#the sense of belonging in this community is immense

[ofmd-ann]

[imthebadguyyy]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

pairing : f1 drivers x reader fandom : f1 synopsis : the grid is there to watch you flourish with a broken heart. warnings : angst and insane amounts of platonic fluff

I can read your mind, "she's having the time of her life", there in her glittering prime.

The press conference room was buzzing with excitement. Cameras flashed, microphones were adjusted, and reporters shuffled in their seats, eager to ask their questions. You sat at the table, the only female driver on the grid, proudly representing Mercedes. Beside you were Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, both offering reassuring smiles as they prepared for the barrage of questions.

The session began with the usual inquiries about strategies, car performance, and race predictions. You answered confidently, drawing on your experiences and expertise. The lights refracted sequined stars off your silhouette every night, making it seem like you were having the time of your life, there in your glittering prime.

But then, a reporter in the back stood up, his tone sharp and probing. "I can read your mind," he began, a smirk playing on his lips. "She's having the time of her life," he quoted, a mocking tone in his voice. "But given the recent incidents, do you think you're emotionally strong enough to handle the pressures of Formula 1, especially as a female driver? Some might say you're struggling to keep up."

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anger and hurt. How dare he question your strength, your dedication? You squared your shoulders, looking the reporter straight in the eye.

"I can show you lies," you said, your voice steady and strong. "One, two, three, four. You don't get to tell me about sad," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "I've faced challenges and pressures just like everyone else on this grid. My gender doesn't make me weaker or less capable. If anything, it makes me stronger."

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. But then, Lewis leaned forward, his expression fierce. "We all face immense pressure in this sport," he said, his voice calm but firm. "And she's proven time and again that she belongs here. Her strength and resilience are unmatched."

George nodded in agreement. "She's one of the best drivers I've ever had the privilege to race alongside. Her gender has nothing to do with her capabilities. She's here on merit, just like the rest of us."

Sebastian Vettel, sitting a few seats down, chimed in as well. "Respect is crucial in this sport. We support each other, and we stand by her. She's earned her place on this grid, and nothing can take that away from her."

Valtteri Bottas added his voice to the mix. "We all have our struggles, but it's how we handle them that defines us. And she's handled everything with grace and determination."

Checo Perez, who was at the press conference as well, spoke up. "It's easy to criticize from the outside. But we know what it takes to be here, and she has it all. She's not just a great driver; she's an inspiration."

The support from your fellow drivers warmed your heart. You felt a surge of gratitude and pride. They saw you for who you were—a talented driver, a fierce competitor, and a valuable member of the F1 community.

The reporter, realizing he had crossed a line, shifted uncomfortably and mumbled an apology. The press conference moved on, but the impact of that moment stayed with you. It was a reminder of the solidarity and respect that existed among the drivers, a testament to the bond you shared.

After the press conference, as you walked back to the paddock, Lewis put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You're stronger than any of them know," he said with a smile.

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. "Thanks, Lewis. And thanks to all of you," you said, looking around at your fellow drivers. "I couldn't do this without your support."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had a team of incredible people standing by your side. And that made all the difference.

'cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit

The race had been intense, a whirlwind of speed and strategy. You pushed your Mercedes to its limits, navigating the twists and turns with precision and skill. As the only female driver on the grid, you had a point to prove, and today, you were doing just that.

But then, in the final laps, an incident occurred. Another driver made a reckless move, causing you to swerve and lose valuable time. Despite the setback, you fought your way back up, crossing the finish line in third place. The cheers from the crowd were deafening as you made your way to the podium, your heart pounding with a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Standing on the podium, you felt a surge of pride. You had earned this. But as the ceremony began, an official approached, a somber look on his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but you've been given a penalty for the incident on the track. You've lost your podium place."

Your heart sank, but you quickly composed yourself. 'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, you reminded yourself. The decision was unfair, a blatant disregard for the fact that you were the victim of the incident. But instead of letting it break you, you chose to rise above it.

With a defiant smile, you raised your trophy high, celebrating as if nothing had happened. The crowd roared in approval, sensing your silent rebellion against the FIA. You waved to your fans, your expression one of unwavering confidence and determination. You were here to stay, and no unfair penalty could take that away from you.

Lewis Hamilton, standing beside you, exchanged a glance of admiration and support. He knew the situation was unjust, but he also knew you were strong enough to handle it. As you all sprayed champagne, the message was clear: you wouldn't let anyone diminish your achievements.

After the ceremony, as you walked back to the paddock, Lewis was waiting for you. He pulled you into a warm hug, holding you tightly. "You were incredible out there," he whispered, his voice full of warmth and pride. "I'm so proud of you."

You hugged him back, drawing strength from his support. "Thanks, Lewis. It means a lot coming from you."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with genuine affection. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You've got the heart of a champion, and no unfair penalty can change that."

Oscar Piastri, who had finished second, gave you a nod of respect as he approached. "That was a tough break," he said quietly. "But you handled it with more class than most could."

You smiled at Oscar, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Oscar. It’s moments like these that show what we're made of."

As you walked away, Lewis kept his arm around your shoulders, a silent but powerful gesture of solidarity. "Remember," he said softly, "we're a team. And we're all here for you."

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence and camaraderie. "I know. And it makes all the difference."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges. But with your resilience, the support of your team, and your unwavering determination, you were ready to face whatever came your way. And that made all the difference.

babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did

The season had been a rollercoaster, filled with highs and lows, but you had handled it with grace and determination. As the only female driver on the grid, you constantly faced scrutiny and doubt from the pundits who seemed to neglect your achievements. Every podium finish, every hard-fought point, was downplayed or overshadowed by your male counterparts.

Despite this, you kept your head high. One particular pundit, known for his sarcasm, had once sneered, "You just have to fake it 'til you make it, right?" His dismissive comment stung, but you channeled that frustration into every race, using it as fuel to prove your worth.

Then came the breakthrough. Four consecutive wins. It was a streak that left everyone in awe, and there was no denying your dominance on the track. Each victory was sweeter than the last, a testament to your skill and resilience. But what you relished most was the silence from the pundits who had so often dismissed you.

After your fourth straight win, you stood on the podium, the crowd roaring in approval. You soaked in the moment, knowing you had earned every bit of it. As you descended the podium, your eyes locked onto the group of pundits, including the one who had made that sarcastic remark.

With a confident stride, you walked straight up to them. The surprise on their faces was evident as you approached. You could feel the tension, the unspoken acknowledgment of your triumph hanging in the air.

"You remember that comment you made?" you asked, your voice clear and unwavering. "About faking it until you make it?" You let the words hang for a moment, letting the weight of your achievements settle in. "Well, I did just that. And look where it got me."

Lando Norris, standing nearby, gave you an encouraging nod, his eyes filled with pride. Carlos Sainz, too, offered a smile of respect and admiration. They had witnessed your journey, your struggles, and your victories, and they knew how much this moment meant.

The pundits, momentarily speechless, nodded in acknowledgment. You didn't need their praise or recognition anymore. You had shown the world what you were capable of, and that was enough.

As you walked away, you felt a surge of satisfaction and confidence. The road ahead would still have its challenges, but you knew you could face them with the same strength and grace that had brought you this far. And with every race, you would continue to prove that you belonged at the very top of the sport.

Lando joined you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "You handled that perfectly," he said, his voice full of admiration.

Carlos came up on your other side, grinning. "They won't underestimate you again."

You smiled, feeling the camaraderie and support from your teammates. "Thanks, guys. It means a lot."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that the future was bright. You had the talent, the determination, and the support to achieve anything you set your mind to.

lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die

The Monaco Grand Prix weekend was in full swing, and the glamorous event was bustling with high-profile guests, flashing cameras, and a sea of paparazzi. You, the only female driver on the grid, were attending a high-profile gala, and while the event was supposed to be a celebration, it quickly turned into a showcase of unwelcome comments.

You walked into the venue, dressed in a stunning outfit that was both elegant and bold. However, instead of admiring glances, you were met with snide remarks and superficial comments about your appearance. People were whispering about your body, your outfit, and your presence, making jabs and sarcastic remarks about your place in the spotlight.

“Lights, camera, bitch smile,” you thought to yourself, trying to maintain your composure. Even when you felt like the criticism was overwhelming, you knew you had to keep up a brave front.

Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton, who were both at the event, noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding you. They were determined to support you and stand by your side.

As you mingled through the crowd, a particularly obnoxious guest made a loud comment, “Nice outfit, but are you sure you’re not just here to be a pretty face?”

The remark stung, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you turned to the person with a sarcastic smile. “Oh, absolutely. I’m just here to make up the numbers. But hey, if looking good and putting up with this nonsense is part of the job, I guess I’m killing it.”

The crowd fell silent, taken aback by your sharp retort. Charles, standing nearby, stepped in with a smile that was equal parts supportive and mischievous. “You know, I think she’s doing a lot more than just looking good. It’s impressive how she handles this kind of stuff.”

Lewis, also by your side, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and I’ve seen her drive circles around the competition. I’d say she’s got more than enough talent to match that smile.”

The remarks were met with a stunned silence from the onlookers. The shift in tone was palpable, and the crowd seemed to recognize that they had crossed a line. You gave Charles and Lewis a grateful smile, appreciating their support.

As the night went on, you continued to navigate the event with a blend of poise and sarcasm. The comments faded into the background as you enjoyed the company of those who genuinely respected you.

Charles, as you were leaving the event, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You handled that like a pro,” he said, his tone warm and sincere.

Lewis joined in, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You were amazing out there. Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of sass to set things right.”

You smiled, feeling a renewed sense of confidence and camaraderie. “Thanks, guys. I’ve learned that sometimes, you just have to give as good as you get.”

As you left the gala, you knew that the road ahead would still have its challenges. But with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown, you felt ready to face whatever came your way.

im so depressed i act like it's my birthday everyday

The breakup had been brutal. Your boyfriend, a famous tennis player, had ended things in the most public and humiliating way possible. Since then, he’d been making snide comments about you in interviews, trying to tarnish your reputation. Despite the heartache, you continued to show up and perform on the F1 circuit, determined not to let his words break you.

"I'm so depressed, I act like it's my birthday every day," you thought bitterly, putting on a brave face for the cameras and the fans. The Monaco Grand Prix was approaching, and as always, the media was in a frenzy. You had a press conference lined up, and you knew that questions about your ex were inevitable.

You took your seat at the press conference, flanked by Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Max Verstappen. The room was buzzing with anticipation as the questions started to roll in. It wasn’t long before one of the reporters brought up your ex-boyfriend’s recent comments.

“Your ex has been quite vocal about your breakup, making some rather harsh remarks. How do you respond to that?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar sting of his words. But instead of letting it show, you decided to turn the tables with a sarcastic comment. “Well, he’s clearly got a lot of time on his hands now that he’s not busy winning matches. Maybe he should consider a career in stand-up comedy.”

The room erupted in a mix of gasps and chuckles. Before you could say more, Lewis jumped in, his expression serious. “He’s too stupid for his own good if he thinks he can undermine her. She’s shown more strength and class than he ever will.”

Charles nodded in agreement. “He let a gem slip out of his fingers. His loss is the racing world’s gain.”

Carlos added, his voice full of warmth, “She’s got more talent and heart than he could ever understand. We’re lucky to have her here.”

Max leaned into his mic, a rare smile on his face. “And let’s be honest, she’s the one who’s truly winning. Both on and off the track.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their support. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

The bond between you all was palpable. The camaraderie and mutual respect you shared were evident, and the crowd could see it. The reporters seemed taken aback by the united front, realizing they wouldn’t get the reaction they’d hoped for.

As the press conference continued, the focus shifted back to racing, and you felt a sense of relief. You answered questions about your performance, your strategy for the upcoming race, and your goals for the season. With each answer, you felt stronger, more confident.

After the press conference, the guys surrounded you, offering words of encouragement and support. Lewis gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “You handled that perfectly. Don’t let anyone get to you.”

Charles grinned, his eyes full of mischief. “Yeah, and if he keeps talking, we’ll take care of it.”

Carlos laughed. “I don’t think he stands a chance against all of us.”

Max added, his tone sincere, “You’ve got us. We’re in this together.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their friendship and support. “Thanks, everyone. It means a lot.”

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown, you could face whatever came your way.

i cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art

The morning of the race, you found yourself hiding in the bathroom, tears streaming down your face. The pressure of the season, the recent breakup, and the constant scrutiny had finally taken their toll. You sat on the floor, head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "I cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art," you thought bitterly, trying to pull yourself together.

Outside, the sounds of the paddock were a blur, but the faint knock on the bathroom door was unmistakable. "Hey, you okay in there?" It was Lewis's voice, filled with concern.

You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your tears. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, your voice trembling.

The door creaked open slightly, and Charles's worried face appeared. "We heard you crying. Do you want to talk, Speedy?"

Carlos and Max were right behind him, their expressions mirroring Charles's worry. "You don't have to do this alone, Champ," Carlos said softly.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you broke down again. "It's just... everything. The pressure, the breakup, the constant comments... I can't handle it."

Lewis stepped inside, kneeling next to you. "We're here for you, Superstar. You’re stronger than you know."

Max nodded, his usually stern face softened with empathy. "You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Ace. It's okay to have moments like this."

Oscar, who had just arrived, added, "And after all this, we know you’ll go out there and show everyone what you're made of, Rocket."

Their words, their presence, it all felt overwhelming in the best way. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Thank you, guys. I just... I need to get through today."

Lewis helped you up, giving you a reassuring hug. "And you will, Star. We believe in you."

With their support, you made your way to the grid. The race ahead seemed daunting, but you channeled all your emotions into your performance. Lap after lap, you pushed yourself to the limit, determined to prove to yourself and everyone else that you could rise above it all.

When the checkered flag waved, you had done it. You won the race. The crowd erupted in cheers, but all you could think about was the breakdown you had just hours before. As you climbed onto the podium, flanked by Max and Oscar, you felt a mix of triumph and relief.

During the podium ceremony, the emotions threatened to overwhelm you again, but you managed to keep a brave face. When it was your turn to speak, you decided to lighten the mood. "I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it's an art," you said with a smile. The crowd laughed, appreciating your honesty and humor.

Max and Oscar both hugged you tightly, their support evident. "You did amazing, Lightning," Max whispered.

Oscar added, "We’re so proud of you, Champ."

The three of you stood there, arms around each other, a united front against the world. The bond you shared was clear, and for a moment, all the pain and pressure seemed to fade away.

As you looked out at the cheering crowd, you knew that the road ahead would still have its challenges. But with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown today, you felt ready to face whatever came your way. And for now, that was enough.

i was grinning like I'm winning i was hitting my marks, cuz I can do it with a broken heart!

The final race of the season was here, and Abu Dhabi was buzzing with anticipation. You stood on the starting grid, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. The breakup, the constant pressure, and the emotional toll of the season had been overwhelming, but you had kept pushing forward.

As the race began, you found your rhythm. Lap after lap, you were grinning like you were winning, hitting your marks perfectly. The focus, the drive, the determination—it all came together. "I can do it with a broken heart," you thought, channeling all your pain into every turn, every straight, every maneuver.

When the checkered flag waved, it was you crossing the line first. The roar of the crowd was deafening as you realized you had just won the World Championship. Tears of joy and relief streamed down your face as you brought your car to a stop. You had done it. Despite everything, you had achieved your dream.

Climbing out of your car, you were immediately swarmed by your team, who lifted you high in the air, cheering your name. Amid the chaos, you saw Lewis and Charles running towards you, their faces lit up with pride and excitement.

As you stood on the podium, the reality of your accomplishment sinking in, you took the microphone for your victory speech. "This season has been the toughest of my life," you began, your voice wavering with emotion. "I’ve been through hell and back. Heartbreak, pressure, and so many nights where I didn’t think I could keep going. But I did. Because I’m stronger than my fears, stronger than my pain."

You paused, looking out at the sea of faces cheering for you. "To everyone who ever doubted me, who said I couldn't make it—look at me now! I was grinning like I was winning, hitting my marks... because I can do it with a broken heart!"

The crowd erupted in applause, and Lewis and Charles were the loudest, hollering and cheering for you. They rushed onto the podium, drowning you in hugs, their pride and love for you evident in their eyes.

Lewis pulled you into a tight embrace. "You did it, Superstar! I knew you could!"

Charles joined in, wrapping his arms around both of you. "You’re incredible, Speedy! We’re so proud of you!

The three of you stood there, holding each other as the celebration continued around you. The bond you shared was unbreakable, forged through countless races, challenges, and triumphs.

As the champagne flowed and the confetti rained down, you felt a sense of peace and fulfillment. Despite the broken heart, you had achieved your greatest dream. And with Lewis and Charles by your side, you knew you could face anything the future held.

This moment, this victory, was yours. And it was sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

try and come for my job

The afterparty in Abu Dhabi was in full swing. The entire paddock was buzzing with excitement after the thrilling end to the season, and tonight was all about celebration. You had just won the World Championship, and the energy was electric.

Dressed in a dark pink glittery dress, you let yourself get swept up in the festivities. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and everyone was ready to let loose after a long, grueling season. Your team was gathered around you, along with many of the other drivers, all celebrating your incredible achievement.

As the night went on, the mood became more jubilant. Someone handed you a shot, and you raised it high, feeling a surge of adrenaline and joy. The crowd around you cheered as you climbed up onto a tabletop, ready to make a statement.

Holding the shot glass in one hand, you looked around at the sea of faces, all eyes on you. You grinned mischievously, feeling a boldness take over. "Try and come for my job!" you shouted, downing the shot in one go.

The room erupted in cheers and laughter. Lewis and Charles were right there, cheering the loudest, their faces beaming with pride. The moment was captured on video by several people, and within minutes, it was already going viral on social media.

You continued to dance on the tabletop, feeling the music pulse through you. The crowd chanted your name, the energy infectious. Lewis and Charles joined you, clambering up onto the table and dancing alongside you, their arms around your shoulders.

Lewis leaned in close, his voice filled with laughter. "You’re unstoppable, Superstar!"

Charles, grinning from ear to ear, added, "No one’s taking your job, Speedy! You’re the best!"

Max and Oscar were below, cheering and laughing, capturing the moment on their phones. Carlos handed you another drink, shaking his head in amazement. "You’re a legend, Rocket!"

As the night went on, the party showed no signs of slowing down. You felt an overwhelming sense of camaraderie and love from everyone around you. The hardships and struggles of the season melted away in the light of this celebration.

Later, as you finally climbed down from the table, breathless and exhilarated, Lewis and Charles stayed close, their support unwavering. "We’ve got your back, no matter what," Lewis said, his tone sincere.

Charles nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "You’re a champion in every sense of the word. Never forget that."

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their words. "Thanks, guys. I couldn’t have done it without you."

The night continued, filled with laughter, dancing, and countless toasts to your success. The viral video of you downing a shot and declaring your dominance spread like wildfire, capturing the essence of your fearless, unstoppable spirit.

As the party finally wound down, you knew that this was just the beginning. With your friends and teammates by your side, you were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And for now, you were content to bask in the joy of this unforgettable night.

a/n : ahhh I've been waiting for this one!! happy reading 🩷 and as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

f1 : @ivegotparticulartaste @moon-enthusiast @superlegend216 @theonly1outof-a-billion

ttpd series - @ateezseonghwanot @khaylin27 @imgondeletedis @jj-ever-lovely-jewel @stylestastic

charles : - @chanshintien @eternalharry @janeholt @magicalcowboyarbiter @oneafterdark @leclerc13 @moon-enthusiast @crlsummer @superlegend216 @electrobutterfly @formula1mount @f1lover20 @livsters @inkfable @ssararuffoni

[zzencat]

Things To Expect + Advice In August 2024 - PAC

Hey, Teddy! What’s the forecast for August 2024? Where’s the energy headed? What should I expect? Any advice? What should I do?

Deck: deviant moon tarot

TO ENHANCE ACCURACY BEFORE CHOOSING: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out.

Breathe and choose. From left to right.

———————

Pile 1. Fight or flight?

• there might be a clash of ideas or communication issues. maybe a sucky group project. maybe some sucky friend group issues. maybe family is being a bit of a pain. whatever the drama is, you’re trying to keep out of it. in fact, you’ll be trying to avoid any drama.

• ^^it might bother you in the background, and if you have a leveled head, i suggest you speak up more this month. Stick up for yourselves or other people! This pile feels very introverted to me and keeping peace and harmony is very important for you. But keep in mind that sometimes, doing nothing is more harmful. Use your better judgment for these situations.

• if you have questionable people around you, people who do things you’re not proud of, or are in a bad situation, you’re being called to leave this group behind, find better scenery and connections.

• on the bright side, look forward to making a new friend or new friends this month!! I’m also hearing “stop being a wallflower”

• find those who share similar interests to you. Join online communities, get involved, find clubs, share your findings with others.

• have strength and be courageous! you might think you have no say or no right to speak up, but you do. this is going to unlock a side of you that you didn’t even know you had. You have a voice!!!Please use it!! Good luck pile 1!

——————————

Pile 2. Ehh…meh…feeling like a potato 🥔

• not much tbh. you might be at a standstill in life from trying to figure out what the next thing you want is, making yourself relatively comfortable first. so this month, there’s going to be extra effort going into self-care!!

• ^^ dance or sing when no one’s around!! Get moving!!

• be careful of any scams btw!! you should keep an eye on your belongings or money this month.

• you have dreams, but feel that it might not be the right timing. You could be in a stump. A lot of stagnancy and waiting for something to happen.

• ^^ this might be bothering you a lot, like feeling like you could be doing something better with your life (or with your time or skills). you might think in the back of your mind that life “oh, well. My life is just rotting away, but I’ll just deal with it” *shrugs* — Suggestion: Find a hobby or passion. Find your purpose in life again. Remember: only YOU can give your life meaning. No one else.

• not a lot of traveling. a lot of staying at home and figuring out life and what happens next. you might find your job to be extremely boring and draining, that you could use a break. Be careful not to get too careless or sloppy at work.

• there’s also a sense of laziness or not feeling motivated. An obvious lack of drive. You might make decisions without thinking too much or caring.

• (not my place to armchair-diagnose, but if you struggle with depressive symptoms and you’re not able to get professional help, sharing your thoughts/ideas with friends/family/even fuckin reddit, or writing them out in a journal would benefit you immensely. Just tell somebody. You just need any outlet to let out pent up creativity. Doesn’t even have to be creative—you could scribble something. As long as you’re not directing this self-loathing and pitying energy inwards.)

• a lot of stagnancy in this pile so this is a wake up call for change. Get active, get out there, and do something you actually like!!!! Don’t waste more time. Good luck to you pile 2 👍

——————————

Pile 3. Stop for no one.

• some people here will be going through a break up, but you’ll feel better after it happens. you’re going to leave a very significant thing behind you and move on with confidence. either some of you already saw it or you realized in hindsight that it hand to be done in order for you to move forward

• ^^ this is not exclusively romantic!! some will be cutting ties with friends or even family, but once it happens, you will finally be aligned with your emotions and what your higher self has been craving deep down inside

• it will be a little shitty, but I see some of you smiling!! Trust the process! You’re leaving behind things, people, and qualities that have held you down for so long

• a lot of you guys are taking a risk here, sending someone something, flirting, being honest, but you’re finally going in the direction you want. you’re tired of waiting. lots of doubts, but you’ll make your move and decide to see this to the end.

• you are going to face a lot of realizations (positive and negative) when it comes to other people in August (work, friends, school, potential love partners)

• it’s really up to you this month. stagnancy will lead you nowhere, whereas action will bring you great abundance

• ^^ some of you will receive awards or recognition for your efforts. others will be rewarded great wealth.

• a lot of business moves are prominent in this pile!!! investors, potential business partners and expansion! Be cautious and consider all your moves, but go for it pile 3!

• some of you will lead or have a chance to teach people while in a higher position (ex: a mentor, coach, etc.)

————————-

Teddy note: Hey guys!! I hope you enjoy this pac! I’m starting a self-improvement series (sorta?) and I will be doing these monthly! Rmr to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. Thank you again 😎👍👍

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

I Know Places.

Synopsis - Jake always joked that he'd kill for you. One fateful day, he does just that.

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Female Reader (Callsign - Ivy) - Bonnie&Clyde inspired au

Warnings - cursing. very near SA. mentions of abuse/assault. mentions of blood, gunshots and violence. mentions of suicide. please, do not read if any of these warnings will affect you.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3.1k

Author's Note - i'm not sure what happened, because this was really fluffy in my head. it ended up kind of dark, but i'm rolling with it. i like writing a different side of jake. just in time for halloween too. this was written for @laracrofted 1989TGM celebration!! <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You stand with your hand on my waistline

It's a scene, and we're out here in plain sight

I can hear them whisper as we pass by

It's a bad sign, bad sign

Jake's always had impeccable timing.

He'd tell you, later, that he sensed it. Just knew. Felt it in his gut, some sort of warning from the universe. He had to get to you.

The Admiral has you half bent over the desk in his office, fingers twisted into your underwear. He's trying to pull them down your legs when the door swings open.

You're paralysed, frozen with fear. The look on your face must tell Jake enough. He gets the message, understands your silent communication.

The Admiral stops. Backs away. As if putting distance between you will erase what he's been caught doing. Trying to do.

You expect Jake to yell, fight, throw The Admiral across the room by his collar. You expect blood, bruises, broken skin and bared teeth.

All you're met with is silence.

Jake strides across the room towards you. Fixes your clothes, smooths down your hair. Wipes the tears from your cheeks. He snakes a hand around your waist and guides you out of the door. Not a word said.

Something happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

"He'll ruin my career."

You're tucked into Jake's lap, legs slung over his hips as he holds you close. His rough fingertips run themselves up and down your spine, comforting and gentle. You inhale his musk, letting the familiarity fill your lungs.

"You didn't do anything wrong, baby."

"That won't matter."

The two of you are whispering, hushed voices bouncing off the furniture. You're alone together in Jake's living room. There's no one else around. You think he's scared he'll spook you. You're right.

"I worked so hard for this, Jake. I sacrificed everything to get into Top Gun."

"I know, baby."

"I can't lose it all."

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back from your eyes.

"What do you want to do? Report him?"

"Jake, you're not listening to me. He'll ruin my career."

"But he's the guilty one. Not you."

"Yeah, well. This is the way it works. Men can assault you and still play the victim."

You're frustrated, now. There's something bubbling, running through your veins. You can't put your finger on it. It feels like more than rage. Whatever it is, it's lethal.

You climb off Jake's lap and stand, pacing across the carpet.

"What am I supposed to do?" you murmur, tears threatening to spill.

Jake can't stand the wobble in your voice. It tightens something in his chest, pulls at his heartstrings. He was furious, before. He's just sad now.

"I'll do anything you ask," he tells you, standing up to cradle your face in his hands. "Anything in the world."

"I know."

And you do. That's what it's like, being with Jake. He loves so entirely, with his whole being. Every fibre of his heart belongs to you. It beats to the rhythm of your name.

"Just tell me what you wanna do, baby. I'm on your side. No matter what."

You lean up to kiss him, his lips soft and careful against yours.

"I'm not sure, yet. When I know, you'll know."

Jake sits back down on the couch, pulling you with him. You tuck yourself into his side, fitting there perfectly. He slings an arm around your waist and keeps you close, holding you a little tighter than usual.

Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes

And guns

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

"We should kill him."

You're strewn across Jake's chest, tangled in the sheets. Your limbs and hearts are intertwined, bodies drenched in sweat and lungs heaving.

"What?"

You sit up, pulling the comforter up and over your body slightly to combat the chill of the ocean breeze that's filtering through the open window.

"Let's kill him."

You look over to your boyfriend, waiting for the punchline. It never comes.

"Jake."

He turns to you, the most serious you've ever seen him. There's a look in his eye you've never seen before. It's dark. You're vaguely aware you should probably feel fear - but all you feel is anticipation.

"How many girls do you think he's done this to before you? How many will come after?"

You swallow, biting at your lips.

"He needs to be stopped, baby. You and I both know they won't fire him. He needs to be taken out of the equation altogether."

You realise, suddenly, that the thing you're worried about isn't the morality of the situation. It's the logistics. You don't want to get caught.

"Do you think we're smart enough to get away with murder?"

"Baby," he drawls, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone. "We're a hell of a lot smarter than people give us credit for."

You know he's right. People underestimate both you and Jake. Everyone assumes he's nothing but a pretty face and toned muscles. That you're just his pilot girlfriend, seduced by his Southern charm and the fact that he's good in bed.

It seems like a challenge, now. You want to do this. You want to see if you can get away with it. You're already on the precipice of losing everything - why not go out with a bang?

"How would we do it?" you ask, leaning in closer to the blonde man next to you.

He thinks for a moment, running his fingers up and down your bare thighs.

"I say we make it look like a suicide. Shoot him in the head and frame it so it looks self inflicted."

You nod, processing.

"I think we should hold him at gunpoint first. Get him to write a confession, some sort of letter. That way, there's no confusion as to what happened."

"You're a genius," Jake grins, dipping down to kiss you.

He slips his tongue into your mouth effortlessly, sighing when he tastes himself from earlier. You straddle his waist and tangle your fingers into his hair, desperate to be close to him.

Both of you are high on adrenaline, buzzed on the anticipation of what's to come.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

I know places

Murder isn't as hard as you thought it'd be.

Careful planning. Airtight alibis. Reassurance and recon.

You and Jake have created the perfect crime.

The two of you show up to The Admiral's office on an evening you know he'll be working late. He's doing paperwork when you arrive.

You walk in first. Jake follows, and locks the door behind him.

The Admiral goes to speak, but you silence him with a handgun pointed at his chest.

"Speak, and you die."

He doesn't say another word.

Jake takes the gun from your hand and walks around the desk, pressing it into his superiors temple.

"We need a couple of things from you," he begins. "Just a favour or two."

The Admiral is sweating, pale and rigid. He looks scared. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you. You're enjoying this. Jake is too, judging by the beaming grin on his face.

"Grab a pen, and some paper. We're about to do some creative writing."

Jake orchestrates the letter. Gets him to write exactly what you need. Notes down the brutality, the arrogance, the abuse of power. He makes him recount every incident, not just yours. You're there for what feels like hours, as his shaky hands move the pen across the paper.

Finally, he finishes. Dots the I's and crosses the T's. Jake chuckles.

"Wonderful. And for the last part of this joyous evening were having together, my girlfriend is gonna shoot you."

The Admiral chokes on his breath. Looks to you with fear in his eyes. Finally, you think. He understands how it felt.

He goes to open his mouth, but you stop him.

"Don't beg. Don't plead. It's pathetic."

"We made up our mind weeks ago," Jake adds. "You're not going to deter us now."

You smile at your boyfriend, giddy over the way he's protecting you, saving you, loving you.

"I'm going to enjoy this," you whisper.

You take the gun from Jake and press it to The Admiral's temple. You know the silencer will muffle the noise - you really have thought of everything.

You click off the safety, and lean down so your mouth is next to his ear.

"This is for all of the women you hurt."

You pull the trigger.

He dies instantly.

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

In another life, you and Jake could have been actors.

You're all called into the briefing room the next day, gathered together in confusion.

Admiral Simpson stands in front of your class - pale as a sheet, dark circles bruised under his eyes.

"There's been a situation, and we want you to hear it from us," he begins. "I ask that you all keep this to yourselves, where possible. Don't talk to any media, don't gossip, don't spread rumours. Understood?"

When you all nod, he continues.

"The Admiral is dead."

The room goes silent. Jake's hand finds yours under the table. To anyone on the outside, it looks like a boyfriend supporting his girlfriend. To you, it's something different.

It feels like time stands still. The world stops turning, suspending you in the present moment. Eventually, Rooster speaks.

"What happened?"

Beau clears his throat, swiping his hand over his face.

"He took his own life."

There are whispers now, hushed and clipped. Everyone is in a state of shock and confusion. Everyone, except for you and the blonde man next to you. He squeezes your hand tightly, refusing to let go.

"Of course, there will be an investigation. But, it seems pretty obvious to us what happened. If anyone in this room has been effected by the actions of The Admiral that have come to light... please, speak to me, or any other of your superiors. Thank you. "

He exits the room, leaving all of you in palpable silence.

"What the fuck?" Payback mutters. "What did he mean, 'actions that have come to light?'"

"There's rumours," Phoenix begins. "He had a... soft spot, for young female pilots. People have been whispering about it for months."

Suddenly, all eyes are on you. You're the only other woman in the room besides Natasha, and she clearly wasn't involved.

"Did he ever... try anything with you, Ivy?"

"No," you're quick to answer. "No. Thank God."

The room breathes a collective sigh of relief.

If only they knew.

they take their shots, but we're bulletproof I know places

and you know for me, it's always you I know places

in the dead of night, your eyes so green I know places

and I know for you, it's always me I know places

A month later, you snap.

Jake comes home to find you frantically shoving clothes into a duffel bag, sweat dripping down your back.

"Baby," he tries, cautious, like he's approaching a spooked animal. "Baby."

You turn to face him with wild eyes, fear radiating off you.

"What's wrong, angel?"

You look at him incredulously.

"What's wrong? What's fucking wrong? We killed someone, Jake! That's what's wrong!"

"He wasn't a good guy."

"That doesn't matter. That doesn't make it right."

He cradles your face in his hands, eyes never leaving yours.

"Talk to me. What's going on? You've been okay. We've been okay. I thought we were processing, moving forward."

"I was. And then today, I just... can't. It was murder, Jake. Premeditated murder."

"Listen to me," he demands, tilting your chin up so your eyes are level. "He was an awful, awful man. The world is a better place without him. We saved so many women from a horrible fate, baby. We did a good thing."

You inhale carefully, and exhale a shaky breath, leaning up to press a kiss to his bitten lips.

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. "We did save people, didn't we?"

"We wouldn't have done it without just reason, baby. We're good people, you and I. We both know we are."

You nod, looking for any signs of insecurity in his eyes. You don't find a single speck.

"You're right. Fuck, you're right. Sorry if I scared you, Jake."

"You scared me because I thought you were leaving me," he chuckles. "Wondered what I did wrong."

"Nothing," you're quick to reassure, tangling tracing your fingertips over the features of his face in a featherlight touch. "My God, Jake. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. You're it for me. You're my forever."

Jake leans down, pressing his lips to yours firmly and surely. It's as if he's telling you everything he feels without using any words. He pulls you into him, winding his arms around your back and tugging you closer.

"I've got you, baby. No matter what happens. It's me and you, always. I love you."

"I love you too, Seresin. Always."

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it

My love

"Let's run away."

You're taking off your shoes by the door when Jake comes bounding down the stairs, buzzing with energy.

"Hmm?"

"Let's run away, baby. You and me. The open road. We can go anywhere we want."

"Jake," you laugh. "Are you drunk? What's happening?"

"Not drunk. My head's clearer than it has ever been. I've been thinking, while you were gone."

"Thinking about...?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to kiss his rosy lips.

"Getting out of here. This place is full of bad memories and old ghosts. We can start afresh somewhere new."

"Like where?"

"Anywhere. Literally anywhere. We don't even have to stay in America. We could go to Europe, Australia, Canada? The possibilities are actually endless."

"What's triggered this?" you murmur. "You okay?"

"I'm always okay when I'm with you," he smiles. "But.... I can just feel it, you know? I can feel everything piling up. There's a weight on my shoulders, and on yours too. We can let that go. I know we can."

"You're right, about the weight. I haven't relaxed in months."

Jake slides his hands under your shirt, tracing his fingers up and down the bare skin of your back.

"I know," he murmurs against your lips. "I think there's something better out there for us."

"Where would we go? Like, serious talk, what are our options?"

"I know places," he winks.

"What places, Jake?" you try to chide, but you're smiling.

"We can go to my mom's, first, in Texas. Just to touch base. From there, I mean it when I say literally anywhere, baby. Wherever you wanna go, we can go. You've always wanted to go to Italy, right? We could go there. Or I have a high school friend in Perth - we could go there."

"I wanna go somewhere with good food. Kind people. Beautiful views. A little sunshine wouldn't hurt either."

He's grinning at you, white and blinding. His excitement is contagious, settling into your bones.

"Imagine it, baby. Me and you, on the beach all day. We could surf, swim, go grab some lunch, then surf and swim some more. Go home, make dinner, sit out in the yard and listen to the ocean waves. Do it all again the next day."

You can't wipe the smile off your face, practically bouncing on the soles of your feet.

"Okay."

Jake stops in his tracks, still and rigid.

"Really?"

"Really. We can go right now, Jake. I don't wanna be here any longer."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuck, I love you. Let's pack our shit and go, baby."

Jake kisses you with fervour, dipping you backwards like you're in a movie. You squeal, gripping the nape of his neck for balance. He picks you up and spins you around, twirling you like a fairytale.

"What about everyone here?" you ask, forehead pressed to Jake's.

"We'll miss them, and they'll miss us, but we'll all be okay."

He's right. These people are your family, but they'll understand. You have to do what's best for you.

"Do you really wanna go as soon as we can?"

"Yeah, Jake. I meant it. We can start packing right now."

He wraps his arms around your middle and carries you upstairs, throwing the closet doors open while you grab your suitcase.

Baby, I know places we won't be found and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

'Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places

The sun beats down on your skin, warming you up from the outside in. There's a breeze whipping through your hair, carrying salt from the ocean into the car. The sunroof is down, allowing you to breathe in the fresh air.

Jake's hand slides across the centre console and onto your thigh, thumb rubbing circles into your bare skin.

"You okay?"

He's looking over at you, taking his eyes off the road for a split second.

"I'm good, baby."

He smiles, the grin reaching every feature of his face, lighting him up.

You've been on the road for months, stopping and starting however and whenever you please. A motel here, a beach apartment there. You've lost count of how many states you've travelled through, collecting postcards in each one.

You'll settle down, eventually. You've been making a list of your favourite places you've visited, ranking them as you go. You'll most likely buy a place in your top choice. But not yet.

For now, you're content with the open road. The convertible car, all your belongings in a suitcase in the trunk, roof down at every opportunity. You like not staying in one place for too long. It weirdly suits you.

Jake's never looked happier. He glows, smile lines creasing the corner of his eyes. He laughs so often, and you never get tired of the sound.

You glance down to the golden band on your left hand, smiling softly.

"What are you thinking about?" your husband asks, squeezing your thigh.

"Vegas," you beam. "Never did I think I'd be married by an Elvis impersonator in a bright blue chapel."

"I'm the epitome of class, baby. You know this."

Both of you are grinning, chuckling gently.

"We did the right thing. Leaving."

"Yeah, we did. I'm glad I believed what you said."

"What did I say?"

"That you knew places."

He traces a love heart on your skin with his thumb, over and over again.

"Told you, baby. I know places."

[horsesource]

@lungfuls There are nonspeaking authors I would definitely recommend for insight into nonspeaking ways of being and meaning making—Tito Mukhopadhyay, Amy Sequenzia, Ido Kedar, Emma Zurcher-Long, DJ Savarese, Lucy Blackman, and Naoki Higashida are some of the “big” names. But of course there are plenty of nonspeaking people who will never learn to write (maybe because of physiology, maybe because they’re interested in other ways of making meaning!), which I think is a crucial point a lot of facilitated communication advocates conveniently ignore..

My perspective on autism starts with the standard observation that "normal" human subjectivity is mediated through language and cultural concepts and conventions, which sets us apart from other animals. This symbolic realm of communication relies on absence, not presence (linguistic meanings point to more linguistic meanings, not directly to the world) and on exchangeability/translatability (we can use different words to "mean the same thing")

What sets autistic subjectivities apart, specifically nonspeaking and minimally speaking autistic subjectivities, is that these subjectivities lean heavily on signs rather than symbols. What differentiates the two is that signs have a concrete referent ("smoke means fire" being a primary example). It's not that autistic subjectivity isn't mediated by language at all, but that's it's mediated in radically different ways, ways that attend to the capacity of language to "mean" outside of conventional reasoning. "Normal" children grow up and have their subjectivity increasingly mediated by symbolic concepts. This is helpful in many ways--when driving a car, for example, it's helpful to not be fully attuned perceptively to every little thing that's going on, or else you'd crash the car. You need a certain distance from what is real—you’re driving a giant machine extremely fast through the world! But with that said, long story kinda short, I think normative symbolic reasoning has hypertrophied to a point where a lot of "normal" people feel like living dead (our "world" is so linguistically mediated that we feel detached from presence). And on the other hand, there are a lot of speaking people with immense amounts of anxiety who feel like there is something wrong with them because they are unable to adequately wield reason to "get on" symbolically. And I think that without recognizing that our ways of making meaning/having our world mediated through language have become ill, it's pointless to try to point to individuals as if they have faulty mechanisms for meaning-making.

My line through this is that I was “late-diagnosed” with autism “level 1” (formerly Asperger’s) and I was reading everything I could get my hands on trying to make explanatory sense of autism. I felt a sense of symbolic belonging through the category of autism for a few months or something. But I quickly became dissatisfied with this, because I felt alienated from both sides of "the spectrum"--I'd never met a nonspeaking person, and I still felt incredibly anxious talking to speaking people diagnosed with autism, even though these were supposedly people I shared an identity with. So, I started working with nonspeaking autistic people. And what I found is that it is a tremendous relief to realize that there are ways of being with people that involve direct presence, ways of being with people where I'm not half-elsewhere trying to wrack my mind for reasonable words to respond to them with. People who sing and chirp more than they talk people who talk through hand rubs and nose touches and forehead presses. To me, what autism is are the aspects of humanity not entirely captured by the symbolic, as well as the aspects of the symbolic that can't be exhaustively explained through symbolic means (the feeling of poetic rhythm for example)

[ghost-bxrd]

ANOTHER DAY another cool au by the ghstbird community <33 Eldritch Jason Todd u are gorg <3, random question for brainstorming since I'm too invested now

How did the adoption scene take place? The same crime alley thing? Catherine todd? Willis? AAAAA or just local eldritch being that steals car parts (he's emulating human behaviour in crime alley, maybe he just tosses them later to kids???) maybe he just has immense compassion towards humans (although he doesn't fully understand them) (all Jasons need to be made out of bleeding compassion FOR ME BUT!! depends on what characteristics we're pulling for) (AND. IF HE'S DYING FOR SHELIA? gotta be compassionate. HE'S ROBIN, he is full of love towards these fleshbags. Though... uh... nonhuman... and having messed up emotional responses)

Nonono, because Robin Jason with his bleeding compassion is so important to me as well!!!

So basically (because I’ve put too much thought into this little au as per usual) the bullet points for eldritch Jason and the things you mentioned are as follows:

Jason spontaneously came into being. Eldritch things aren’t usually born in the way humans are, and Jason used to be a concept that suddenly gained consciousness.

(There was a short period of time where the brainstorming went into the direction of “eldritch jason found a dead street kid and assumed his appearance/inhabited the body”, but this seemed a bit dark so I had to come up with an alternative)

Jason watched humans for a quite a while and—alone from the very beginning— became enamored with the concept of family and love and happiness and belonging

One way or another (no specifics as of yet) Jason ends up with Catherine and Willis. Willis isn’t too shoddy in this au, he’s just… pretty neglectful. And a criminal. He does his damndest to stay well clear of wherever Jason is because that kid— he’s not normal. Maybe he’s a meta, Willis doesn’t care, all he knows that the sense of doom he feels around him is unnatural and he’d rather make his home in prison than around Jason

Catherine loves Jason. She can’t see beyond the surface layer of humanity Jason wears, partly due to her substance abuse, and Jason… knows that humans can’t last long like this. He can see her organs failing, her brain activity dimming, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. And he’s too busy basking in the love he’s finally feeling for the first time

Jason loves being human. If he could lock everything that isn’t human about himself away, he would. He thrives on witnessing strangers showing compassion to one another, to see them struggle and overcome hardships. They’re just a blip in the cosmos, in time, but they’ve got so much to offer. But likewise, he loathes witnessing injustice

When Jason ends up on the streets he’s just a big ball of sad. No home, no love, nothing. Nothing left. At least he needs neither food nor shelter to survive, but it still sucks. He loses some of his blind eyed wonder for humanity during this time, but not enough to give up on it. He adapts, he overcomes, and like you said, he starts emulating other street kids. Collecting scraps and handing them out to the young ones. And when he sees the Batmobile just standing there… well, that’s a week’s worth of food for ten of the kids he knows

Hitting Batman with the tire iron is a knee jerk reaction borne from cautionary tales about adults. He’s not actually scared of Batman

(Batman may be a little scared of Jason. Especially when he ends up buying him a burger and, out of the corner of his eye, thinks he sees Jason unhinge his jaw only to reveal five more jaws and and an abyssal void and—)

Just… eldritch things. And the tribulations that come with pretending to be human. Wanting to be human.

[crossingthedreams]

you still don't get it — joel miller x f!reader

a/n: is this… an angstober post… on time? yeah, baby, that’s day 07 - you still don't get it on the actual 7th day! omg, i feel so grown up and put together right now. i had a very specific idea for this, and i hope y’all enjoy it. as always, feel free to hit me up on the dm’s! oh, we also have a masterlist know, hehe.

summary: sometimes, you just gotta put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral’. and sometimes, you just have to put an end to things, even if they are with the one that makes you feel a petite mort over and over.

word count: 1.7k 

warnings: angst. unprotected p in v. pulling out (just don't, use actual contraceptives, please). oral (f receiving). mentions of death. 

Joel Miller found his way between your legs quite often, and thank God for that. Life during a fungus pandemic wasn’t really easy, and everyone had to find some pleasure in order to fight another day. For Joel, that wasn’t always sex — it could be a cigar, maybe an old stereo that played good music. As for you, during most of your life, sex was just a bargaining chip, but that all changed when you realized that, if done correctly, it was immensely fun.

But now, whenever you and Joel would meet, sex was always the number one option. The two of you found solace in each other, and, again, thank God for that. 

You weren’t religious (really, who could be during the apocalypse?), but Joel made you see Heaven. 

Everytime Joel knocked on your door, you knew you were in for a mind-blowing night. Your moans were quiet, as Jackson was a small community and any screams could be heard in the dead of night for miles. But it was hard to keep quiet as his hands and mouth kept pressing and licking you in all the right places. 

“Joel, o-oh, J-Joel”, you moaned, one hand reaching at the headboard above you and the other tugging on his graying hair. 

He had once said the best way to get to know a man, really get to know one, is to find out how he eats his girl’s pussy. According to Joel, there’s nothing worse in God’s green Earth as a man unwilling to put his mouth on what was, also according to Joel, the most perfect part of the human body. He was always so willing to eat you out, you were sure he was the most stand up guy out there. 

“Come on, baby, I know you got in ya”, he murmured, kissing your thigh, putting one of his long fingers inside of you, stretching you out and making that vision of Heaven appear before your eyes once more. His mouth reattached itself to you, going right to the money maker. 

As he licked your clit with just the right amount of pressure and movement, a second finger entered you, curling up with the first one and awakening that spot in you that made you a goner in just a second. This was your third orgasm of the night. It was ridiculous. You were dripping so much you could feel it down your ass and going straight to your freshly washed sheets. 

You were still gripping on the sheets when Joel raised himself, his large body hovering over yours. You didn’t see it, no, you kept your eyes closed. Instead, you let yourself, with those heightened senses, just feel him. His thighs against you, your body falling just a little towards him due to the pressure of his knees on the mattress, his hands on either side of your torso. His smell, mixed with your own. You felt his lips on your neck, then your cheeks, then on your mouth. Your hands instinctively flew to cup his cheeks and make the kiss deeper. 

You really hoped you weren’t falling in love with his man. He had much too much baggage, and he already had enough things to worry about, with his daughter for all effects and purposes, Ellie. He was much older, more complicated than you could ever wish for a man you were involved with. Therefore, no love. No, this couldn’t be love.

But, God, you really did fall in love with his cock.

It wasn’t bigger than you were used to, but certainly girthier. This cock made you wetter than any other, and it belonged to a man decades your senior. 

When you felt it throbbing against your leg, there was nothing to do other than to open yourself up as he slowly, oh so slowly, entered you.

You both moaned in unisson. Joel murmured your name, and you finally opened your eyes to meet his brown ones. “You’re so beautiful, baby”, he said in a low tone and began to move his hips. “So wet”, he thrusted and you moaned his name louder, hands gripping his shoulders with enough force to leave nail marks.

You crossed your legs around his waist, changing the angle to make him go deeper. Joel loved missionary and all its variations. He would never admit it, but he was a boob man through and through. The visual stimulation was really important to him, and that was proven by the fact that his eyes couldn’t leave your tits as he pounded harder and harder into you, making them bounce with every movement. You were sure your nipples were perky, too, as they always did when you felt this aroused. 

Joel was nearly drooling on your chest. 

After a few more thrusts, he grabbed your hips and turned you around, so that your ass was up in the air. You smiled against the pillows and looked over your shoulder just as he entered you again. That smirk turned into a perfect ‘o’. 

Your hips moved against him too. After all, Joel was an old man, and you couldn’t let him do all the work now, could you? 

He was manhandling you with such force you weren’t sure you’d be able to move in a way he didn’t want you to. He pushed your head back against the pillows as his body fell on top of yours, mixing up with the position once more. 

His mouth was close to your ear, and he took full advantage of that to nibble on your ear lobe. “You look so pathetic, all unraveled like this, baby.” he spoke in a whisper, his pace still punishing inside of you. “All mine, huh? All mine to ruin?”.

You shook your head yes as best you with his hand still pressing your skull into the pillows and his full body weight atop of you. 

“Nuh uh, silly girl. Need to hear you say it. Tell me, baby. Tell me who’s the one who makes you come undone, sweetheart”. 

“Y-you, Joel, hmm, it’s all you”, you half-spoke, half-moaned. 

Not to your surprise, all of his weight disappeared as he pulled out, leaving you on the bed as he finished off alone, on the side, not even bothering to cum on your tits, face, or ass like any other guy would’ve. Not even caring to let you see him cum, which sucked. 

He had started up with this new habit of pulling out and leaving right after. But not this time, no. You wouldn’t let him. 

“Come back”, you said almost purring and turned on the bed, stretching in the sexiest way you could. 

His eyes analyzed you for a long time before he approached the bed again. He didn’t sit down, instead he stood, fully naked, looking down on you at the end of your bed. He looked glorious, like a Greek deity or a model from the days before the outbreak. Did you love him? Probably not yet, but you would someday if he let you. 

You sat up on the bed, naked. Did he like your figure as much as you liked his? You were much younger than any other woman old enough for him. Some would say you were inappropriately young, but you knew they didn’t care for you or Joel beyond the gossip and the fun remarks. 

“You don’t come in me anymore”, you said, trying to look innocent and confident at the same time. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No”, he simply said, collecting his clothes. You waited for him to continue, and when you realized he wouldn’t, you kept on talking.

“You used to at least cum close to me”, you tried to crack a smile and lighten the mood, as verborragic and honest as you always were. You and Joel hardly talked about your situationship or whatever this was. “Maybe we could try something like that again, because, y’know, breeding is not just a kink and someday I really want kids and…”

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, he interrupted you, and you realized he sounded defeated more than anything else. He sighed, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “There’s no we, and there’s no future”. 

You weren’t gonna be the one to break the silence. Not this time. With him, the silence was always loud, and you felt as if it was a physical entity that put itself in-between the two of you. 

He put his head in his hands, still emanating exhaustion in every possible way. 

“I won’t have anymore kids”, his tone was harsher than ever. 

“Joel…”

“This ain’t about age, even though that sure is a problem. This isn’t about this batshit post-outbreak world, either”. 

The words unspoken were louder than anything he could have ever said. 

Sarah. 

You closed your eyes. All the future he could have had flashed before your eyes. How old would she be now? Perhaps she’d even be older than you. 

He hardly talked about her, but you picked up on a thing or too. Especially last year, on his birthday. What a horrible day that was. You now realized that Joel’s future died the day of the outbreak, at the same moment his daughter did. 

Even though it ached, the truth was clear and simple: you couldn’t sacrifice the future you could still have for Joel’s eternal mourning. You wanted more than to survive. You wanted to live. And here, in Jackson, you could actually do that. 

Your eyes were watery, but you refused to cry. In the quiet, you knew you didn't have to say it. The silence was loud, and it said enough. 

Joel stood up and looked around the room. He seemed to avoid looking at you, knowing what would happen once he did. He liked and cared for you, even if he didn’t want to. The wonderful sex was part of it, not the whole thing. His eyes finally met yours, and without saying a word, you knew what he meant. This is over, isn’t it?

Your gaze was locked with his, and your mouth was drying. Yet, you replied, without a word. Yeah, baby, yeah, it is. 

He left, and you stayed. And that was that.

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading. I would like to thank my best friend who, besides being a faithful reader of this fanfic, gave me the idea of the little confrontation between the Cannibal and Vermax dragons, thank you @dipyouuinhoney ❤️

Warning: This chapter will contain violence, as well as inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.

THREE FIVE

FOUR (+18)

Facing the dragon Cannibal, you heard his powerful roar, a clear attempt to communicate with his new rider—you. His restlessness was evident, perhaps driven by the need to understand why someone had disturbed him or because you were accompanied by a stranger. Or perhaps he sensed your own discomfort. The dark, rugged-scaled beast spread his wings in an imposing display, a signal that he was ready to take flight. His sharp teeth, glistening with a trace of blood between them, were fully exposed. You noticed his impatient paws pressing into the ground, claws sharp and ready. There was no doubt—this dragon would be a formidable asset in the war between King Aegon II's forces and the dragons fighting for Princess Rhaenyra.

"Uēpa taoba, dohaerās. Kostilus, rȳbagon," you command with a firm, dominant tone, attempting to assert control over Cannibal, readying him for what was to come. As you glance back, you notice Prince Aemond gazing at the dragon with unmistakable admiration—perhaps even something more. You could swear that he seems slightly aroused by the sight of you and Cannibal bonding. However, not wanting to acknowledge this observation, you quickly avert your gaze the moment he catches you watching him. The dragon lowers his snout toward you, as if trying to catch your scent. The blood of Aemond, still fresh on your skin, must be lingering in the air, drawing Cannibal closer.

"Sȳz gundjabo, sȳz zaldrīzes," Prince Aemond murmurs as he passes by you, moving closer to Cannibal. The dragon seems aware of the fact that both of you will soon take flight with him. Aemond, of course, never misses the chance to remind you of your station—what you are to him. Yet, in this moment, you’re far too anxious to care about his words. The looming flight, the dragon's immense power, and the weight of what lies ahead consume your thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

"Sȳz kipagīros, sȳz zaldrīzes; ñuha dārilaros. SōVegon, Cannibal," you gently correct Prince Aemond as both of you situate yourselves atop the dragon. After all, to your dragon, you are the rider, the one who will guide him down paths even you cannot yet foresee. In an attempt to appease Aemond, you address him formally in High Valyrian, acknowledging his status. As you position yourself on Cannibal, the sensation of his rough scales beneath you feels strange, unsettling even. Yet, without hesitation, you give the command for him to take flight. The air is filled with tension as the dragon obeys, lifting off the ground with powerful, sweeping wings.

"Be prepared for battle commands. If I know my strong nephew, blessed with the temperament of his late father, he will attempt to hinder our path. Do not allow Cannibal to kill him. That privilege does not belong to you," Prince Aemond commands, as though you are merely his dragon to control. He must be longing for Vhagar. However, you have no desire to harm any of Rhaenyra’s children. Making such a mistake would be far too reckless, and you are fully aware of it.

Prince Aemond's hands grip you tightly as you turn to look at him in order to respond. It is then that you notice a dragon approaching swiftly from the distance. With green scales and a more agile frame, it is small in comparison to Vhagar or even Cannibal. The rider of this dragon is coming with a speed that suggests a fierce desire for combat between their beast and yours.

"Aderī, Cannibal,"you command, and the dragon responds, accelerating towards King's Landing with a newfound agility.

"I do not wish to confront your nephew, Your Highness," you add, showcasing your ability to communicate both with your dragon and the impatient prince behind you. Aemond lets out a low grunt of frustration, likely longing for Vhagar to teach his nephew a lesson. As the son of Rhaenyra closes the distance, Cannibal visibly tenses at the proximity of the other dragon. With a swift maneuver, he performs a roll in the air, seeking to gain control. Aemond's hands grip you firmly, and you feel the heat radiating from your palms as you hold onto Cannibal, the tension mounting in the air.

Cannibal manages to distance himself from the smaller dragon, soaring above the waters where you once bathed alongside Aemond. The memory floods back, momentarily distracting you from the imminent danger. Your focus snaps back as you notice a flame nearly singe Cannibal’s wing. The heat from the attack of Rhaenyra's son sears your left hand.

"Angōs, Cannibal!" you shout through the pain of your scorched skin. At your command, your dragon rises, pursuing the smaller foe with determination. Cannibal requires no further direction; he unleashes a powerful blast of fire towards the smaller dragon, igniting part of the sky in a fierce blaze, as if he intends to incinerate everything in his path.

He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his. "Lykirī, Canibal!"you call out with urgency, hoping your dragon heeds your words to ensure the safety of his target. Amidst the roars and growls, Cannibal finally begins to settle, responding to your command as he assesses the outcome of the encounter.

"My strong and cunning nephew, hie thee to Dragonstone and alert your mother of the perils of being a wily fool." Prince Aemond takes the lead, addressing his curly-haired, brown-haired nephew as soon as he lays eyes upon him. The young lad's dragon bears a slight opening in one of its wings, likely from the intensity of the flames, or perchance Cannibal has grazed it lightly with his talon.

"My dear one-eyed uncle, I trust you do not believe this to be over. You and your usurper brother shall lose this war," the brown-haired nephew of Aemond declares in his most threatening tone. His words enrage the prince, and in a fit of fury, Aemond loses his composure, shouting, "Drakarys!" in a desperate command to Cannibal. Yet, the dragon does not obey. Instead, Cannibal stretches his claws toward the smaller dragon as if to intimidate, releasing a thunderous roar that shakes the very air around them.

"Choose your next move wisely, prince. You wouldn’t want your mother to bury another son," you warn Rhaenyra's son, your voice steady despite the tension thickening in the air. Though Aemond’s command failed, there is little you can do to rein in both the prince and your dragon. Cannibal, still looming and poised to strike, waits for no one’s control, and Aemond’s rage is far from spent. The weight of the moment presses on you, knowing that any misstep could unleash disaster. Your words seem to have an effect on Aemond’s nephew, who slowly retreats. You watch as he commands his dragon to return to Dragonstone, while Canibal resumes his course toward King’s Landing.

“You should have commanded Cannibal to strike him again,” Prince Aemond mutters close to your ear, frustration seeping into his voice.

“Your Highness, the death of your other nephew is not mine. It was by your own commands,” you reply, catching him off guard with the weight of your words. For the remainder of the journey, neither of you says another word. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken tension and the cold reality of what lies ahead.

Your dragon lets out a powerful roar as you approach King’s Landing, as if announcing his arrival. Cannibal swiftly glides toward the Dragonpit, and you can feel Prince Aemond's fingers brushing along your waist, almost as if exploring it. Cannibal lands amidst the growls of other dragons, releasing a burst of fire into the air as he adjusts himself on the ground. The Dragonkeepers gather around, making both you and your dragon uneasy. You wonder if Cannibal might attack them—if he cannot be fully tamed, his value to King Aegon II could be compromised.

You know that maintaining eye contact with Cannibal is crucial to calming him down. Between one growl and another, your dragon settles on the ground, lowering himself slightly. Prince Aemond dismounts with ease, accustomed to the task, while you, on the other hand, struggle on your third attempt to climb down. You start considering whether staying atop your dragon forever might be preferable. Impatience seeps into you as it does into your dragon. Just as you're about to give up, Prince Aemond’s attention shifts back to you after exchanging words with the Dragonkeepers. Like before with the horse, he extends his arms toward you, offering assistance.

"Gundjabo, you must learn how to dismount your dragon," Prince Aemond whispers near your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The way he helped you down from Cannibal still lingers in your thoughts, the proximity between you far too intimate. You try to respond, but no words seem to form, your voice betraying you. The truth, undeniable as it is, swells within you—you are undeniably drawn to Aemond Targaryen, with a hunger that you can no longer ignore.

"The King summons you both, Your Highness. He insists you be prepared for the banquet he is hosting in honor of his newest dragon's conquest. He desires the presence of both his brother and the dragon's rider as soon as possible," one of the King's servants announces as she approaches. Aemond stiffens, his expression darkening in clear displeasure, and he releases a low growl, a hint of frustration in his gaze. He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his.

"Inform the King that we shall join him shortly to celebrate this victory. I trust my bath is prepared, and the gundjabo will ready herself in my company. Ensure she is provided with new attire." Prince Aemond's command is sharp and unyielding, and the servant quickly scurries off to carry out his orders. You feel a rush of shock at the thought of undressing in the presence of Prince Aemond, but your mind immediately shifts to a more pressing concern—calming your dragon. As Aemond exchanges words with a few of the keepers, you make your way to Cannibal. His dark, formidable presence looms as you approach, but you reach out, your hand finding his rough scales. You whisper a brief farewell, a silent promise to return, feeling the bond between you and the mighty beast grow with each touch.

In silence, you follow Prince Aemond to his chambers, trying to discern why he insists on you preparing yourself in his presence. Two possibilities run through your mind: perhaps he seeks to assert his dominance over you, a display of power to ward off any designs his brother might have upon you; or perhaps, this is some form of punishment for the wound you inflicted earlier. His blood still stains your skin, and no doubt the pain from where you cut him lingers. The thought settles heavily—whatever his motive, you are likely in for a reckoning.

"Disrobe yourself; we shall bathe together. Afterward, you will be formally introduced to King Aegon II Targaryen . Know that every action you take in His Grace’s presence will be under my scrutiny, and any misstep will bring consequences upon you," Prince Aemond commands, his voice laced with authority as he begins to undress before you. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications of his warning settling heavily on your mind. The thought of what consequences might await you under his watchful eye is enough to stir anxiety. It’s no surprise that Aemond seeks to instill fear—he thrives on your desperation, needing to ensure your obedience through intimidation.

"I do not think it proper for me to be bare in your presence, Your Highness. Surely, I can afford you the necessary privacy and prepare myself elsewhere. If you would excuse me..." you attempt, feigning modesty as an excuse to escape the looming consequences of your earlier actions. But before you can slip away, Aemond’s hand grasps your arm with a firm resolve, pressing you against the door of his chambers. His fingers trail up toward your neck, lingering there as if assessing every inch of your skin, studying you like prey caught in his grasp. His one good eye follows the curve of your form, tracing from head to toe in a slow, deliberate gaze. Your breath catches, growing shallow as uncertainty floods your mind. You stand frozen, unsure of what awaits next under his unrelenting scrutiny, as the tension between you grows palpable, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Gundjabo, gundjabo... cease these futile attempts to flee from me. Believe me, within these grand walls, I am the closest thing to safety you shall find. And I think propriety is no longer a concern between us. Now, be a good girl and obey me, before my patience wears thin." Aemond's voice drips with menace as he grips your face, turning it aside so his lips hover near your ear, his words slow and deliberate. His hold is firm, unyielding, and the weight of his command sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath falters, betraying the rising doubt in your ability to navigate this situation. Survival seems like a distant notion, slipping further from reach with each moment spent under his watchful eye. You can feel his control tightening like a noose around your freedom, leaving you cornered. With trembling resolve, you grip his hand, pulling it away from your face without a word. His gaze never wavers, a predatory intensity burning within, watching your every move. Though his words still echo in your mind, you begin to comply with his original order, slowly giving in to the dangerous dance that lies ahead.

You slowly remove your clothing, hoping that Prince Aemond won't torture you for hurting him. He lets out a moan that sounds more like a "hmm" as you finish getting off. When you finish taking off your clothes, he motions with his head for you to take off his clothes too. He had already taken off some of his clothes so in a few moments, he was naked. His dick was slightly hard was on display, which caught your attention. He walked over to enter his bath but not before carrying you into the bath with him. His arms wrapping around you, forcing you into the water with him, surprises you. Until then you didn't think Aemond had that much strength. But now that you're taking a bath together, you are trying to force yourself to think about how to calm him down. You approach him, helping him clean himself; all the while touching every part of Prince Aemond's body.

"Your Highness seems tense, perhaps there is something I can do to help you release all that tension..." You say as you run your hands over Aemond's chest, your fingers moving delicately down groping the hitherto unexplored body of your beloved Prince Aemond. When your fingers reach Aemond's cock, you see the Prince close his eye. He is receptive to your touch as you run your hand over his cock, stimulating it. Your hand moving back and forth slowly as you listens to the muffled moans of Prince Aemond who has his head turned back. Your movements become faster as you feel him becoming more and more surrendered in your hands. You approach Prince Aemond's neck, kissing the spot you cut. The Prince lets out a moan as you kiss his neck again now rising with the kisses, while continuing to make movements on his cock. You kiss Aemond's chin, then his mouth. You try to have some dominance in the kiss because his eye is still closed but as soon as your tongue meets his, he seems to light up. He sucks on your tongue as if tasting a delicious fruit, while pressing you against the bathtub. He then cums in your hand, while letting out a grunt as if he enjoyed it. His gaze upon you is a mixture of pleasure with something else, like pure evil. He gives you a mischievous smile just before pressing you underwater. His hands are pushing you to stay underwater while you try to use your strength to not drown. You're thrashing around, touching every part of Aemond's body to see if he'll let go of you. You start to run out of air, your attempts to survive aren't working so you decide to accept your imminent death. It is then that Aemond pulls you up, as he watches you trying to breathe desperately. As soon as your breath returns to you, you face Prince Aemond. He has a victorious smile on his face, as if he is teaching you a lesson.

"Next time you consider harming me, make sure I do not survive. Otherwise, you shall face a fate far more cruel than merely sharing a bath. But I must say, your skills with your hands, gundjabo, are quite... relaxing." Prince Aemond's voice is chillingly casual, as though the near-murderous tension between you has been nothing more than a passing amusement for him. His gaze lingers on your expression, clearly relishing the fear flickering across your features. For a moment, you stand frozen, words failing you in the face of his menacing calm. The weight of his threat settles in your chest, but you decide it’s best not to challenge him further.

Without uttering a single word, you quickly finish bathing, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him. As soon as you step out of the bath, your hands tremble slightly while you hurriedly dress in the green gown laid out for you. Wasting no time, you leave Prince Aemond's chambers as swiftly as your legs will carry you, the feeling of his predatory gaze still burning at your back as you depart to face the next trial—an audience with his brother, King Aegon II.

TO BE CONTINUED

GLOSSARY

Uēpa - Old

Taoba - Boy

Dohaerās - Serve

Kostilus - Please

Rȳbagon - Obey

Sȳz - Good

Gundjabo - Prostitute

Zaldrīzes - Dragon

Kipagīros - Rider

Ñuha Dārilaros - My Prince

SōVegon - Fly

Aderī - Quickly

Angōs - Attack

Lyriri - Calm down

[srbachchan]

DAY 5821

Jalsa, Mumbai Jan 25/26, 2024 Thu/Fri 9:16 AM

Happy Republic Day 🇮🇳 .. greetings 🙏🏻

🪔 ,

January 26 .. birthday greetings to the artist Ef Miten Lapsia .. wishes and love specially to his 🖌️ ..

January 25 .. birthday greetings to Ef Priyanka Verma .. and Ef Tilak Rishi ..

💍 .. greetings to Poet Sahab Ef Pravin Ahuja and his better half Shalini .. on the silver anniversary of their wedding .. on January 23 .. happiness and togetherness .. 💐🙏🏽🚩

.. ✨

The Day of the celebration of the Republic 2024 and my wishes first to all on this auspicious day .. prosperity, belief, progress, development, valour and the integrity of a Nation that strides bravely and with immense pride into the year and days ahead ..

My BHARAT .. My PRIDE !!

🇮🇳

Work load for the day of the 25th kept me away from the detailed missive that is rendered each DAY .. but never ever is there the thought of a leave or a miss in the communication with the Ef ..

and the missive from generated opinion strengthens the day of the celebration and the pride of a nation :

" National pride is a profound sentiment rooted in love, loyalty, and attachment to one's country. It embodies a collective identity, uniting citizens through shared history, culture, and achievements. This pride fosters a sense of belonging and responsibility, motivating individuals to contribute positively to their nation's progress. It often emerges during significant events, such as sporting triumphs or patriotic milestones, instilling a deep sense of unity and purpose. While national pride can strengthen a country's resilience, it should be balanced with an open-minded appreciation of diverse perspectives to promote global harmony. Ultimately, national pride serves as a powerful force, driving communities towards a brighter, shared future."

Labour at work cannot be denied and cannot be reasoned as tiring or giving an inkling of disinterest .. NEVER .. when there is work, there is resilience to complete it and give it the very best at all times ..

What goes out for public consumption, must portray the very best effort .. the audience is not interested in your personal discomfort or circumstance during the creativity it has come to witness .. and they should never be given any indication of its presence if there is temperament .. NO ..

You give me love .. you witness and pursue my creativity .. I must give my very best at any cost ..

be in prepare at all times .. in each fresh avatar or change .. yes rehearse, learn, read and re read again and again .. the writer is supreme .. he writes with the passion he expects you to be in when it is activated .. never ignore his work .. he devises, he creates, he evolves .. we merely follow what he has worked .. that respect must never be forgotten or ignored ..

NEVER ..

sincerity can never be miscalculation .. it has the capacity to be noticed and lauded ..

ALWAYS ..

to expect adulation and praise and notice at all times is difficult .. not just for us but for them that wish to do so ..

Value the moment .. but never let it be the cause for arrogance ..

Officious at work is good .. over officiousness can be very painful for all concerned ..

We understand the work also .. that is why we are hired or remunerated .. give some bearing to that as well dear Officious Master 😁

My care and love as ever ..

❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[dreamonseems]

Clumsy Mommy

Erling Haaland X Female Reader

Summary: Reader slips and falls and Erling worries.

Ok, I literally have re-uploaded this 100 times. I hope this is the final time I'm having such a hard time uploading this. I hope the anon can see it 😔

Y/N and Erling were overjoyed to be expecting their second child. As the months went by, Y/N couldn't help but notice the stark difference between this pregnancy and her previous experience carrying Ragnar.

With baby number two, her body seemed to have found its rhythm, and she sailed through the journey with much greater ease. At six months pregnant, Y/N was in the midst of a blissful period, experiencing fewer discomforts and even enjoying the luxury of minimal morning sickness.

Today was an exciting day for Y/N as she found herself at the heart of the Manchester City stadium, surrounded by the vibrant energy of the team she had grown to love and support. As a valued member of the social media team for Man City, Y/N felt a deep sense of fulfillment in her work.

The fact that she could conveniently work from home allowed her to strike the perfect balance between caring for their lively son, Ragnar, and immersing herself in her professional endeavors. It was a privilege she treasured, cherishing the moments she got to spend in Erling's presence whenever their paths crossed at the stadium.

Y/N sat in a bustling meeting room, passionately discussing projects with her team. The hum of creativity and ambition filled the air as they delved into strategies to engage and captivate the club's vast online community. Y/N's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her dedication to her work shining through her every word and gesture.

Being in this vibrant environment, surrounded by like-minded individuals, invigorated Y/N. It was a testament to her unwavering commitment to both her family and her career. As she dove into discussions, her growing baby bump served as a reminder of the new life blossoming within her, a constant source of inspiration and motivation.

Even amidst the buzz of professional responsibilities, Y/N couldn't help but occasionally pause, her hands instinctively cradling her abdomen as she felt the gentle movements of her unborn child.

Each flutter reminded her of the miracle of life unfolding within her, reinforcing the significance of the choices she made and the legacy she was creating for her growing family.

Erling stood on the field, his heart filled with immense joy as he went through his rigorous training routine. A bright smile adorned his face, one that could only be described as contagious. Deep within his soul, he carried a profound sense of contentment, knowing that just a few steps away, Y/N was inside the stadium, passionately immersed in her work.

The thought of Y/N being in such close proximity ignited a flame within Erling, filling him with a sense of pride that he couldn't help but display. His eyes gleamed with adoration as he thought about the life growing inside her, a testament to their love and commitment. There was an innate satisfaction that welled up within him, knowing that he had played a role in creating this new life, that he had left an indelible mark on Y/N's body.

As he trained, Erling reveled in the knowledge that people around the stadium were aware of Y/N's pregnancy. It was as if he had an unspoken connection with everyone, a silent understanding that he had contributed to the creation of this beautiful, growing belly. A primal instinct awakened within him, a sense of possessiveness and protectiveness over Y/N and their unborn child.

He took pride in showcasing Y/N to the world, as if boldly proclaiming, "Look, she belongs to me."

Erling's joy knew no bounds as he trained, his movements infused with a newfound vigor and determination. With every stride, he carried the weight of responsibility and the desire to provide for his growing family. The knowledge that Y/N was nearby, diligently working, fueled his determination to succeed, not just on the field, but in life as a whole.

"Haa…land!" Erling's name rang through the air, causing him to abruptly halt his training. His heart pounded in his chest as Sam, one of Y/N's team members, sprinted towards him on the field. Confusion etched across his face, Erling anxiously asked, "What's going on?"

Breathless and filled with urgency, Sam managed to convey the distressing news. "Y/N... Y/N is in the Infirmary, She had a fall and hurt herself."

Panic seized Erling's being, his mind racing with a torrent of terrifying thoughts. Y/N was six months pregnant; any mishap could have dire consequences. Was the baby alright? Was Y/N alright? A surge of fear coursed through him as he sprinted towards the stadium, his every step weighted with trepidation.

With trembling hands, Erling pushed open the door to the infirmary and beheld Y/N was seated on the bed. Relief flooded through him as she turned towards him, a gentle smile gracing her lips, attempting to soothe his troubled soul. Her reassurance brought a semblance of calmness to his shattered nerves, though his face remained ashen, his eyes haunted.

"I'm fine, Erling," Y/N softly spoke, her voice a balm to his anguished heart.

"It was just a small slip. I didn't notice the wet floor. The baby is fine, and I'm fine. I just have a scratched knee." Her words, though meant to provide solace, couldn't fully alleviate the terror that still lingered within Erling's trembling frame.

Erling rushed to her side, enfolding her in his strong, protective embrace. He held her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world, unwilling to let go. His hands instinctively moved to her belly, where their precious baby resided. With tenderness, he caressed her tummy, his lips gently pressing kisses upon the growing life within.

Y/N's giggle filled the air, a testament to her love for the care he showered upon her and their unborn child. In that moment, Erling's fears seemed to dissipate, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

"Mommy is clumsy, and she has to be very careful," he whispered to her belly, his voice laced with a mixture of adoration and concern. His eyes locked with Y/N's, conveying the depths of his fear and the unwavering love that coursed through every fiber of his being.

Erling and Y/N found solace in one another's arms. Their love, tested by the unpredictability of life, emerged stronger than ever.

They understood the fragility of their precious bond and vowed to protect it fiercely, cherishing each moment and the miracle they were nurturing together.

As they lingered in that embrace, time seemed to stand still. The worries and anxieties that had threatened to consume Erling's heart were replaced by a profound gratitude for the safety and well-being of his beloved Y/N and their unborn child. In that sacred space, they reaffirmed their commitment to one another, vowing to navigate the challenges of life hand in hand, their love an unwavering source of strength and resilience.

[liyawritesss]

summertime crushin’

Characters: MCU!Shuri Udaku x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.7k

Synopsis: In Shuri’s attempts to follow in her brother's footsteps and continue his work with the Wakandan International Outpost Facilities, she finally takes up Riri’s offer to visit Chicago. However, she isn’t sure if it's the intense summertime heat that has her face burning or the incredibly talented dance choreographer Riri is friends with.

Warnings: cursing

A/N: For the two dances mentioned: the first is “Killing Me Softly” by Lauryn Hill, choreography by Evan Miller (0:08-2:10), and the second is “BMO” by Ari Lennox, choreography by YeoJin (0:00-1:15), of which (Y/N) is the middle dancer with coloured hair. I’ve had this idea since FOREVER and finally had enough of it swimming in my head, so I finally wrote it down. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @inmyheadimobsessed @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @6-noir @playhousedistee @shuririsdefenseattorney @shuriszn @zayswriting @wrendermedone @writingintheshadowsforever @mbakuetshurisprincess @verachii @shurisbigtoe

Sign Up For My Tag List Here!!

“So the arts are a prominent aspect of the city’s identity?”

“We don’t got our own Broadway title for nothin’, Shuri.”

Shuri could admit to herself that she never thought much of the US outside of the horrible government leadership and the plethora of pathetic white supremacists who hid behind a thin veil of patriotism. She admired her brother’s work, though, with wanting to provide more than adequate resources to black communities all over the US, and as her new title required her to take up the work in question, it only made sense that she’d cut her vacation in Haiti short to get acclimated to the work her brother and mother maintained.

Shuri could also admit that the immense creativity and artistry from members of the Lost Tribe gave her a culture shock she didn’t know she needed to prepare herself for. Even in her mid-twenties, the queen-presumptive had so much to learn about the people who had been stripped of their lineage and ripped from the motherland. No amount of reading or digesting news reports could amount to actually witnessing it in person.

Which is exactly why Riri, Shuri’s self appointed guide to all things Chicago, was escorting the scientist around all the most notable establishments pertaining to all this visual and performance art. From the Chicago Art Museum to watching bands play on corners of sidewalks, Shuri never found herself bored or tired of the activities. And next on the list of places to visit was a storefront  dance studio belonging to a friend of the young engineer, of which Riri was rather ecstatic about, as she hadn’t seen this friend since their highschool days.

Shuri didn’t know what to expect when she entered into the storefront dance studio, following Riri in close pursuit so as to not get lost amongst the other bodies leaving the space. Her only exposure to black American dance was from short clips online she had searched up as a child. Though in an ever changing society, the dark skinned woman was sure that what she had been exposed to prior would surely not be the same as what she would be walking into now.

Shuri is pulled into a room that’s blasting music from the speakers, a song from a voice the queen-presumptive remembers belongs to that of the infamous Lauryn Hill. The robust deepness of the rapper’s voice rises goosebumps along Shuri’s skin, bare and showing her deeply melanated tone. She’s in a forest green tank top that emphasizes her shoulders, her golden necklace housing her panther suit rested neatly around her neck. Black shorts clothed her legs, stopping just above her knees, and on her feet for a pair of strapped slides similar to ones her brother wore long ago. Of course, one could not forget the black shade which hid her eyes, and the majority of her identity, from everyone around her.

Compared to Riri, who wears a white cropped tank, black jogging pants and white AF1’s, the engineer looks much more prepared for a dance class than Shuri is, but she was quickly assured that they wouldn’t be dancing, but rather, watching a few of the dances done by the students within the class. It eased Shuri for a moment, until she walked into the dance space with the loud music reverberating through the walls of the studio. With the melody and bass over taking her body, Shuri couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

“This is one of the best dance studios in the city,” Riri says over the music as the two make their way to the front of the crowd of students, “they do everything from Hip-Hop to R&B, and everything in between.”

Shuri nods along as she takes note of the three men standing in the middle of the crowd. They seem to be hyping themselves up up as the first part of the Lauryn Hill song plays, preparing for their routine.

“You about to get a taste of what real art looks like.” Riri muses, as the aforementioned men take their places as the first chorus of the song ends, and the second verse, and ultimately, their routine, begins.

Firstly, Shuri hadn’t expected for the male dancers to have such languid movements. The smoothness of their steps and transitions between each move seemed flawless, and she soon found herself entranced by the dance routine paired with the music playing. Much more, she notes just how happy they are at the moment. The popping and locking is precise, each one garnering a roar from their audience, in turn spreading smiles across the dancers faces. It feels their energy, keeping the precision consistent with the execution of each move. Even as one dancer falls off at what seems to be the end of the official routine, two of them stay on the main floor. They feed off of each other’s energies, dancing around each other in a near touch that shows the trust in each other and the intuition of each dancer. They move as if they’re reading each others mind, circling and molding around each other in a way Shuri had never seen before. And by the end of the performance, the queen-presumptive finds herself yearning for more.

“Bast”, Shuri gasps in shock, “I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even back home!”

Riri encourages Shuri’s amazement, engaging with her in reveling about the choreography they had just witnessed. Her attention is taken when she feels a tap on her shoulder, and when Riri turns around, she releases a shriek of happiness as she embraces the person who’d come up to her.

Shuri is able to get a good look at the person when Riri pulls away. A woman of melanated skin, sun-kissed and glossed over undoubtedly by perspiration, sporting a gray jogging suit set with the hoodie bunched up and hiked over on one shoulder, revealing a black sports bra underneath.

“You made it, Ri!” You exclaim in your embrace of the engineer, hugging her tight as a long lost friend should. “Fuck, I’m so glad youre here; it’s been years!”

“I heard you were back in town, I knew exactly where yo’ ass was gon’ be.” Riri replies, gesturing for you to step forward to be introduced to Shuri.

“This is the friend I told you I was bringing.” Riri reminds, earning a gentle smile from you to Shuri. “Shuri, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), Shuri.”

You held your hand out for a handshake, but Shuri is too distracted by how pretty you are. “It’s nice to meet you,” you greet, “I’ve never met a queen before. Hope it’s not awkward…?”

“No, no,” Shuri quickly reassures, raising her hand to finally take yours in your greeting, “not awkward at all. And the pleasure is mine.”

Shuri isn’t sure what caught her attention first - the fact that you’re half exposed with your hoodie only properly being on half way, exposing your toned stomach from what Shuri suspects is years of dance, or the way your eyes glisten with excitement, or the way your skin is glowing. She just knows that you’re very pretty and it’s making her look like a fool in front of someone she just met. And she doesn’t do well when that happens.

“My piece is up next,” you say, which brings Shuri out of her head and causes her ears to burn slightly, as she was so stuck in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized that her hand still held yours in a firm grip. She quickly pulls it away, muttering a quiet apology in return, but you reassure her that she was alright, “you guys sticking around after?”

“Hell yeah we are,” Riri hurriedly answers, “you owe me lunch, cuz you got some explaining to do about how you just dipped and ain’t say shit.”

“Fine, fine,” You relent, “lunch on me. We’ll figure it out when I’m done, cool?”

Though you don’t give them much time to respond, as you’re already backing away as you hear your song being played over the speakers, and your dance partners already in place. Riri throws you a quick thumbs up, granting you the relief you need for jogging out onto the dance floor.

Shuri’s eyes follow you intently as you meet up with the two other dancers located on the floor. She, however, feels a pair of eyes on her, and turns to meet Riri, who has a look on her face that Shuri can only akin to smugness.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Shuri questions slowly, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Hm,” Riri humans, “nun’.”

“Don’t do that!” Shuri groans.

“Do what?” Riri asks. “I ain’t do nun’...I just peep shit and keep it movin’.”

“Exactly,” Shuri responds, “and what exactly did you ‘peep’-?”

“Shhhh,” Riri shushes Shuri as the melody for the verse comes in, “they’re starting!”

It doesn’t take much effort for Shuri’s attention to shift directly onto you, and she’s actually glad she has these shades on, because she has an idea of what Riri says she ‘peeped’, and the intensity of her stare would have given Riri all the proof she needed to confirm her suspicions.

From the very start of the music, your body moves fluidly, as if you were a deity of water, at home in your element. There’s a certain aura you carry - one of power and respect that you’re sure has earned you your place in this studio. Each and every one of your moves garners a roar of encouragement from the audience, and it spurs you on more and more, feeding off of the crowd's energy. The suave and swag that oozes from your persona has everyone on the edge of their seat. It becomes clear to Shuri that you weren’t just a dancer for entertainment. This was your very lifestyle, and you’ve made it your identity in every way imaginable. She watched as life was breathed into you on the dance floor, spurred on by the crowd’s hype, feeding into your ego. 

And by the time your set has finished, Shuri finds herself falling in love with Chicago a little bit more, and experiencing her first summertime crush.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[calico-heart]

I've been musing about vampire lore in BG3 and a few fan theories floating around about Astarion, so I decided to do some lore-digging myself. This is mostly about Spawn free-will and the possibility of Vampire Brides/Grooms. If you're really into Astarion you've probably seen this all before lol

5e posits that there are "Vampires" and "Vampire Spawn." In the Monster Manual it claims:

Most of a vampire's victims become vampire spawn -- ravenous creatures with a vampire's hunger for blood, but under the control of the vampire that created them. If a true vampire allows a spawn to draw blood from its own body, the spawn transforms into a true vampire no longer under its master's control. Few vampires are willing to relinquish control in this manner. Vampire spawn become free-willed when their creator dies.

Which lines up pretty well with what Astarion says about Cazador and the nature of belonging to him.

Since the spawn in BG3 have the wherewithal to despise their master and Astarion made attempts in the past to defy him, I assume free will and independent thought aren't the same thing, here... but it does leave some grey area that I'm especially interested in.

Astarion was sent out to bring victims home. When he tries to help one escape, he's not just acting independently, he's directly defying Cazador's command. And Astarion doesn't attribute his later obedience to being compelled... he attributes it to the abuse he suffered for defying.

That just doesn't sound like Cazador has full unfettered control to me. Now, it's possible he allows some agency to his Spawn out of cruelty and just tortures them when they misbehave for fun. It's possible that the sheer number of spawn (7000) Cazador has makes them difficult to simultaneously control. I think that's all super valid.

But if we dial back to 2e and Van Richten's Guide to Vampires, there's some really cool lore there to consider. And while BG3 is based primarily on 5e lore and my inclination is to take the 5e interpretation when it makes more sense to, I don't think it's a stretch to imagine that 2e vampire lore at least served as inspiration for certain BG3 elements.

Progenitor and Offspring (pg.69)

(emphasis added)

Conventional wisdom is categorical on one point: newly-formed vampires are slaves of the creatures that created them, with no free will of their own. Even one of the most reputable tomes on the subject repeats this: "Once they become undead, the new vampire is under the complete control of its killer." But how true is this? And what constraints are there on the control that does exist? For the first days or weeks of a Fledgling vampire's existence, it is highly susceptible to the orders of its creator—so I have discovered from my research. IF there is no telepathic bond between creator and created, then the master vampire must be in the vicinity, and must be willing to communicate with its offspring. How, then, do vampires keep their slaves under their control beyond this period? They do so in much the same way that mortals dominate others: through intimidation. The fledgling is new to the vampiric world, and at least partially ignorant of its own abilities. lts creator can, if it is careful, create the perception in its offspring that the master is immensely more powerful and knowledgeable than the newly-created vampire, which it may in fact be. Through simple intimidation and by playing on the offspring's natural doubts and fears, the master can create a situation enabling it to rule for decades. The reader may realize that this situation is totally different and much more unstable than the "traditional" picture of the master and its unquestioning slaves. Offspring vampires may have considerable free will from the moment of their creation, although they do have an inborn propensity to bow to the will of their creator. After several years have passed, however, this propensity wears off. The Journal entry that opened this chapter indicates the risks that accompany creating an offspring vampire, The "master" must keep the intimidation level high and discipline tight. If the offspring senses weakness in its master, it may consider challenging for dominance or simply fleeing. As time passes the offspring vampire will learn more about its own strengths, and probably more about its master's weaknesses. As soon as the offspring believes that it may be able to defeat its master, the two creatures will almost certainly come into conflict. Of course, the majority of vampires will destroy their offspring before this point is reached. Some, however, will send them away, officially granting them their freedom. (This is merely another psychological trick, If an offspring vampire is "freed" before it realizes it can depose its "master" it may feel some gratitude toward its creator.) The vast majority of vampires view their offspring simply as disposable tools, to be used and then discarded [...] Vampires differ in their motivations when creating offspring. Some [...] do it to create slaves for themselves. [...] When a vampire is destroyed, all semblance of control over its offspring immediately vanishes, Most offspring will immediately go about their own business [...]

This... makes a lot of practical sense. There's nothing in the 5e page about vampire and spawn that claims an inherent telepathic link, so Cazador is most likely using intimidation as a means of control. And Astarion having the ability to attempt to disobey something he knew he was expected to do only makes sense if he can, actually, challenge Cazador's commands. There's a difference between scheming for personal gain in the margins of what your master did or didn't say, and outright doing something contrary to what he sent you out to do.

So I'm led to two possible (and not-mutually-exclusive) conclusions:

Spawn DO have free will and Cazador's control is based primarily on intimidation and torture.

Cazador has access to a variety of mind-bending spells that he uses to convince his Spawn they are universally beholden to him on the basis of being his creations. i.e. He lied about the source of that magical authority.

But! But!! I hear you say! The 2e guidebook talks about Vampire Fledglings up there, not Spawn. Correct!

I've seen no evidence of Spawn in 2e. Anyone killed by being drained of blood becomes a Fledgling. Vice versa, there are no Fledgling Vampires in 5e, either. The method for making a Spawn is the same as a 2e Fledgling. (p32)

In 2e, Fledglings just get more powerful as they age (p13), while in 5e, Spawn must be fed their Master's blood to raise themselves up.

So it's not a 1:1 correlation, which is worth considering if you hate the idea of all of this. It's just speculation, and I suspect it will always remain fanon because in a roleplaying game it's more important to give players agency than it is to give them immutable answers. If you don't like it, don't use it!

Ok Ok but what about the Bride Stuff?

Firstly, Ascended Astarion makes several claims.

He was forced to obey Cazador because of being a Spawn

He turned you into a Spawn (source)

He has Ascended, but it will take time and practice for him to utilize all the tools available to an Ascended Vampire (source)

You are not allowed to leave him (source)

Of these, I think only the third one can be reasonably assumed to be inarguable fact. The others may be true. They may not be.

And whether you are a bride/groom or not, it's possible that even without the Tadpole you may have free will as a default, or else as a consequence of Astarion not being able to compel you (yet) because he's not experienced enough. He may also be reluctant to harm you the same way Cazador harmed him to maintain authority.

If you accept that Cazador used personal magic to compel his Spawn, Astarion may lack that ability. Astarion may not know that Cazador was using magic. Cazador can lie, and would have reasonably done so to maintain control of his Spawn.

If you don't buy into Spawn having free-will at all without intervention... well, since Astarion supplanted the ritual as a Spawn, he may have only gained the powers Mephistopheles promised in the Ritual, and not other traditional Vampire talents... like compelling his Spawn.

Lots of angles to play with, there!

Now, while I do really enjoy the fanon of Ascended Astarion making his lover a Bride... if it's based on 2e rules, the Dark Kiss is implied to be more complicated than this:

(p72) To actually create the bride, the vampire bestows what is known as the "Dark Kiss." It samples the blood of its mortal paramour—once, twice, thrice—draining her almost to the point of death. This process causes the subject no pain; in fact, it has been described as the most euphoric, ecstatic experience, in comparison to which ail other pleasures fade into insignificance. Just as the subject is about to slip into the terminal coma from which there is no awakening, the vampire opens a gash in its own flesh—often in its throat—and holds the subject’s mouth to the wound. As the burning draught that is the vampire’s blood gushes into the subject’s mouth, the primitive feeding instinct is triggered, and she sucks hungrily at the wound, enraptured. With the first taste of the blood, the subject is possessed of great and frenzied strength, and will use it to prevent the vampire from separating her from the fountain of wonder that is its bleeding wound. [...] Once the subject has stopped feeding, she falls into a coma that lasts minutes or hours, at the end of which time she dies. Several hours later, she arises as a Fledgling vampire—and her creator’s bride.

Being turned by him can hurt. And he only gives you a single drop of blood instead of letting you feed off him as the Ritual describes. It's possible, but doesn't seem entirely likely since you don't also explicitly get any Bride-related perks like telepathic speech between each other post-Tadpoles.

Since he gives you his blood before you die, and 5e's description refers to Spawn drinking their master's blood, not pre-Spawn, I don't think he turned you into a True Vampire, either... but it's vague enough that there's room for interpretation.

So why the blood-feeding? Possibly to create doubt for players and allow them to interpret it in various ways. My personal inclination is to believe the PC becomes a Spawn, but that being fed some of his blood pre-death allowed him to offer some of his powers to you like daylight protection (he mentions sending out dark fog to protect the rest of his Spawn someday, so this benefit appears exclusive to you or otherwise limited.)

But since it's fun to explore possibilities, I'm still thinking about what being a Bride might entail if it were true and that's what he did.

2e considers all newborn vampires Fledgling, including Brides... and both of these have free will by default. There is no context within 2e lore to imply that Brides would somehow be superior to Spawn on the basis of being superior to Fledglings, because they are not superior to Fledglings except for two things. Brides don't feel the aforementioned "propensity to bow to the will of their creator" that Fledglings initially contend with and later outgrow. And (more an inferiority) Brides are not born with any innate sense of how to survive as vampires.

Although there are some folk tales that describe the bride of a vampire as its slave, in much the same way that offspring are slaves, a bride is free-willed from the moment of her creation. The creator vampire does have great influence over the bride, however, although this control is totally nonmagical. When a vampire is created in the traditional manner—that is, when a victims life energy is completely drained away—the new fledgling instinctively understands much about the vampiric way of unlife, and about its own strengths, weaknesses, and needs. Not so the bride. Newly-created brides are generally ignorant of their own capabilities. lf in Life they heard folk tales and myths about vampires, they might have some vague conception, but often these tales are totally wrong. The bride is effectively dependent—totally dependent—on her creator, to learn how to survive as a vampire. This obviously gives the creator great power over the bride. By lying to her or bending the truth, he can convince her that she must obey his every order or suffer horrible consequences. With time, and through experimentation, the bride might find out the true level of control her creator has over her—that is, none.

So, in my thinking, if Spawn can be compelled... Brides probably can, too. If Spawn have free will, Brides probably do, too. But that distinction lies entirely in personal preference, since the game never outright says you are a Bride/Groom, only implies that you are a Spawn.

Possibility Astarion is Incorrect, or Lying

If you'll remember before all this Bride nonsense, I mentioned a few things Astarion claims that may not be entirely accurate. We've already poked at the idea Spawn might have more free will than Astarion purports. But what about claiming you're a Spawn? And that you can't leave him?

He never visibly compels you, though he implies that he could and not doing so is simply a choice when you attempt to challenge him. Maybe he can be taken at his word. But with everything in this post set up to establish doubt about a Vampire's inherent ability to control any being it created through methods other than manipulation and the threat of violence... I'm thinking no. He actually can't.

And so. TL;DR I think the reasons for that could reasonably be ANY or multiple of the following:

2e elements are blended into the 5e lore: Spawn do have free will, but their masters work very hard to make them think they don't. -

5e is entirely misleading and 2e is Larian's intent: Spawn are True Vampires, they just are kept in line through ignorance, violence, and guile, about the opportunities available to them. -

Astarion does not know how to compel his Spawn to obey him because he isn't practiced enough with his new skills. -

Astarion is an Ascended Spawn, not an Ascended Vampire, and only got the specific powers described in the ritual contract. -

Astarion did turn the PC into a Vampire but is lying about it to make them think they're a Spawn. -

Astarion turned the PC into a Bride/Groom and is lying to make them think they have to obey him.

[ncfan-1]

I’ve largely avoided news about the upcoming Star Wars movie regarding Rey. Anyone who was around when TROS comes out knows how I feel about it, and since I can’t remember if I ever said it out loud, I’ll say it now: TROS tainted my experience of the entire Sequel Trilogy. I have never watched any of the ST movies again since I watched TROS in theaters, not even TLJ, which in my frank opinion is stronger than TFA and TROS combined. I… I’m not sure how to feel about the Rey movie.

Just based on my memories of TROS, I can’t view the Sequel Trilogy as anything but Rey’s villain origin story. By the end of TROS, she is immensely powerful, most likely the most powerful Force user left alive in the galaxy, and on the same token, intensely isolated. Her relationships with Poe and Finn seem markedly strained; she doesn’t seem especially close to either of them. The one person she felt understood her is dead, and moreover, he died saving her life, which is such a can of worms where guilt and trauma is concerned. Who does she have who she can really confide her troubles in? Who does she have whom she can really lean on? She seems almost totally unmoored from the community she is ostensibly a part of, her ties to her friends superficial at best.

Moreover, she’s reverted back to a more extreme version of her getup from TFA and kept it at the end of the movie, suggesting that she’s regressed emotionally in some way. She certainly seems to be in deep denial about all of the traumatic things that have happened to her and all of the traumatic revelations she’s learned over the course of the three films. The fact that she latches on to ‘Skywalker’ as her new identity signals that she isn’t at peace with her own past and heritage, that she hasn’t addressed and resolved her own feelings about where she came from and who she is. She hasn’t addressed or resolved anything.

And then, to top it all off, we end with Rey in a spiritual wasteland, where her only companions are ghosts and a droid with the emotional maturity of a young child, and the movie leaves it extremely ambiguous as to whether Rey is only on Tatooine to visit, or if she intends to set up shop and live there. It all gives me an extremely ominous feeling about where Rey’s journey is supposed to go next. Maybe she doesn’t become a full-on villain, but unless her upcoming movie devotes a huge chunk of time in the beginning to having her actually work through everything that happened to her and everything that she learned, instead of just sinking further and further into denial about everything, Rey being remotely well-adjusted in that movie is going to come off as so tonally dissonant to me.

Like I said, she doesn’t have to be a full-on villain, but where I would naturally expect to see Rey next from TROS is to see her as a liminal figure, someone who doesn’t really seem to belong anywhere, morally ambiguous, at least somewhat perilous. I could see her as something like a trickster figure. I could see her as an antagonistic force. But as prospective grandmaster to a new Jedi Order? Nah. That makes no sense tonally, based on where we last saw her. Yeah, I know there’s supposed to be about fifteen years between TROS and this film, but the huge time skip isn’t going to be enough to make up for the tonal gap. Not for me. I’ll watch it when it comes out, but I’m not sure how well it’s going to sit with me.

[orangetubor]

Urgent news, many lgbtqi residents of kakuma refugee camp are now homeless. Here is a statement from my friend Peter:

As an LGBTQIA+🏳️‍🌈, I bear witness to the horrifying police brutality that unfolded before my very eyes, along with my fellow LGBTQIA+ advocates, freedom fighters, and refugees in Kakuma refugee camp. It was a day we had come together to celebrate our pride, a moment of unity and empowerment during Pride Month. However, what transpired shattered our sense of safety and belonging.In the midst of our joyful pride party, the police forcefully invaded our presence, displaying an alarming disregard for our rights and humanity. Our small tent house, adorned with rainbow flags symbolizing our pride and resilience, was ruthlessly torn down. We, the members of the LGBTQIA+ community, were subjected to brutal beatings by those who are entrusted with the duty to protect us, but who instead exhibited violent, homophobic, and transphobic tendencies.This appalling act served as a stark reminder that within Kakuma refugee camp and Kenya at large, there is no place for us. Even the officials who should be safeguarding our rights have become perpetrators of violence and discrimination against the LGBTQIA+ family. We pose no threat, for we bear no weapons and have not inflicted harm upon anyone. Yet, we are continually targeted by the refugee community, subjected to brutality, torture, persecution, discrimination, and social stigma solely due to our sexual orientation and gender identity.The conditions we endure in the camp are unbearable, pushing us to exist in a state of constant fear, insecurity, and suffering. We are forced to live in a primitive and inhospitable environment, stripped of our dignity and denied basic human rights. This relentless adversity places an immense burden on the LGBTQIA+ asylum seekers and refugees in Kakuma refugee camp, compromising our very survival.Therefore, I implore all those who champion human rights and stand against injustice to join forces and provide us with international support. We call upon activists, organizations dedicated to protecting LGBTQIA+ rights and lives, and the global community at large to unite as one, advocating for our freedom from the confines of Kakuma refugee camp. It is evident that this camp will never be a safe haven for us.We desperately need your unwavering support and solidarity. Ignoring our plight is not an option; it is through your intervention and collective efforts that we can secure our liberation. Together, let us work towards a world where every LGBTQIA+ individual can thrive, free from persecution and discrimination. Our lives and well-being depend on it..wish we find your support and solidarity on the less fortunate, thanks

(he sent this to me over whatsapp, you can also find it on his tumblr, @peterkats )

Please share this, spread international outrage, and get them help

The owner of the compound sold it, and many are now homeless. The nearest refugee camps are in Somalia, Zambia, Sudan and South Africa, which are miles away, they have no food or water, and many are sick or injured.

If you can, send aid through World Remit or Send Wave, to the phone number +254712692466, belonging to Abdul Luyombya, a friend of Peter's.

[greenerteacups]

ravenclaw harry is probably the house I find hardest to reconcile with the rest of the canon story. would love to hear your thoughts bc I totally agree that he would have made himself fit into any house as a first year. slytherin harry has a lot of fanon exploration which has had interesting results for sure! hufflepuff harry resonates with the sense of belonging and warmth he was likely yearning for….same actions seem likely to me still. but ravenclaw harry and the friends he’d make (or not make! outcast ish harry being friends with luna and the other alternative-esque ravenclaws?) not sure how that would go! intriguing for sure

housing 11 year olds based on personality is strange business (and all the main characters being in one house is just eh) which is why I love works like lionheart switching that up!

First and foremost, if you want an excellent Ravenclaw!Harry, may I recommend this fic by one of my favorite HPfic authors of all time? It's not quite a Sorting AU, but it's still immaculate, and it's my favorite R!Harry of all time.

I think Houses are first and foremost tools of community and socialization — they're a way to get a bunch of terrified eleven year-olds to make friends, and to break down the immense project of getting to know [INSERT MYTHICAL HOGWARTS DEMOGRAPHIC STATISTIC] people in your cohort at once. The point of doing a Sorting on the basis of personality is to find the place that's going to suit you best; for Slytherins, that's the place that represents their community, their heritage, and their own (fucked up) social set. For Hufflepuffs, that's a really friendly place that focuses on personal development. Gryffindors are adventurers, trailblazers, and explorers; Ravenclaws are inquisitive and interested in deep thinking. To that extent, I can understand why you'd set all of your characters in one house early on, but as the story goes on, it becomes apparent how much the failure to socialize between Houses hurts inter-House relations. It creates much stronger "types" than you might if you just let everyone socialize together.

When Harry is Sorted, we don't know a lot about the dude. We know he's pretty resilient, amicable, and overall nice to people (is immediately on-board and makes friends with Giant Dude Who's Basically Kidnapping You, even though in fairness, he's getting rescued from an abusive home, so — not surprising!) but for the most part, it just gives Normal Guy. It takes a while for Harry's specific brand of introverted weirdness to manifest in the story, and even then, because we're in his POV, we don't see how incredibly awkward he actually is — rereading his dates with Cho is a gauntlet of cringing. He locks on to the people close to him and integrates himself with their group, then basically maintains trajectory until something forces him to stop. He's a really passive dude; 9/10 of the series his him going "what fucking NOW" and running off to put out whatever fire is happening that he's inexplicably implicated in. (He's still heroic, ftr; he does make the choice to risk his life for people, and he does the right thing. But you get the feeling that he would be much happier if he could take a break once in a while and let some other Chosen One take on the serious stuff.)

Apart from the one rec'd above, I can't think of many Ravenclaw!Harry fics that actually take the Sorting as a character challenge. Ravenclaw gets flattened to "the smart House that does great in school" in a lot of fanon — which is kind of strange because the two nerdiest characters, Hermione Granger and Ernie Macmillan, are a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, respectively. The few Ravenclaws we do get to know, Cho and Luna, are much more defined by their passion for their chosen hobbies than by any scholarly aptitude. Of the few Ravenclaw Sorting AUs out there, a lot of them end up being those Redditor-beloved "Harry Potter but the characters make decisions I think are smarter and then reward them by artificially making those solutions 100% effective" fix-its. A.K.A. fics where the real point is for the author to flex about how smart they are for "getting" the "science" behind a magical storybook world. (No, I don't have strong feelings about these at all, why do you ask?)

[abeautylives]

Trip Around the Sun - Day Two

a/n: Thank you for your patience as I took some time to celebrate our sweet Josh. Like a lot of you here, I'm a queer person that felt an immense sense of pride in his bravery and an insane amount of joy knowing how loved he is. To that point, if it needs stating, this is a work of fiction. To another point, in light of recent events, I wanted to say that I very much love and support my fellow members of the LGBTQ+ community, keep fighting the good fight babes 👁️🌈👁️

Read Part One

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 9.8k this part

summary: A persistent and charismatic stranger disrupts the serenity of your tropical escape. What's the harm in a vacation fling?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, more summer Josh, language, drinking, mentions of sexual situations, explicit sexual content, public sexual activity, penetrative sex, kinda fluffy tbh

☀️☀️☀️

“My name’s Josh.”

Of course it is. When you’d first seen him from across the pool, you could’ve pegged him as a Josh or a Justin, even a Jake. It just makes so much sense.

What made little to no sense was the way your settling heart rate had kicked back up when he said it, the sound of his name shaped by those lips and pushed past those teeth with an almost embarrassed giggle.

Josh.

He’d asked for yours in return and when you gave it, he’d rolled it around on his tongue and then repeated it. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.

You’ve been thinking about that all morning. Not about the way he’d offered to walk you back to your room, or the way you had invited him in, ready to return the favor of the orgasm he’d bestowed you. Not about the way he had looked at you, in awe of your apparent generosity, or the way he’d gracefully declined. You don’t owe me anything, beautiful.

You definitely haven’t been thinking about that. Not while you sipped your coffee or the Bloody Mary that followed. Not while you picked at your breakfast or walked back to your room after abandoning it.

You’re absolutely not thinking about him now as you make the journey back to the blazing heat of the pool deck. You’re not scanning the area for his cap or his curls or his face. You’re not headed toward the same lounge chair you’d used yesterday in hopes that if he’s looking… he’ll find you.

It’s shameful, the way you’re thinking about nothing but him.

As your gaze moves over the pool, it lands on a couple of boys, probably nine or ten years old, maybe brothers. They’re taking turns attempting handstands in the water, timing each other and laughing wildly when the other loses his balance, in the exact spot where you’d let a stranger finger fuck you before he’d even introduced himself.

I need a drink.

Instead of settling into your chair, you dump your bag and towel onto it and head directly to the bar. Around the back side of the small building, constructed to resemble a thatched hut (grass roof and all), there’s a walk-up bar and that’s where you order a margarita and a shot of tequila. The bartender serves up gold instead of silver, but you knock it back anyway and resist the urge to gag as it lights your throat on fire.

The plastic holding your other beverage is already sweating in the heat by the time you’ve made it halfway around the pool and back to your chair, which is exactly when you spot him. Wanting to observe him before he sees you, as he’d done to you the afternoon before, you slow your stride and take a long sip through your straw.

He must have been looking for you, but he found your belongings strewn across your chair and it appears that he’d made himself comfortable in the one beside yours once again. His trunks are the same he was wearing yesterday, a light green and white patterned print that leave the entire length of each thigh exposed, and his torso is blessedly shirt-free. Because you can, you objectify him for just a moment, your eyes lingering just below his navel before they move up the line of his body and land on his chest.

Now I’m the creep.

You make yourself giggle and keep it moving. You’ve almost reached him and you’re surprised, or disappointed that he hasn’t noticed you. Unfortunately, the closer you get, the better you can see the fucking ridiculous sunglasses he’s wearing. With no cap to shade his eyes today, his head wrapped in a white bandana and hair tied back again, you understand the need for sunglasses, but these are horrendous.

“Yee haw, bro.”

His head moves with you as you come around him and step between the chairs, his face upturned and smile already stretching wide and shining bright. He watches closely as you move your bag and towel, bent at the hip, ass pointed in his direction and covered today only by a scrap of electric blue that’s nearly tucked between your cheeks. When you chance a peek at him over your shoulder, you wish you could see his eyes, but alas.

There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, but only because there had been a hint in yours. “What?”

Lowering onto your chair, you lean into it and recline as if you’d known all along that he’d be here waiting for you. “What’s with the shades?”

It’s cute, the genuine confusion as his smile goes lopsided. “It’s bright out here?”

“They’re hideous.”

“Wait, really? You don’t like them?” The corners of his mouth drop.

You can’t stifle the laughter any longer. It’s shaking your shoulders as you tell him you really don’t. When he sits forward in his chair, it looks like he’s about to stand and you’re suddenly worried you’ve actually offended him.

He pulls the glasses off of his face and examines them, turning them over as if he’s seeing them for the first time. As they move in his hands you can see that they’re not actually Pit Vipers, they might be Oakleys but they’re a huge purple and green color shifting shield of plastic. His eyebrows are knit together as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll throw them in the ocean, right now.” He stands and moves like he’s going to walk away from you, head to the beach and chuck them in.

Your hand shoots out and lands on one of his wrists, fingers wrapped around it. “No! Don’t go…” His eyes, now revealed to you, drop to where you’re touching him, a rainbow spread over his skin at the tips of your fingers. “I’m just fucking with you.” When he lifts them to your face, they’re narrowed in sly gratification, a smirk forming below his mustache.

He accepts that, along with the knowledge that you really seem to want him to stay, mourning the loss of your hand on his when he plants himself back in his lounger. The glasses slip back over his ears, settled on the bridge of his nose.

“I like them. I don’t tend to care if anyone else does.”

That sounds authentic, based on the limited observations you’ve made you’re sure he doesn’t give a shit about what others may think. The short shorts, the bandana, the sandals he was wearing last night and even the tiny hoops gracing each earlobe. It’s just who he is.

“That’s good. I wish I didn’t care what people thought about me.” Flippant, you don’t really mean anything by the comment and bring your drink up to your lips.

“Do you care what I think?”

His own words tumble over each other in your mind. Lovely. Captivating. Beautiful. Stunning. Trouble. “Mm, I know what you think.”

“Huh. I suppose I haven’t been subtle. What do you think about me?”

There it is again, a warmth crawling across your cheeks that has nothing to do with the climate. Your gut tells you to lie, to tell him that you don’t, you haven’t thought of him at all.

“I thought you didn’t tend to care about the opinions of others, hm?”

No response, no way to read his eyes past the ostentatious glare of his sunglasses but he’s definitely staring at you. Your heart tells you to give him the truth.

“I’m not sure yet what I think about you. But I have been thinking.”

There’s a comfortable bit of silence while he turns that over in his mind and you apply sunscreen, SPF 30 this time. He offers with only a tiny bit of sarcasm to get your back, but today you accept hastily, greedy for the feeling of his hands on you.

The tube transfers from your hold to his as you turn away in your chair, hair pulled forward over your shoulder and presenting the expanse of tanned skin to him. He squeezes it into his palm and warms it between his own hands before touching you, and you’re sure it’s intentional. Every time his skin has met yours has seemed purposeful, almost calculated, like he’s mapped out his pilgrimage over your body in advance.

This act is not a chore, or even a favor, it’s purely selfish of him as he leans close and places his hands over your shoulder blades. The lotion spreads as he watches his fingers outstretch, pale in comparison to your sun-darkened shoulders. They travel upward first, firmly pressed against you and he can feel the quiet hum that vibrates through you before it sounds from your throat.

“You better stop that.” His voice crawls its way into your ear, pitched low and bearing that edge again.

“Hmm, what?” Your head drops forward and his hands are still moving, fingertips dragging down the sides of your ribcage and barely skimming the curve of each breast.

“Making those little noises. Unless you want all of these people to see what it does to me.” Another hum, tightening into a whine as those hands smooth over the small of your waist and come back in to meet on either side of your spine. The memory of what you barely got to see and never got to touch last night only serves to turn his warning into temptation. You wouldn’t mind seeing it again, even here in the light of day.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Pervert.” His fingers push underneath the strings at your hips and slide under the fabric as his palms work the sunscreen into your lower back, reminiscent of how he’s teased you with those fingers in the pool. “Are those the thoughts you’ve been thinking about me this morning, beautiful?”

“Well they are now.”

His hands leave you abruptly and you turn to watch him swipe what little is left of the sunscreen over his cheeks, pushing under the rim of his glasses then running his fingertips over the bridge of his nose.

“Um, do you need more? On your back, or, whatever.” That was embarrassing, the curve of his lips making it even more so as he appears to know exactly what you’re asking.

Can I touch you?

“I’m good, applied in my room.” Cheeky fucker.

“Even your back, though?” Okay, desperate.

“It’s taken care of. For now.” He doesn’t elaborate and you can’t bring yourself to ask exactly who had assisted him. It’s none of your business. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

The tube of sunscreen is tossed back into your bag and he returns to his reclined position in his chair, you follow suit and take another sip of your now watered down margarita. You lift a hand and gesture to the scenery in front of you, arm sweeping wide.

“You’re lookin’ at it, handsome.”

An accidental clue, some insight into exactly what you’ve been thinking about him. He revels in it silently, making no comment or quip but adding it to his mental spreadsheet.

“You know there’s a lot more to do here besides lay by the pool, right?”

You do know that, in a vague sense but you haven’t bothered to look into it. Most of your time before you met him yesterday has been spent alone, as you’d intended, and whatever activities this place has to offer just seem… sad to do by yourself.

“Sure, but I can get drunk by the pool.”

“There’s an entire ocean of clear turquoise water right there. We could go swimming, or there’s jet skis, or I’m pretty sure we can sign up for this boating excursion. Spend a few hours on the water, drinks included.”

We?

“What makes you think I wanna spend my vacation time with you?”

A brief pause, he only thinks it over for a second or two, as if he knew you would ask. “You haven’t sent me away yet, you were checking me out from over there ten minutes ago,” he points to where you’d been staring from, when you thought he hadn’t noticed you, “and you were practically begging to suck my dick last night. I think you like me.”

“I was not begging to- you’re annoying, you know that?”

It’s not lost on him that you haven’t tried to deny anything else he’d said, even though you’re blushing. It’s not lost on you that he once again seems to know more than he should, that when you’d invited him into your room all you were imagining was the feeling of him on your lips, the taste of him on your tongue.

He’s grinning when you slide your eyes over to gauge his reaction. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Hey, I’m gonna go get a drink while you decide what we’re doing today.” Up and out of his chair before you can argue that, you watch him head in the same direction you’d gone around the pool toward the walk-up side of the bar.

“Josh!” He turns back, the sound of his name shaped by your lips and pushed past your teeth stopping him in his tracks. “Get me another margarita?” You lift your nearly empty cup and shake what’s left of the ice around in the bottom. He offers only a two-finger salute and a wide smile as he turns away from you again.

Your eyes slip closed while you wait, giving no real thought to anything you’d want to do aside from exactly this. When a bead of sweat loses its battle with gravity and slips down your chest, between your breasts and past the string just below them, you sit up to dab your skin with your towel.

A cold drink would be nice, what the fuck is taking him so long?

He’s not at the swim-up bar, his white bandana nowhere to be seen among the groups of people gathered there. You look down the pool deck to your left, in case he’s actually given up on you and decided to leave you alone, disheartened at the idea and irritated with yourself for feeling that way. When he does finally come around the deck, two drinks in hand, he finds you scrolling on your phone with an unmistakable frown pulling the corners of your lips down.

“Miss me?”

“Shit!” Your phone slips from your fingers and bounces off your hip, landing face up on the concrete. “Do you get off on scaring the shit out of me?!”

Laughing, he hands over your margarita and reaches down to scoop up your phone when you snatch the cup from him. “If I say yes, will you think less of me?” He offers your phone next, which you slip into your bag after a quick examination and finding it miraculously undamaged. You ignore that question in lieu of asking another of your own.

“Where were you?”

“Ha! You did miss me. That’s cute.” Instead of taking his place in his chair, he sits at the foot of yours. To his delight, you spread your legs and plant your feet on the ground on either side of the chair to make room for him.

“I missed the tequila.”

“Uh huh,” hidden behind the shield of his glasses, his eyes dart down between your legs to where your bikini is barely concealing you from view, “Well drink up, we’re going sailing.”

You sputter around the mouthful of alcohol you’d just nearly inhaled.

“We leave in an hour.”

Forty-five minutes and another shot of tequila (silver this time, at Josh’s request) later, you’re strapping a glaringly orange life vest over your chest.

“I know how to swim, this is so unnecessary.” You click the final buckle into place and pull the straps tight.

“It’s just a precaution, I think we’re allowed to take them off once we’re anchored.” You’re grumbling as you struggle to get comfortable beneath the foam and nylon. “Besides, it’s a really good look for you, provocative even.”

“Shut up.”

You’re summoned to make your way down a long wooden dock that juts out into the ocean, Josh falling in step beside you, knuckles bumping yours as your arms swing between you. Reaching the end, a crew member waits on board with a hand extended that Josh grabs ahold of and hauls himself over the side and onto the deck. Creating his next excuse to touch you, he turns back and extends his arm, hand held out and eyes imploring you to reach out and take it. You can’t see the way they’re appealing to you, the purple green shift hiding them, but his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he grins and his eyebrows are raised expectantly.

“It’s giving… Aladdin. Very ‘magic carpet ride’ right now.”

“Okay, well?” You cock an eyebrow up over the rim of your own glasses and his smile stretches. “Do you trust me?”

“Booooo, that was terrible!” You’re both giggling as you take his hand and let him pull you up and over the railing, where you promptly lose your footing and tumble into his chest. His arms wrap themselves around you, keeping you upright as you mentally curse the life vests preventing your bodies from meeting.

His face tucks into the hair over your ear, tendrils of it floating around your head in the breeze coming off the water. “This is nice, but we need to go take a seat so we can shove off.”

You turn your face to his and your noses almost touch. Before you can verbalize a thought, he drops his lips to your cheek and presses a soft kiss there. Your fingertips are pulled to the spot as if they’re magnetized, your lips fallen open in a surprised ‘o’. A hand slides over your lower back beneath the vest and he guides you to a place on the deck, in front of the mast where he sits with his back against it. Anticipating your question, he tugs you down to sit between his legs and pulls your back into his chest.

Aggravated again that you can’t feel him, you finally find the words.

“I hate these fucking vests.”

From behind you, his chuckle rolls over your shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“I want- I just wish I could, I dunno…”

“You wanna feel me all pressed against you, hm?” With your feet pulled up and knees bent just in front of your chest, he reaches forward and runs the tip of one finger over the outside of your thigh, knee to hip. The boat starts to move just as he slips that finger over your hip bone and lower, dipping it under the hem of your bottoms and running it through the soft hair that he seems so infatuated with. “If you still like me when we get back, I’ll let you feel me all you want. Promise.”

Despite the needy sound that creeps from your mouth he doesn’t touch you where you want him to, an infuriating tease. His hand slides out of your swimsuit and his arms circle around your waist just below the vest.

You’re not sure how far from shore you’ve traveled, the wind whipping your hair around your face and Josh’s as the boat glides through the water, clear as crystal when you left but now an intense, ominous blue as its depths become unfathomable. He’d held you close for the entirety of the voyage, only pulling a hand away to pick your hair out of his mouth or run it down your arm. Once, he’d brought it up to your chin and turned your face to his and you thought, or hoped, he might kiss you but when he found your lips turned up in an enthusiastic grin he’d just smiled brightly and placed that hand back at your waist.

It’s not until the boat slows to an eventual stop, and someone comes from below deck to ask for your drink orders and advise that you could, in fact, remove the vests if you wished, that you realize that no one else had ever boarded.

You unbuckle the vest as soon as you’re able to and toss it to the other side of the mast behind Josh, turning to watch him do the same.

“Josh?”

His vest lands next to yours and he lifts his hands to make sure his bandana is still secure. There’s something about the way his biceps flex that makes you wish you’d been able to see them more clearly last night at the pool. “Hm?”

“Why are there no other passengers?”

He glances to either side, confirming the absence of anyone aside from the crew. “Huh, that’s weird.”

“Did you do this?” You’ve shifted from his lap, kneeling in front of him now, palms rested on your thighs. Before he can answer, you lift a hand and slip his sunglasses away from his face, met with honey and amber sparkling with mischief.

“Now why would you thi-“

“Tell me the truth,” you stand, looming over him with the hand holding his glasses reared back behind your head, “Or these are swimming with the fishies.”

The way your body is twisted, poised to throw them overboard, creates an interesting shape at the curve of your waist that only makes him wonder what you would look like twisted up in the sheets of his bed, or yours. Probably yours.

This is gonna be a long day.

“Yes, I did it.” The glasses are dropped into his hands, caught before they hit the deck between his legs where he places them delicately. They are his favorite, after all.

“Why? How?”

He rises to his feet, more or less eye to eye with you, and finally pulls you close, bodies meeting at the hips. Not prepared to concern you with the how, he answers the why.

“I apologize in advance for what I’m about to say.” You let your own hands rest over the dips at his hips, the line of muscle there leading into his trunks. Focused on the look in his eyes, perhaps slightly nervous but still swimming with a hint of devilish intention, you tilt your head and wait for him to continue. “I thought it would be sort of… romantic.”

The cackle of laughter that you let out is unattractive and riotous but his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and soaks it in. When you get yourself under control, he pushes it further and slides his hands up your back, pulling your chest to his and letting his next words ghost over your lips.

“Humor me, beautiful. I don’t know about you, but I find a little romance to be a huge turn-on.”

You can feel the truth of that, growing and pushed against you. Presented with an opportunity to take what you definitely haven’t been thinking about, you slide your palms up from his hips and over his stomach. He tenses, muscles bunching under your touch as your hands move slowly over his skin. It’s soft under your fingertips, smoother than the voice he’s been using to break you down and coerce you into playing this game, aside from the goosebumps rising to the surface as you continue up and over his chest.

His eyes had broken from yours, prompting you both to watch your hands travel up his torso and land just under his collarbones, one of his coming between you with a finger hooked under your chin. As your face lifts to his again, he slides your sunglasses away from your eyes and tosses them over his shoulder.

The arm wrapped firmly around your back keeps you close when you try to push away. Unable to move, you slap a hand to his chest.

“Josh those were expensive!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair.”

His lips are on yours before you can argue it, working to silence you and wipe any concern for the glasses from your brain.

Last night, he’d only kissed you once, slamming his mouth to yours to muffle your cries and get just a taste of the champagne on your tongue as you came undone around his fingers. No soft pecks to your trembling lips as you floated back to earth, no shy kiss goodnight as he’d left you at your room.

But he’s kissing you now and it’s everything you could have, but definitely haven’t, imagined. His lips are pillowy soft and slotted together with yours as if they were always meant to be there. You feel the fingers splayed over your spine press into your skin there just as his other hand comes back up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin just a little more so that when the tip of his tongue slips out and over your bottom lip, you’re perfectly positioned to open them and accept it.

This time when they slide against each other, your tongues taste vaguely of tequila and lime, a flavor that he seems to approve of as he groans into your mouth and pulls you impossibly closer. The hand on your back slides downward, over the curve of your ass where he grips a handful and jerks your hips into his, his arousal evident against your thigh.

“Sir, your drinks- oh! Sorry!”

You practically jump away from each other, you stumbling backwards and Josh turning his back to the affronted woman holding a margarita in one hand and a tequila soda in the other. You’re not able to stop the laughter from bubbling over, a hand clasped over your mouth as you watch him adjust his dick in his shorts. Impressively, there’s really no hiding it, so you thank her with tears in your eyes and take the cups from her hands, giving her reprieve from Josh’s awkward situation.

Moving carefully over the unsteady surface of the deck, you sidle up to him and hold out his drink.

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

“Painfully so, damn thing won’t go away.”

Your eyes drop to the obvious tent in his shorts as he continues to try concealing it.

“Maybe stop touching it?” He does, reaching over for his drink and chugging about half of it with his hard-on proudly displayed to the open ocean. A dribble of the clear seltzer spills over and drips from the corner of his mouth before he pulls the cup away, your hand moves in to catch it with the pad of your thumb. Rather than flick it from your fingers or wipe it away, you push it back up to his still open lips. They close over your fingertip and his tongue swirls against it like he can’t help himself but to taste you again.

He lets it slide from his mouth as your hand drops. “You’re gonna have to stop touching me if I have to wait until we’re back on dry land to fuck you.”

It is an unfortunate turn of events, your own arousal is pooled between your legs and there’s nothing you can do about it, even as his words shoot straight to your core.

“Who says I’m gonna let you fuck me?” You’ve dropped your volume, a quiet provocation.

“Mm, I’m not a mind reader but I am intuitive. Getting me back inside you is all you’ve been thinking about since I pulled my fingers out of your perfect little pussy last night.”

Your jaw drops open, closed, open again as no words come to mind in response.

“Exactly. Why don’t you sit back down and drink your margarita, enjoy the view.”

You did just that, heading toward the front of the boat, which Josh advised is called the bow as he took a seat beside you. In your first attempt at an actual personal question, because really anything personal you might learn is not your business and ultimately doesn’t matter, you asked if he had a lot of experience on sailboats.

“Not particularly, but this isn’t my first time.” Vague, but again, does it really matter?

His thoughts must be similar to yours, as he avoids asking you anything that would leave you as more than you are - two complete strangers destined only to know each other right now, whatever that might entail. He asks about your time at the resort so far, if you’ve ever been here before, if you drink anything other than tequila.

“Vodka, on occasion, but I prefer tequila.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

Despite his previous warning, he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you in some way, familiarizing himself with you the only way he feels allowed to. A palm placed to your shoulder when he thinks he’s said something clever. His fingertips drawing lazy circles up and down your legs when you lay back and stretch yourself out over the deck, ankles crossed and feet placed in his lap. Eventually those fingertips find yours, a cautious touch as he toys with the idea before interlacing them and pressing your palms together.

Time spent with him moves in direct opposition to the hours and days you’ve spent alone here. A few more drinks, and even a lunch that had appeared mysteriously from below deck, are gone well before you’re ready for the afternoon to be over. You’re told that you’ll be heading back in ten minutes and you’ll have to wear the vests while you’re underway.

“C’mere…” He doesn’t have to say much else to draw you in, offering a hand to help you stand and using it to spin you around to face the water. He pulls you in, his arms wrapped around your waist again and his chin dropped to your shoulder. Into your ear, he explains, “Just wanted to feel you all pressed against me before we have to don your favorite accessories.”

You groan at the thought of strapping yourself into the life vest, at the thought of three inches of foam separating your bodies as he holds you like this. Turning in his arms, you let the length of your body melt into his, your own arms making their way over his shoulders.

“Do you think they’ll ban me from the resort if I refuse to wear it?” His eyes are alight again with laughter, amused by your question.

“If you don’t wear it, they may tie you up and keep you in the cabin. Actually, that might not be a bad idea, I wonder if they’ll let me do it.”

The musical sound of your giggling is like an invisible force, pulling him in to taste it. It’s gentle, his lips touching yours just long enough for you to reciprocate. He sighs as they separate, an almost remorseful sound that you don’t have time to examine before you’re instructed to put on the life vests.

Leaving this place is probably going to be harder than he thought.

🌙🌙🌙

Fuuuuuck this feels so good.

The water is just a touch too hot as it falls over your shoulders and runs down your body, but it’s working to help release the tension of hours spent with Josh, unable to take what you actually want from him. The romance was a nice touch, but not the kind that can provide any sort of relief to the ache between your thighs.

As soon as the door to your room had clicked into place, you’d considered taking care of it yourself. The instant you’d stepped under the spray of the shower, you’d tucked your fingers between your legs and found yourself still slick, the result of how he had kissed you against the doorframe, trailing his lips over your jaw and down the side of your neck and whispering promises to find you later.

You’d even slipped one inside, immediately realizing it wasn’t good enough, not what you need. One swirl over your clit had almost brought you to your knees, however.

I need to get laid. I need him.

Whatever charismatic kind of wizardry he’s been using on you has been effective, clouding your thoughts and lowering your inhibitions until he’s taking up all the space in your brain.

The steam is carrying the scent of your shampoo as you work it into your scalp, washing away the last few days of chlorine and salty air. It feels heavenly, but your mind is working through a scenario where Josh’s hands are tangled in your hair and that same scent is floating up to him as he hovers over you, he’ll think of you for the rest of his life, every time he encounters it.

The throbbing ache is getting worse.

As the lather from your hair washes down the drain, you force yourself to think of something a little more practical. He had promised to find you but offered no suggestion as to where you should meet, or when. Your stomach sounds on cue, a reminder that you have to do something about dinner whether those plans include him or not. With no way to reach him, you have to trust that fate, or something less whimsical, will bring him back to you.

Ew, get it together.

You clean the rest of your body quickly, before you can talk yourself out of even going back downstairs. Taking only enough time to dry your hair about halfway and swipe some mascara over your lashes, you tie on the black swimsuit just in case and throw on an outfit you’d bought during your last minute Amazon spree. Made of some flowy type of synthetic resembling linen, the waistband of the shorts sits high, well over your navel and the matching top is lined with buttons that you disregard, rolling up the sleeves and letting it drape open over your frame. The soft sage green is particularly appealing against the tan gracing your thighs and why would I care if I look appealing?

You’re thinking too hard about this, he already wants you and he’s made that much abundantly clear since your first meeting.

Now you just have to find him.

Most of the restaurants downstairs are buffet-style, which is only nice because it gives you the opportunity to move at exactly your own pace and be left in peace until your drink needs a refill. From your table against the window, you’re able to people watch as you eat, the variety of outfits that range from extremely casual to extremely overdressed is entertaining in its own right. There is a nightclub here, you consider the possibility that the overdressed have actual plans after this, unlike yourself.

Your gaze turns outward, through the glass that allows a view of the thatch roofed, terracotta tiled walkways lined by lit pools of water that are really just oversized fountains. There are plenty of people to observe outside, families and couples making their way to their own dinners as the sun finally dips low enough in the sky for the stars to fight for dominance. Your eyes are following a couple walking hand in hand, she’s smiling up at him as he talks, apparently enraptured by whatever he’s saying. They’ve almost moved out of your sight line when you see him.

He’s standing at the edge of the tile, the toes of his sandals nearly hanging over the rippling pool in front of him. A hand tucked into the front pocket, his shorts are still outrageously short though they look different than the two pairs you’ve seen him in so far, and his white tank top has been replaced with a white t-shirt. The white bandana is rolled loosely and tied around his neck, leaving his curls free to hang over his forehead and rest over his ears.

His other hand comes up and places the filter of a lit cigarette between his lips, the end glowing red and illuminating his eyes just as they lift from the water and land on you.

You watch him exhale, the smoke curling up into the air before it’s carried away on the breeze. He lifts that hand again, points two fingers in your direction, cigarette held between them, and shapes two silent words with those lips.

Found you.

From the small bag slung across your chest you pull an undetermined amount of cash and toss it on the table, unsure if it’s too much or not enough of a tip for the two drinks you’d been served but not finding it in you to care as you knock back the remnants of the glass in front of you. Looking back through the window as you stand, you lock eyes with him again, still watching you, and waiting.

He’s still watching and waiting as you step out into the heavy air, thick with heat even without the sun, and turn the corner that would lead you to him. You would love to say that you had been composed and casual as you moved in his direction but you’ve given up the act of indifference and you don’t try to hide the excitement in your expression.

Steps away from reaching him, you realize that you have no idea what his game plan is, where he intends to take you or how much longer he’s going to make you wait for the inevitable.

“Josh.”

“Well hello, beautiful. Don’t you look lovely with clothes on?” He takes another hit from his cigarette as he looks you over, the realization that he’s only ever seen you in a bathing suit dawning on you. It’s really no wonder that you’ve ended up here, nervously awaiting some insight as to when and where he plans to fuck you, when every moment leading up to now has been fueled by bare skin and wild imagination.

“We match.” It’s the first thing that pops into your head that seems appropriate to say, the color of his shorts is just a hint darker than that of your outfit. He looks down at himself before looking back at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin that says so we do. “I didn’t realize you smoked.”

Again, not your business, but you haven’t seen him do it so far. “I don’t, not much anymore anyway.” He bends to pick up a backpack from the tile that you hadn’t noticed, slinging it over his shoulder and grabbing for one of your hands. “I bummed this one.”

Your fingers wrap themselves around his hand immediately and you fall in beside him as he starts to walk.

“Something to take the edge off?” Still referring to the cigarette as he takes a final hit and tosses it into the sand-filled tray atop a conveniently placed trash can, you wonder if he’s also nervous.

“Yeah… something like that.” He leaves you wondering what that means and keeps moving forward, slipping into a silence that lasts as long as you can stand it.

“Where are we going?”

A soft squeeze to your hand that’s held in his. “To the beach.”

The beach?! “Josh, I thought- I mean, it’s early… Won’t there still be people all over the beach?”

He’s certainly not an idiot, and he does have a plan. “Not where we’re headed.”

“How do you know?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your head snaps in his direction, he’s looking at you from the corner of his eye, the side of his mouth that you can see is turned up.

“Sure, I do but-“

“But you just can’t wait any longer to spread your pretty legs for me?” A strangled noise passes your lips. “Don’t worry, you only have to wait as long as it takes us to get where we’re going. You better hurry up.”

The sky is dark as you move away from the lit walkways of the resort, passing through the mostly empty pool area and finally hitting the sand. Josh pauses to slide his sandals off so you do the same, plucking them up and carrying them hung from your fingers. You walk along the water as it licks at the shoreline, passing only a few people before the beach is deserted completely the farther you go.

Looking up to the stars again, definitely not thinking about the last time you’d been lost in them, a heavy sigh slips out into the air.

“It’s so pretty here, I never wanna go home.”

His breath forms the words and the question materializes before he can stop it. “When do you leave?”

The answer lodges in your throat. You’re not ready to tell him, you’ve hardly had a chance to experience him and the sun is already setting on your time with him.

“Um… Sunday morning.”

His feet stop moving, the hand connected with yours stops you in your tracks. “So that’s it? I get you for tonight and maybe tomorrow, and that’s it?”

The dejection in his voice is surprising but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

“Yeah, Josh. I- what do you want me to say?”

He shakes his head and the moonlight shines off of his curls as they move. “No, nothing. It’s okay, we’ll just have to make the most of it, yeah? We can stop here by the way, we’re alone.”

The nerves are back, quickly replacing the regret that came with being the cause of the solemn frown on his lips. You watch him move inland, away from the water's edge and into the dark grove of palm trees growing straight out of the sand. Dropping to one knee, his sandals are discarded and the backpack comes around and sinks to the ground as he tugs at the zipper and pulls a huge Mexican blanket from the opening. He’s still unfolding it as you approach.

“What else is hiding in your little bag of tricks?”

“Tequila, obviously.” He pulls it out and passes the bottle up to you as he situates the blanket and brushes sand from the corners before strategically settling into the center. After a deep breath, you pull the cork and take a shot straight from the bottle, sucking a hiss through your teeth after you swallow.

“Something to take the edge off?” He’s smirking at you as you plug the bottle and he repeats your words from earlier.

You toss the tequila into his lap, which he catches deftly and quickly takes a shot of his own, laying it onto the sand after he shoves the cork back in it.

“Yeah…” This is it, now what? “…Something like that.”

Leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him, he’s looking up at you with his head tilted, just so. When he speaks, his voice is pitched low again but you hear him loud and clear.

“Get the fuck down here.”

Your sandals slip from your fingertips and you bring the strap of your bag over your head, letting it fall to the sand. A step toward the blanket and you move to slide your open shirt off of your shoulders, but he stops you.

“Don’t, please. Let me.” You leave it on and practically pounce on him, your knees landing on either side of his hips, the blanket sure to leave rug burn across your skin there. He captures your lips with a hmph against them as you collide with his chest, his arms circling you and pulling your body snugly into his lap.

This time, when your tongues meet there’s nothing gentle or apprehensive about it, he’s licking into your mouth like he knows you, like he’s kissed you like this hundreds of times, like he knows exactly what you need. His hair is soft wrapped around your fingers as they sink into it, his dick is already growing hard underneath you, you let your hips rock into it and drink down the groan that pours from his lips.

“Fuck, wait, hold on a second,” his hands stop the roll of your hips over his, “Do you wanna take it slow?”

“No, not this time. Please, c’mon Josh…” He lets your hips go, free to move unhindered as he chuckles into a fast kiss that moves from your lips to your jaw.

“Okay pretty girl, let’s do it then.” His kisses move from your jaw to that special spot he’d discovered earlier, outside your room. He’d wanted to pull your clothes off slowly but since you’ve protested… as he sucks the skin at the base of your neck into his mouth, one hand moves up to the knot just beside his lips and the other slides to the one at the middle of your back. In one motion, he presses his teeth to that sensitive little spot, and tugs at the strings holding your bikini top to your body. You can’t help the shameless moan, he can feel it against his lips, deep in your throat as his bite shoots electricity through your nervous system and the breeze off the ocean moves over your now bare breasts.

When he pulls back to look at you, your chest is already heaving, bared to him aside from the unbuttoned shirt fluttering around you. Your tan lines are dramatic, even in the absence of light and a triangle of pale skin surrounds each slightly darker nipple. He yanks the shirt down off your shoulders and traps your elbows at your sides, pushing your tits forward and forcing your hands from his hair.

“Every single thing about you is so fucking sexy, it’s unreal.”

You can’t respond with anything more than a soft whine as he leans in immediately and closes his lips over the same nipple he’d first touched last night. Unable to feel him with your hands, your hips are working overtime trying to create some friction where you’re throbbing so intensely that it hurts, until he releases his hold on your shirt to wrap his fingers around the curves he’s focused on.

As soon as your arms are free, you let your shirt slide from your body completely and reach to tug his own off of him. Your nipple leaves his mouth with a pop as he helps you, arms raised and reaching behind his head to pull the t-shirt up and over, the bandana falling to rest over his bare collarbones. He drops the tee onto the blanket, quickly snatching up the bikini top still between your bodies and the shirt you’ve let fall over his knees.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna slow down?”

“You’re not going fast enough.”

A challenge easily accepted. In an instant you’re looking up at the stars again, through the silhouette of the palm fronds. Josh is hovering over you, almost exactly how you definitely haven’t imagined it and his fingers are already tucked into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down to your hips. You lift them from the blanket to allow him to slide the material down your legs and away from your body, expecting him to rip the bottoms of your bikini off with them but he doesn’t.

Instead he sits back on his heels for a moment before rising to his feet, leaving you exposed and confused.

“Josh.”

“Shh I know, just give me this one thing.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, unsure of how clearly he can read the exasperated look that must be written over your features, you ask what he could possibly want.

“Take them off. I wanna watch you take them off and I wanna see all of you, wearing nothing but the moonlight.”

Just verbalizing it causes his cock to pulse, but he resists offering it any relief.

Eager to give him what he’s asked for so poetically, and finally get what you’ve been wanting, you lay back again and arch your back away from the blanket, thumbs slid under the strings. You move them down over your hips slowly and push them to mid thigh, then pull the knots loose with your fingertips and let them fall away between your legs. When they land beneath you, you raise both arms over your head and elongate your entire body, knees together and toes pointed.

“Jesus. You look like a fucking goddess.”

It’s all he can manage for a moment as he commits this to memory, all of your skin glowing in a soft blue filter and on display just for him, the moon and the stars.

You watch as his hands flex, forming fists and stretching back out before they move to the waist of his own shorts. He makes quick work of opening the fly and shoving them and his briefs down to his ankles, seemingly moving without thought, simply on muscle memory alone as his fingers wrap around his dick. His body shudders as he pulls one slow stroke over himself before he realizes that you’re staring, eyes wider than he’s seen them before.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t even think to ask if you had any special requests.” He giggles, a pure and innocent sound that’s completely jarring in the current setting, both of you naked in the open air, his fist still wrapped loosely around his cock that you’d underestimated.

“Josh, I…”

“What, beautiful? You ready for me?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

“You have a lot of fucking requests.” You feel like you might die of starvation if you’re not full of him, right now. Your feet pull back over the blanket and you let your legs fall open to him. Before he can ask for anything else, you slide a hand down between them and run two fingers through what’s already dripping out of you. “Fuck, please come here…”

The vision of you, combined with your pleading words brings him to his knees, they land between your feet and he crawls over you, shuffling free of the shorts still around his ankles. The hand that had just been stroking his dick circles your wrist and pulls your slick fingers between your bodies, then wraps them around him.

Hot and heavy against your palm, you squeeze him once, drawing the most delicious, almost pained whimper past his kiss-swollen lips.

Eyes turned down to where you’re finally touching him, he murmurs, “Take what you want, beautiful.”

The head of his cock is pushed against you, your grip on it guiding it to slip through your wetness before it slides past your entrance. And stops.

His hips pull back just a little, he reaches down to nudge your hand away and replace it with his own. “Here, kiss me…” You accept his lips on yours, a gentle reassurance and a few deep breaths pulled in through your noses. His kiss moves to peck over your cheek until his mouth reaches your ear.

“Relax baby, let me in. I’ve got you.”

His whisper works like a sedative, loosening the anxious tension of anticipation from your muscles and when his hips roll into you he slides in another inch.

“That’s good, perfect pussy stretching around me. Doing so good.” His praise coaxes a rush of arousal from you, leaking over him. Another roll, another inch.

“You okay?” Your eyes, squeezed shut since he’d pushed inside, crack open and find concern written all over his face. When your head nods, his shakes. “Tell me, please.”

“Yes, I can take it, I want all of it…”

His hands move, braced on either side of your head and he rears his hips back until he nearly slips from your body, then snaps them into you. He sinks in to the base, flush against you and catches your outcry to God with his lips once again.

He lets you both adjust to the feeling, you to the unimaginable fullness and him to the way your cunt is squeezing him like a vice. His lips separate from yours and he offers a warning.

“I don’t want to hear you screaming anyone’s name but mine.” To make sure you understand, he withdraws and crashes back into you.

“Josh! Fuck Josh, Josh, Josh…”

It tumbles forth, he slides into a rhythm of deep strokes that leave you gasping for breath in between curses and whines of his name as your legs wrap themselves around his hips. Your hands can’t seem to decide where they want to land, roaming over all of the skin they can reach, fingertips digging into the tight muscles of his back before sliding up to his shoulder blades and feeling them move as he supports the rocking of his body over yours. As he has since your first interaction, he seems to know exactly what you’re thinking.

Through a clenched jaw he tells you, “Keep doing that, keep touching me. Memorize me.”

That’s what you’ve been doing without even recognizing it, ingraining the feeling of every ridge and curve of him into your mind, ensuring you’ll never forget this moment, or him. You drag your hands over his shoulders and loop your fingers around the rolled bandana that still hangs from his neck, swinging over your face at the same rhythm that his hips are pumping into you. Using it to bring him closer, you tug him into a kiss and open your mouth to him, an offering of your tongue that he welcomes.

Sinking to his elbows, his body blankets yours and his strokes lose their depth, shallow and sharp and allowing the base of him to put pressure on your clit. As the moan rolls up your throat he releases your lips and lets it float into the air.

“Does that feel nice, my beautiful girl?” A kiss pressed to the sticky skin of your neck, right to that spot.

“So good, so good just like this.”

“Mm, sound so pretty. You feel like a dream, I never wanna wake up.”

Never, never. You’d swear you’re just thinking it but it’s spilling from your lips as you feel the hot ember that’s been glowing inside you all day begin to ignite.

He feels it too, the easy glide of his cock moving inside you disrupted by the tightening of your walls around him.

“I feel you…” His hips grind into you, your clit is throbbing as he rolls against it. “Can you cum like this?”

It’s an honest question. As much as he does seem to know, he doesn’t actually know your body or what it’s capable of. Regardless, the flush of embarrassment warms your chest and creeps up your neck.

“I- fuck, I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.”

He puts everything he has learned into practice, his face tucked into the crook of your neck where his tongue and teeth play over that spot that makes you whimper, your hands grip his biceps as he brings one of his own to your tit and brushes the pad of his thumb over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers. He lets his body work between your legs, hips moving rapidly but staying tight against the sensitive place that you need him most.

“Ohhh my god…”

His next thrust slams against the back of your thighs, punching a yelp past your lips. “What’d I tell you?”

“Josh! Keep going, pleasepleaseplease!”

He grinds hard against you and forces your mouth open with his. As soon as the tip of his tongue slips over yours, the fire explodes inside you.

He tries to lift himself away, to see you unravel, watch it consume you, but your hold on him is unwavering so he stays and kisses you until your lungs are burning. When your face jerks to the side and you’re able to draw a deep breath, he waits until he feels your muscles relax around his hips and then his cock before he starts to move again.

“A goddess of the moon is what you are,” your face turns up to him as he separates your chests and props himself over you, even in the blue darkness and through the fog in your brain you can see that the honey and amber of his eyes has disappeared. “How could I not be drawn to you, like the tides?”

He’s gone poetic again, and you can’t imagine that you’re the source of his inspiration but his gaze is drinking you in as it moves over your face and then down your body. He leans in and places a chaste kiss to your collarbone before pushing away and sitting back on his heels, your legs falling away from him and feet landing on the blanket.

His hands wrap themselves around your thighs, just above your knees and you reach out to feel his stomach flex as he starts to thrust into you again, deep strokes that allow you to feel every inch of him as he drags over your walls.

“Mmm, does that make you the sun, then? Burning so brightly that you make me glow, even in the dark?”

He chuckles even as his cock pulses inside you. “I like that.” His eyes drop to where he’s sliding in and out of you, that dark patch between your thighs only adding to the appeal of your cunt taking him in over and over again. “Fucking hell, keep talking to me.”

It makes you smile, the way he wants to hear you, but… “I don’t have a way with words like you- oh fuck.”

His teeth are gritted, his rhythm getting sloppy. He’s close. “Say those dirty words, I know you know some.”

You let your hands slip from his stomach and land on your own chest, his eyes drawn to the rainbow of your fingertips sinking into the pale flesh of your tits before one travels down your stomach.

“I want you to cum for me, Josh.” He grunts above you and his hips stutter. Your fingertips reach your pubic hair and he groans as they trail through it. “Cum on me. Right here.” You tap your fingers there.

He pulls out of you and grips his dick, pushing the tip into the soft curls and growling your name as his release spills over them.

He strokes himself only a couple of times, shuddering as the last of it empties onto you and planting his fists into the blanket at your sides, his head dropped so that you can only see the halo of curls at the crown of his head. You can hear him breathing heavily, but he doesn’t lift his head to look at you so you run your fingers over his hair.

“Josh?”

“Hm?”

“Look at me?” Before he does, he brings a hand to your mound and slips his thumb over the mess he’s made there, spreading it through your hair with a final soft groan.

When his eyes meet yours, his lids are heavy and his lips are drawn into a tight line. It’s not the expression you were expecting, and it makes you nervous again.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He moves back over you and takes your face into the palm of his hand, his stare is intense as he searches your eyes for something that you're not sure that he’s finding there. Before he answers, he soothes your nerves with a soft, barely there kiss that brushes over your lips just long enough to make them tingle. His forehead drops to yours, sweat-dampened curls pressed between them.

“No, beautiful. I don’t think you ever could.”

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here @gretavanbitches @twistedmelodies @wildflowerxx-x @dannythedog @blissfulbellss @averagemisfit03 @dharmasdivine @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lucimoo @toxbexannouncedx @dig0930 @maddie-van-fleet @friska101-cg @welllauragvf @gretasimp @objectsinspvce @writingcold @gretavangroupie @sweetybre @gretasgoose @gvfjess @josh-iamyour-mama

This miniseries will have a third part and a short epilogue, please let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the Taglist 🫶