#their age gap is 11 years my god

[28ms28]

Franco Colapinto is dating an older woman with kids ??

Welcome back Max Verstappen

[hella1975]

forever wishing sam fender would unrelease dead boys

[shrenvents]

Professor Howlett

Warnings: Minors dni, smut, no protection, fingering, vaginal, doggy, pet names, squirting, age gap (legal!)

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Student (Mutant) reader

Summary: Your history professor always seemed uninterested in you, that was until you missed his class.

Word count: 2.7k

…

Throughout high school I’ve always kind of stood out. To be honest, I only have myself to blame. Bright colours and statement pieces are just so much more appealing, than wearing something ‘plain.’ Unfortunately, I did more than just “stand out” that day, just three weeks away from senior graduation. That fateful day, I was so close to the finish line, before my stupid ex-boyfriend discovered my secret, and outed it to the entire student body.

That I’m a mutant…

That was what led me across the coast, for most of the past year, running from god knows what. I heard the stories of mutants being hunted and gone missing, and I didn’t intend to stick around long enough, that I wouldn’t at least make it to my 20th birthday.

However, my days of swindling folks of cash and food came to a halt, when I spotted a man with red-tinted glasses watching me. His invested gaze observed my every movement, so I grabbed all my shit, and the last bit of petty change I managed to get, and sprinted into a crowd.

Just as I thought I was in the clear, my face collided with a colossal, firm chest. I pressed the heels of my palms into it, and felt the cotton of his white shirt, and the rough, yet smooth texture of his worn-in, leather jacket.

Logan Howlett, or should I say, Mr. Howlett, my history Professor... After he and Scott captured me, they dragged me by the ankles to their school for the “gifted.” I cringed when they said where we were headed, but once I arrived and saw all the kids, like me, going about their lives, free, I knew everything would be more than okay.

And one thing I knew for sure, is that I wouldn’t mind attending Mr. Howlett’s class. Did I know shit about history, yes. But I’ve always had a thing for the older guy, and from what I’ve heard, he’s more than enough in that department.

...

This morning, racing out of my room, I swore profusely at my tardiness... Just my luck. The one day that week I get to see and listen to Logan talk for an hour straight, my alarm malfunctions.

Multitasking between attempting to put on my hot-pink heels, wrapping my sparkly bag over my shoulder, and shutting my door, I missed the approaching figure behind me.

“It’s past 11 am, where do you think you’re headed?” I swivel on my toes, spinning to face Storm. “Class?”

“The only class you have left today kid, is at 2. You’ve managed to miss the rest already,” she scolds flatly.

“Noooo,” I fake astonishment and defeat, as I slowly back away from Storm's scrutinizing stare. She calls my name after I’ve taken at least two large steps backward. “Logan wants to see you,” she states, exasperated.

“Oh?” I straighten out, stopping my next step short. “Ok!” I exclaim, a little too perky. She huffs a faint smirk and walks off, and I take flight, zooming to Logan’s class, where he’s most likely dozed off.

Lo and behold, after knocking once and receiving no response, I open the door to see him snoring. With his legs fully extended, and feet resting on his desk, I bask in his lengthy physic. I giggle and then go towards him.

Mr. Howlett?” I say, clearing my throat loudly, he grunts in his sleep and I smile. “Mr. Howlett?” I say even sweeter. A second later, I swear he mumbles my name and my heart stutters, but he’s still sleeping. I move in closer to his ear. “Logan,” I announce rigidly, and my change in tone makes him flinch, legs falling off the table, eyes popping open.

He rasps my name, voice echoing through the classroom. I refused to move away from my position, wanting to seem unaffected by him, but I was anything but. With his lazy eyes roaming over my skin, my heart races wildly. He clears his throat, and rolls his eyes away after taking in my attire, as he usually does —gives me a once-over, and rolls his eyes back to his focus on his lecture.

“You missed class, that isn’t like you,” he notes, almost to himself.

“Yes and I’m sorry-“

“I hope it wasn’t because you were too busy picking that outfit.” Logan scoffs and my eyes widen. He’s always made snarky comments, and this wasn’t anything new, but every time he does, I can’t help the boiling feeling in my lungs, that makes me rise to defend myself. “No, maybe I just felt like sleeping in?” I declare. A short-lived chuckle escapes him. “And you’re just gonna admit to that?” He smirks as he faces me. “I don’t like kids skipping my class.”

“First off, I’m an adult, second, you don’t care when kids skip your class,” I retort, with a growing smile, beaming across my face. Though, his complimentary smile, drops as mine comes to full form. He’s never seemed fond of my smile, or maybe it’s just me.

“You don’t skip my class.” He states once again, and my head quirks in confusion. “Um, I’m sorry?” I compromise, “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” He remarks dangerously. My brows furrow.

“Okay, I don’t get why it matters so much to you Mr. Howlett.” I place my hands on my hips, gazing down at him in his chair like I'm reprimanding a child. Which he is not akin to.

He lifts from his chair, standing up. I gasp as he towers over me. “Watch your tone, or I’ll fail ya,” he counters, fighting a smirk, staying stoic. “What?” I yelp and his smirk breaks through. My jaw goes slack. “Mr. Howlett, that’s not funny!”

“What’s not funny, is you pretending like calling me 'Mr. Howlett,' doesn’t turn you on.”

I freeze in disbelief. Was this one of my daydreams? Am I really awake right now?

“You heard me, you damn highlighter,” he asserts. “Call me Logan for fucks sake, if you’re a damn adult.” His scratchy voice loses its humour, and I stay frozen to the spot. “Get outta here, would ya,” Logan orders as he leisurely retakes his seat, getting comfortable for his next nap.

Unable to drag myself away, my eyes refocus on the subject of my desires. “Why do I have such a thing for assholes.”

Before Logan can respond angrily, I sit on his lap, dropping my purse to the floor, and straddling his hips. I cup his perplexed face and crash our mouths together, moulding them into one. He grunts in surprise as if he didn’t expect me to retaliate, as if he didn’t expect that I would want him this way.

He half-heartedly pulls away between kisses, whispering my name in small protests, but he gets muffled by my lips and grinds on his lap. Quickly, his objections turn into fierce groans. He takes my hips into his hands, tightly gripping into my flesh as he pushes me back, onto his desk. I whimper as his crotch stays glued to my core, even as we move. One hand then moves from my hip to my neck, holding it, then slowly sliding to my jaw, grasping it in a hungry, pressing kiss. His tongue laps my mouth, completely dominating me, and I struggle to breathe.

Just as I’m about to pull away to comment on how desperate he seems, his other hand flips me over with ease. My stomach is now on top of his desk, his crotch, like iron against my ass, and his hands trace down from my shoulder blades, to my bum. With my head hung over the desk, I pant, practically drooling.

“You’re asking for detention pinky,” he mutters, and I respond by pushing back into his hard cock. “I'm a sucker for extra attention teach,” I mention, as sensually as I could muster. He chuckles lowly, and I shudder. The pressure of his dick doesn’t change, and his hands continue their unhurried venture of me. “You like attention sweets?” Logan questions softly. His tone makes me shiver and whimper, yet again. “I like yours.”

“Just mine?” He questions darkly, telling me he doesn’t actually want any opposition. “Yes,” I whisper.

His voice drops an octave as he swears, rolling his hips into me once. I moan loudly. “Shhhh princess, you tryna alert the entire building?” He asks with amusement evident. I shake my head, no, and he laughs by my ear as he dips down. “Good, because I don’t like sharing your attention,” he says passively. “And I’d like to be the only ‘asshole,’ that gets to see what’s under these ridiculous clothes.”

“Hey!” I object meekly. I feel him smile as he leans away from my ear, and I turn my head over my shoulder to watch him peer down at where our bodies meet. “You probably want me to fuck you on this desk.” He speaks as though I’m not there to hear him. “Ya probably want to be taken here so that every time you’re sitting in my class, you can imagine me deep inside you.” He trails off as his hand pushes up my shirt, touching my lower back.

“But we can’t do that,” he sighs hoarsely.

“Why?” My reply is so quick that I grimace.

“Because, if we did, I’d be hard every time I’m in this fucking room, and that ain’t the smartest idea.” I moan at his crudeness and gasp when he pecks my naked spine, just below my bra clip. “Even your lingerie is pink huh?” He laughs smoothly. “Imagined it would be.” My legs rub together instinctively at his words.

“You imagined it?”

He pauses. “Hell yeah I did, though I tried to fight it,” he muses in between a groan. “It didn’t take me long to figure you wanted this too, princess,” he murmurs pleasantly.

After a long beat of silence and a little grinding, I speak up. “So now what? If you’re not going to make love to me here.”

He slowly pushes the hair over my face, behind my ear, tilting my head to face him just a bit. He then leans down and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’ll come to you,” is all Logan says as he reluctantly wrenches himself from me, after giving my ass cheek a mild slap. I yelp and nearly pout at the loss of touch. We hold eye contact as he backs away. “Get going, otherwise you’ll be late,” he comments airily. I nod and scurry out the room, with a grin plastered on my face.

...

After a long, vigorous rest of the day. I collapse into my plushy bed with a sigh.

“Took you long enough,” a dark voice rings, with a hint of familiar sass. I jolt up to see Logan leaning on my wardrobe. His tight shirt is further strained when his arms cross. “Been waiting to ‘make love' to ya all day,” he claims, with a mocking tone, repeating my "childish" words from earlier. My best guess is that he assumes I’m a virgin, from that sentence alone.

So, in an attempt to remedy my reputation, sitting up on my bed, with my arms bracing my figure, I slowly spread my bent legs. I bite my bottom lip, and his eyes shift down and blacken. “Get on with it then, Logan.” I roll my tongue as his name teasingly leaves my mouth. His head twitches in an almost feral manner, and I gulp.

“You’re asking for it,” is all he mumbles before pouncing on me. Our limbs tangle and I moan as his leg presses into my clothed clit. “Please,” I just about sob, to which he responds with an aggressive kiss and another crushing rub of his thigh. I moan louder, and he grunts, “You like that?” I push my hands into his hair, running my fingers through his thick locks. He lets out a coarse groan.

Loving how vocal he is, I decide to encourage him by groping his cock over his rugged jeans. “Fuck, baby,” he groans out when his mouth leaves mine. He then runs his tongue over my neck and collar, soon nibbling on my earlobe. His thigh continues to make work of me, and I match his pace. “You're so dirty,” he grins while his nose brushes my rosy cheek, and then he's kissing me. “I love it,” he professes with amusement, again, coaxing his tone.

Just as I begin undoing his belt, he flips me over on my stomach like before. Then, when I'm lying flat underneath him, he grabs my hips, to lift them towards his crotch as he kneels above. “I better see a pink thong,” he jokes as he strips me bare. He groans in satisfaction as I’m left in just my underwear for his viewing. “Unreal,” Logan practically purrs.

I wiggle my ass playfully, and he growls and smacks it harder than he did in his classroom. I squeal into my pillow, briskly going quiet when I hear his belt being ripped from the loops of his denim. Leaving my underwear in place, he runs his digits over the lace, making me whine, "Logan."

With his name on my tongue, it shortly turns into a cry as the lace covering my clit gets moved to the side, and two meaty fingers dive into me. "Shit, princess," he rasps. "How am I gonna fit?" He asks rhetorically, and I choke a sob, as he wastes no time building up an energetic pace, with his fingers.

He swiftly tears an orgasm from my trembling body, still holding my hips up with one hand. When his fingers leave, I hear his mouth clean them, and I swing my head to face him hastily, but he shoves my head back into my pillow. "So eager," he more or less snickers.

"Very," my smothered voice emits, barely audible.

I nearly shriek when his tip swipes my wet slit. Logan, without notice, suddenly pushes himself inside me, with an agonizing slowness, but I quietly persist. "Atta girl, that's it," he lazily groans out encouragements. My hands pathetically slide onto his thighs, unsure if I'm urging him for more, or begging for discretion.

At once, he shoves himself in all the way, and I let out an extensive sigh. His palm, which was just holding down my head, joins his other hand on my abandoned hip. He lets out various curses, along with my name, and begins to move, in and out. Soon enough, he's pounding into me at a savage rate, completely untamed. As well, it seems purposeful, how he simultaneously bends down to growl and moan in my ear, still thrusting.

He stirs another orgasm, still notably, not experiencing his own. "You look real pretty like this princess," he begins to ramble. "Gonna do this every fucking day." The rest of what he says gets lost in translation, as I grow overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Thoughtlessly, I try to crawl away while he still has my lower half hoisted up. Once Logan realizes what I'm up to, my pitiful effort has him laughing. "Where ya going?"

"Lo, it's too much-"

"Lo? Call me that again, it's cute," he hums.

"No more," I whimper, ignoring him.

"Just one more baby," Logan coos, while somehow increasing his pace, making me cum instantly, squirting a little. His moan rumbles in his chest, and he doesn't stop hammering into me. I grip my headboard, and one of his arms stretches alongside mine, to do the same.

When he cums, his grip snaps the wood, breaking a part of the headboard, making me shout in between sobs. He seems to not notice the damage, too busy finishing on my backside.

After a long minute, he slumps his large frame beside me. One of his arms stays drifting across my skin as his eyes intently coast over my features. "Maybe consider skipping my class more often," Logan expresses as his lips slightly tip upward. He presses his lips onto my shoulder. I smile, giggling, "Why?"

"Cause it doesn’t matter where I fuck you, there's nowhere I won't get hard looking at that pretty face," he smiles dreamily, "And you're impractical wardrobe.”

I giggle, "You truly have a way with words," I pause and smirk, "Mr. Howlett."

He rises onto his elbow with a devilish grin, "Now you're really asking for it princess."

Part two

[whatsnewalycat]

RUTHLESS

Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.1k+

Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

------

Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next. 

Channel 11: Nothing. 

Channel 12: Zilch. 

Channel 13: Nada. 

When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing. 

Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over. 

Got enough for the kids? Over. 

And leftovers. Over. 

I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out. 

The air goes silent.

After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in. 

You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription. 

Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages. 

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?

Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board. 

You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.” 

Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew. 

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.” 

(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed. 

The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date. 

There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight. 

You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button. 

“Radio check.” 

A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”

Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side. 

This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks. 

Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.” 

You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding. 

“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”

“I did. Over.” 

“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.” 

“Cloudy. Over.” 

Fuck. 

You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”

“Fine, just busy is all.”

You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues. 

“Anything new with you? Over.” 

Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”

It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation. 

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.” 

Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause. 

You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings. 

The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business. 

You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs. 

Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl. 

Your heart skips a beat. 

You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation. 

I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert. 

Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk. 

Indecision churns in your belly. 

You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say. 

That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow. 

Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over. 

You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you. 

Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? 

—

Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown. 

The lights are on. 

They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.

Motherfu—

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room. 

He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?” 

“N-nowhere.” 

The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.” 

“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?” 

You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod. 

“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”

Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback. 

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?” 

“Try again.” 

The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?” 

Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog. 

You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why did you?” 

Your heart thuds against your ribcage. 

Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble. 

There has to be a way out of this conversation.

You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t change the subject.” 

Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.” 

“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?” 

You respond by rolling your eyes. 

“Answer the question.” 

With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.” 

You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.” 

“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.” 

Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek. 

His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud. 

He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky. 

When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.” 

“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”

“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.” 

Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile. 

All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you. 

You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps. 

Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.

“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.” 

You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question. 

“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?” 

A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin. 

He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong. 

You also understand that you like it. 

You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same. 

Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.

He fucking slapped you. 

“Wrong answer.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.” 

“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?” 

You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain. 

“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.” 

“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.” 

“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?” 

A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities. 

You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.” 

“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.” 

Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.” 

He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm. 

“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room. 

He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin. 

Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you. 

“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?” 

It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”

He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?” 

Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless. 

It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do. 

Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together. 

Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?” 

Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.

Smack. 

He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?” 

When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire. 

His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good. 

You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake. 

“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.” 

Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you. 

You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed. 

When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense. 

“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?” 

You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”

“Are you sorry for what you did?” 

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”

He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release. 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach. 

“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”

“Show me you mean it.” 

He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs. 

Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth. 

Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.

You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again. 

This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe. 

“Look at me,” he orders, so you do. 

He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly. 

Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his. 

For years and years, you ached for more. 

When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t. 

But this is something. 

Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel. 

When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?” 

“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?” 

“Not tonight.” 

“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?” 

You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter. 

“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?” 

The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago. 

“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure. 

“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.” 

“He pulled out,” you shrug. 

He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.” 

You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt. 

The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.

While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?” 

You shake your head. 

His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor. 

He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole. 

You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there. 

Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock. 

The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further. 

Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”

His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him. 

“It hurts, I don’t like it.“ 

“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.

“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”

He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?” 

It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.” 

Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper. 

“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”

“But if you—”

“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.” 

“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes. 

“What’s that?” 

You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?” 

“That’s none of your business,” he warns. 

“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?” 

“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?” 

In response, you glare at him. 

He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately. 

“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?” 

You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe. 

“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?” 

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.” 

“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”

“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body. 

“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?” 

“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”

“Are you sorry?” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”

“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away. 

“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”

When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.” 

With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.

It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows. 

“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”

“I told you, didn’t I?” 

“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?” 

“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?” 

A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”

“Do you wanna come too?”

“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”

“Come with me, baby.”

You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch. 

Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again. 

His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you. 

Then he turns away and starts getting dressed. 

“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.” 

As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt. 

“Joel—”

He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say. 

“This stays between us, understand?” 

His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.” 

Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead. 

“Good girl.” 

[ NEXT PART ]

[ddejavvu]

OMG SPENCER REUNITING WITH HIS POPULAR! HS CRUSH.

disclaimer: both characters are well over 18 years of age, but it's mentioned that they knew each other when their age gap was of significance as spencer was young for a high school student.

Spencer's not surprised his face doesn't jog your memory- after all, 11 looks very different than 29. But 18 years later, and you're standing in front of him, 34, your brows wrinkled ever-so-slightly in the middle as you process his name.

"Are you-" You start, realization dawning on you as you stand before the team of FBI agents, "Oh my god, are you the Spencer Reid that went to my high school? The genius kid?"

"That was me," His mouth flattens in an awkward grin, and your eyes light up. Prentiss and Morgan's eyes do the same, but Reid is pointedly ignoring them.

"Wow," You gush, "You helped me pass my physics exam! Oh my god, thank you, I wouldn't have graduated if it weren't for you."

"You're a fast learner," Spencer deflects, even if it's untrue. He'd spent hours coaching you on physics principles, but he didn't mind as it gave him more time to sit with you.

"You remember me!" You marvel, nervousness at the looming threat of your stalker momentarily gone, "I can't believe you're an FBI agent, that's so cool. Actually- I can totally believe that. But still! So cool."

"It's not as glamorous as it might seem on television," Spencer begins, but Derek stops his ramble short with a broad hand to the center of Reid's sweater-vest-clad chest.

"Don't listen to Pretty Boy. It's super cool- you should see him fire a gun. He's a great shot," He lies through his teeth, and Spencer's never understood the significance of the term bro until right this moment, "He's really good at kicking down doors, too."

"Woah," Your eyes glimmer, and Spencer's thighs ache just thinking about partaking in Morgan's favorite pastime, "So are you gonna be, like, my bodyguard until this guy's caught?"

"Oh, yes he is," Prentiss nods, her grin bright as she shoves Spencer forwards, "From now until that creep is locked away, Reid's gonna be glued to your side, Y/N."

[evie-sturns]

ᴇxᴀᴍ - ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ꜱᴛᴜʀɴɪᴏʟᴏ

summary: you're mind is clouded with stress due to the fact your final highschool exams are next week. matt comes over to help you with studying, and also to take your mind off everything.

contains: smut, fluff, small age gap?, swearing, crying.

—--------------------≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫-----------------——

matt and i have known each other since he was 13 and i was 11, our families have been super close for around 7 years. a year ago Matt confessed to me, I felt the exact same.

"oh my fucking god." i groan, throwing my head into my hands as i feel a burning sensation at the back of my throat.

its my final exam week starting tomorrow, and i'm attempting to catch up on last minute homework beforehand. matt graduated 2 years ago, he was top of his class, i pick up my phone and dial his number.

i need desperate help.

"hey!" matt says into the phone, a smile clear by his voice.

i sniffle quickly before starting "please come over nothing is making sense." my voice wobbles as i clutch the phone in my hand.

"oh fuck-.. no yeah ill be round in 5 minutes okay?" he says gently into the phone.

i nod like he can see me, then hang up.

-

i hear my bedroom door opening, my head snaps up to look at him from my bed. hes got worry painted across his face as i see his eyes dart over my matress, which has several books on it. "you okay?" he asks, walking over to my bed and sitting down on it opposite me.

i shake my head "i can't do this shit" i groan, matt nods understandably before grabbing my hands and pulling them away from my face.

"look at me" he says in a serious tone, i tilt my head up and lock eyes with him. "i'm gonna help you okay?"

"thank you," i say as my voice breaks.

he sits up and walks over by my side before plopping down on the bed next to me, he grabs the textbook which has around 15 questions left on it. "not even ai understands it, i tried." i sigh earning a laugh from matt, i lean my head on his shoulder.

"basic algebra, you know this, i know you do sweetheart."

i shake my head "my brains so fucking foggy i bet you i couldnt do a 6th grade multiplication table right now."

"foggy like how" he questions, tilting his head.

"just everything i have so much on my mind." i reply lifting my head off his shoulder and staring at the questions.

"you're okay, look- 'factorising an algebraic equation means writing the expression as product of factors, which are simpler algebraic expressions, this is done..." the rest of what matt says doesnt get through to me, i cant physically wrap my mind around it right now.

i feel my eyes start to water before several tears start to flow down my cheeks, "got it?" matt asks, keeping his eyes fixated on the page resting on the sheets. i stay silent "hello?" he says again, this time looking over at me.

"oh god- no no don't cry" matt panics, grabbing my cheeks and giving me a gentle kiss.

"i can't think." i squeeze out, matt wraps around me. "this might not sound like good timing but, i can.. help you?" he says nervously, grimacing slightly.

i hand him the pencil, his words not passing through. "no no, like i can take your mind off of the work for a little bit" he repeats.

realisation hits me and my eyebrows raise, my head snapping round to look at matt who has an innocent expression plastered on his face. i nod, and without another word my shirt is halfway across the room.

he laughs quietly, his shirt meeting mine in the corner of the room. his chain lays loose on his bare chest. he stands up off the bed, i lie back. "i want you to just be a... - like a uh" my eyebrows scrunch "a what?"

"i hate the word but its the best way i can describe it." matt chuckles, "say it!" i smile

"pillow princess..?" he says quietly, icking himself out.

"okay" i shake my head with a wide grin before.

matts long cold fingers reach out to grab the waistband of my sweatpants, sending goosebumps down my body. he tugs at it gently, letting it slide down my legs.

"you okay?" he asks while unclasping his belt "i think?" i reply stupidly.

he nods, his tongue sticking out to wet his now dry lips. his baggy jeans pool at his ankles, leaving him in his boxers.

"ready?"

i nod, "yep-..yeah"

he stands between my legs before hovering over me, colliding our lips together aggressively.

it never fails to shock me how he can switch from so innocent to so.. different.

i moan lightly into the kiss as i feel his clothed bulge against my inner thigh. he abrubtly pulls away from the kiss pecking kisses down my neck, to my chest, to my stomach.

i squirm desperately on the bed as he pauses just above my clit.

"more." i whine, matt shakes his head, lifting his head up and grabbing my thighs he spreads them further apart.

i throw my head back "fuck." i breathe, before i can breath again matts tip presses against my clit. i instantly look up, questioning how hes just undressed the rest of the way in under a second.

he runs his soft tip through my folds, he presses only an inch or 2 inside of me before he pulls out, continuing to tease me.

"matt i need you." i groan, my back arching off the bed.

"can you get on fours for me sweetheart?" he asks softly, i nod, instantly flipping over and arching my back.

"good girl." he coos, lining himself up with me. "gonna keep being whiny?" he asks, i shake my head no. "thats right." he says.

"this is whats gonna happen okay? you aren't gonna start asking me to slow down because i think we both know how needy you were just acting."

fuck.

i dont think a single sentence has ever turned me on more.

i nod frantically, matt presses down on my back, arching my back more.

i feel him slide halfway inside of me slowly before slamming the rest of his length into me, earning a squeal from me.

before i can even process my thoughts hes slamming full force into me, deeper and deeper each time. my moans cloud the room along with heavy breaths coming from matt.

his tip continues to bruise my cervix, i clench around him each time it does.

"fuck-.." i hear matt whimper lowly from behind me.

he reaches a hand round under me and presses on my lower stomach.

hes never done that before, but holy fuck am i glad he did.

i instantly release over matts cock, clenching harshly around him with a scream.

matt pulls out, releasing over my back.

"you-you okay?" he stammers breathlessly, flopping down beside me.

i nod, my mind fully blank.

i guess him 'helping clear my head' worked.

-

matt finishes redressing me before sitting back down next to me, the air around us is hot and thick, but matts still determened to get this homework done.

"okay- so as i was saying factorising an algebraic equation means writing the expression as product of factors...

-

matt and i have been working through the textbook for about 20 minutes, everything makes sense and now i can't understand what i wasnt understanding earlier.

"you try this one okay?" matt hands me the pencil and i start to scribble down the awnsers. "you got it!" he smiles proudly, kissing my cheek.

i yawn, tired out from.. everything.

"you tired?" he asks, wrapping him arms around me and flopping down on the mattress. "very." i reply, my voice croaky.

"you wanna sleep, we can finish this tomorrow morning okay? and ill just drop you off at school or whatever." he asks, without another word im fast asleep on his chest.

1:24am

i wake up to the sound of pencil scribbling on paper, confused i sit up. matts sitting criss cross on the bed, leaning down over my textbook and filling in all the awnsers.

"matt?" i groan, rubbing my eyes.

"go back to sleep gorgeous," he replys, looking back at me

"what are you doing.." i ask, my eyes adjusting to the light.

"im doing this for you, you already know how to do it, i saw you. you're gonna be too tired to do this in the morning." he says.

i crawl over to matt and smother him in kisses "maattt, thats adorable."

"shush, this is a one time thing." he replys, shaking his head with a smirk.

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

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part, forbidden love, slow burn.

warnings: fem!reader, age gap, lots of worldbuilding for snezhnaya & the fatui & fontaine, dottore is his own warning, angst and romance, none others that i can think of off the top of my head. each chapter will have its own warnings, it is self-ship coded, and i will take liberty with dottore’s known lore.

status: incomplete. updates sporadic, at least monthly.

taglist: 50/50 (CLOSED. if you would like to be on it, still comment here—i’m going to periodically go through and remove people who don’t interact, and then i’ll add you)

notes: sigh i wanted to give my beluved a little series. this is something i’ll be working on in my free time for fun, so updates will be sporadic, i was gonna post the reincarnation fic butttt that one is a little too dear to my heart ALL SEGMENTS THAT SHOW UP IN THIS SERIES ARE MINE ‼️ i created them, do not take them to use for yourself.

00. THE SEGMENTS

01. MIDWINTER

02. JOY

03. THE COLOR PURPLE

04. THE FAMILY JEWELS

05. AN INEXORABLE DEATH

06. RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

07. A WARM WELCOME

08. THE DOCTOR

09. THE TIES THAT BIND

10. GENESIS

11. DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

12. SPIT IN MY FACE

13. ALEA IACTA EST

… TBA

SIDE STORIES

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT,  AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

rbs appreciated!

[genericpuff]

I know LO has been over for a while but something that's always confused me is the 10 year punishment thing. (I dropped the comic before the judgment so correct me if im wrong)

apparently Persephone was sentenced to 10 years in the mortal realm. Yet she complains that Zeus keeps extending her punishment but the timeskip only ends up being 10 years? (From 20 yrs old to 30). that makes it sound like she had a shorter sentence that was extended to 10 yrs (what a fuckin slap on the wrist if it was).

Either her punishment was 10 yrs and Perse was just banking on early parole release or she always had a short sentence which ended up being a measly 10 yrs anyway.

But then that would mean Demeter's punishment period was either tied directly to Persephone's or (for some reason) she had a full 10 yr sentence while Persephone got an initial shorter period

If it's not either of those then shouldn't her punishment be longer? 11, 12, 15, 20 yrs instead? Would make more sense that she was mad if she had to serve at least twice as long as she was told to

Ah so actually she wasn't sentenced to 10 years, she was basically sentenced to a perpetual punishment until Zeus felt certain conditions were met, such as her filling all of the responsibilities of Demeter and turning Minthe back to normal.

So the reason it wound up being 10 years was because Zeus kept finding reasons to extend the sentencing, clearly in an attempt to keep her away from Apollo as he was already suspecting that he might use Persephone's fertility goddess powers to overthrow him.

(joke's on Zeus though, he was overthrown with a poison cupcake lmaooo)

That said, Persephone was... really dumb when she failed her 10th inspection. Primarily because she broke one of the rules Zeus put in place for her before he did the inspection-

Like it's really funny in hindsight to read this scene because at the time the narrative was definitely trying to make us believe that Zeus was the bad guy here, and to a point he's definitely fucking around and not actually planning on letting her out of confinement while also doing jack shit to get to the bottom of his own suspicions regarding his son... but also girl, if your plan was to prove to Zeus that you had filled your end of the bargain, then why try and give him the letter prior to your once-a-year inspection? Either you're failed again over some arbitrary made-up bullshit reason so you can use the guilt-trip method after he's already screwed you over, or best case, you pass and you can deliver the letter to Hades yourself! It was a really dumb move on her part to immediately jump to asking him to bend the rules he made for her when she should know Zeus isn't gonna feel obligated to 'owe' her anything, and is completely contrary to her being as "smart and cunning" as the narrative tries to make us believe (remember when she hustled Hades at chess and lied to him about having a driver's license? where's that Persephone?)

And yeah Zeus really isn't wrong when it comes to how Persephone herself is such a "uwu look at me I'm a smol widdle baby girl, please break the terms of my punishment for me because I asked with tented eyebrows bats eyelashes" , this is honestly why so many people like Zeus as a character in LO contrary to how much the narrative tries to make us hate him, because while he's absolutely an asshole who deserves to be knocked down a peg, at least the narrative doesn't try to gaslight us into thinking he's a good person like it does with H x P. Zeus is a shithead but unapologetically authentic; Persephone and Hades both pretend like they're saints on earth (and the narrative tries to sell them to us as such) meanwhile they're constantly picking on lower class people and using their power and influence to get their way even when they haven't earned it.

But also yeah, it's funny how the fans will say "age doesn't matter when you're a god, time doesn't mean anything when you're immortal" to dismiss the massive age gap between Hades and Persephone, but then cry foul over Zeus keeping her in confinement for 10 years which is a pretty bare ass minimum sentence when you really think about it. Like, if the passage of time really is that inconsequential to a god, then how is 10 years even a punishment? It's only suddenly seen as a massively unfair punishment when it's Persephone who's suffering it.

[totothewolff]

📁 Masterlist > My Toto Wolff & Sewis fics └👤 Other profiles: AO3 / Discord / Wattpad

[📚Multichapter][⏳Long read]

Season of Love

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨Toto x reader(fem team principal)][💘Romance][🥵Smut][😂Comedy][😪Drama][🏎F1 World/Races/Teams/Paddock][✍️WIP]

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are. 📁 Masterlist: └📁 Dances with Wolff Arc └📁 1 Engines on and hearts off! └📁 2 Lights out, and away your feelings go! └📁 3 Can you feel the traction? └📁 4 No brakes, just love! └📁 5 Cold tires, warm heart └📁 6 Collision at Turn "Your Heart" └📁 The Color of Truth is Blue Arc └📁 7 Red flagsss └📁 8 Safety car needed └📁 The Sebaffäre Arc └📁 9 Coming soon... └📁 10 Coming soon... └📁 Love Lies, Miss Normani Arc └📁 11 Coming soon... └📁 Dances with Wolff Arc └📁 12 Coming soon... └📁 13 Coming soon... └📁 14 Coming soon...

Chemtrails Over the Yacht Club Collection

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader(fem service staff)][💘 Romance][🥵Smut][🎀 Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🛳Yacht Culture][✍️WIP]

Summary: Toto Wolff is a name often mentioned at the Yacht Club, where you work after classes. For some reason, you have always pictured him as an old crank like the usual members, not this foxy man who arrives at the reception making your knees quiver.  The entire staff goes frenetic as he, one of the Club's most important clients, chooses to spend his spring break there without previous notice. You pray to the Gods that you don't cross lines with him since your entire livehood depends on this job, and you really want to graduate college. 📁 Collection: └📁 1 Dark But Just A Game └📁 2 Breaking Up Slowly └📁 3 Not All Who Wander Are Lost └📁 4 Dance Till We Die └📁 5 White Dress └📁 6 Let Me Love You Like a Woman

Grand Prix Elite Academy

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto(professor) x reader(student, future F1 driver)][👨‍❤️‍👨Lewis x Seb][💘Romance][🥵Smut][🎀Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Wild parties][🏫College AU][🌈Queer/Fem Seb][✍️WIP]

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus. 📁 Masterlist: └📁 1 Hi, Society! └📁 2 Gone With The Wolff └📁 3 Know Your Frenemies └📁 4 The Kids Are Not Alright └📁 5 The Twat and the Furious └📁 6 Panic Roomate └📁 7 Easy Y/N └📁 8 War of the Rosbergs └📁 9 …Baby? One More Time! └📁 10 She Wolff

[📚One-shots][⏳Long read]

I'll Be Home for Christmas

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader][🥵Smut][❤️‍🔥Mild BDSM][👄Dom/Sub][🎄Christmas]

Summary: Toto asks you in between ravenous kisses if you truly want him, even with his busy schedule, fast-paced life, countless nights miles away, and his dominant trait, the one you love to be submissive to, by saying yes you didn't expect it to be this hard! This particular season felt eternal, and you only desire to have him back, wrapped as the world's most alluring Christmas gift on your bed if possible. └📁 One-shot

Sparks Fly

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader][🥵Smut][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🎆New Years]

Summary: Toto is ready to leave his shitty 2023 behind and start 2024 in the best way possible, and you don't want to spend another New Year's Eve all by yourself; it's like destiny and the universe conspired to bring you two together. └📁 One-shot

The Lonely Hearts Party

[👩‍❤️‍👨Toto(boss) x reader(fem merc employee)][💘Romance][😊Fluff] [😂Comedy][🗄Corporate Mercedes][💝Valentine's Day]

Summary: For weeks now, you have been receiving the most gorgeous flowers every Wednesday morning at your desk at the Brackley Headquarters, as a mysterious admirer seems so in love with you. The entire factory, your besties at work, and you all wonder who he is. Could it be the one you truly wish for? └📁 One-shot

The Big Slip

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨Toto x reader (fem middle class artist)][💘Romance][🥵Smut][😪Drama][🕵️‍♂️Secret Identity][💸Social gap][🪐AU]

Summary: Your life as a struggling arts graduate in Monaco, coming from a working-class family who lives on the outskirts, is about to change. Toto Wolff enters your life not only by giving you the best sex ever but also by making you love somebody for the first time. Arranged marriages, a horrible breakup, and an induced coma, plus his terrible parents, were a complete surprise. └📁 One-shot

The Speed Game of Love

[👩‍❤️‍👨Toto x reader(fem contestant)][💘Romance][😂Comedy][🪐AU][🤪Crack humor][🌈RuPaul's Drag Race][💫Short read]

Summary: Three fierce queens will race for your love, but only one will win your heart. Could it be the spicy Carla LaTurbo Slayz, the fierce Adore D. Hammer, or the queen of England herself, GiGi Reigns? Or maybe that sexy host could get some! Hosted by the hot and only Toto Wolff. └📁 One-shot

Daddy's Little Pet

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader(journalist)][🥵Smut][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🎀Size Kink][👄Power play]

Summary: You had come to Brackley expecting a generic interview, not a deep dive into Toto's lovemaking life. └📁 One-shot

[🚎Coming soon...][✍️WIPs]

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

It’s Murder on the Garagefloor

boss!Toto x reader Merc!employee | crack au (Clue bang), comedy, romance and mystery.

Summary: His wife, one of his drivers, an engineer, his mentor, and you (Toto's assistant) all look at the body on the floor. Is the boss really gone? Loose inside this locked garage is the murderer. Who of you killed Toto Wolff? And why?!

└📁 Coming soon...

A mile-an-hour

Boss!Toto x reader merc!employee | comedy, crack (the office bang), romance, fluff.

Summary: Getting hired on the Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team from the thousands of applicants seemed like the pinnacle of your career and a privilege. Such a prestigious and life-changing opportunity until you arrive there… Smoke is flooding the garage, Lewis is dressed exactly like George in casual clothing for some reason, and Niki plays sad Taylor Swift songs on the piano. At the same time, engineers try to catch a loose Roscoe throwing stuff everywhere. Why is even a piano in here?! Oh! And you almost forgot, Toto Wolff is crying inside his office.

└📁 Coming soon...

Fast Car

driver!Toto x driver reader | teammates dynamic, past lovers, young toto, drama, romance.

There was a time when he used to be your everything. Since childhood, you two shared a dream of one day becoming F1 drivers. Miles away from your families, you grew up only having each other, racing and experiencing life side by side. The short step from friends to lovers left natural, but the following step from F1 drivers to becoming enemies deeply scarred you. When your ambitious team offers Toto the open seat, well aware of his reckless and wild reputation, you wonder if the sweet guy you fell in love with is still hiding inside that ruthless, don juan, cold-hearted two-time world champion. It's going to be a hell of a season for you.

Cursed to Love

+18 | Lewis Hamilton x Sebastian Vettel, sewis | fantasy, witchcraft, lore, period, drama, romance, smut, pinning, epic, war, violence.

[urmymiller]

Baby’s Been Waitin’

summary: joel’s been working hard all day and you want to make him feel better with a massage. turns out, you want to feel better too.

warning/tags: MDNI. 2003!joel x reader. no use of y/n. reader has no physical description but is said to have a job. age gap (i imagine reader to be 10/11 years younger than joel). established relationship. soft dom!joel (?). no smut (sorry for being a tease). implied smut (?). reader being a bit of a brat (that's code for horny but let's be real, who wouldn't be for joel?). wc: 1k

a/n: i wrote this only cause i miss pre outbreak!joel and have been having dreams about him. lmk if there are any errors. enjoy! 🩵

On your end, it’s a boring Saturday night because you didn’t work today. Although on your boyfriend's end, it's the opposite because he sadly did. He had called you earlier in the day, saying something along the lines of, “Sorry baby, work’s gonna go on a little longer,” and mentioned something about them not having the materials they needed.

You felt that you barely saw Joel that morning. He woke before the sun rose and took a shower. He was quiet, since he knew you didn't work today so he wanted you to sleep in as long as you could. After he got dressed and grabbed his stuff, he went to your side of the bed and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey I'm leaving Baby, I'll see you later okay? I love you."

You lifted your hand up to his that was cradling your face, and hummed. "Okay, have a good day, I love you." You said sleepily.

"I will. Bye babygirl." He smiled as he stood up to close the door to the bedroom and leave for work.

****

Later that day, as you’re lying on the couch watching a movie, patiently waiting for Joel to come home, is when you hear the front door open and see that it’s him. He walks over and collapses onto the couch, next to you, and begins to take his shoes off. “There you are. Hey,” you say with a smile. You can tell he looks tired, but you give him a kiss on the cheek anyway.

He rests his head on your shoulder, looking up at you and smiles softly while he puts his hand on your thigh and rubs it, as if to say, “Sorry for being late and not giving you a kiss, I’m just exhausted.” You understand. You sit upright and ask him how his day went. He chuckles, putting both hands in his face and rubbing it, “You don’t wanna know how my day went, I promise you,” he says. But again, you ask him, in a seductive voice (hoping he won't notice), to tell you, saying, “C’mon, baby… I wanna know how your day went so I can make you feel better.” He looks you up and down, as if he’s suspicious of you, but ignores it and says, “Okay, only because you asked.” You smile. 

As he begins to speak, he doesn’t even realize you’ve started massaging his shoulders, and he leans back into you. Still going on about his day, he says, “Yeah, right there. Oh my god, baby…”

Even though he can’t see you, you smile and ask, “That feels good, huh?”

“Hell yeah. Holy shit. Where did you learn to do that?”

 You shrug and say sarcastically, “Can’t tell you. It’s top secret. You’ll never find out.” 

He rolls his eyes and laughs, “Yeah, whatever. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’ because let me tell you… it feels amazing. Don't ever stop. ”

You laugh. And after a pause, you think to yourself and smile.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks.

“No reason…” you say with a playful smirk.

“Baby, what are you up to?” He turns his head slightly. 

“Nothing!” You laugh as he’s getting suspicious of you.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s somethin’, so tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I promise.” You say as you try your best to hide your smirk. He holds your gaze and squints, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying to him or not. 

After a pause, you can’t help but spit it out, “It’s just… you wanna be bossy and tell me what to do so…” You roll your eyes sarcastically. 

He pauses, then quickly turns around and grabs your wrist as you’re about to put your hands over his shoulders onto his chest. “Did you just... call me ‘bossy’?”

“Yeah, what about it? It’s the truth.” You smirk.

“I should be the one calling you bossy, not the other way around. Besides, I know what you’re doing,” he says, trying not to smile.

You shrug and say sarcastically, “You do? Because from where I’m sitting, I’m just massaging my boyfriend because he works so hard, and since I was here all day, I’d like to make him feel better when he comes home. But he didn’t say the magic word, so I stopped.” You pout.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs once more, “You’re doing it on purpose at this point.”

Still acting like you know nothing, you say, “Doing what? And on purpose? Baby, I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to massage you, but like I said… you’re being bossy. What’s a girl to do?”

He slightly smirks and tilts his head to one side. “Call me bossy one more time and watch what happens.”

You smirk as well and pause. “Bo—”

He flips you over face-down so fast that you gasp and laugh. He gets on top of your back to straddle you and leans down to whisper in your ear. “Listen closely, okay?” You smile as you nod.

“We’re gonna go upstairs to our bedroom and I’m gonna give you what you want because I know that you want it, even though you could've just asked. But also because I’m so sorry for leaving you all alone and bored. Then, you’re gonna give me what I want, okay, brat?” He emphasizes the word "brat," knowing you planned this from the very beginning. Although he knows what you’ve been doing, he can’t deny that he loves giving you some of the best nights of your life—the kind that leave you sore the next day. 

“Okay,” you say, smirking as you turn your head to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, what?” he says.

“Okay, Baby.”

“That’s my girl. C’mon.” He lifts you up and tosses you over his shoulder.

"Oh my-- Joel!" You gasp, and the both of you laugh as he carries you up the stairs.

"This is what you wanted, right?" He says with a huge grin on his face.

“You’re gonna say the magic word for me to give you what you want, right?”

He rolls his eyes and lies you down on the bed. “We’ll see how you feel about me saying that ‘magic word’ after this.”

[roadkillremi]

A better man

Negan X F!Reader

Era - S10/11

Summary: After being stuck in a cabin with Negan, things got hot and heavy. Is there regret or enjoyment?

Warnings : Minors DNI, Legal Age Gap (Negan is in his 50s, Reader is in their 30s) , mentions Reader's and her ex's having bad fights (mentions leaving a bruise), unprotected sex, language, p in V, the pet name Doll, mentions rubbing poison ivy on hickey, the whole smut is a flashback of "yesterday night".

A/N : My first Negan fic <3. Also a couple of side notes ; Reader calls Negan Carl's and Ricks killer, I know this isn't true. It is more of the way she viewed him during S7/8. There's no use of 'Y/N', Negan refers to the reader as "Doll". Italics are used for past quotes

There were no words once you went inside the house. Your brain scrabbled with the thought of him. Your backpack slid off your shoulders leaving a thud on the ground. It laid by the entrance next to some abandoned shoes.

"You're back!" Judith and RJ ran towards you giving you a hug. You smile kneeling down to their level.

"Sorry it took me so long..." You wrapped your arms around them. You heard a creak behind you, you turned around to find Michonne. She stood in the doorway looking down at you.

"I said To be as quick as possible." She muttered. Your chest wrenches with guilt, "We were surrounded.". Michonne nodded and stepped closer, she took a good look at you.

"What the hell is that?" She pointed at your neck. You quickly reached your hand to the spot she pointed.

"What?"

"That better not be what I think it is.." she walked away. Her kids followed behind her like little ducks. You quickly went into the bathroom moving your neck around.

There it was.

A cherry red spot on your neck, your heart rate quickened. You said no hickeys, you shut your eyes hoping you're imagining things. Flashes of last night just flood your vision.

His hands roamed your body, touching you so gently. It was a mistake, you didn't mean for things to build up. You were surrounded by dead sacks of shit. It grew colder and less safe for you two to head back. You two barricaded the windows and locked the doors. He placed his crowbar by the door and sat on the couch kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

After all these years I barely know shit about you, sweetheart.

That's what led the two of you to share stories. Stories you wouldn't dare share with anyone else. He knew about your shitty ex boyfriends, the shameful hook ups. The terrible fights you'd have with said shitty ex boyfriends that ended in bruises.

If they were still alive I'd beat the shit of them

In return, he told you all about Lucille and her death. Teary eyed he stared down at you waiting for a response. You weren't sure how to react, so you hugged him. You whispered sweet nothing's into his ear.

I bet she loved you so much.

Then you two kissed in a fit of passion. Your senses are overruled by the longing of a man's touch. Undressing each other as quickly as possible. He laid you down on the old couch, his lips exploring every curve. You patted his shoulder signalling for him to stop. He looked up at you his lips pink with saliva coating them.

Before we continue we need ground rules... Don't release your fucking seed in me. Don't leave marks. Got it?

Fuck yeah, doll.

Just like that he was on top of you, his forehead on yours. He looked into your eyes watching you whimper and moan. His smug smile didn't leave his face once, he chuckled to himself before speaking.

God, this pussy is so Fucking good! No man should teach you like shit..

You pulled him down by the nape of his neck. His lips smash into yours as his beard tickles your chin. He leaned down leaving kisses all around your neck. His teeth teasingly digging into your skin, him leaving the hickey...

He made sure you finished first, holding himself back until your release coated his cock. He pulled out of you before he could spill his seed. You reached in between the two of your bodies. Your hand pumped his shaft helping him chase his orgasm. He thrusted into your hand his head tilting back. You placed kisses on his collarbone and traveled down to his tattoo. His come falling onto your torso, he groaned.

Shit, Doll... Lemme clean you up.

He grabbed his t-shirt whipping your torso off. He tossed it back into the ground before laying on top of you. His head rested on your chest as one of his hands rubbed up and down your thigh.

You buried your face into your hands. You can't do this, Think about Rick, Glenn, Carl, Abraham. They saved you, you were their family, and you slept with their killer. You focused on your racing heart, he's a changed man. You had to get rid of the hickey before anyone else sees it.

You stormed out the house grabbing your ax on the way out. You head towards the gate, your heart echoing into your ears. Negan noticed you stomping towards the gate, he got up from the steps he was sitting at. He followed you with curiosity plan on his face.

"Where are you off to? We just got back." He grinned. You didn't look at him, "To find poison ivy.". He's taken back by your response, " 'cuse me?". You sigh moving any hair in the way to show your neck.

"You got sloppy last night. Will someone open this damn Gate?!" You fussed. A man rushed towards the gate opening it for you.

"Whoa whoa, doll. Slow down you're gonna rub poison ivy on yourself?!" He grabbed your shoulders getting Infront of you. He leaned down to your height, the greyness in his hair shining in your eyes.

"Yes.. I told you not to leave marks." You start walking out the gate pushing into his shoulder. He follows you back out the gate, "Back in my day girls used makeup." He tries to lighten up your mood. You sigh, "Negan.. I told you I can't.. no one can know.".

"What happened to you saying I was a better man?" He leaned on his leg a hint of hurt in his voice. You looked down, a bit ashamed of yourself.

"You are.." you whispered. He walked towards you, "I get it, I'm not a fan favorite out here. But Doll, talk to me.".

"You hurt my family. And me sleeping with you is... Like betraying them" you mumbled. He sighs, "I... I don't regret it. Hell, it was probably the best sex I've ever had... But.." you lose your voice. You look out into the overgrown neighborhood.

"I'll keep it a secret." He speaks up. You turned towards him with hope in your eyes.

"But, don't ignore me. I wanna see that pretty face of yours often." He gently grabs your chin lifting it up. You look into his hazel eyes feeling your heart flutter.

The same eyes that cherished the sight of your body. You leaned into his touch, "Alright. But help me find poison ivy-" you smiled.

"Yes ma'am." He grinned walking into the woods with you. His hand went to the small of your back as the ground became rougher. You smiled to yourself thinking of the night before, this time willingly.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 11: Hephaestus, God Of Fire]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here is our final interlude. Do you have the patience?

President Lyndon Baines Johnson has halted all U.S. attacks on North Vietnam: no bombs from the air, no infantry on the ground, no artillery shells launched by destroyers cruising in the South China Sea. The election will determine what happens next. If Nixon wins, military operations will resume until the South Vietnamese are in a sufficiently advantageous position to defend themselves from the communists. If Aemond is the victor, troop withdrawals will begin shortly after he is inaugurated on January 20th.

Regardless, it will not be until almost a full year from now, in October of 1969, that it becomes illegal for employers to reserve positions for men; the common practice of refusing to hire women with preschool-aged children will not be outlawed until 1971. Unmarried people will not be guaranteed access to contraception until 1972. Abortion will not be legalized across all fifty states until 1973. Women will not have a right to their own bank accounts or credit cards until 1974. It will not be illegal to exclude women from juries until 1975. The first female Supreme Court justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, will be appointed in 1981. There will be no female president of the United States, not for at least half a century after our story ends.

Each night on CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite recaps the latest poll numbers. Nixon appears to have a slight advantage, due in large part to pulling ahead in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, and his home state of California. Aemond has comfortable leads in Texas, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. George Wallace will likely sweep the Deep South: Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas. From their hovels, the racists rejoice. From her grave, Lurleen Wallace rests uneasily, scratching at the lid of her coffin with the bones of her fingers, entombed in dark oblivion like all the rest of the world’s discarded wives.

~~~~~~~~~~

You go for the door, but Aemond is faster; he catches you just as your hand is twisting the handle and the hinges creak. He throws you against the wall so hard the paintings rattle: replicas of Monets and Warhols, Almond Blossoms, The Birth of Venus. You fight, clawing at him, ripping off the eyepatch that Alys must have at last convinced him was no defeat to wear. The hollow, gore-colored abyss of his left eye socket beckons you to fall in and be burned: Hestia’s eternal hearth, the volcanic forge of Hephaestus. He’s fire all the way down, hunger and fury, bones charred black and brittle. You think of the uninhabitable furnace of Jupiter’s moon Io, lethal radiation, poisoned air, lava bubbling up like blood through a bullet wound.

“You can’t hit me,” you gasp. “You need me for photos—”

His knuckles are in your belly, crosshairs made of scar tissue. The air collapses out of your lungs; your vision dims like twilight, like an eclipse. You’re on the floor and trying to crawl away from him. Aemond’s fingers hook into the fabric of your robe; it matches the silk nightgown you wear beneath, a pale anemic pink, something soft and young and desireless, something eternally at others’ mercy, something to be guarded or gutted. He’s dragging you towards him.

He’s going to hit me again, he might even kill me.

“Stop, stop,” you plead, still struggling to breathe. “What if I’m pregnant?!”

You almost certainly can’t be, but Aemond doesn’t know that. Yet his lone eye glints like metal, like coins, no weak mortal compassion. “I would have no way of being sure it was mine.” And then he tries to cover your mouth as you scream for help. You bite at his fingers; your bare feet kick the wall. Your hair, long and loose and wild, flows around you like a bride’s veil.

Too late, Aemond realizes that the door is still open a crack from when you grabbed the handle. There are footsteps and a voice that crescendos as it approaches: “What on earth is going on in here…?” Fosco appears in the threshold, yellow tweed jacket, tight olive green trousers. He stares thunderstruck down at where you and Aemond are entangled on the floor.

You beg: “Fosco, help me.”

“No, no, no,” Fosco says, jolting from his paralysis and holding a hand out towards Aemond. “No, you cannot do this, whatever has happened, you cannot touch her like—”

“She’s not your wife,” Aemond says. She’s not your property. Fosco hesitates; his large dark eyes shifting between the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Aemond, brother, listen to—”

“Get out.” Aemond’s voice is low, searing, malignant.

“Fosco, please don’t leave me,” you whimper. You try to pry Aemond’s fingers off your robe; they dig in deeper, bruising the flesh underneath. “Don’t leave me, don’t let him hurt me.”

Abruptly, Fosco turns and sprints out of the room.

“No!” you shout after him before Aemond grabs your face, his hand like a claw, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in your cheeks, crushing pressure on your jaw.

“You’re trying to sabotage this campaign.”

“I didn’t see the reporters, I swear to God.”

He knocks the back of your skull against the wall so hard that you see momentary flashes like stars, that all the words vanish from your throat, that words cease to exist at all. “You’re a traitor. Do you know the penalty for treason? The U.S. Army would have you executed by firing squad. Zeus would chain you to a rock so your liver could be carved out.”

“You betrayed me first,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your head pounding hot and maroon.

“I have been working for this since before you were born. You can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”

“I did everything right and you still couldn’t love me.” You swing at Aemond and he catches your wounded hand, squeezes it, digs his thumb into the spot where the doctors stitched you closed. The pain is excruciating, incapacitating. You wail as scarlet flowers bloom through the white of your bandaged palm.

Now the door flies open again and Aegon collides with Aemond, sends him sprawling, crouches over you. He’s screaming something at Aemond, gripping your shoulder to keep you under him, his too-long hair hanging in his face, black turtleneck sweater, one of Daeron’s frayed army jackets thrown over it, ripped jeans, bare feet. Aemond grabs his brother by the lapel of his army jacket and draws back his fist. His golden wedding ring flashes in the grey November sunlight that streams in through the windows. Aegon doesn’t flinch. He’s taken knuckles to the face before; you remember cleaning blood off his skin under a streetlight in Biloxi, you remember not wanting to wash him away.

“Don’t you see what it will look like?!” Fosco is saying, trying to coax Aemond to relent. “If he is photographed with a busted face after that story comes out? If she has bruises or a black eye? By harming them you are confirming what your enemies have printed, and the voters will believe it is the truth.”

“They already know it’s true!” Aemond snatches the Wall Street Journal off the table and hurls it at Fosco. Then he paces back and forth through the room, glaring at where you are still crumpled on the floor, sobbing, cradling your bleeding hand to your chest. “It’s right there, three goddamn photographs, and that’s all it will take to bring down a lifetime of work!”

Fosco studies the pictures again, shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. At last he offers weakly: “It could be worse, Aemond.”

“How could it be worse?!”

Aegon scrambles to Fosco to rip the newspaper out of his hands, then returns to you. He hasn’t seen the front-page story yet. He skims it frantically. “This? This is what you’re losing your mind over? It’s dark, it’s blurry, they can’t even see what’s going on!”

“I have one fucking eye and I can see it!”

“So come up with another explanation, this doesn’t prove anything.”

“If she costs me the election—”

“If you lose, it won’t be because of her!” Aegon roars back. “It will be because the Democrats have held the White House for eight years and the world has gone to hell on our watch, it will be because of Kennedy, and Johnson, and Vietnam and the riots and the hippies and the drugs and the assassinations, it will be because Nixon is promising law and order in a time when nobody is safe, it will be because you just weren’t good enough. But she has given more to your cause than anyone. You hit her and you’ll lose your other eye.”

“They were in conversation,” Fosco says, meaning the photos. The four of you know that’s not true; it is a lie for the rest of the world, it is hope for Aemond’s campaign. “On the beach. They were whispering, comforting each other. Because of Mimi. That is all.”

Aemond scoffs, his remaining eye fierce and wrathful as it lands on you again. Aegon grips your shoulder, still crouching over you, still shielding you. “You bitch. I should have left you at that party in Manhattan to be the dope-smoking whore you were when I found you.”

“I shouldn’t have helped save your life in Palm Beach.”

And Aemond blinks at you, not hurt but bewildered, like he doesn’t understand your words, like what you said is impossible. He doesn’t believe you saved him. He believes it was God’s will.

Otto storms into the hotel room and takes in the scene: you and Aegon on the floor, Aemond pacing furiously, Fosco attempting to mediate. “Nobody says anything,” Otto commands, deep booming voice, black suit like he’s going to a funeral. “The Wall Street Journal hates Aemond. Everyone knows that, they’re probably the only national publication that would run the story. Our newspapers are already pushing the counternarrative, that this was a shameful, deceitful, desperate attempt to discredit Aemond right before the election. Our supporters will insist upon an innocent explanation. Nixon’s will use the photos as evidence of our degeneracy, our amorality, us immigrants with our strange faith and our progressive politics. Everyone else in the country will be warring over this headline. We will say nothing. We will conduct business as usual. The best thing we can do now is go out there and keep our schedule as planned.” He looks meaningfully at Aemond. “And your wife must be at your side. Smiling, unscathed, devoted.”

“I lost my composure,” Aemond says to you, more collected now, businesslike. He is smoothing any wrinkles out of his suit jacket. “I was wrong to put my hands on you. I apologize for that. It was beneath me.”

You reply: “Very little is beneath you, I’ve learned.”

“You have been.” A trace of a grin, crooked and cruel. “Plenty of times. And you will be again.”

Aegon is watching is brother, seething but terrified, sheltering you with power that is only illusory, never real. It is a mirage that Aemond or Otto could punch through at any moment. It is glass that would shatter into crystalline dust.

“If I win, you will beg on your knees for forgiveness,” Aemond tells you. “You will beg in private, you will be perfection in public, and I will magnanimously overlook this indiscretion in which you were taken advantage of by my notoriously dissolute brother. There was no affair. There was a fleeting moment of weakness on your part and depravity on Aegon’s. We will put it in the past. I will be the president of the United States and you will be my first lady. You will spend every second of your existence in service of my career, my country, and my legacy. You will give me children. You will obey me entirely. And you and Aegon will never be in a room alone together for the rest of your lives.”

“You can’t keep me away from her,” Aegon says.

“I just did. I make the rules here, I am the heir to this empire. If you wanted that responsibility, you should have seized it. You squandered it, you cursed it. It’s mine now.”

A whisper: “Aemond, it’ll kill me.”

“Then have the dignity to die quietly. It will be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aegon must be seen in public too,” Fosco says, trying to sound like he isn’t defending him. “If you appear to be punishing or excluding him, it will be used as evidence of his guilt.”

Aemond nods, then turns to his brother. “As soon as the election is called, whichever way it goes, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you once you’re there. You will disappear. We will say it was your choice, and if you comply you can keep your children and receive a modest amount of severance pay to get you started. And as long as you abide by my terms, my wife will not be harmed.”

Aegon doesn’t reply. His large Atlantic-blue eyes glisten, his lips tremble, his hand is still on your shoulder. You think through the throbbing pain of your bleeding palm: Is this the last time he’ll ever touch me?

Otto grabs Aegon, wrenches him away from you, drags him yowling and clawing at the carpet through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand is freshly bandaged, pristine white gauze that people in the crowd jostle to touch like the relic of a saint, to pray over, to kiss. Men tell you how brave you are to bear the pain without weeping. Women give you komboskini, stained not with their husband’s blood but with only the clean, colorless ether of hope, faith, reverence, love.

Fosco and Helaena have been dispatched to accompany the children on a tour of the Franklin Institute, one of the oldest centers of science education in the nation. Aemond is giving a speech in front of the Liberty Bell at Independence Hall. You and the others are arranged around him like a starving crescent moon. You are standing immediately on Aemond’s left side, Aegon placed at his right. He looks drunk, he looks drugged; you aren’t sure if anyone else can tell, but you can. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are pools of murky, desolate indigo like the night sky between stars. A few attendees give the two of you curious glances, but no mention is made of the accusations in the Wall Street Journal. You get the sense that if someone took it upon themselves to ask a question on the subject, they would be jeered, reviled, banished like President Johnson, who is currently besieged in the White House by the ghosts of Vietnam.

When you look to Aemond, you see his scar, his prosthetic eye, fierce and stoic determination in the lines of his face. He is quoting the inscription on the bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof…” The bronze metal has a crack in it like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. The smile on your face is frozen, demure, humble. Aegon’s eyes accidentally catch on yours—a childlike vulnerability, a deep raw woundedness—and then swiftly dart away.

“America is the Land of Opportunity, but some have forgotten that,” Aemond says into the microphone, and vengeance creeps into his voice like a spider up a wall. “Unfortunately, for as long as new communities have arrived at our shores, vile and prejudiced lies have been used to demonize them. Greek immigrants have been crossing the Atlantic for over a century. In 1909, rioters violently expelled them from Omaha, Nebraska. In 1922, an anti-Greek initiative was launched by the Ku Klux Klan. In 1924, Congress drastically restricted my people’s entry in favor of migrants from Northwestern European nations like Britain and Germany. Greeks have been condemned as unintelligent, immoral, and unworthy of the glorious opportunities of this country. We have been barred from jobs and universities, we have been used as cannon fodder in the World Wars. Discrimination against any group is antithetical to the American Dream. I have given an eye for this nation, my wife has bled for it, my brother has—even in the midst of personal tragedy—uprooted his life and the lives of his children to fight alongside me for a better America, and I will not stand by silently as the Targaryen name is tarnished by bigoted falsehoods…”

Now you can no longer hear him over the thunder of the applause, and you remember all the other faces in all those other cities, their eyes illuminated as if by fire, as if by the sun. You imagine devotees of the Greek gods bowing low in temples of white marble and flickering torches, bringing offerings of gold and livestock, grain and blood, murmuring prayers, bargaining for miracles. Did the gods hear them? Do the gods love anyone but themselves?

Alicent and Criston are watching you and Aegon with the same eyes: large, dark, shimmering, a curious combination of horror and profound sympathy. You can feel yourself becoming a ghost, a legend, a myth. One day people will read about you in textbooks and academic journals, in plaques erected at Aemond’s alma mater, Columbia University, and your own, Manhattanville College; and they will know only the fabled version of you. Who you really were will fade into nothingness like Echo, like Icarus into the waves, like Eurydice when her lover Orpheus dared to glimpse back at her.

That night in your penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, you get out of the bathtub—dewy with steam, donning your pink robe—and then go to your side of the king-sized bed and slide open the top drawer of the nightstand. The card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai isn’t there. Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach lurches.

“What…?”

You get down on your knees to reach into the back of the drawer, to see if the card has snagged somewhere. You hear footsteps and whirl to see Aemond standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He is holding the card. The cartoon cow beams jubilantly at you. You recall what Aegon wrote inside after crossing out the manufacturer’s message: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! As your eyes widen, Aemond rips the card down the middle.

“Don’t!” you scream, rushing for him. “Please don’t, it’s all I have from—!”

Aemond shoves you back and then, with a grin more like a wolf baring its teeth, tears through the remnants again and again until the card is nothing but shreds. He opens the sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony and throws them into the cold night wind, where they scatter in a flurry like snowflakes, like bones turned to splinters by cluster bombs in the swamps of Vietnam.

The paper fragments spiral down thirty stories towards the zooming headlights on South Broad Street, and you think about following them. Then Aemond pulls you into his arms as frigid air blows through you and whispers: “You don’t need Aegon anymore. You just need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, November 4th, and you are walking alongside Ludwika on Broadway in Astoria, Queens, the part of New York City known as Greektown. She chats about the modelling jobs she did here before meeting Otto, her Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, her Camel cigarettes smudged with red Yardley lipstick. It is an act of kindness; she is trying to distract you. A few yards away, Fosco is telling Aegon about how he just won $500 by betting on the NASCAR Peach State 200, held at Jefco Speedway in Georgia. Aegon nods along, preoccupied, miserable. He has dark shadows around his eyes and is smoking one of his Lucky Strikes. He is wearing a green knit cap, windblown curls of his blonde hair escaping from underneath. You’re not supposed to stare at Aegon, but sometimes you can’t help it. You miss him. You’re worried about him.

The Targaryens have suites reserved at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, where the family will stay through Election Day to witness the results as they are tallied on the evening news. The children are there now, enjoying pizza from Little Italy with Helaena and the nannies. But you and the other adults are being photographed by flocks of journalists as you head for lunch at one of the oldest Greek diners in the United States, paying homage to Aemond’s ancestry. The candidate himself is locked in a fraught conversation with Otto and Criston: polls gaining here, polls slipping there, Nixon inching further ahead in Florida, the state you were supposed to help Aemond win.

“What should I order?” Ludwika asks you. “Not spinach pie, oh, horrible, worse than Hitler. Something else. Why can’t we go to a Polish restaurant for once? I will take you sometime. You will see. You will try a pierogi and never look back. We invented bagels, you know.”

“Beagles?” Fosco says. “What an accomplishment! They are so cute!”

“Bagels, stupido.”

“Do not bully me. I am suffering too. I should be back at the hotel eating a prosciutto pizza.”

As you pass an electronics shop with stacks of televisions in the windows, all turned to NBC news, the journalists begin to gasp and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. The flashbulbs strobe madly, shutters clicking and reporters shouting for Aemond to give them a comment. The youngest Targaryen brother has appeared on the screens, bruised and gaunt and missing teeth. He looks twenty years older than he is. His once-golden hair is turning white.

Otto sputters: “What…what the hell is that?!”

“Oh my God, Daeron!” Alicent howls, and then bursts into the shop so she can hear what her lost son is saying. The rest of you hurry after her, locking the front door behind you so the journalists can’t follow. Through the windows, they take photographs until Fosco and Ludwika lower the blinds.

Inside the maze of electronics, three adolescent employees gawk at the presidential candidate and his retinue. “Out,” Otto instructs them, and then, when they are too stunned to immediately vacate the premises: “I said, get out!” The teenagers scurry into the backroom and slam the door.

“Daeron,” Alicent moans in front of a Zenith color television. Tears flow torrentially from her huge, horrified eyes. Criston holds her, arms circling, his cheek pressed to hers, and you are reminded of how Aegon touched you in your hotel room in Houston, in his basement at Asteria, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.

Daeron is saying: “The United States has committed war crimes in Vietnam. I am ashamed of the actions my country has taken here. We have burned children with napalm, executed innocent civilians, and interfered in matters that we have no legitimate jurisdiction over…”

“He is reading from a script,” Fosco says. “You can see his eyes following the words.”

“Shh,” Otto snaps.

Daeron continues: “The only honorable course of action now is to immediately withdrawal all American soldiers from Vietnam…”

“I think this will help us, actually,” Otto says. “People will know he’s being forced to make propaganda for the communists, and they will have sympathy for him and the family. They’ll want to rescue him and all the other servicemen too. He’s obviously…under duress.”

Aegon drops to his knees and puts his palm against the screen over Daeron’s face, just like the shadows of your fingers once fell over Ari as he fought for his life in an incubator in Mount Sinai Hospital. “Do you see what they’re doing to him?” He turns to Aemond with tears in his eyes. “What you did to him? You left him there, you abandoned him, and now he’s being tortured.”

Alicent looks to Aemond, puzzled, petrified. “You tried to get him out, didn’t you?” Aemond doesn’t answer. Otto averts his gaze, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Dear lord,” Ludwika mutters, lighting a fresh Camel cigarette and puffing on it anxiously.

“Was it worth it?” Aegon demands. “Selling your soul?”

Aemond is steely, resolved. “It’s almost over.”

“You were all right.” Aegon stands, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his green-striped sweater. “I don’t have what it takes to win the presidency. I couldn’t do something like this. Me, the perennial fuckup. Me, the godless degenerate.”

“Aegon,” Alicent whispers. “Please…please don’t…”

He turns to his mother, insurmountably sad. “Mom, I tried to stop him.” Alicent sobs and covers her face with both hands as Criston embraces her. She can’t even look at Aemond. She can’t believe what he’s become. Her long coppery hair flows like blood.

You reach for Aegon, your fingertips brushing his ruddy cheek, and immediately he folds into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth as you inhale his smoke and rum and pain and terror. “Daeron will be home soon,” you say, not knowing if it’s true. Your bandaged hand aches; your throat burns.

“I should have gone instead. It should have been me.”

“No, Aegon. Your children need you, I need you. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Then Aemond yanks you away, his grip on your wrist like an anchor, like chains.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, play us something,” Orion says; and it is the first time you can remember him calling Aegon that. Aegon smiles. He’s sitting on one of the couches in the penthouse suite you share with Aemond, the Gibson guitar he bought back in July lying across his lap as he strums it absentmindedly. The television is on and turned to CBS News. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, November 5th, Election Day. The children are thrilled. It’s the one night they’re allowed to stay up as late as they’re physically able to. This allowance is not purely altruistic; Aemond wants them awake and ready for photographs as soon as the winner is announced.

“What should I play?”

“Frank Sinatra,” Fosco says. He is beside Aegon on the couch, smoking a cigar and flipping through the Sports section of the New York Times, which he’s not really reading.

“Marvin Gaye,” Ludwika suggests. They are both on your side of the room. Aemond, Otto, Sargent Shriver, and a number of campaign staffers are huddled around the television, transfixed by the ever-updating vote totals. Alicent and Criston are between your factions, murmuring back and forth to each other, flutes of golden champagne in their hands. Helaena is on the floor entertaining Violeta, Daphne, and Neaera with Crayolas and coloring books full of scenes from gardens. You recall how eerily calm Helaena had been the night Aemond was shot in Palm Beach, like she somehow already knew he’d survive. Now she is nervous, looking fretfully around the room, wringing her hands, filling outlines of butterflies with ten different shades of blue.

“The Beatles,” Orion tells Aegon, casting Fosco and Ludwika a judgmental teenage glance.

“Any particular song?”

“You can pick.”

Aegon sips at his rum, ice cubes clinking in the glass. He looks over to the coffee table, where you are embroiled in a game of Battleship with Cosmo. He’s getting better; he’s genuinely sunk your destroyer and submarine so far. Then Aegon’s eyes drop to his guitar strings and he plucks the opening notes of In My Life. His voice is soft and low, almost secretive.

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain…”

Cosmo turns to watch his father. Orion, Spiro, Thaddeus, and Evangelos are gathered around Aegon’s feet, gazing up at him with admiration, with love.

“All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all...”

Cheers erupt over by the television; Aemond has just won Michigan. But then tense, indistinct deliberations follow. Florida is still too close to call, a bad omen. You wonder where Alys is as she watches the results come in. There must be some part of her—however small, however smothered—that fears Aemond will win. If he captures the presidency, she could be separated from the man she loves for the better part of a decade. You drink your Pink Squirrel, wishing it was stronger. You think of sea sponge divers down in the depths and imagine what that first gulp of air tastes like when they resurface, when they shed their rubber suits and brass helmets and step back into sunlight, warmth, freedom like Persephone returning from the Underworld each spring.

“But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new…”

You wear a sapphire-colored gown that Aemond chose for you, strings of silver around your wrist and throat, diamond teardrops hanging from your ears. Your hair is up, your fingernails painted a tasteful opalescent shade, the aching of your bandaged hand dulled by booze and Vicodin.

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I’ll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more.”

More triumphant shouts and applause across the room by the television: Aemond has won Washington state. From his own suite at the St. Regis Hotel a few blocks south on 5th Avenue, Nixon’s people must be celebrating that he just secured Ohio’s 26 electoral votes. He needs 270 to be the next president of the United States.

Florida, you think. If Nixon can take Florida, I think he’ll win the whole thing.

As Aemond and Otto are distracted, as Fosco and Ludwika watch with pitying, knowing eyes, Aegon sets his guitar aside and walks by you with his rum in hand, taps your shoulder, disappears onto the balcony. You wait a few minutes—Cosmo wins Battleship and goes to color on the floor with Helaena—and then follow Aegon.

Outside the night sky is moonless, starless, thick with clouds. Rain is beginning to fall, soft hushed pattering. Far below taxis and limousines are still rushing and blowing their horns on West 59th Street. You can see the vast forested shadow of Central Park and streetlights like constellations. In apartments and office buildings, windows are illuminated as Americans sit numbing their fears with beer, wine, shots of liquor, smoldering hand-rolled joints.

Aegon is cross-legged at the ledge, one hand on the iron bars of the railing, staring out at the nightscape of Manhattan. His hair lashes in the cold November wind. His nose is pink, his eyes wet and faraway. He passes his Lucky Strike cigarette to you as you join him and says: “I don’t think Aemond can win without Florida.”

“No,” you agree, taking a drag.

Aegon snatches a rattling orange bottle from the pocket of his olive green army jacket, pops it open, and swallows three pills with a swig of straight rum, dark amber poison.

“Don’t do that,” you say, you plead.

“I need it, babe.”

“I want you to still be alive in ten years.”

Aegon smiles and reaches over to pat your cheek twice. “I think that ship might have sailed, little Io.” Can decades of self-destruction be undone, uninflicted, nullified like Heracles becoming immortal? Can the Underworld be escaped? “Come with me. No matter what happens tonight.”

“Aegon, I can’t.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“If I leave, he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Aegon says, his voice breaking.

“Nothing is.”

There is an uproar inside the hotel room, screams that could be horror or triumph, realized dreams, breaking bones, bullets through flesh. You and Aegon are on your feet, hauling the balcony door open, stepping through the threshold into the rest of your lives.

Glasses are being toasted until champagne rains down onto the carpet. The telephone is ringing so Nixon can concede. On CBS News, Walter Cronkite is reporting that Aemond has won Florida and thereby accumulated 270 electoral votes. The blue text on the screen reads: Senator Targaryen will be the 37th president of the United States.

[cartierre]

BROOKLYN BABY | lh44

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU lewis hamilton x fem!black!reader

♡ liked by lewishamilton, sza, lizzo and 493,327 others

yourusername visiting home made me realise how much i missed brooklyn and my girls

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user1 she's so ungrateful? lewis literally made her who she is today and she keeps complaining? ⤷ user2 because she said she misses home? y'all need to chill fr

lewishamilton you're glowing babe ⤷ yourusername the air pollution here is crazy tho my acne is skyrocketing ⤷ user3 see, everytime she opens her mouth she's complaining. what a spoiled lil child.

♡ liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, sza and 382,384 others

yourusername my favourite people on earth

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yourbestfriend where can i get a lewis myself, i need one ⤷ yourusername i can only recommend it to you

user4 i bet lewis feels old in between all these twenty-something year olds ⤷ user5 wait i always forget y/n is like 26 or so ⤷ user6 how can you just forget a 11-year age gap ⤷ user7 maybe because she's mature?

lewishamilton my favourite person on earth ⤷ yourusername are we about to kiss rn

♡ liked by lewishamilton, anokyai, sza and 405,127 others

tagged: gucci

yourusername used to work for you, now i'm sitting front row at your show

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yourbestfriend tell 'em babe!

user8 say "thank you lewis for the money and fame" rn ⤷ user9 i love how everyone is pressed because they wish they'd be y/n

lewishamilton damn

user10 not thanks to your own effort lmao ⤷ user11 she makes it sound like she got there on her own lmfao no babes gucci wouldn't even know who you are without lewis by your side

♡ liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, lizzo and 389,117 others

yourusername today i thanked God for being able to spend time with everyone i love on my birthday. cheers to 27!

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user12 don't thank god, thank lewis ⤷ user13 y'all are mad over every thing it's so funny

yourbestfriend thank you lewis for not only being a professional driver but also the designated driver because i know i was hammered ⤷ yourusername at least you were able to go to sleep after the club, my night didn't end just there ⤷ user14 y/n talking about her and lewis' sex life is so funny to me ⤷ user15 i just know lewis has a lot of stamina

lewishamilton for many more birthday's to be celebrated together to come. i love you baby.

♡ liked by yourusername, naomi, pierregasly and 639,041 others

lewishamilton happy birthday to the girl that made me believe again

comments have been disabled for this post

♡ liked by lewishamilton, sza, pierregasly and 639,041 others

yourusername monaco my love

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lewishamilton no words can describe the love i feel for you ⤷ yourusername babyboy <3

user16 okay but see how much she's changing her style when she's in "posh" monaco compared to brooklyn? ⤷ user17 because she's wearing a nice dress? you do realise people can have multiple styles? ⤷ user18 but it is suspicious how clean she suddenly gets as soon as she's surrounded by rich people ⤷ user19 heavy side eye

yourbestfriend okay but when are you flying me out to monaco ⤷ yourusername pull up

♡ liked by arthur_leclerc, formula2, wseriesracing and 598,837 others

tagged: yourusername, lewishamilton

f1 The paddock fashion game is back in business! #BahrainGP

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user19 y/n's so beautiful i actually cannot

user20 why do they give me kim and kanye vibes tho ⤷ user21 wait- ⤷ user22 because he probably also dresses her lmao

yourbestfriend purr

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire Masterlist

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.

When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?

Warnings for full fic, if anything is added or really emphcized it will be in additional warnings.

THIS IS A DARK FIC THOUGH SO BE WARY! I CAN'T PROTECT AGAINST EVERYTHING.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

Unknown amount of chapters right now.

Chapter 1: Pilot: Delta finds their Madonna Chapter 2: The wedding Chapter 3: Aftermath of the wedding FishBen: Symptom of Being Human Chapter 4: Pope is not pleased. Chapter 5: Jonah lore, Madonna gets through to Frankie Chapter 6: Madonna gains Frankie's heart, Santi is jealous Iris: Rey and Iris find pockets of time Chapter 7: Fun with Ben: wining Pope back Chapter 8: big announcement to the community

Non canon Frankie Madonna Chapter 9: Madonna’s blissful ignorance to the world around her. Chapter 10: There's a lot Madonna doesn't know.

Chapter 11: Things start to crumble around Madonna

Chapter 12: It's all too much for Madonna

Chapter 1 3: Santiago’s true colors come out

Chapter 14: Jonah tries to show the truth

Chapter 15: madonna begins to learn her power

Chapter 16: Frankie and Ben reflect

Chapter 17: Ben shows his true colors

Chapter 18: Iris makes her stand

Chapter 19:

Chapter 20:

Bonus Content

not necessary for the series. Pieces in the main list are suggested as they add depth and sometimes small plot points.

"Can you peel my orange?" Jonah smut

Jonah Hanson character ai

ROF characters Star signs

Jonah x non-Madonna reader x Marcus flashback commission

Art

By @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

By @survivingandenduring

Lil comic by @my-secret-shame

As I said, a lot of themes and dynamics ended up accidentally similarly to Watch Your Step by the amazing @charnelhouse Some was because that fic is what developed my characterizations of the boys. Some was totally incidental, like Pope and readers relation to art. It's different though, a much different series, but I wanted to tell y'all that she s PUBLISHING WYS AS A NOVEL NOW, Its called Cardinal Sin's and I'll link it right here!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates

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Follow the tag Rooms on fire

THANK YOU FOR YOU'RE SUPPORT!

Please remember to reblog, and I love comments/asks, anon or not, and would love to see engagement and theories!

[nicole-timey-wimey-stuff]

It’s always been you

Dbf Negan x fem reader

Part 1 of 2

I’m really feeling the dad’s best friend Negan atm, I really like writing him in this AU.

Synopsis-NO OUTBREAK AU

Developing a crush on your dads best friend as a teenager, slowly morphs into something deeper as you grow up. When your an adult yourself he becomes a best friend to you too, one you take comfort from whenever your husband upsets you. When lines blur and feelings arise you’ll either burn your life to the ground, or you’ll get everything you’ve ever wanted since you were 17.

Warnings- Dads best friend, Large age gap, feelings, hurt, comfort, infidelity, confessions, smut, 18+ only, P in V, unprotected sex, emotional cheating (not from Negan), I made Negan’s mean ex wife an OC because I couldn’t do that to Lucille, my terrible writing as always. Negan’s character is based more on season 11 Negan, in the walking dead.

Was meant to be a one shot but as always I ran away with it so there will be a part 2.

Word count - 6.8K

_______________________________________

Negan, your dads closest friend came into your life when you were just 17 years old. Your family had moved across states from the bustling city of Chicago to Vermont New England. It had been quite a challenge for you at the time, being a teenager and in your final couple of years of school. In that moment it had felt like the end of the world, leaving all your friends behind and going from city life to country living. You’d hated your parents originally, but over time you realised they were only doing what they felt was best for you. The job your dad was offered was more money and it came with great perks, and the house they could afford here was four times the size of the apartment you had in Chicago.

So in time you settled in, your new neighbours were lovely too. The couple to the left of you were an elderly couple who had their children and grandchildren come over every weekend. They always offered you and your little brother home baked treats, as well as inviting you over to play with their own grandkids. At 17 you always politely declined but your little brother would usually go over, as they had a grandson a similar age.

Then to the right of you there were the Smith’s, Negan and his wife Rebecca lived in a three bed detached house, even though it was only themselves and their dog living there. Both clearly in their late 30’s they hadn’t had any children of their own. Negan became fast friends with your dad, always inviting each other over for beers and game nights. He become a constant visitor in your home, his wife on the other hand always stayed home even when she was invited by your mother.

They seemed to have a somewhat estranged relationship, they were always fighting which usually lead to her getting into her car and storming off down the road, not to be seen again until the next day. Negan would then come outside and sit on his porch lighting up a cigarette, this is when you would come over to talk with him.

Talking with Negan had always been easy, when you think back to your teenage days where you would have long in depth conversation with him, and make corny jokes to get him to smile again.

“Why did the waiter give the pony a glass of water?” You ask Negan in giggles, “I don’t know kid why?” He replies, “Because he was a little horse” you laugh, watching him laugh with you was the highlight of your weeks, “God kiddo that was terrible” he groans “Hey! You laughed” you tease, he just grins at you. Job accomplished, he was now smiling again, and it always caused butterflies to erupt in you stomach that you were the one who made it happen.

His wife was a piece of work though, she expected a lot, Negan had worked himself into the ground to provide her with the life she said she wanted, but she never seemed thankful. Any small thing he did would be brought up again and thrown in his face, and they weren’t even that bad, he accidentally broke her mother’s plate, or he forgot to collect the dry cleaning. It was as if Rebecca wanted to cause an argument, even so your mum had tried to befriend her.

As time went of their marriage fell apart and by the time you were 22 they were divorced, she had moved in with her new partner incredibly fast, leaving Negan alone in the house next door to you. Your dad and him started spending even more time together from then on, becoming the best of friends they are today.

Flash forward to today, you were now 30 years old and you and Negan still had a great bond. He’d become your best friend too in a sort of way, you talked daily through text, and called him weekly to check in. If something was broken, or your car had issues it would be him you turned too, at first it was because your dad had no clue, but over time it was because you’d rather call Negan than anyone else.

He’d been there for most major steps of your life, passing your driving test, finishing high school, leaving for and returning from college, your first date, first heartbreak, fall outs with friend’s, getting your first job…… he’s witnessed it all. He was even there the day you said I do to James, the day where you weren’t really sure you were making the right decision. James was a good guy, but he was aloof and he rarely took your feelings on board, told you frequently that you were being too sensitive, which was probably true you were, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

In these moments it was always Negan you had turned too for comfort,

He did it again, went out with his work colleges without telling me. I know it’s silly to be upset, but I can’t help it. She’s there too, it’s hard enough that he works with his ex, but he spends more time out with her than me, even if it is in a group.

I always feel like I’m right at the back of his mind.

Xx

Ping

Hey sweetheart,

No your feelings are justified, Rebecca would do things like this all the time and could never understand why I was hurt. So I completely get it, my doors open if you want to pop over.

Negan xx

You thought for a minute, pulling your bottom lip with your teeth. James wouldn’t be home for hours and sitting here alone and upset wasn’t making things any better.

Yeah ok I’ll be over in 10

Xx

Ping

Ok sweetheart, just let yourself in

Xx

Smiling at his response you throw on your shoes and jacket, grab your keys and make your way over to Negan's place.

Walking into Negan’s house was always like coming home, the familiar scent of pine, woodsmoke and tobacco fill the air. The fire in the lounge is always going during these colder months, giving the home a warm, welcoming feeling. “Negan?” You call out as you enter, “In the Kitchen sweet cheeks” he answers. Kicking off your shoes you make your way to the back of the house towards the kitchen, pausing at the doorframe to admire the sight. He’s stood over the stove, grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, wearing his favourite Metallica t shirt. Originally the shirt was black, but after years of washing and wearing it, it’s more of a washed out dark grey now.

As he reaches up to turn the extractor fan on, causing the shirt to ride up, showing a small amount of his lower stomach. You notice his happy trail disappearing into his sweats, and can’t help the thoughts of what it would be like to run your hands down it. Gosh what are you thinking, get a hold girl, you scald yourself.

Clearing your throat you enter the room, “Hey! Watcha cooking?” You ask, “Hey darlin, I’m making spaghetti, have you eaten yet? Because I made enough for two just incase” he responds. God he’s so thoughtful you wish James was more like this, do you though? Or do you just wish James was in fact Negan.

“No I haven’t, thanks Negan” you reply, he nods at you pulling two plates out the cupboard.

Sat at the kitchen island you both enjoy your meals, laughing and reminiscing. It’s so easy, the conversation flows and you forget all about the upset you felt earlier on. “You know I saw your dad slip on ice yesterday, he did this sort of dance as he tried to steady himself. I asked if he needed a hand but he acted as if nothing happened. He must have pulled something because he’s been walking like John Wayne since” he laughs, “Oh my goodness poor dad, he never told me” you reply amusement in your voice. “He seems fine, but he was way to stubborn to ask for help” he adds. “Yeah he’s always been too stubborn for his own good” you hum.

You tell him about work and anything else that’s happened this week, listening to how his week went too, before checking the time with a sigh, “I should get back, he’ll be home soon.” He gives you a small smile, “Alright sweetheart, you know where I am yeah? If you need anything” he assures you, “Yeah thanks Negan, and thanks for cheering me up, I needed this.”

“Always” he promises.

Leaving you give him a warm hug goodbye, holding on a second longer than you probably should, before entering your car and heading home. He stands there for a minute watching you leave, sighing to himself. He hates how unhappy you are, he hates it even more that he’s not the one by your side making you happy. When you’re together everything feels right, his heart feels full, it’s where your meant to be he’s sure of it, beside him here.

_______________________________________

When you arrive home James is already back and fast asleep in your shared bed, he hadn’t waited for you. Checking your phone it was only 10:15pm, he could have waited to actually see you today.

Grabbing his dirty laundry off the bathroom floor you notice a pink lipstick stain on his shirt collar, your heart plummets, nausea hits and dizziness causes you stumble over your feet. Bringing the shirt to your face you can smell feminine perfume, but not just any perfume no, it’s her perfume, his exes scent covers the offending material.

You slump to the floor, every emotion is swirling through you as tears sting your eyes. It may be innocent she was there in the group he went out with, he was back at a reasonable time. You try to justify everything to yourself, you needed to give this time, to follow him, gather evidence and get the proof yourself before you accuse your husband of cheating.

Chucking the shirt back to where he left it to not cause suspicion, you got yourself cleaned up and ready for bed, slipping into the sheets you look over at James, soft snores leaving him as he’s blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. Eventually you lay down and close your eyes, letting sleep take you.

_______________________________________

It’s been a week since the night you found the lipstick on your husbands shirt, and he’s spent the week being surprisingly sweet and attentive towards you. This in itself is raising suspicions to you, he’s not been this sensitive to your feelings since the very beginning of your relationship. Even so nothing since has been out of the ordinary, he’s left his phone laying around and handed it straight to you when you asked to make a call, because your phone was battery exhausted. He hasn’t left in the evenings, he’s phoned you on his way out of the office to run over any groceries he needed to grab on his way home, then arriving straight home bags in hand. So now you’re doubting anything you thought may have happened, he’s not acting like a guilty man, or one who’s having an affair, your only suspicion is how nice he’s being, and you’re starting to feel like a woman crazed.

You of course have been running it all over with Negan, explaining everything you found and what’s happening. He’d offered to beat him, which you’d laughed at but declined. You’d said you think you were just jumping to conclusions, and that you’d need actual proof before any violence was needed, he disagreed.

But all in all things were going better, the only problem was that you had this pit in your stomach, this feeling that a train wreck was starting to unfold. You couldn’t put your finger on it but something didn’t feel right. So when he messaged you later that afternoon saying he was going out with the guys, you set your plans into motion.

Hey ok,

What bar are you going too? Just so I know incase of emergencies.

Xx

Your phone buzzed on the countertop alerting you he’d responded.

We are going to the sports bar on Grange St, shouldn’t be out too late babe.

James x

You sent him back a little thumbs up, trying to act as unbothered as possible. You then called your closest girl friend Casey.

“Hey you ok?”

“Hey Case, I have a huge favour to ask you,” you plead down the phone.

“Yeah ok girl, what do you need?” You asks,

“I have a feeling James is cheating on me with his ex”

You hear an audible gasp down the phone, followed by “No! Really?”

“Yeah, I found lipstick on his shirts collar after he’s said he was out with his work colleagues. Which may be true but why was the lipstick on his shirt? Then I noticed the whole shirt smelt of her perfume” another gasp emits from your friend.

“So I was hoping that maybe you could go to the bar he said he’s at tonight, incognito style and let me know if he really is with the boys?” You ask pleadingly.

“Say no more babe, send me the bars details and the time and I’ll be there” she affirms.

“Thank you so much Case, I’ve been tearing my hair out over this” you sigh.

“It’s no trouble at all, it’s what friends are for, send me the details and I’ll call you when I have some news”

“Thank you”

Hanging up the call you smile to yourself, she’s always been a great friend. You met her your first day at school here, she showed you around that day and you’d both become best friends from then on. She was your maid of honour and you were there with her when her mum died, you’d been through a lot together and you could always rely on each other.

_______________________________________

The rest of the day went by quickly, you spent the afternoon into early evening working remotely from home, and were preparing yourself some dinner when your phone started buzzing,

“Hey Casey any news?” You ask, biting your nails in suspense.

“Well yes and no” she replies,

“What does that mean?” You ask confused,

“Well I’m here at the sports bar on Grange street, it’s past 7pm and it’s practically empty. There’s no group of guys here, and James is certainly not here” she responds.

“Oh…. That can’t be good can it?” You croak, emotions gathering a storm once more.

“They may just be late? I know you said 7, but I’ll hang around until 8pm just incase and I’ll call back ok babe?”

“Ok thanks Case” you reply.

Once off the phone you just sit there with it clutched to your chest, staring off into space while you try to make sense of the situation.

Sometime later your phone began to buzz again, you halted your pacing around the kitchen and answered Casey’s call,

“Hey Casey, I’m afraid to ask, but any news?” You ask.

“No I'm afraid not hun, it’s now 8:15 and there’s no sign of any of the guys, I’m going to check other bars in the area and see if there was just a change in plans” she offers,

“Ok thanks Case”

“It’s not a problem babe, I’ll keep you on the phone as I walk about checking bars,”

“Ok thank you, so how’s your dad?” You ask,

“Yeah he’s doing good, he actually has a date tomorrow which is great, you know it’s been 7 years next week. I think it’s time for him to live again, he’s 56 now and I don’t want him to spend the rest of his life lonely” she explains.

“Yeah I agree, bless him it’s been a while hasn’t it. He’s a lovely guy though so I’m sure his date will go great” you reply.

“Hmmm,” she agrees, “Talking about older guys, how’s Negan?” You can hear the teasing tone in her voice and it catches you off guard,

“Ooh umm” you stammer, “Yeah he’s good, well he was when I spoke to him yesterday, he and my dad are going fishing next weekend so he seems excited about that, although they will probably just sit there and drink beer, chatting and completely forget about the fishing part” you laugh.

“Yeah I bet, he still as dreamy as ever?” She jests.

“Stop it!” You laugh,

“Well this is the third bar I’ve checked and no sign of him sweets, I don’t know what to tell you?” She sighs.

“Ok Case, well thanks for looking for me, I know you must have had plans you cancelled for me” you respond.

“Nah just a date with Ben and Jerry, and possibly some Netflix, it’s all good babe”

She’s such a great friend you think, “I’m gunna walk back to my car now, sorry it wasn’t an easy fix hun.”

“No it’s ok, thanks for trying,” you assure her,

Then you hear a low gasp through the phone “What Case what’s happening?”

“ I see him….” She trails off, “So he is out with the boys, that’s such a relief thanks hunni so much….” But she cuts you off with a “No I see him with her” and your whole vision spins, “What??” You reply meekly.

“I’m so sorry babe, he’s sat in the Italian restaurant Lorenzo’s with her, it’s just the two of them and he’s holding her hand.. I’m so sorry babe, I’ll take a photo to show you”

Your silent on the other end, trying to comprehend what’s happening,

Ping

The image pops up and that is indeed James, sat holding her hand having dinner in the fancy Italian restaurant.

“I’m so sorry, did you want me to pop over I can be right there?” She offers.

“No” you choke, “ I think I just need some time alone to come to terms with this” you reply,

“Ok babe I completely understand, you know where I am if you need me yeah?”

“Yeah thanks” you hum, ending the call.

In your spiral of turmoil you do the only thing you know to do, you send Negan a text saying you need to see him, and you hurry out the door.

_______________________________________

As soon as you pull onto his drive he’s out of the house greeting you, panic written on his face, “What’s wrong sweetheart”, shaking your head you throw yourself into his arms, burying your face into his chest as you let the tears freely fall. “Hey it’s ok baby girl it’s ok, I’ve got ya” he coos as he strokes your hair and holds you close.

Sometime later after your breaths slow and you calm down he pulls you inside and onto his couch, “You going to tell me what’s going on baby girl? He asks, still concerned at your current state. You silently pull your phone out, bringing up the image and handing the phone over to Negan, “Casey took this tonight” you explain.

Negan takes in the image, bringing his hand to his mouth in shock, before running his fingers through his beard. “Shit!” He states, “Yeah shit indeed” you deadpan. “I’m so sorry sweetheart, you deserve so much better than this” you look down to your lap, fiddling with a loose thread on your jeans. “Hey look at me sweetheart” he encourages, his fingers carefully pulling your chin up so his eyes can meet yours, “You deserve so much better than this” he affirms once more. “Hell darlin you deserve the world, you’re the most incredible woman I know, and he’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it”.

Staring into his eyes you notice how close your face is to his, you could just lean in and press your lips to his, just mere inches. But he clears his throat pulling you in for another hug, “Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to go home and I’m not ready for mum and dad to know yet” you ask.

“Of course darlin, you’re always welcome here, you know that” he assures you.

“How about I get you some comfy clothes to sleep in, and we can put a movie on?” He offers.

“Yeah that sounds good thanks Negan”

Taking a deep breath you follow him up the stairs and into his room, you take it in, from the books on his bedside table, to his neat sides, dark cotton bedsheets and pine scent, it’s just so Negan. You smile to yourself as you run your fingers over the books splayed out, Negan returns with some sweatpants and baggy t shirt, stopping at the entrance for a moment he admires the way you explore his room, a fond smile plays on his lips.

“Here these should do” he says handing you the clothes.

“Thank you”

“Of course darlin, I’ll leave you to get changed” and with that he closes the door and wonders off down the landing. You hastily change into the comfy clothes, enjoying the softness against your skin. They smelled of him and the feeling comforted you. Looking around his room once more, you catch something in the corner of your eye on the opposite night stand, rounding the bed your breath catches in your throat as realise it’s a framed photo of you and Negan together, taken at one of your dads BBQs a few years back.

You pick the photo up tracing the frame gently, when did he get this? Has it been here since the BBQ? Why does he have a photo of only you two next to his bed? So lost in thought you didn’t notice him walk back in, “I’m guessing I owe you an explanation for that huh?” He sighs. Jumping, startled by his sudden voice you gather your thoughts turning to face him, your breath hitches when you find him right in front of you, watching your face, trying to gage your reaction. “Why?” You stutter out, “Why do you have a photo of us beside your bed?” You ask.

“Well I think that’s obvious sweetheart” he states.

“Obvious how? I don’t understand” you reply, he steps closer and carefully moves a strand of hair out of your face, “I have it because I love you, I’m in love with you baby girl, and I know this is the most shittiest time to tell you this, but I’ve held it in for the best part of a decade and I can’t any more, you don’t have to say anything. I don’t expect anything from you, I just needed to tell you” he explains, water filling his eyes as he gives you a half smile.

You don’t respond not with words anyway you fumble to place the frame back onto the table, before wrapping your arms around Negan’s neck and crashing your lips against his. He freezes in shock initially but quickly regains composure and kisses you back, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you in closer deepening the kiss.

Your tongue swipes at his bottom lip seeking entrance, which he grants caressing your tongue with his, as the kiss becomes more needy and desperate Negan hoists you up, grabbing under your thighs and laying you down on his bed, lips never leaving yours he moves to hover over you. Threading his fingers with yours as he continues his attack down your neck to your collarbone. Wrapping your legs around his waist you pull him flush against you, raising your hips into him you grind your pelvis against his.

He pauses for a second looking down at you with such love and emotion “Are you sure sweetheart?” He asks eyes tracing you face searching for any uncertainty on your features, “Yeah I’m sure, I’ve never been so sure, I’ve loved you since I was 18” you admit. That’s all the confirmation he needs as his mouth finds yours once more. You pull at the bottom of his shirt, trying to tug it over his head, he lets out a laugh before standing up and removing it, “You only had to ask baby girl” he grins.

“Well then…” you reply, hooking your feet in his pants you give a gentle tug with your toes, “I’ll have these off too please”, “Oh will you now” he teases, grinning down at you as he unbuttons them and shrugs them off, he finds the end of your sweatpants pulling them off in one swift movement, causing an unexpected gasp from you. Throwing them to the side he joins you again on the bed, “Tell me what you want baby” he asks against your throat, while peppering your skin in sweet open mouthed kisses.

“You, I want you.” You moan, “You have me sweetheart, you’ll have to be more specific” you groan at his teasing “Negan please I need you”, “Need me where darlin?” He urged, grabbing his hand you pull it down your stomach to your panties, “Here, I need you here” you whimper. Seemingly done with the teasing he pulls your underwear to the side, running his fingers through your slick and bringing it up to your clit, causing you to let out a loud moan. “Fuck baby girl you’re soaked, this all for me?”, “Yeah, all for you, always for you”, it’s been seconds and you’re already a mess, whimpering and writhing under him.

Removing his hand he uses both to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, chucking it with the growing pile of clothing. Immediately his mouth finds your breasts, mouthing, sucking and licking them, your nipples becoming hard under his touch. “Fuck! Please Negan I need you” you buck your hips into him, arching your back desperate for some kind of relief. He gives you a smirk, mischief in his eyes as he starts kissing downwards across your stomach, all the way to your pelvic bone. He laces his fingers through the material, pulling your panties down, mouthing your skin lower and lower as he does. Feeling his hot breath over your core you whine, “Negan please” you beg desperate for him to do something, without warning he dives his face into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved.

“Fuck!!” You scream, “Feeling good yeah baby? I’ve waited so long to have you like this beneath me, to feel your body against mine, you’re like a dream come true baby” he growls against your core, spreading your folds he inserts two fingers into your wet heat, curving them upwards to hit that spongy spot that sends you reeling.

“I’m gonna come!” You scream as you release all over his face and fingers, as he rides out your high. Giving your clit one last slow lick you hiss, grabbing to pull him away from your sensitive pussy, smirking he crawls back up the bed kissing you deeply, your sweet taste on his lips makes you moan into his mouth, and you fumble to pull down his underwear.

“You still sure sweet girl? We can stop here if you’re not.” He worries, “Negan I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now I’ll” he silences you with another deep kiss before removing his boxers. His cock springs out slapping his stomach and you can’t help but gape at it with wide eyes, he’s big, really big. James was not this big and you begin to wonder if he’s gonna fit. As if reading your reaction “Don’t worry baby girl we will make it fit” he assures you, “This pussy” he continues as he starts rubbing your lower lips teasingly “Was made for me” he punctuates as he guides his cock forwards, sinking into your tight hole, “FUCK!!” You moan, back arching as you feel him split you open.

“That’s it baby girl, you’re taking me so well” he coos, as he sinks all the way in, hips flush with yours. “You ok sweetheart?” He asks as he gently brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your face, you nod hard not trusting your voice, “I need words darlin” he instructs, “Yes! Shit yes I’m good, please move” you whine. Lacing his fingers with yours he gives an experimental role of his hips, causing you to let out a low moan. Confident he wouldn’t hurt you now he began to pick up the pace, setting a strong rhythm, before bringing his lips to yours once more. Your fingers squeeze his as your pussy clamps down on him, signalling your close, your previous orgasm leaving your incredibly sensitive. Negan groans against your mouth before pulling away to watch you come undone, he brings your combined hands down to your little bundle of nerves as he encourages you to play with your yourself.

“So close baby, I need you to cum, can you do that for me sweet girl?”, you nod frantically throwing your head back as you choke his cock, letting out the most pornagraphic moan as white hot pleasure erupts through you. Negan’s thrusts become sloppy and rough as he chases his own high, before he stills realising inside your tight walls with a loud growl, the feeling of his cock pulsing causes you to moan again, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips pulling him flush against you.

You both lay there for what feels like hours, basking in the afterglow and catching your breaths. You break the long silence first “That was….. wow” you giggle. He huffs out a deep laugh, “Yeah, it was”, nose nuzzling into your neck. “Let’s clean you up and get some sleep yeah?” He offers, “Yeah ok” you agree.

Falling asleep that night in Negan’s arms you felt more loved and cared for than you have in years.

_______________________________________

Waking up to soft kisses on your exposed shoulders was a welcomed change, you mumble ‘Morning’ as you stretch out in strong arms. “Mornin’ darlin’” Negan responds, pulling you against him a little tighter. “Mmm I could just stay like this all day” you sigh, “We can if ya want baby, I’ve got no place to be” he agrees.

So you do, you spend the whole morning in bed together, tracing shapes on each others skin, talking about anything and everything and making love. Eventually your stomachs growl and you decide to get up in search of food, not before another heated session in the shower though.

As early afternoon hits your dad inevitably sees your car in Negan’s driveway and heads over to find out what’s going on. Hearing a knock on the door Negan leaves the comfort of your embrace on the coach and moves to answer it. “Oh hey Keith, you ok?” He says greeting your dad, “ I just noticed my daughter’s cars been here a while now, so I came over to see what’s going on” your dad explains, his voice questioning. “Ah yeah, well your gonna need to ask her about that” Negan replies motioning your dad to come in. Upon hearing your dads voice you quickly check you look presentable, and gather the courage to explain what’s happened.

“Hey baby, I noticed your car over here and came to see what’s going on?” Your dad comments as he comes to sit with you, “Hey dad, yeah Negan offered me his spare room last night, because I couldn’t face being at home, and I wasn’t ready to tell you and mum. But Casey caught James out with his ex last night, holding hands at a fancy restaurant, I know I should have told you but I was so upset and I couldn’t handle it last night” you ramble on, tears springing to your eyes once more.

You dad pulls you in for a hug “Oh sweetie I’m so sorry, shhhh” he coos holding you tight. “It’s going to be ok, you can come home for now, we haven’t touched your old room, just come home and we will help you take care of everything else” he encourages. “Yeah ok dad I’ll do that, I just need to grab some things” you explain. “Are you sure you don’t want us to do that? We don’t mind?” Your dad asks, “No I need to confront him and tell him it’s over, I need to do that for myself”, “Ok honey, well with your permission I’ll go and fill your mother in, and we will sort out your room for you” your dad says. “Yeah that’s fine, thanks dad” he nods at you “Thanks Negan for taking her in at such short notice, I really appreciate it man” your dad offers.

“It’s no problem, she’s always welcome here. She knows that” Negan replies with a shrug, trying to act nonchalant, when inside he’s terrified of giving something away, guilt ridden he’s keeping this from his best friend.

As Negan sees your dad out you check your phone, which has been left all night downstairs on the coffee table.

10 messages

33 missed calls

All but one are from James, which is a missed call from Casey, probably checking in on you, you made a mental note to call her in a bit.

Opening your stream with James you look at the messages.

Hey babe where are you? Xx

It’s getting really late now babe? Where have you got too? Xx

It’s now 1am, your still not home is everything ok? Xx

Fuck it’s like 3am now babe can you let me know where you are? Xx

Look just let me know your ok? Just message me back please x

I feel asleep it’s now 6am and your still not home, I’m going to go check Casey’s see if your there x

Hey I just spoke to Casey she showed me the photo, look it’s not what it looks like please let me know where you are, so we can talk about this xx

It’s now past lunch please babe I’m begging you talk to me, I know it looks really bad but just let me explain. Xx

I’ve tried calling all night and day, I’m really worried, I’m going to go to your parents house see if your there xx

Shit!!! He will see your car is next door, he will come barging over here! Shit shit shit!! You jump up in panic, when Negan comes back into the room he takes notice of your panicked state, “What’s up baby girl” he asks concerned. You hand him your phone so he can see the stream of messages, “He’s going to come here, he will see my car and he will come here and….”, “Woah, calm down sweetheart, if he comes here I can tell him to piss off, we can deal with it” he reassures you.

Just as you start to calm yourself down there’s a frantic knock on the door, you look at Negan with wide eyes. “It’s ok I’ve got it” he says before leaving the room once more. You can hear raised voices, it’s definitely James. You sigh rubbing your temples, you need to confront him, you need to have this conversation. So you take a deep breath, pull up your big girl pants and head for the front door.

“It ok Negan I can take it from here” you offer, “You sure sweetheart, you don’t have too” James scrunches his face at Negan’s pet name, “Yeah I’m sure” you nod, “Ok well I’ll be right inside if you need me, and I’m leaving the door open” he argues, taking one last look as he leaves to go inside.

“Hey” you start,

“Hey, please let me explain” he pleads.

You motion for him to go on, “Ok so I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I knew you wouldn’t understand and I didn’t want you mad at me. But Hannah’s been having a really hard time, her mum is really sick, she’s been in hospital for months now. She wanted to meet up to talk about it, and I was close to her mum once too, I just wanted to be there for her” he explains.

“Really?” You deadpan, “I don’t believe you, you were holding her hand for Christ sakes.” You shout.

“I was comforting her! That’s all!” He defends.

“I found your shirt James! It smelt of her and it has a pink lipstick mark on the collar, so explain that” you demand.

“Yeah she did cuddle into me that night but nothing happened I swear to you, she was having such a tough time I didn’t want to push her off. I can see now it wasn’t the right thing to do, but I still care about her in some way, and she’s in pain” he pleads to you.

“I promise you I didn’t cheat on you, we were in a group that night you can ask anyone.” He adds.

“James allowing her to cuddle into you, holding her hand, lying to me about being with her! That is still cheating, you may not have slept with her, but that’s still emotional cheating.” You argue.

“Yeah ok I can see that, but I didn’t mean it like that I really didn’t, I think your overreacting a bit” he quips.

“What! Overeact….. Jesus James you never see it from my side! Never consider my feelings, I’m always either overreacting or I’m too sensitive, but what you did was emotional cheating!” You snap.

“Oh yeah? Ok then so what would you call what you’ve been doing for years with Negan huh! Every time we argue you call him, every time something happens in your life you call him! When you have a bad day you call to tell him, when something great happens you tell him! Never me! You never talk to me! It’s always him! How do you think that’s made me feel! This has been going on since we met! Then last night when this happens who do you run too? Hmmm? Negan once again!” He rants.

You stand there in shock mouth open, because he’s right, everything he just said is true. He may have emotionally cheated on you in recent months, but you’ve been doing it too for years. Realisation must have hit your features because he looks at you then carries on.

“I mean for Christ sake y/n he’s your dads best friend, he’s old enough to be your dad. Yet you’re clearly in love with him, huh aren’t you?” He asks in frustration.

“Yes” you whisper, “Yeah I love him, I always have” you admit.

“Then why did you marry me!” James shouts.

“I didn’t ever think I could have him, I didn’t think it was in the cards, and then I met you and I fell for you too, I do love you too, I promise I do! Just ………. Not as much as I love him, I’m so sorry” you admit, tears now flowing down your cheeks.

He just nods sadly, “You said didn’t think it was in the cards, not don’t think, has something changed?” He asks.

“Yeah” you admit.

“Since when?”

“Since last night” you confirm.

“Christ I guess I brought that on myself huh?” He asks.

“Did you sleep with him?”

There was no point lying now, everything was out in the open. “Yes” you whisper, but he caught it and now he was crying too.

“I get it” he says with a defeated laugh, “You thought I was having an affair, he comforted you then offered you the one thing you’ve wanted most since you were a teen huh, it’s over isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think it’s been over for some time James, and I think you’re still in love with Hannah and deep down I think you know it” you concluded, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah I guess your right, maybe I do still love her, So can we do this amicably? The Divorce I mean, we can do everything 50/50?” He asks.

“Yeah I think we can” you admit, nodding to him with a kind smile, he pulls you in for a warm hug. “Friends then?” He offers, “Yeah in time I’m sure we will be” you agree. “Good, well I really do wish you all the best y/n” he smiles, “Yeah you too James, I hope you find happiness” you reply. He nods as he begins walking to his car “Bye James”, “Bye Y/N”.

It was a strange feeling watching him walk away, he was your college sweetheart, your first real relationship, it was the end of an era in some sort of way. But you didn’t feel sad, you felt free, as if this large weight had been moved from off your shoulders, like you’d been frantically treading water for years, and now your feet have finally hit land.

Warm arms curl around your waist, soft kiss hitting your temple. “You chose me” Negan chokes, voice filled with emotion. “Yeah” you agree, turning in his arms your eyes meeting his beautiful hazel orbs. “It’s always been you” you promise, before pulling him down into a sweet kiss.

_______________________________________

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

TAKE CARE OF YOU [4]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 2,515

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: a little on the shorter side for my usual stuff, but I needed to end this one here for future chapter pacing reasons lol. thanks for everyone who has shown sugar daddy joel love😘]

04: THAT'S MORE LIKE IT, SUGAR

"despite knowing they won't be here for long they still choose to live their brightest lives." -sunflowers

On Wednesday morning, you woke up late. At first, you had jumped up in a panic, seeing the clock read nearly 11 AM, but it dawned on you that you had traded today’s shift to work on Thursday instead. You slumped back into bed and closed your eyes. You had stayed up late last night talking to Joel just as you had Sunday and Monday night. It was becoming a habit you were more than happy to continue. A small smile drifted to your face at the thought that you’d get to actually see him tonight rather than just talk to him through a phone. 

With that excitement came a ball of anxiety. You’d get to see Joel tonight which meant he’d get to see you. It was the main reason why you had traded shifts to get today off because you needed all the time possible to get ready. Was that excessive? Absolutely. Were you overthinking it? Probably. Was that going to stop you? Nope.

You rolled over in bed and blindly felt around your nightstand until you grasped your phone. There were a few missed texts, but the first one came from Joel. ‘Enjoy your morning off, sugar. Check your front door when you wake up.’ Your eyebrows furrowed curiously. Front door? You rolled out of bed, saving the texts from Nima and Henry for later and padded out of your bedroom. For the first time in a long time, you felt giddy with excitement and the joy bubbling up into your chest only grew more immense when you opened your door. Resting on top of your welcome mat was a gorgeous glass vase filled to the brim with the most vibrant flowers you had ever seen. 

“Holy shit.” You gasped and carefully picked the vase up to bring it inside. You set it down on your kitchen counter to admire. The bouquet was a collection of bright sunflowers, beautiful red roses, and speckled throughout with some baby breath. There was a card hanging from the vase that you snatched up to read. You read it aloud, “Can’t wait to see you tonight, sunshine.”

As soon as the nickname, playing off the glowing sunflowers, left your lips it was followed by an actual squeal as you bounced in place. Your hands drifted up to rest on your warm cheeks as you gazed at the lovely flowers in admiration. Holy shit. Holy shit. In all your years of life, nobody had ever gifted you with something so adorably romantic. Your ex had picked you up a bouquet a time or two in the past but they usually came after a big fight. Never just as a gift for the sake of giving a gift.

“Oh my God.” You breathed and leaned in to smell the flowers, still beaming, “Oh my God.”

You needed to thank him. You grabbed your phone to snap a picture of it, but an idea occurred and you flipped your phone’s camera to face you. You hugged the vase toward your chest so half your face was hidden in the mess of flowers. It felt a little weird to send him a selfie, you weren’t quite that bold yet, but this seemed like a happy medium. You retook it three times before you were happy with it and then sent the text to Joel.

‘Thank you! I love my flowers!!’

You shifted the vase in a position where you’d be able to see it from nearly every angle in your small apartment then drifted back to your bedroom to get ready for the day. The text from Henry was just asking where a few supplies were, and the text from Nima was one asking what you planned to wear tonight. A very good question. You had a few cute dresses, but you weren’t sure they were ‘sugar baby entertaining her sugar daddy’ level of cute. In fact, thinking back to Rosalind, they most definitely were not.

While in the middle of texting Nima that you needed some kind of help, a reply from Joel came through and as if a switch flipped in your brain that same silly, stupid smile filled your features once more. ‘Glad they got there in one piece.’ Followed by, ‘Cute picture. The flowers are in the way of a real pretty sight though, sugar’.

The sound that left your mouth was hardly human. This charming motherfucker. Joel tried to say you were going to be the death of him? You were one smooth move away from spontaneously combusting. A thought occurred to you. How was this man single? Joel was without a doubt one of the most handsome men you have ever met. He was kind and caring. He was funny and smart. Obviously had a good business sense looking at his company and was still grounded and humble despite all that success. Add to all of that his charm and that intoxicating voice and accent? It was baffling that this man hadn’t swept some other lucky woman off her feet. In fact, the more you thought about it the more confusing it became. If he wanted any kind of company all he’d have to do was shoot a stranger a smile and they’d fall to his feet without a doubt, but he specifically went the ‘sugar daddy’ path. 

The two of you hadn’t discussed romantic histories at all. You didn’t ask because you didn’t want to cross a line and if he offered you his history you’d feel obliged to offer him yours. The bubble of playful, flirty banter and long casual conversations did not need to be popped by reality. 

‘Hey, I know you said you wanted it to be a surprise, but can I get a hint about tonight? For dress code purposes?’

‘Call Riley when you’re ready. He’ll take you to a store where you can get something.’

‘I was going to check my closet first.’

You were in the process of sending a follow up text about your closet when the phone went dark as Joel began to call. A chuckle left your lips and answered in a nonchalant, casual voice. “Oh, hey there.”

“Sugar, you’re killin’ me.”

“What ever do you mean, Joel?” You questioned innocently.

“You’re gonna get dressed then call Riley so he can drive you to the boutique.” Joel replied in a firm voice. “The girls at the front desk spoke highly of the place.” You were going to quickly get addicted to giving Joel a hard time if it meant you got to hear him boss you around so sternly. “And I better get a notification through my bank that you used the card.”

Your eyes widened, “Wait, you get notifications when I use it?”

“Yeah, and you ain’t using it hardly enough.”

“I bought lunch with it yesterday!” You argued. “And coffee the day before.”

Joel chuckled, exasperated, “Those are necessities.” You had to resist the urge to laugh that Joel considered coffee a necessity of life rather than a comfort. “The point of the card is to splurge.”

“Right.” You mumbled and twisted in place where you stood. “That’s not a strong suit of mine.”

 “I know, darlin’.” Joel replied. “Where better to start than to get somethin’ that’ll make you feel pretty tonight.” 

It was endearing that Joel made the clarification that he wanted you to buy an item that would make you feel more confident about yourself. As if you were already pretty, but just needed something to remind you of that fact. Jesus, again, how was he still single? You hummed, “Okay. I’ll see what I can do about putting a dent in your bank account this afternoon.”

“You say it jokingly, but that’s exactly what I want.”

“Keep this attitude up and you’re gonna turn me into a spoiled brat.”

“That’s the goal, sugar.” Joel’s deep voice rumbled with amusement and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sound. 

You cleared your throat. “You, uh, you’re going to regret saying that when I bankrupt you.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try.”

Joel had a voice like warm honey. The southern drawl and deep, hoarse quality of it was soothing to your soul. The sound of a different voice could be heard in the background and Joel grumbled in annoyance before wishing you a farewell. You continued to smile to yourself before shaking your head and beginning to get ready. You shot Riley a text saying you’d be ready to go in fifteen minutes or so. An idea popped into your head and you hesitated only a second before texting Joel.

‘Pick a color for my dress tonight.’

‘Blue, sugar. Let’s go with blue.’

Riley dropped you off outside a boutique was somehow adorable and elegant all at the same time. Two words that you typically didn’t string together, and yet here you were. The entire street was lined with the LA style stores and boutiques that you would never look twice at. As you stood outside of the one Joel had sent you to, you couldn’t help but wince. Oh God, what if you were about to have yourself a pretty woman moment where the employees send you packing.

You glanced down at your simple outfit of a blouse and jeans then wince again. You dressed in something simple since you were going to be changing in and out of different clothes, but now you were wondering if you should’ve scourged up the fanciest outfit in your closet. With a steadying breath, you pushed into the shop and braced for impact.

Piano music drifted through the shop, and the floor was covered in glass and marble stands. Oh, boy. This was the kind of place where a single article of clothing would end up costing more than your rent. The urge to spin around and leave rose up, but before you could bail a woman with a broad smile drifted toward you. She was gorgeous. Her dark skin not showing a singular flaw and her thick hair surrounding her head like a cloud of perfect curls. She looked like she stepped right out of a fashion magazine.

“Welcome!” She greeted. Your eyes widened when your name left her lips. “My name is Kiera. Mr. Miller called us earlier and told us to expect you. Would you like to come with me to the private stage?”

“Private…stage?” You repeated.

Kiera nodded and motioned for you to follow her. She led you to the back room where there was a singular changing room along with an actual stage surrounded by a panel of mirrors. A couch also sat in the middle of the room where someone could sit and wait. It was too bad Nima was at work right now. She’d be the perfect person for this kind of thing.

“So, tell me about some styles or colors you like and I can bring you items to choose from.”

Nervously, you began to ramble about the kind of dresses you typically wore and styles you loved. As Kiera began to walk away you called out. “Oh, and can they all be in shades of blue? Please?”

For the next hour, you worked with Kiera to find a dress that would work. It had actually been a lot of fun. Kiera had a kind and calming energy that settled any nerves you had about shopping in such a high end boutique and she truly had an eye for fashion. The woman knew what she was doing. She had helped you settle on a navy cocktail dress made of a satin material that accentuated the shape of your body. You had never felt as empowered as you did right now in this dress. 

“What size shoe do you wear?” Kiera asked as you stepped back out of the changing room in your normal clothes. Dress held carefully in your arms. 

“Shoes?”

“Of course.” Kiera chuckled. “I have the perfect pair for this ensemble.” You gave her the answer and she began to walk away, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll bring you a collection of jewelry to choose from as well!”

Shoes and jewelry? This was one of those shops where none of the items seemed to have a price tag. Never a good sign. Adding accessories to that could only steepen an already steep cost. Granted, Joel did say he wanted you to hurt his bank account. It just still felt…wrong. Hanging out with Joel was no problem, you enjoyed this deal you had with him, but the accepting money part was hard for you to grasp. You loved the idea of it, but when game time came around you froze up.

“I brought a few options in gold and silver that would go well.” Kiera came back with a cushioned board where multiple necklaces, bracelets, and earrings rested. She also brought the pair of shoes she had been telling you about.

“Thanks.” You chewed on your lower lip while pursuing. You pointed to a pair of earrings. “Um, how much are these?” 

Kiera chuckled. “Sorry. Mr. Miller was adamant that I not tell you the price of anything.”

“Of course, he did.” You muttered.

It didn’t take long to pick a few pieces you liked⏤ forcing yourself to ignore the nagging of wondering about prices. Kiera led you to the front and you chatted with her about the new puppy that she had just adopted and was crazy about. As she began to ring up the items, you stared at the keypad where numbers began to appear. The number behind the dollar sign hit 5,893 and you felt your jaw drop to the floor. Holy shit. That was literally two months rent for you. 

Kiera held her hand out and you slowly pulled out the credit card Joel had gifted you. She picked it out from between your fingers with a wide smile and you offered a sheepish smile in return. 

“You said this is for your date tonight, right?” Kiera asked. You took back the credit card and signed the receipt she slid over to you.

She was packing your items into a few bags. “Uh,” You nodded, “Yes. It is.”

Calling tonight a date was easier than calling it a meeting with your sugar daddy. Was there an official name for these kinds of things? Were they called dates? God, you were overthinking this again. Kiera handed the bags over with a chuckle. “Well, I hope you and Mr. Miller have a wonderful time. Please come back anytime!”

“Thank you for everything, Kiera.” You replied. 

She called out for you to come back soon, and you stepped back out into the hot LA air. The phone in your back pocket buzzed. You pulled it out, needing to call Riley anyways, but saw on the screen that Joel had texted you. He sent you a screenshot of the notification his bank had sent him with the purchase you just made. The message under that read, ‘Now, that’s more like it, sugar.’

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