded myself into thinking I would be wed to you, before we fell apart that is, and a future with you did not seem so scary,” you confessed.

“It is unfortunate that we had such a deep misunderstanding and became so angry with one another, for that was my wish as well,” he said.

“Childish dreams I suppose,” you said and he chuckled.

“Not anymore. I was certain due to your disdain towards me that the news that we were to be betrothed would not be well received. I found myself acting cowardly by not telling you,” Aemond said gently.

You sighed softly.

“I have to be honest with you,” you said, nerves making your voice breathy and high.

“Yes?”

“I have never once hated you. In fact I am almost certain I have loved you for my entire life,” you said.

And under the willow tree with a picnic set up beneath it, Aemond pulled you to a stop.

He cupped your cheek and led you to look up and meet his gaze.

“How fortunate it is that we feel the same way,” he purred.

You grinned, even as you rolled your eyes at him, and pulled him in for a life shattering kiss. As much as you liked to pretend, you were clearly not immune to his charms.

He consumed you and you melted into him, became one with him as his lips moved against yours and your tongues tangled.

He gripped your waist as you plunged a hand in his silken white hair that you have so long admired. He backed you up enough that your back hit the trunk of the tree. You groaned.

He was moments away from using the tree behind you as leverage to lift and hold you up, when a cleared throat interrupted your passionate embrace.

“So I take it you are on board with this marriage?” Aegon drawled.

You pulled back from Aemond and glared at your king. He smirked in traditional Targaryen smugness that made your blood boil.

You pointed a finger at him and Aemond pulled you back against his chest before you could lunge at Aegon the way you would when you were all children.

“You are an absolute imbecile-”

“Careful, my beloved, he is your king. Even if that was the worst kidnapping you’ve ever been a part of,” Aemond said and his joke managed to cut through your anger.

You huffed a reluctant laugh even as Aegon smirked.

“The wedding will be this afternoon,” Aegon ordered as he turned away.

You looked back at Aemond, your eyes huge and he held up his hands.

“This is news to me as well,” he said.

You sighed and rested your head on his chest.

“You better pray this dumbass plan of your brother’s concoction works,” you mumbled.

He rubbed his hand up and down your spine in reassurance.

“Whatever the outcome, my love, we will be together,” he said.

You grinned and he kissed you once more.

_______________

The ceremony was small and quick.

All that mattered were your vows, that he was yours and you were his.

He kissed you with such emotion that your heart threatened to burst.

There was an intimate family feast scheduled for directly after, but Aemond led you away, claiming he needed only a moment of your time before you met up with the others.

“Aemond!” you said with a giggle as he pulled you into his chambers and shut the door behind you.

“Hush, wife, I have a gift for you,” he said as he planted a firm kiss on your lips.

A shiver went down your spine as you smiled against his lips.

You kissed him more fervently and he pulled back with a signature smirk and chuckle that used to enrage you, but now filled you with a different kind of warmth.

“I was not using innuendo, my beloved, I truly do have a gift for you,” he said as he extricated himself from your grasp and guided you towards his desk with a hand on your lower back.

You giggled as you followed him.

He presented you with a small box. You looked up at him with lust filled eyes, tempted to toss the box to the side and throw yourself at him and allow yourself to be consumed by your dragon’s flames.

“Open it,” he ordered.

You opened it at the promise you saw in his eye to fulfill your desires.

You gasped at the necklace with a delicate silver chain and beautiful sapphire that winked at you in the firelight. You looked back at your new husband, and saw that the gem on your necklace was an exact match to the one that graced his wounded eye.

“You once told me that sapphires are your favorite,” he said.

Your laugh was choked up by a sob at his obvious thoughtfulness and love for you. He was not lying that he has loved and cared for you for the entirety of your lives.

You thought about your young heartbroken friend who loved you despite the hurt and chose a sapphire to replace his lost eye with some hope that you would approve.

“Will you put it on for me?” you ask shyly as you wipe away the tears.

He smiles, a genuine breathtaking smile. You laugh and cry at the same time again.

Aemond took the necklace from you, then placed his hands on your waist and turned you around gently so you faced away from him. Your breath caught as he grazed his fingers across your collarbone then brushed against your neck.

You shivered.

You waited patiently as he clasped the chain around your neck. You’d never felt lighter, in fact, you felt like you were floating- high up in the air on dragonback.

He turned you back around and continued to adjust the necklace around your throat, a gleam in his eye as you smiled prettily at him- proudly displaying his claim on you.

His lips crashed against yours and you willingly, gleefully succumbed to the storm of him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, held him tighter. The feeling of his strong warm body against yours had you melting.

As his tongue grazed yours, you tangled your fingers in his hair.

He kissed you thoroughly and completely as he claimed your mouth. You whimpered with desire and it only spurred him on more.

He gripped your waist tighter as he guided you to walk backwards until your legs bumped into the bed.

He led you to sit on the edge of the bed and you whined as he pulled his lips away from yours. He smirked cockily and then surprised you when he didn’t kiss you again, he didn’t guide you to lay back or crawl on top of you, no- he kneeled in front of you.

He slowly removed your shoes and stockings before he ran his hands up your now bare legs, pushing your skirt up, up, up until his hands rested on your thighs.

He placed your ankles on his shoulders and you took a shuddering breath.

He ran his nose against your calf as his hands inched higher up your thighs.

He groaned with desire.

“You’re mine, aren’t you, gorgeous?” he purred.

You nodded your head and but your lip as you watched him, and a second heartbeat throbbed in your core.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice soft as his nose grazed up to the middle of your thigh. Your breath caught as he pushed your skirt up high enough that your panties were exposed to him.

“I’m yours,” you breathed out.

“Mhm,” he hummed as he pressed soft opened mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of the inside of your thighs.

His lips moved higher and higher as did his hands until he gripped your hips and his face was level with your core.

His eye flickered to the wet patch in your panties and he hummed his approval.

The sight of him between your legs was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen and your breaths came fast and quick.

He buried his nose in your still clothed pussy, took in a deep breath, and groaned with desire as he exhaled.

You whimpered.

His gaze met yours and he smiled at the sight of you shuddering with desire for him.

The anticipation was more than you could take.

“Please, Aemond,” you whined.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased and hooked a finger in your panties and pulled them slowly down and off before he dropped them on the floor.

He moaned as he took in your glistening pussy, wet just for him.

Before you could finish whining the word please again, his mouth was on you.

He licked a long stripe up your core and groaned once more.

“Nectar of the gods,” he murmured before he devoured you.

He licked and licked and licked you and made you feel a way you’d never felt before.

You moaned wantonly as he sucked at the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs and you gave you a pleasure unlike any before.

He slipped a finger inside you and you squeaked at the intrusion, but soon moaned as he crooked his finger and rubbed against a spot you’d never found yourself.

You felt something build inside you as he continued to move his tongue on your clit in a perfect rhythmic action.

He slipped another finger inside you, stretching you a bit, but you couldn’t be bothered as your release became impending.

“Aemond,” you whimpered and he groaned into your pussy.

“Give it to me, my love,” he ordered.

Your release shattered through you with a moan loud enough to echo through his chambers. You couldn’t bring yourself to care or be embarrassed. Not when your new husband looked beyond pleased with you.

“You are utter perfection,” he breathed out as he stared at you, his mouth slightly open and his pupil dilated with desire.

He stood from his kneeling position before you and your eyes fell to the obvious evidence of his arousal. Your mouth watered.

He kissed you deeply before pulling back once again.

He quickly and efficiently removed his clothes and then yours.

Your breath quickened once again as you took in the glorious sight of Aemond completely bare before you. You’d dreamed of this many times, but nothing could have prepared you for when he laid you down and slotted himself between your legs.

As your eyes met his, all of the nerves fell away. You were ready for him and felt completely secure in his arms as he kissed you gently, sweetly, in preparation for what was to come.

“I love you,” you said as his lips trailed down your neck.

“You, my beloved, are the love of my life,” he imprinted onto your skin as he trailed his lips down to your breasts.

He licked and sucked at the peaks of your breasts and you moaned as you tangled your fingers into his hair and urged him on.

You somehow became even wetter and your slick coated his cock as he slid it through your folds.

“I need you,” you breathed out and he grunted in agreement.

He leaned up and kissed your lips once more before he slotted himself against your entrance and slowly began to push inside you.

You gasped at the intrusion and he murmured sweet words and pressed soft kisses to any of your skin that he can reach.

He pressed in and in and in. There was some discomfort but he had readied you thoroughly so there was not the pain you had anticipated.

Once he was seated fully inside you, you wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him.

His lips moved against yours with such gentleness that despite the fact that you’d loved him nearly all your life, you somehow fell in love with him even more.

He pulled back with a hand on the side of your face, a question in his expression, and as you nodded he began to move inside you.

He pulled nearly all the way out of you before he slid back in.

You moaned breathlessly and he moaned along with you.

So slow, his pace was nearly excruciatingly slow as he pulled out and pressed back deep deep inside you and reached a place that had never been reached before.

Over and over again until your patience was lost.

“Faster,” you urged and with a groan that showed how frayed his self control was, he complied.

And you learned how truly full of fire the blood of the dragon was.

Aemond pulled out before snapping his hips back in against yours. The pace quick and the thrusts deep.

He gave you a pleasure unlike any you had ever experienced before. You felt so full, a feeling you had never thought you would be so desirable.

You felt complete as your husband filled you and you clenched around him.

You pulled his face down to kiss him messily and his thrusts became frantic.

He twirled his tongue with yours and you gripped his back and held him as close to you as was possible.

The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room and only increased your desire for him.

His pleasure was your pleasure as he held you tight and moaned your name into your mouth as he came and filled you with his seed.

He kissed you once more, twice more, three times before he pulled out of you and rolled to lie next to you on the bed, giving you both time and space to catch your breath.

You turned to look at him and trailed your fingers down his cheek, then across his chiseled chest and stomach.

“When can we try that again?” you asked, still a bit breathlessly.

He chuckled and took your hand in his. He pressed a kiss to your palm.

“Whenever you want, my gorgeous wife, but at least give me a few moments to recollect myself,” he replied with a smile.

Later, you strode into your own wedding feast arm in arm with your new husband, more than fashionably late, a smile on your lips and the sapphire necklace around your throat glittering in the light the same as Aemond’s matching eye.

You were unafraid of your father’s reaction, certain you were of his impending arrival once he received the news.

The truth is, you’d never felt more secure. Your heart healed, your future one of promise and love rather than fear and hurt, and the love of your life by your side to weather life’s storms with.

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