#this is an open invite to discuss this book with me

[reiding-writing]

2 K .ᐟ — RED’S BOOK FAYRE .ᐟ

BOOK FAYRE [EVENT]

/bʊk feə/

an event where books are displayed and sold, often featuring author signings, readings, and other literary-related activities.

hitting 2k on the week of my birthday, what a lovely coincidence :)))

i really wanna thank you guys for all the love i’ve gotten for my writing over the last ten months, and not just on this blog either. knowing that people enjoy my writing is a massive motivator for me to continue, so, thank you <3

here’s a reminder of my request guidelines!

this book fayre will be closing on 03/10/24 00:00 bst. !!

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE?

★ a second hand book.

pick an existing series on my blog and request a fic to add on to it!

★ a two-for-one deal.

pick an existing fic on my blog and request a part two!

★ a workshop session.

for those who have endless ideas but don’t know where to start, send me a drabble or plot points of your own and i’ll write it as a fic!

★ a customised bookmark.

describe yourself and your interests and i’ll tell you what book spencer would want to read with you.

★ the author’s picks.

give me a genre of fics, or a specific blog, and i’ll recommend my favourite fics to read from it! (spreading the love here people)

★ a discussion panel.

an open invitation to discuss fanfiction (mine or otherwise in general) the culture around it, and how you feel about it.

here’s some examples of how requests for this book fayre should look:

hey, can i get a two-for-one deal with (fic)?

can i get a work shop session? here’s my idea:

i’d love a customised bookmark, i’m (describe yourself)

can i get the author’s picks for angst fics?

[ramzb]

local cannibal seeks victim soulmate ‼️

Bonus Tran being cute & color versions :

[strawbeerossi]

Sweet Treat

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Penelope gives you aphrodisiac chocolates as a gag gift. Whenever you and Spencer have a movie night, you both don’t realize what sweets you are delving into.

Content/Warnings: Awkward little banter between friends, mutual pining is mentioned, food/eating, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2.4K

Kinktober Day Twenty Three: Aphrodisiacs

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

“Penelope, what the hell is this?” You asked, a laugh leaving your lips as you looked over the container of what looked to be normal chocolate. “Well! I found it online and apparently it’s some of that chocolate that you eat and you just wanna go crazy on the first person you see.” She giggled.

A girls night meant all sorts of things but whenever Penelope pulled out presents, you knew exactly where this was going. You and the girls had met up at her place about an hour ago. After ordering Chinese takeout and having way too much wine, the night had taken a bit of a turn when it came to discussions. Women talk. Sex was a main topic between you and your small friend group.

“So you are giving them to me?! P, I don’t even have a boyfriend.” You laughed. “Who needs a boyfriend whenever you can have fun with anyone in the world. Just keep them.”

And so you did. It was days after the fact whenever you were inviting Spencer over for a marathon of your favorite show. It was going to be fun, you and your best friend from the office watching your favorite show together. He’d offered to pick up food on the way, which he’d stuck with a good Thai place that you both had eaten at numerous times before whenever you got back from a particularly late case.

Spencer was your best friend on the team, the both of you being closer in age compared to the rest of the crew you worked with. Plus you had similar interests when it came to books, movies, among other things. You’d greeted him with a wide smile the minute the door opened. “Hey!” You grinned while moving to hug him. Despite his disdain for hugs or being touched, he’d slowly began to let you in more. He was happy to hug you or have you hold his hand whenever you needed to pull him somewhere else in a crowded room without losing him.

He enjoyed being by your side. Honestly, he was sure he was in love with you because of how caring you were. You listened to his rambles and even asked him further questions. You even laughed at the jokes that were complicated to understand. You were truly a light shining bright on the team. “I hope you have snacks because I didn’t even stop.” Spencer groaned after returning the hug with one arm as his foot kicked the front door shut. “I do. I have a lot in the kitchen.” You assured.

You'd started the new season of your show together and gotten through dinner within a few episodes before Spencer disappeared into the kitchen as you paused the program on tv. “Don’t take too long! I gotta see how this plays out!” You called while leaning back against the couch, pulling the blanket over your body while letting out a soft hum. Spencer had ended up grabbing some chocolate. Which he didn’t read over the label as he grabbed a tab from the container and looked it over. “That’s cute. It’s got little shapes.” He chuckled to himself, breaking one in half as he was moving to take a bite from the rich milk chocolate. It was to die for, so he had to take the other half to you so you could try before you both tore into the bag together.

“Try this. It’s so rich. I actually love it.” He’d commented. You weren’t paying attention to what the chocolate looked like, bringing it up to your nose and smelling it before you were pulling the piece in your mouth. Which it was delicious, your eyebrows raising. “Wow, that really is good.” You laughed, watching as Spencer was sitting down and passing over snacks to you. “We can eat the chocolate later. You know sweet stuff can either send me flying on the walls or I end up feeling bad to do anything.” Fair enough.

It was an hour later when you were on another episode, your body was feeling hot as you shifted uncomfortably on the couch. You wouldn’t like to think that you were attracted to the program, it was a horror series and you were in the middle of a chase scene. So why else were you squirming?

Just as you were going to excuse yourself to take care of the heat in your belly, you noticed Spencer shifting uncomfortably, a pillow resting over his lap. Then you thought about the chocolate, your eyes widening as you were shooting up from the couch and rushing to the kitchen. Spencer watched you, turning slightly on the couch to watch you curiously through the doorway. That’s when you see the box, a soft groan leaving your lips as you lifted up the sex candy while bringing a hand up to rest against your face. ‘

Just great. You knew you should’ve just put it in your room.

“Spencer.” The sound of your voice had him nearly jumping out of his skin as he quickly faced the tv again. “Yeah?” He asked as his hand clutched the pillow harder. Maybe you’d caught him. Even someone who wasn’t a profiler could tell there was something going on, not to mention the growing tension between the both of you.

Mutual pining was normal and you both weren’t exempt from that. Spencer was an awkward rambler but you found it endearing. Just as he found you as equally as endearing even if you were quiet a good majority of the time and relished in his ramblings about whatever was brought up. You both enjoyed each other's presence, the two of you spending time together more often than not.

Those unsaid mutual feelings made this whole situation worse.

You approached the couch again as you slowly sat down beside Spencer again, body leaning back against the couch as you could feel yourself hot, face flushed as you couldn’t sit still to save your life. Spencer had now taken notice, clearing his throat. “I-I uh.. I may need to leave soon. M-mom’s facility called.” A lie but it would be a smooth getaway.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, it might be for the best! I forgot that I have to..” Your eyes glanced around the room. “Reorganize my bookshelf!” Less subtle. “R-right. Uh, This seems weird but can you close your eyes for a minute? I just..” His eyes were glued on the pillow, making you bring your eyes down as well. “O-oh.”

“It’s not because of the show!” He squeaked, face bright red as he was looking back at the screen. “I don’t- I don’t know why but I was looking at you and it just.. I don’t know!” He whined. His awkwardness made it hard for him to admit why there was a pillow on his lap outright, however you had clocked the reasons why.

“You know the chocolate..? Uh, Penelope gave me them the other day as a joke and they are.. They are essentially just sex chocolate.” Your face was hot, chest rising and falling as you were feeling the gush of slick in your panties from the heightened arousal. “Wait. Aphrodisiacs?!” Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes, mouth agape in shock. Well, at least he didn’t feel as bad from getting hard after giving you a few glances. There was a reason behind it.

The both of you stared at one another, faces hot and eyes blown out with lust. “So uh.. How long does this last?” Spencer finally asked, his brain being too clouded over with lust as he stared in your direction. “I-I wouldn’t know.. I never used them.” Your nose crinkled as the both of you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from one another. “I, uh, I lied about my reason to leave.” He stated the obvious while you couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape your lips. “I know..” You admitted, slowly pushing yourself to stand. “I um.. I don’t actually have to reorganize my bookshelf either..” You laughed awkwardly while heading over to stand in front of your best friend, hand moving to gently rest over the pillow. “I don’t want you to go.. Not yet. Can you, um, help me out a little bit? I trust you and you are here.” You rambled on as you put your hands together slowly. Spencer was looking at you with wide eyes as he nodded slowly.

“I’ll help.” You were both a bit awkward at first, the male letting you move the pillow before you were straddling his waist, the show in the background continuing to run as your best friend was blushing nervously. “I gotta admit that I’ve only done this one time before..” He spoke while you offered a smile. “It’s alright.” You whispered as you let your head dip down to connect your lips with his. Your bodies were buzzing with electricity as you were deepening the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair while his hands were gripping your hips.

You never thought you’d be in this position, tongue in your closest friend’s mouth while your hips were grinding down against his. You felt a fire inside of you, your body desperate to be bare and touched. As you pulled out of the kiss much to Spencer’s dismay, you were tugging your shirt over your head before tossing it somewhere else in the room. The sight of your breasts in a white bra had Spencer’s Adams apple bobbing as his eyes were trained on the lace that accentuated your skin. “It’s pretty right? One of my favorites.” You comment while watching his eyes stare at your tits with a new sense of hunger in his eyes.

You took it as a great sign as your hand was reaching behind you, unclasping the top before letting it fall somewhere with your shirt. His hands were quickly coming up to cup your breasts before he was just diving right in, wet kisses being pressed against your skin before his lips were wrapping around your nipple, tongue flicking over the nub as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Fuck.” You cursed while his attention was focused on your chest.

Your body was perfect.

As he had gotten enough though, he was pulling back to examine your chest that was covered in a few hickies and your hardened nipples. “You look so pretty.” It wasn’t akin to being called a whore or a slut but you honestly liked it. The way he complimented your body had your cheeks heating up as you were lifting your hips when he had gained enough confidence to work on your pants. He’d tugged down your pants and panties before working on his own pants.

“Eager?” You commented, a little giggle leaving your lips as Spencer looked at you as if you’d grown another head. “Have you seen yourself?! Of course I’m eager!” He defended himself, causing the both of you to share a laugh. “I hate to rush this but-” He was cut off by a groan as your hand reached between you both to give his leaking cock a few tugs. “I know, me too. You can make up for the lack of foreplay later.” You wiggled your eyebrows as you pressed your lips against his once more, your leaking hole sinking down onto his cock.

The both of you had let out moans muffled in one another’s mouths as your hips rocked slowly, getting adjusted to the man’s thick cock. It was always the awkward nerds who had the best surprises.

Your head was falling on his shoulder as he held your hips with a bruising grip. He wasn’t one to have sex often, not being lucky like Derek in the department of women effortlessly throwing themselves at him. He knew that this scenario was one he never imagined happening, your velvety walls clenching tightly around this bare cock while you essentially used him as a human dildo to get yourself off.

He wasn’t complaining in the slightest, watching your face contort in ecstasy as his hips were thrusting upwards to slam into your leaking cunt, a groan falling from his lips as his head tilted back against the sofa. You were whining and moaning with each thrust that he matched with your movements, eventually pushing the one place you needed most. The impact had your hands clutching tightly to his shoulders as you let your mouth fall open with a soft cry.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Your words were slurred, the effects of the aphrodisiacs heightening all of your arousal so you felt like you were going to burst at the seams. Your body was hot, hips surely bruised by Spencer’s rough grip as he slammed into you as well as your legs shaking from their position.

When you did hit your peak, you were tightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulders as your hips slammed down into his lap, ass hitting his thighs at an unsteady rhythm. Spencer however, was quickly flipping you both over, your body sprawled out against your living room couch as he was rolling on top of you.

Taking the opportunity, he wasn’t skipping a beat as his hips slammed into yours, your sensitive cunt contracting around his cock as he was bringing himself to climax. As your moans and whines from overstimulation echoed in the apartment, his own whines of desperation were falling from his lips.

His cock twitched inside of your used pussy, quickly making the effort to pull out of you as he jerked at his leaking cock, a low huff leaving his lips as ropes of cum were now pooling in your stomach, glazing your bare skin as he let out a weak whine. As you lay there covered in his spent, your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as you made the effort to catch your breath.

“I think that chocolate needs to be thrown away to avoid incidents like this again,” his voice pulled you out of your post sex haze as you laughed a little. “Are you kidding? I think we need to do this every time we watch our show together.” You teased, making Spencer shake his head with a smile.

“At least hide it for when you have anyone else over. I don’t think I’ll survive if this mix up happens with someone else.”

[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club

Pairing: The grid x driver!reader, Lance Stroll x reader

Summary: A wild goose chase ensues when you are at a meeting with your book club

requests are open (plz send some, i can’t keep only getting ideas while driving 🥺) masterlist

————————

“Guys, have you seen y/n?” Lance panics, rushing into the McLaren garage. It’s not the first time his girlfriend had disappeared from her garage but he’s always been able to find you a few steps away.

“She’s missing?” Lando leaped out of his chair. “Come on, Oscar, we gotta find her,” Lando drags his teammate out of the garage, following Lance to the Mercedes garage to find George.

“Any y/n sightings?” a very stressed out Lance asks.

“No, but now I am invested,” the Brit tags along in the search, hopping over to the Ferrari garage.

“Mes amis, you seem stressed,” Charles says, looking up from his book.

“Y/n is missing, Lance can’t find his girlfriend,” Oscar sighs, not sure why he isn’t leaving the group.

“No, we must join the quest, Charles,” Carlos says, clapping his teammate on the shoulder.

“Alright, only for y/n,” Charles, like oscar, begrudgingly agrees to join the ‘noble quest’.

Meanwhile, y/n is sitting on the couch, wearing a chunky cardigan and a pair of fashion glasses, sipping tea.

“No, Lizzy was clearly in love with Darcy even then,” Fernando waves his hands. This month’s book was Pride and Prejudice.

“Sure, Fernando,” Valtteri rolls his eyes.

The book club, affectionately called ‘The Old Drivers Club’ started when y/n barged into the Haas garage, claiming she needed their opinions and that she was tired of all the young drivers. Despite her being only 21, she found a home with some of the older drivers in the Paddock. The club consisted of her, Fernando, Valtteri, Kevin, and Nico. Lewis wanted to hold on to his youth, as he claimed, and Checo didn’t quite care for their gossip sessions.

“I still don’t understand how you can go from a 20 year old party animal to a 80 year old grandma overnight,” Kevin teases the young girl, bringing up a common point of conversation (usually her complaining about the younger drivers).

“And I don’t understand how you all don’t find Nico attractive? If I was ten years older, I would be all over him. God damn, what a fine man,” you swoon, causing the German to blush fiercely.

“Yes, yes, someone who could outshine Charles Leclerc in his prime,” Fernando dismisses it with the wave of his hand. You giggle and refocus on the book discussion.

“Nando,” you prompt him, silently asking him to go to the next topic.

“Alright, alright, let’s discuss what was probably y/n’s favorite scene, the confession scene. The second one, not in the rain,” Fernando says, and you shyly look down, the older drivers knowing you too well.

“Max, Checo, have you seen y/n?” Lance asks, even more flustered, half the grid behind him.

“Y/n? Why do you ask?” Max says, looking at his teammate.

“She’s missing!” Lando exclaims causing Checo to laugh.

“No, no. She’s with her book club, in the Haas motor home. I sometimes join them, interesting gossip, but not quite for me, no,” Checo says, looking oddly at the group.

“Her- her book club?” Lance asks, utterly confused.

“Si. Lewis has been invited too, but he claims he is too young,” Checo laughs to himself.

“Sorry mate, a book club?” George asks, a little offended he was never invited.

“And gossip? I’m a little offended I’ve never been invited,” Pierre gasps.

“Well? Is that all,” Max asks, wanting the group to leave his garage.

“Right, well I guess we go to Haas,” Carlos says, quickly thanking the Red Bull drivers.

“VALTTERI!” Your astonished gasp is heard from outside. Your group had moved on to what some think is the more enjoyable part of the evening, the gossip.

“Y/n! Oh thank god, we were worried sick,” Lando dramatically says at the doorway, having opened the door, revealing your group. The five of you look at the other group wildly confused.

“Worried sick?” You ask, looking at them.

“You were missing, I couldn’t find you,” Lance scratches the back of his neck, a little confused.

“I,” you pause before laughing. “Lancelot, you could’ve texted me,” you tell him.

“Why weren’t Pierre and I invited?” George asks, looking accusingly at your group.

“You don’t fit the criteria,” Kevin says, dismissing the question.

“And y/n does?” Pierre asks.

“Yes. When she sits upside down on your couch to gossip and complain about you all, and ask for life advice, then we might consider it,” Nico shakes his head.

“She is the founder of our group,” Valtteri points out.

“You also have to find young Nico attractive, more than current Charles,” Fernando teases, causing the young girl to blush.

“He was!” You defend yourself, and Carlos nods in agreement.

“Your girlfriend, mate. I’m surprisingly glad I tagged along,” Oscar says to Lance, pretty amused at the chaos.

“Out of curiosity, what is your next book?” George asks, your face lighting up.

“We are on a classics kick right now, so we are reading the No Fear version of Romeo and Juliet,” you say excitedly causing George and Charles to groan.

“We can’t join?” Charles asks again.

“Sorry, Leclerc, only room for one hot driver here,” Nico winks at you, causing your cheeks to redden.

“HEY!” most of the drivers in the room take offense to it, Lance mainly because the wink was directed at his girlfriend.

“Alas, if only you didn’t have a wife and kid, and I was ten years older,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“In another life, Mein Liebchen,” Nico sighs as well.

“Alright, I’m stealing back my girlfriend,” Lance pulls you away.

“Lancelot,” you giggle, waving goodbye to your book club.

“It is in these moments that I remember how young she is and how old we are,” Fernando sighs, Lewis taking your seat.

“My bones ache more and more each day, mate,” Lewis shakes his head.

“Welcome to our club, have the first act read by the next race,”

[withahappyrefrain]

Just a Game

You and Peter like to play a game. It requires no trivia or plastic pieces. Just two people and feigned innocence.

Warnings: CNC (which has been discussed explicitly) unprotected sex, language, minor breeding kink at the very end

You and Peter like to play a game. 

It's not a board game, though you two enjoy those from time to time. Not a video game, though Peter has expressed interest. 

This game doesn't require any trivia knowledge or plastic pieces. No one has to keep track of points. There isn't a timer. 

All this game requires is a surface and your two bodies. 

Sometimes it was a couch, when you two were in the middle of watching a movie. Other times it could be your kitchen counter, dinner be damned. Rarely, it would be the back of a car, which was your favorite. Peter’s favorite-against a wall- depended on when and where. 

Today the surface was your shared bed. 

It started innocently, like it always does. Peter found you curled up in bed, reading. He hadn’t considered playing today. But then he saw you, wearing only one of his hoodies and those pastel yellow panties that drove him wild. 

It didn’t help that Peter could smell you. Though the cover of your book didn't look out of the ordinary, your arousal revealed the true nature of your reading choice. 

“What’cha reading ladybug?” He asked, curling up to you. 

You put on an innocent smile, keeping the book to your chest, “Oh nothing. Just one of those silly romance books.” 

Peter raised his eyebrows, “Silly? Let me see.” 

Before you could squeak out an objection, Peter snatched the book away, his eyes scanning the page you were on. 

“He pushed her dress up to her hips, revealing her wet core. He dove in, lapping up her arousal like a starved man, his mouth quickly attaching itself to her clit.”

Sometimes you got so caught up in playing your role. Peter had said much dirtier things to you and yet there you were, head in your hands and a warm flush coursing through your body. 

Peter placed the book on your nightstand before bringing your hands away from your face. 

“Oh baby. You’re too sweet to be reading something like that. Why don’t we cuddle instead?”

With his brown puppy dog eyes and sweet smile, he actually sounded genuine. For a moment, you thought he wasn’t inviting you to play. Not when he had his head in your lap, practically purring as your fingernails gently scratched his scalp. 

But then his long, nimble fingers made their way under the blanket, grazing against your bare skin, drawing shapes along your thighs as he made his way up your body.

“Peter.” His name was said in a sweet, sing-song voice, “Thought you wanted to cuddle.”

He sat up, pulling you closer, “I do bug.” Peter's other hand was now underneath your shirt, creeping up to your chest.. 

“Peter,” you could barely breathe, too enthralled with how good his fingers felt kneading your breasts, “This isn’t cuddling.” 

“I know,” He sighed, as if he felt some guilt about what he was doing, “But doesn’t it feel good bug?”

You could only nod, breath hitching up when one of his large hands began to toy with the elastic waistband of your panties. 

The foreplay was fun, but it wasn't the main focus of the game. 

That didn't come until you were underneath him, completely bare and withering as his hard cock slid between your soaked folds. It was a battle, fighting the urge to jerk your hips up, potentially catching him. 

“Peter, w-we shouldn't,” your voice was shaky as you tried to come across as worried rather than in a pleasure laced haze.

“I know. We shouldn’t.” He's panting. Peter's lips ghosted over your bare skin, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses. 

In this game, your birth control and five year relationship didn't exist. 

No. In this game you were wide-eyed and innocent. In this game, both your heads were clouded with lust, longing threatening to overtake common sense. 

“Maybe,” His voice is soft, addictive. “Maybe I-we-just the tip?” 

You throw your head back when the head of his cock makes contact with your clit. Desire racked through your body, fingers creating crescent shaped marks along his back as you searched for something, anything to ground you amidst the pleasure haze that was clouding your judgment. 

Part of you wanted to break character so he would fuck you sooner. 

But where was the fun in that?

“But we-fuck- we don’t have a condom?” A box of condoms was currently stashed away in your nightstand. You had been on birth control for years. There was no concern.

Again, not in this game. 

With your wide, doe-like eyes, sweet voice, and withering body, Peter was truly surprised he hadn’t come already. 

But where was the fun in that? That didn’t allow him to play, to take off the friendly neighborhood hero mask and act out his deepest desires. 

His head dropped down to your chest, his thin pink lips quickly latching on to one of your breasts. Your back arched in pleasure, hands grabbing Peter’s soft chestnut locks upon feeling the scrape of his teeth. His hips continue to thrust forward, reminding you of what was within reach. 

“I know, forgot to bring some. It would just-just be the tip,” He sounds like he just ran a marathon. You’re so warm and wet. Everytime the plush head of his cock nudges against your clit, he can feel your walls clenching, trying to catch him, enticing him in. 

“Peter,” the way you moan his name is sweeter than any song he’s heard, “We-no. Peter, don’t.”

He’s already grabbed the backs of your thighs, hitching them up to your chest. Now he has the picture view of his cock sliding through your slicked folds. You have the prettiest cunt Peter’s ever seen and God, does he want to use it.

Your hips twitch as he nudges his cock towards your all too welcoming entrance, entranced by how your walls eagerly suck him in. Eyes roll to the back of your head upon feeling the head of his cock begin to stretch you, nearly forgetting your role in all this. 

“W-wait!” You try to prop yourself up, try to jerk your hips away. 

But Peter is stronger. It drives you crazy, his strength. His hands grasp your shoulders, pushing you back down onto the mattress. 

“It’s okay bug. Just the tip, remember?” The ambered irises are blown out with lust. Combined with the downright wicked smirk adorning his handsome face, he looks more devilish than heroic. 

It thrills you. No one else sees this side of him, only you. Only you does he feel comfortable enough to indulge in these desires. 

For a few moments, it's only the tip, sliding in and out of your tight walls. 

Sometimes he’ll dive right in, other times he'll drag it out, as if Peter is truly at war with his morals when it comes to your sweet cunt. 

“Just….just the tip,” he whispers, as though he’s trying to convince himself, trying to convince you. 

The outcome is clear, but you still nod your head. “Just the tip,” you agree. 

“So…fucking tight,” He watches where you two connect in awe, lips parted, “So warm. God…feel fuckin’ incredible.” 

The praise leaves goosebumps on your skin, almost distracting enough to not notice that Peter has been slowly pushing his cock in more and more with each passing moment. Your body betrays you, hips jerking upwards in a desperate, near pathetic attempt to get more of his cock. 

Sometimes the game is hard to keep up with. There have been times where you both forfeit, craving each other far too much to continue. 

If Peter noticed you breaking character, he didn’t acknowledge it. He’s too mesmerized by the way your cunt eagerly welcomes him. 

“Fuck, baby, m’sorry, it’s-you feel s’good.” His speech is slurred, drunk off your body. Before you can react, he thrusts forward, filling you to the brim. 

Finally. 

“Pete-no! We can’t!” You plead, despite your body enthusiastically welcoming the intrusion, “You said-ah! You said the-the tip!”

His cock twitches at your words, at the feigned concern in your voice. His lips ghost over your face, hips increasing the speed of their thrusts. 

“I know, I know,” it’s almost convincing, that he truly feels bad for this, for giving in to lust. As if neither of you wanted it. 

He picks up his pace, shushing your fake protests. His cock feels incredible, so full. No matter how much prep beforehand, the sheer size of Peter is still an adjustment. 

“You'll- you’ll pull out, right?” You gasp, eyes meeting his. 

“‘Course bug,” He chuckles. 

He won't. But it's the false promises that keep you going.

“As-ah- as long as you pull out, it's okay, right?” You're committed to the role of the naive girlfriend, Peter will give you that. The concern in your eyes is incredibly convincing. 

Sometimes he's so caught up in the euphoria of you that he forgets to play along. All he has to do is look you in the eyes to remember his role. 

“Yeah, it's okay. God, feels incredible. Your pussy.” He hitched your legs further up until they were nearly resting on his shoulders. The change in angle allowed him to thrust deeper, reaching the spot that made you see stars. 

Bliss quickly overcame you, causing you to focus less on the game and more on the coil that was currently winding up in the pit of your stomach, threatening to snap at any moment. 

“God, you're clenching me. Can barely pull out.” His pressed his lips against yours, capturing them in a messy kiss. 

You shake your head, “Y-you should. Peter!”

But Peter continues, relishing in how tight you're gripping him. It's addictive. 

“Everytime I try to pull out, your little cunt sucks me back in. Think she wants me to stay.” His words elicit a downright desperate whimper from you. 

“How’s this? I'll stay ‘till ya cum.” His composure was incredible, his voice so soft you almost believed him. 

Almost. 

Weakly, you nodded as Peter’s perfidious promise promptly pershing into the periphery of your mind. Who could express you to focus, when his nimble fingers were toying with your clit? 

Your pleas to stop fade away, occasionally a feeble no falling from your lips. His massive hands were all over you, kneading at your soft skin, sure to leave bruises. 

It's one of the best things to Peter, waking up and admiring the work he did on your body from the night before. 

But for now, he could enjoy another favorite-you. It was cute, nearly adorable how your legs shook, your hips jerking upwards, desperate to get more despite already being full of him. The pathetic whimpers that fell from your lips, unable to form anything coherent. With each thrust, your breasts bounced against your chest. 

It was picturesque. Peter wished he could grab his camera to immortalize this moment, but that would break the illusion. 

So instead, his fingers skim your soft skin, tracing over your plush curves, downward until he reaches his desired location. 

After all, he promised he'd pull out once you cum. So why not help? 

His fingers on your clit felt like lightning, sending a crack of electricity up your spine. It's euphoric, you can't even bother to play along, hands gripping the strands of his hair tightly as the bedroom is quickly filled with your moans. 

When you finally get pushed over the pleasurable edge, it’s loud. There are no whines or pleads for Peter to pull out. Only raucous moans that fill the bedroom, combining with the erotic sound of his skin slapping against yours. 

“Shit, feel s’good. S’fuckin tight,” He pants, “Babe-baby. You feel s’good. Don’t know if I can pull out.”

His words jolt you out of the lavender haze, reminding you of the part you were still playing. 

“N-No. You can’t!” 

Peter nods his head, though he’s not agree with you, “M’sorry,feel s’good.”

You try to sit up, to put up a fight. But just as you do, you’re pushed back down, your hands above your head, enclasped with Peter’s. His body covers you like a warm weighted blanket, the kind where it’s so soft and deceptively confining, you can’t get up even if you wanted to. The spicy scent of cinnamon that always lingers on his body floods your nostrils, his mouth swallowing your pleas to stop as his hips erratically slam into yours. 

It was blissful. You were enraptured by Peter, by his body, roleplay be damned. Your legs wrapped themselves around his lithe waist, pulling him closer. 

Peter reaching his own high triggers yours again, walls clamping tightly down on his cock as he floods you with his warm. 

“Baby, m’s’sorry, feels too good,” it's then you register he's still rutting his hips against yours. 

Well this is a new move. Usually the game ended at this point. 

The chance to prolong, to try something new was thrilling. 

So you shook your head. “Peter!” Your moan contained more desire than it did distress, “N-no, you need-oh- pull out!” 

But Peter just grunts. It's so animalistic, your thighs clench at the sound. His refractory period was much shorter than anyone else you had been with, no doubt thanks to a radioactive spider bite. 

Now sensitivity is surging through your body, pain and pleasure mixing together. He's hitting the spot that makes you see stars, the spot you didn't think existed until you met Peter. 

It's getting harder to stay in character. But as long as Peter is trying, so will you. 

“Y-you promised you'd pull out!” 

“I know,” he groans in your ear, “Shouldn't have such a fucking tight cunt then. Don't know how ya expect me to pull out.” 

His teeth sink down into your throat, earning a sharp gasp. 

“God, your cunt,” the scruff of his beard scratches against your skin, “Think you want me to cum in ya again.” 

You shook your head, “No! Please!” Fingers claw at his strong back to no avail. He continues with his harsh thrusts, paying no attention to how your mixed arousal was leaking onto the sheets. 

“No- stop!” But that wasn't your safe word. 

He could tell you were already close, your moans increasing in pitch, how your walls were clinging to his cock. 

You just needed a little help getting there. 

“Gonna cum in ya again. It might just take this time. Is that what you want? For me to fuck a baby in ya?” 

The illusion of your feigned innocence shatters, his words igniting a flame in you that can't be fanned out. 

You're now wailing, nodding enthusiastically at Peter's words. Fingers which were once clawing at him now grip his shoulders. Instead of jerking away, your hips move upwards. 

“Y-yes! Want it to take s’bad! Please fill me up!” 

Your voice was nearly unrecognizable; whiny and desperate. It only spurs him on, his cock thrusting into you at a near bruising pace. 

Peter's next high is with your’s, hips stuttering as he fills you once more. He knows he could go again, but everyone needs a break, an intermission before the next act. 

The next few moments, you two are speechless. The only audible sounds are that of heavy breathing and the overhead ceiling fan.

“Well, that was fun,” you chuckled, running your fingers absentmindedly through his hair. 

Peter finally made eye contact with you. His eyes are dark, almost black with lust. The grin on his face is downright wolfish. 

“Oh sweetheart, I'm far from done with you.” 

You were in for a long night. 

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

previous |

FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I���ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

previous |

Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre @leggtostandon @sarahhxx03

@zliteraturehoe @msmorningstaarr @gossipgirl-03 @vabeachazn @joeldjarin

@sofiparallel

[sparkleofpizza]

Emails I can't send

Part 6

Paring: Lando Norris x verstappen!reader

I keep declining all of the Max's call. I don't want to see him right now, I refuse to go back to his place, not after what happened at dinner.

I keep walking around Monaco. I’m angry, I’m sad and I’m also lost. Although Monaco is small, I have no idea where I am right now.

I look around myself before taking a deep breath and grabbing my phone. I decline yet another call from Max and call someone else, someone who because quiete important to me lately.

“Hello!” Lando answers the phone cheerfully

“Lan? I’m lost.”

“Lost? What do you mean your lost?” You can tell he is ruffling around his apartment “Aren’t you supposed to be at your brother’s?”

“Max and I got into a fight. I stormed out of his apartment and I don’t know where I am right now.”

“Okay, okay. Share your location with me, I’m coming to get you.”

You share your location with Lando, waiting quietly at the bench I found while wondering around. I know Monaco is a relatively safe place, but I don't like the idea of being on my own right here, especially after what happened tonight. 

Soon enough I watch one of Lando's many cars pulling up to a stop in front of me. Before I can stand up, he had already left the car and is walking quickly towards me. 

"Are you okay?" He asks, looking all over my body 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for getting me."

He nods, helping me get into the passenger seat of his car. He closes the door before running around to the other side of the car. 

"So…" He breaks the silence 

I sigh, wondering what am I going to do now. I don't want to go back to Max's place, but I don't really have anywhere else to go. 

"Can we… drive around for a bit?" I ask after a few more minutes of silence. 

"Of course."

Lando drives us around, the windows open and my hair flying around in the wind. I look up at the sky, staring at the moon that shines down on us. I smile softly, I wish I was up at the sky right now, beside the moon, watching down the earth and people going on with their lives. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lando asks in a soft tone. 

I turn to look at him. He has his eyes focused on the road, and although he is very close friends with my brother, I feel like I can tell him about the situation that took place at dinner tonight. 

"Max invited me to stay the week at his place, and when I arrived everything was fine, until…" I sigh, pressing a hand on my face "Until dinner. He invited our father without telling me about it."

Lando grimaces, knowing that my relationship with Jos Verstappen isn't the best in the world. 

"But it gets worse."

He turns to look at me briefly, eyes wide "Worse?!"

I nod, chuckling, but there is no humor behind it. 

"My vater started to berate me about all the online hate I'm getting regarding the situation with Mick. He said everything people are saying is true, that I am a slut, that I am a homewrecker and that's why I will never be as important or as talented or good enough as Max. He just said so many fucking horrible things."

"And what did Max do?" He asks in hesitation. 

"Nothing, he did absolutely nothing. He sat there, in silence, as our vater verbally abused me."

Lando huffs, I can tell by the clench of his jaw that he is irritated with the situation. 

“Nothing? He did defend you?”

I roll my eyes “No, he doesn’t stand up to our vater. He never did and he never will. I on the contrary Always spoke my mind and that’s why I’m the less favorite child.”

He sights “That’s horrible, I didn’t know Max did that you, he seems like…”

“A good brother? Don’t get me wrong, he is a really good brother, but when it comes to our vater I just wish for once he would have my back. That’s why I just left his place.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I don’t want to go back to his place.”

Lando shakes his head “You don’t have to. You can stay with me.”

“I don’t want to intrude, I will book a hotel room.”

“That is not up for discussion, you are staying with me.”

And at that he accelerate the cars, making me squeal in surprise. 

“Let’s enjoy the ride.” Lando says, grinning at me.

Yn.verstappen: My new single Fast Times and Fast Nights is out now, enjoy 

Liked by landonorris, kikacerqueira and others 

Logansargent: That’s a really cool song, why didn’t I listen to it before like the others? 

Oscarpiastri: I feel betrayed, why didn’t you send me the lyrics to this one? 

Landonorris: Fast nights, uh? 

            Yn.verstappend: With the fastest driver 

User1: WHAT IS GOING ON

User2: What is this comment with Lando?????

User3: FAST TIMES AND FAST NIGHTS IS THIS ABOUT THE NIGHT THERE WERE PICTURES OF LANDO AND YN DRIVING AROUND MONACO????

[iburnedmyselfalive]

SEX THERAPIST.

nsfw! -- lowkey got the idea from some wattpad book i read a couple years ago LMAOAOA someone lmk what its called if yk what im talking about.

this was so rushed, but I wanna make more parts to this soooooo, should I ?? + not proofread sorry for any mistakes

Over the past few weeks, challenges have emerged in your relationship with your boyfriend, including a sexual issue. A friend suggested seeking the help of a relationship therapist, specifically a sex therapist.

Following this advice, both of you attended therapy sessions, which have been generally positive. The sessions have been conducted by Mr. Skywalker, and you couldn't help but notice his flawlessly attractive presence.

Today, Mr. Skywalker invited you to a session alone, as your boyfriend was away on a work trip and couldn't attend. Despite the familiarity of being in therapy sessions with your boyfriend, you found yourself unexpectedly nervous about being in Mr. Skywalker's office alone.

This uneasiness contrasted with the usual sessions where he sometimes appeared agitated when you had discussed certain relationship issues.

You subtly pushed open the door to his office, finding him absorbed in his laptop. His intense gaze lifted as he noticed your entrance, and he grunted, "Good to see you," shutting his laptop without breaking eye contact.

Taking a seat across from him, you couldn't help but feel a mix of intimidation and attraction as his penetrating eyes swept over you, especially when they almost hungrily traced the lines of your pretty skirt.

"Hey," you greeted, adjusting yourself and placing your purse aside.

"How are you today?" he inquired, the discussion soon shifting towards your boyfriend, and he cut right to the chase.

"Any differences?" he demanded, a hint of authority in his tone. "Or just the same?"

With a sigh, you reluctantly nodded, "Just the same."

"hm, I see, today, we're going to try something" he declared, taking a pause before continuing, "different from our usual sessions,"

"Alright?" he asked, his gaze holding yours in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

And with that, you nodded.

"Now, hun, you know better than that, use your words," he advised, raising his eyebrows with a subtle challenge, making you gulp at the underlying intensity.

Despite the unease, you nodded again, confirming, "Yes, it's alright."

He nodded in approval, a sly smile playing on his lips. "There we go, that's better," he cooed.

You struggled to maintain composure as he rose slowly from his seat.

Fuck, he looked too good.

It felt almost wrong to acknowledge, but he exuded a captivating mix of intimidation and raw appeal. Giving you a piercing look, he wordlessly gestured for you to stand.

You complied, standing mere inches from him, reveling in the sizzling height difference that fueled your desires.

"Relax, you're nervous," he spoke in a low, commanding tone, his massive, yet surprisingly gentle hand tracing along your shoulder.

"Remember the breathing activities Nadia taught you?" he questioned, referencing a previous therapist.

You nodded.

"I want you to do those for me right now," he demanded, and you obeyed.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, you followed the practiced routine. Anakin's intense presence lingered, making your transformation into a calmer state palpable to both him and yourself.

"Good," he cooed, a low rumble in his voice.

"Very good," he continued, his unwavering gaze fixed on yours.

"You mentioned that when he touches you, he tends to rush things and doesn't take his time, right?" Anakin inquired.

You nearly choked on your words, but you managed to nod. "Yes, he rushes it," you concurred, and he nodded, trailing his fingers down your shoulders.

"You don't like that," he stated, and you just shrugged.

"If you want my help, you're going to have to talk to me," he asserted, his tone firm.

"So, I'm going to ask you again. You don't like it, correct?" he demanded, and without hesitation, you responded, "yes, It's not even enjoyable for me now," you explained, having this weird feeling inside of you.

Your eyes threatened to lose focus as his commanding lips left a trail of kisses along your neck.

"He doesn't get you squirming like this, does he?" he demanded, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"He doesn't even bother to kiss me," you breathlessly responded, almost whimpering when Anakin abruptly halted his assault on your neck. Gripping your face with his two hands, he sneered, "Well, it's his loss."

Before you could fully process his words, he forcefully pulled you into a fervent kiss, his tongue asserting dominance while his hands explored your body. In response, your hands navigated the contours of his physique. Standing on your toes, you seized his shirt, pulling him in for more.

"I'm going to teach you," he growled between kisses, his voice dripping with intimidation and promise.

"I'm going to show you what it truly means to feel good."

He was making his intentions unmistakably clear.

You offered no resistance, the unfamiliar sensations captivating you entirely. A low whimper escaped your lips as you looked up at him with pleading eyes, your voice adopting a desperate tone.

"Do whatever you want to me, please," you begged.

In response, a grin spread across his face, his gaze growing more intense. He effortlessly lifted you, carrying you to his desk and placing you on the edge without a care for the paperwork that might have fallen.

Unconcerned about the potential mess, he kissed you again, deliberately slow and enticing, leaving you craving more as his lips reluctantly pulled away. Descending to your neck, he gradually knelt on the ground, spreading your legs apart.

Inhaling your scent, he groaned as his fingers teased the material of your skirt.

"Cute," he murmured before his tongue traced over your damp panties.

"He's never made you this wet, has he? This all f'me?" he cooed, and with a whimper, you nodded. Your hands tangled in his hair as his tongue continued to trace circles over your panties.

"Raise your hips for me, baby," he murmured, standing up slightly. Complying, you lifted your hips, allowing him to smoothly pull down both your skirt and panties, discarding them carelessly on the floor.

Returning to his previous position on his knees, he watched you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed.

Shyly attempting to close your legs, he intervened without hesitation, forcefully parting them. Biting his lip at the revealing sight before him, his hands gripped your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge.

He planted a couple of kisses on your inner thighs before his tongue skillfully lapped over your drenched core. His eyes remained locked onto yours, never wavering for a second, intensifying the heat of the moment.

Your body quivered at his sudden actions, and soon enough, he began sucking at your clit, causing your head to arch back in pleasure.

"fuck ani, 's good" you cried out, legs shaking from how good it was, how good he was.

He never let anyone refer to him with the nickname, 'ani', but an exception was made for you.

"Louder," he demanded, and you complied, moaning and whimpering in response to his skilled ministrations.

Your breath caught as you almost moaned at the sight of his chin glistening with your arousal. His nose grazing your clit with each rhythmic motion elicited loud moans from you. His unyielding grip on your thighs persisted, and he skillfully positioned you to allow the subtlest rocking of your hips back and forth.

"oh my gosh" you cried out, your hand clutching the lamp on his desk for dear life as your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"mmm," he cooed, continuing to suck on your clit. "Such a good pussy this is," he murmured appreciatively.

"Want all your damn juices in my mouth. Come on, baby, cum," he grunted, and with those words, and his absolute torture going on with your cunt, you made a mess all over his face.

He persisted in his relentless actions even after you reached your peak, a smirk playing on his lips as he finally stood up. Grabbing your trembling hand, he guided it over to the bulge in his pants.

"Feelin' me, baby?" he sneered, and with a pout, you nodded.

"Where do you want this, here, hm?" he taunted, using his other hand to press down on your lower stomach.

Again, you nodded.

"Yes, please," you begged, and he chuckled, a menacing tone underscoring the sound.

Sealing his lips to yours, he tasted you through the kiss, reveling in the control he held. His hands roughly palmed your breasts through your shirt before pulling away for the slightest second to take off your top, following your bra.

"Off," you whined, eyeing his pants as you undid the buttons on his shirt. Soon, both of you had discarded clothes, each piece carelessly thrown around his office.

"Such a pretty pussy, been denied for so long, huh?" he jeered, removing his boxers.

You found yourself almost intimidated by his size, and as he brought it to your slit, he chuckled while deliberately teasing it against your folds.

"Lay down," he demanded, and you whined.

"But your desk, what if it—" you started expressing concern, but he cut you off.

"Do you think I give a damn about my desk, love? I don't give a single shit if it breaks. I'm going to fuck you," he spat out.

"I'm going to fuck you just the way you deserve it."

[lancermylove]

Are We About to Kiss? (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: All x gn!Reader

Warning: None.

Original Prompt: Lucifer, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Simon’s reaction to their crush jokingly asking ‘Are we about to kiss right now?’(like, when their faces got too close while doing a mundane thing and mc wanted to tease them)

A/N: I added more characters to the original but will put the original HCs in this post as well.

———————————————

Mammon was rummaging through his room, trying to find his missing wallet, while you were there browsing your favorite clothing site to see which outfit to buy for the upcoming dance.

"Hey, Mammon, what do you think about this outfit?"

Leaning close to look at your phone screen, he examined the apparel. "That'll look good on ya!"

In his excitement, he didn't notice how close his face had gotten to yours.

"Mammon, are we about to kiss?" you teased, noticing the proximity.

He jerked back, a flush creeping up his cheeks. "Wha- No! I mean, unless…ya want to?"

Seeing your amused smile, Mammon's confidence wavered, then surged. "Ah, what the heck," he muttered, closing the gap with a bashful grin. "If it's you, then I ain't complainin'."

Leviathan was focused on his new favorite game, his room dimly lit by the glow of multiple screens. You were busy sitting on a bean bag beside him, working on a project

"Levi, do you think this idea is good enough for the project?" You asked, nudging him slightly to get his attention.

With a sigh, Levi paused his game and turned to look at your notes. "Let's see what you've got," he mumbled and leaned in close to see the small text on your paper.

His arm brushed against yours, neither of you realizing how your faces had drawn inches apart in the dim light.

"Levi, we are close enough to kiss. Do you want to kiss me?" you whispered, half-joking, half-curious about his reaction.

He froze, his eyes widening as he processed your words. "Huh?! No, no, no, I mean... I-I wouldn't be opposed, but... are you sure?"

After a moment of flustered hesitation, Levi's expression softened, a shy smile forming. "If... if you're really okay with it, then... I guess I am, too."

Satan had invited you to his room for a quiet reading session, but you were there to seek his advice on a tricky essay topic for your RAD assignment.

"Satan, how do you interpret this passage?"

He leaned over, his emerald eyes scanning the text closely. "Ah, this is a common misconception. What the author is actually implying is…"

As he explained the meaning, his focus was entirely on the book, but your focus was on his handsome face. You were almost tempted to caress his silky hair.

"Satan, do you intend to kiss me?"

He paused, looking up from the book. When his eyes met yours, a light blush painted his cheeks. "I… had not planned such a deviation from our study. But if you're inclined…"

With a soft smile, Satan set the book aside and slowly closed the gap between the two of you.

Belphegor invited you to nap with him under a cozy blanket in the attic. But the two of you ended up discussing the upcoming meteor shower.

"Belphie, do you think we'll be able to see the shooting stars clearly from here?"

He yawned, shifting closer to you for warmth. "This is the perfect spot. You'll see, it's magical."

While whispering, he inadvertently nestled closer, his head resting against yours. For a moment, you observed his soft expression as he looked up at the skylight.

"Belphie, are we about to kiss?."

He opened his eyes slowly, a lazy, content smile spreading across his face. "Wouldn't that be a perfect way to wait for the stars?" he murmured, excited at the thought of his lips meeting yours.

The prince had arranged a private tour of the RAD archives for you to help you gather information for a history project.

"Diavolo, what's the significance of this emblem?" You inquired, pointing to an ancient crest embedded in the archive walls.

With a warm smile, Diavolo stepped closer to explain, his voice filled with passion for his heritage. "This emblem represents the unification of the three realms, a symbol of peace and collaboration."

His hand gently guided your shoulder to a better viewing angle, bringing your faces inches apart. But the prince didn't notice this as he was too immersed in explaining the importance of the emblem.

Unable to resist the closeness of his handsome face, you whispered. "Diavolo."

As soon as he turned his head to you with a bright smile, his eyes widened at the closeness. Giggling, you teased. "So...are we about to kiss?"

"Would that be your desire?" he responded with a deep and inviting voice, his eyes sparkling. "I am here to make your experience as enjoyable as possible."

Barbatos had offered to teach you an exclusive recipe from the royal kitchen due to your curiosity about Devildom cuisine.

As you stirred the ingredients in a bowl, you curiously asked. "Barb, how do you know when this mixture is ready?"

Barbatos leaned in, his eyes scrutinizing the mixture. "Observe the texture and color."

Seeing your stirring technique a bit off, his hand steadied yours. His body was so close to your back that you could feel the heat seeping through his shirt. Though he remained composed, your cheeks grew red. Moreover, he refused to move as he was too invested in watching you mix the ingredients closely.

"Barbatos, do you...plan to kiss me?" You giggled.

He paused and slightly tilted his head. For a moment, his eyes took in your red cheeks while his ears listened to the rapid beating of your heart.

"If that is your wish, I see no reason to delay such a moment," he whispered teasingly into your ear.

For the longest time, you had pestered Solomon about wanting to watch him mix his potions and do magical things. He finally gave in to your wish and invited you to watch him craft a spell. While he was gathering the ingredients, you read through his tomes.

"Solomon, can your spell really charm anyone?"

He leaned over your shoulder to look at the words in the tome, his silver hair brushing against your cheek. "Ah, this one is quite unique."

He began to flip through the tome to find another spell that would help you understand the first one better. But your eyes were fixed on him as the corners of your lips tugged into a cute smile.

"Solomon, are we about to kiss?" You playfully asked.

He paused and stared at your face, only now realizing how close the two of you were. His lips curled into a calm smile. "Would that be an experiment you're willing to partake in, or do you simply wish to learn if you can charm me without the use of a spell?"

Lucifer was signing an enormous stack of papers while you were sitting beside him, working on homework. 

"Sorry to disturb you, but Luci, what does this word mean?" 

He leaned closer to you to get a good look at your textbook and confidently replied. "Have I answered your question or-"

The Avatar of Pride shifted his eyes to you, only now realizing how close he was to your face. He took a moment to gaze into your eyes - beautiful, simply beautiful. It wasn't often that Lucifer could get this close to you without his brothers attempting to pry you away from him. 

"So…are we about to kiss?" 

Your words surprised him, but his lips tugged up into a mischievous smile. "Is that what you wish for?" 

Without waiting for your reply, Lucifer closed the distance between your faces and whispered against your lips. "Your wish is my command." 

It was your turn to cook dinner, and you were busy chopping vegetables. Out of all the recipes you could have picked, why did you choose one that required so many veggies? Cooking was tedious enough, but now you were stuck cutting a mountain of greens. 

As a yawn escaped your lips, you closed your eyes but didn’t stop moving the knife. 

”(Y/n), careful!“ A strong hand gripped your forearm in the nick of time and prevented the sharp blade from cutting your index finger. 

Opening your eyes, you saw Beel’s face a few centimeters away from yours. The two of you locked gazes for a few minutes as your brain tried to process what was going on. But instead of thanking him for saving your finger, you ended up asking, "Um…are we about to kiss?" 

Beel tilted his head to the side and blinked rapidly. "You were about to hurt yourself, so I stopped you…" 

"You are too innocent, Beel. I was teasing you…you know what, never mind, thanks for saving my precious finger." 

The Avatar of Gluttony nodded, but he started to regret his reply - a kiss sounded even better to him than an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

Asmo was absentmindedly brushing through his hair and didn’t notice you walk into his room. For a moment, you observed him, wondering if something was bothering him. 

"Asmo?" 

No reply. What was going on? That was not like him at all. 

You walked up behind him, leaned down, and brought your lips close to his ear. "What’s wrong?”

Even though your question and intentions were innocent, your whisper was enough to make Asmo shiver. 

He turned his head to apologize to you but seeing how close you were to him, the Avatar of Lust froze. Was it just him or did you get even more attractive than before? 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Are you thinking about kissing me?" 

"A kiss? Well, I was planning to verbally confess my feelings for you, but a kiss works, too." 

Asmo pressed his soft lips against yours with no plans of letting you walk away with just one kiss. 

You were helping the angels bake some sweets in the Purgatory Hall kitchen. Luke left the kitchen to retrieve his phone from his bedroom, leaving you with the older angel. 

"Simeon, my apron is coming loose, so could you please tighten it? Sorry to ask you, but-" You showed him your frosting-covered hands. 

After tightening the knot, he glanced over your shoulder to get a better look at your colorful cookies. The second you turned your head to thank him, your noses touched. 

To your surprise, Simeon didn't back away; instead, he glanced at you with the softest of looks, admiring how radiant your face looked. 

"Um…are we about to kiss?" 

A hint of red crept on his cheeks as a smile formed on his lips, "I would like that." 

Just as your lips brushed against his, Luke flung the door open, "Sorry it took so long!" 

You and Simeon immediately pulled away, turning your faces in opposite directions. 

"Did something happen?" The young angel asked, concerned, "Your faces are really red…are the two of you sick?" 

———————————————

➣  Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

[burn-before-reading]

moving in w joost fluff? eating takeaway pizza on the floor bc there isn’t a dinner table yet, unpacking old stuff from trips together, discussing where to hang paintings or how to furnish the place and that kind of stuff. just total domestic bliss. plzzzz I’m begging <33

Floor Pizza & Photo Albums

joost klein x reader

after finally moving in together, the two of you reminisce on how you two met and start planning your future.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: Im a total sucker for domestic shit i love this request so much. Also as someone who has moved at least once a year the past couple years i kinda need a chill moving party at some point aaaaaaaa

“ Do you want me to set the last box over here?” Joost gestures to a pile of boxes labelled KITCHEN and you nod. Setting is down, he takes a look at the work you two have left, dozens of boxes scattered around your guys new house. The two of you had planned to move in together after he asked you about a year prior. So after five years of dating, looking at too many places together, and waiting Joost to finish his tour, you guys finally found the right place to settle down.

“Thats the last box from the truck, right?” you asked, leaning up against the kitchen island.

“ya, i think so. this took longer than I thought honestly. we should have hired movers.” he laughed, wiping the sweat from his hands.

“yeah, and now we gotta unpack everything. and we can’t fully do that till all the furniture we ordered shows up.” you look to the barren kitchen and living room situation. “at least we got a mattress.” you add clicking your tongue in thought a few times before looking at him and smiling “ soo… Dinner?”

-

This moment reminded you of your first apartment after college, but a little less lonely. The two of your sitting in a makeshift picnic in your soon to be living room, old blanket laid out to protect the hardwood from any crumbs from a bag of chips you grabbed. A box of pizza open and slowly being devoured with some beer to wash it down. a bit more relaxing than your first night at your last apartment. sitting on an air mattress, eating microwave ramen and rewatching a movie on your laptop. yeah, this time was a lot better.

“ That was not the first conversation we had i promise you.” you chuckled as the two of you reminisced on your guys past.

“ Yes it was! I met you at Alanis’s birthday! You complimented my tattoos and you were wearing that, that one thing.”

“that one thing.”

“yeah!”

“very specific.. and that wasn’t the first time we met.” you took a sip of your beer. “it was the week before actually.”

“No, I would’ve remembered you… wait, were you at the concert?” he asked, now more intrigued than ever. his head titled slightly in curiosity.

“I was. Alanis invited me.” you nodded.

“why don’t I remember you there?”

“because you got completely hammered the second the show was over. by the time she properly introduced us you were almost black out drunk.” You teased. He just winced.

“wow, im surprised you even agreed to a date if that was your first impression of me.”

“well I already had seen you at your worst, and you still looked pretty cute.” you smirked and leaned over to kiss him on his cheek before standing up and walking over to one of the boxes.

“Schatje, we can start unpacking tomorrow. Its late.”

“I know I know, Im looking for something.” You rummaged through one of the boxes with your name on it. After a second you found what you were looking for and pulled out a book before heading back over to a confused Joost, sitting back down on the floor next to him and leaning over so your shoulders touched. You handed the book to him and opened the cover up to reveal a photo album.

“I started a photo album after moving here.”

“I remember you used to bring those disposable little cameras everywhere. Thats why I bought you that polaroid.” you nodded and continued flipping through.

First few pictures were of your old apartment, the one you had just moved out of. The sad air mattress, a blurry mirror selfie, the old cafe you used to go to.

“after the first month I met Alanis. She saw me at the same cafe all the time and said I looked sad.” You pointed to the first picture of her you took at the cafe.

“Forever glad she befriended you by the way.” Joost murmured and kissed the side of your head. your face grew slightly red but you continued the small album tour.

“yeah, me too, moving to a new country was definitely overwhelming, but two months later,” you flipped through a couple more photos, your first day at work, a couple more outings with Alanis. “I met you, unofficially.” you joked. The top picture was him performing at his concert, He was shirtless and screaming some lyrics at the crowd. The picture below was of the two of you. He clearly was wasted, and had him arm around your neck. You were smiling, facing the camera, slightly buzzed, and the two of you were making the sign of the horns with your free hands. “you saw my camera and insisted we get a picture together.”

“How had i never seen these before? and Why am I barely learning of this now?” his hand touched the picture softly, like he was trying to absorb the memory of your first meeting.

“It was for like two minutes if that makes you feel any better. I had to leave immediately after. I just felt rude leaving without complimenting your performance. And I just never wanted to correct you when we were in public.” you reassured him, but he just kept gently brushing over the photos.

“can we frame it?” he asked. You shrugged your shoulders.

“if you want? I don’t wanna take it out but I can make a copy?” you replied, but joost had pulled the picture out and was stood up to walk to fireplace mantel and held the picture up. “be careful! your hands are greasy.” you followed him with the book to see what he was doing.

“It should go on this wall right here. in the center.” he imagined.

“we can, but its like, super tiny. shouldn’t we put something bigger over there? we can do like a collage maybe.” you saw the lightbulb go off in his head at the mention of a collage and you clutched the album in your arms tighter. “wash your hands first, then ill let you start pulling all the photos out.” he set the picture down so it rest on the mantel and stood back to admire the temporary decoration.

“Volmaakt.” (perfect)

“Well if my photos are going on the wall over here then,” you went to another box and pulled out a frame that had a funny portrait Joost had drawn of you on your fifth date. “I want this to go in the living room as well. we gotta have a whole art wall honestly.”

“I bet I could commision a painting from Daan to go above the couch.” he went and moved some boxes around to make the “couch” and another for a place holder coffee table and sat down on them. “ the tv can go over there. so you can hook up your game console.” he gestured in front of him then stood up again.

“maybe the book shelf can go somewhere on that wall?”

“hmm.” you stand next to him and stick your hands out in a frame shape and squint your eyes. “I can see it. You know what I think?” Your hands go back down and you look and him and grin.

“If we invite everyone over tomorrow they can unpack and move all the furniture for us.”

“They definitely will if we pay them in beer. Appie said he would bring my dogs over tomorrow anyway. I miss them.”

“me too, that's why the house feels so quiet.” you reply.

“well I can fix that.” joost goes pulls his laptop out of a bag and starts playing ABBA.

“The neighbors are going to hate us.” you laugh as he starts dancing and motions you to join in. “actually keep dancing I need to capture this.” you scrounge around in a bag of your for another little film camera and snap a quick picture of the floor pizza and Joost having his own mini dance party. satisfied with your documentation you go to join him, the two of you vibing to Gimmie Gimmie.

When the song ends you realize how tired you are so the two of you decide to retire for the night, and deal with the mess in the morning. Heading to the makeshift bed you had set up earlier with the queen sized mattress and a mountain of pillows, blankets, and stuffies. You simply let yourself collapse on the pile and Joost joins you, the exhaustion hitting you both. He feels his way through the blankets till he finds your arms and pulls you close to him so you guys can cuddle. In the morning you can deal with unpacking and furniture, but now you two can be next to each other, in the same bed, officially.

[f14fun]

pages and podiums (!author x op81) - chapter 1

synopsis: in which case y/n, an author hosts a signing and a read-out-loud of the final installment of her book series in new york city. oscar, lost in the big city, stumbles by the bookstore and is immediately intrigued by her (and her books).

prose (3.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | next ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

There was nothing I liked to do more than write stories.

Well, reading them came in a close second, but being able to tell a heartfelt tale coming from the inner depths of my heart, and sharing that emotion with an audience really, is the best thing that could ever happen to me.

That's how I found myself newly graduated from New York University, sitting in a relatively popular bookstore, sat in the corner of the shop with my books surrounding me. The bookstore was a quaint little gem nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, its walls lined with shelves brimming with literary treasures.

The warm, inviting atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. My table, adorned with a modest sign displaying my name and the title of my latest book, was strategically placed near the large bay windows, allowing the soft afternoon sunlight to spill in and create a cozy nook.

As I arranged my books, carefully stacking them in neat piles, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. This bookstore had been a frequent haunt during my university years, a place where I sought refuge and inspiration amidst the chaos of assignments and deadlines. Now, returning as an author, it felt like a full-circle moment—a dream realized in the most poetic of settings.

I was hosting a book-signing and read-out-loud for the last installment of my book series.

It was quite early in the afternoon, but never too early in the Big Apple. As it neared one o'clock, I was lost in the tranquility of it all. The shop had quieted to a dull lull.

It was lunch hour, and people were busy munching away on salads, sipping their lattes and iced-coffees, and eating finger-held pastries.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain plates created a rhythmic background hum, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or murmur of conversation. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an intoxicating blend that seemed to energize the entire space. Some patrons sat alone, engrossed in their books or typing away on laptops, while others gathered in small groups, their animated discussions adding to the lively ambiance.

The bookstore café, with its rustic wooden tables and vintage chairs, was a popular spot for locals and tourists alike, a perfect retreat from the frenetic pace of the city outside. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the faces of the patrons and illuminating the colorful spines of the books on display. It was a picture of serene contentment, a snapshot of everyday life unfolding in the heart of the city.

It was a sleepy time too, everyone tired from the consumption of their lunches. It was a relaxing time, and I was glad to have the time to myself, which contrasted the terribly-busy morning I had. Signing books and talking to fans nonstop from eight to twelve.

But I was eternally grateful for them.

Without them, I would quite literally be homeless on the scary streets of New York City. Their compassion and appreciation for my work kept me writing.

I was interrupted from my moment of solitude when I heard the bookstore door suddenly swing open. It was quite an ordeal as well, as the rusty, copper door hinges squeaked loudly when opened, disrupting the ambiance of the shop. Heads turned briefly toward the entrance, curiosity piqued by the unexpected noise. A gust of cool air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of rain from the gathering clouds outside.

From where I was sitting, adjacent to the door, I spotted the new customer. Or at least, he was an unsuspecting customer.

Standing awkwardly with his two feet pointing in opposite directions and his nervous hands fiddling with each other, I could tell that he looked inexplicably lost. With a bewildered look on his face, he looked like the opposite of a native New Yorker.

He stood in the doorway for what felt like a minute, inquisitively grappling with his new surroundings. His eyes darted from shelf to shelf, taking in the rows of books with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

He wore a slightly rumpled graphic t-shirt and shorts, his brown, mousy, tousled hair suggesting a hurried departure from wherever he had come. The contrast between his uneasy demeanor and the bookstore's cozy, relaxed atmosphere was almost palpable.

As he lingered by the entrance, other patrons glanced up briefly before returning to their books and conversations. The young man seemed to be in his own world, oblivious to the mild interest he was generating.

His fingers tapped nervously against his leg, and I noticed he kept glancing at a slip of paper he held, as if seeking reassurance from whatever was written there.

The longer he stood there, the more out of place he seemed, like a character from a different story who had wandered into the wrong book.

Finally, he took a tentative step forward, then another, moving slowly into the bookstore’s warm embrace. His eyes continued to scan the room, perhaps searching for a familiar face or a sign that would guide him to his destination.

There was something almost endearing about his uncertainty, a raw vulnerability that made him stand out in this city of confident strides and determined gazes.

From my vantage point, I watched him with a blend of amusement and empathy. I remembered the feeling of being out of place, the hesitance before taking a plunge into the unknown.

It was a moment of silent kinship, two strangers connected by the shared experience of navigating the unpredictable terrain of life in the city.

He was sort of cute, in an awkward way. His tousled hair gave him a boyish charm, as if he had just rolled out of bed and rushed to get here. He had some sort of a crooked smile, one side of his lip lifting higher than the other. He was tall, with a lanky frame that made his awkwardness even more pronounced. His long legs seemed to have a mind of their own, fidgeting and shifting as he stood in the doorway, adding to his endearing clumsiness.

The way he towered over the small tables and chairs made him look slightly out of place, like a gentle giant in a world built for smaller people. Despite his height, there was nothing intimidating about him. Instead, his gangly limbs and hesitant movements gave him an almost childlike innocence.

His eyes, bright and inquisitive, roamed the room with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. There was a spark of intelligence in them, hinting at a thoughtful mind behind the awkward exterior.

He was different, a moment of slowness. Different from the fast, bustling energy and the fast-paced life the city offered. As I continued to observe him, our eyes met. It was a fleeting moment, but there was something in his gaze that beckoned him to cross the room to meet me.

With a deep breath, he finally took a step forward, his tall frame weaving through the tables and chairs with cautious determination. As he drew closer, his awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a quiet confidence.

“Hi,” he said, his voice carrying a rich, unmistakable Australian accent. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit lost.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the accent and the admission. “Lost? In a bookstore or New York City?” I asked with a playful smile. “Because either way, that’s quite the adventure for an Australian.”

Oscar chuckled, his crooked smile widening. “Both, actually. My phone’s dead, and I’ve been wandering around for a while." Oscar’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed." I’m just visiting for work, and I think I’ve wandered a bit too far.”

“Well, welcome to the Big Apple, Oscar. I’m Y/N,” I said, extending my hand.

He took it with a firm shake, his eyes brightening as he glanced around the bookstore. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. So, any tips for a lost Aussie in the city?”

I enjoyed the nice handshake, noticing how his hand seemed to slot perfectly with mine, the warmth of his palm against mine sending a faint shiver up my arm. I blushed slightly, a feeling of unexpected warmth spreading through me as I glanced down at the table where a loose slip of paper lay forgotten.

Gathering my bearings, I leaned in with mock seriousness. “Well, first tip—don’t trust the pigeons. They might look innocent, but they’re secretly plotting world domination.”

Oscar laughed, a genuine sound that filled the space between us. “Noted. And here I thought they were just after my lunch.”

“You’ve got to watch out for those New York pigeons,” I continued with a grin. “They’re a sneaky bunch.”

Oscar leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Do they have a vendetta against Australians too?”

I chuckled, remembering a particularly humorous incident. “Well, let’s just say they’re equal opportunity offenders. Once, on my way to NYU, one of them decided my freshly washed hair was the perfect target.”

Oscar burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bookstore and drawing curious glances from nearby patrons. “That’s terrible! But I have to admit, I can’t help but laugh imagining that.”

“It was a memorable day, to say the least,” I replied, joining in his laughter. “I learned a valuable lesson about looking up in the city.”

“Well, consider me warned,” Oscar said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for those feathered troublemakers.”

I grinned mischievously. “If you see them starting to organize, run. Or carry a loaf of bread as a peace offering.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. But if I end up covered in bird droppings, I’ll know who to blame.”

“You’re setting me up for failure,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “They’ll definitely target me now.”

I couldn’t help but give him a sly grin. “Consider it a rite of passage in New York City. Once you’ve dodged a pigeon or two, you’re officially a local.”

Oscar chuckled at my remark, his eyes lingering on mine with a warmth that made my cheeks flush. “So, Y/N,” Oscar began, his tone suddenly more serious, “since my phone’s dead and all, do you mind if I stick around and keep you company? You seem like you know your way around here.”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Are you asking for a tour guide or just trying to charm your way into free coffee?”

He flashed a sheepish grin. “Can’t it be both?”

I chuckled, enjoying his easygoing nature. “Alright, Aussie. You’ve got yourself a deal. But fair warning—I give terrible directions.”

“Good thing I’m not in a hurry,” he replied with a wink, his attempt at flirting more endearing than smooth.

I smiled warmly at his playful remark, enjoying the easy flow of our conversation. "You're welcome to stay," I said, gesturing to the empty chair beside me.

Oscar nodded gratefully and smoothly slid over a chair, positioning himself directly in front of me. As he settled in, I couldn't help but notice how his earlier awkwardness seemed to melt away, replaced by a relaxed confidence that was inviting yet unassuming.

Sitting face to face with Oscar, making direct eye contact, I suddenly felt a shift in our interaction. It wasn't just a casual meeting anymore; it felt like a moment frozen in time, a bookstore date where we were the main characters in a story unfolding between the shelves of books.

His brown eyes met mine, and in that instant, I felt a sense of peace and comfort wash over me, as if I had found a familiar place where I belonged. We continued to hold each other’s gaze, sharing unspoken sentiments that seemed to weave between us like a silent conversation.

Unexpectedly, Oscar's smile turned cheeky, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as if he was having an internal dialogue with himself. He was the first to break eye contact, his cheeks tinted with a soft blush that crept up from his neck.

Despite his attempt to maintain composure, his bashfulness was endearing, adding a charming vulnerability to his confident demeanor. I couldn't help but find it incredibly endearing.

I watched as he glanced down briefly, a small smile playing on his lips as he collected himself. His gaze returned to mine, now tinged with a mixture of amusement and newfound self-awareness. It was a moment of mutual recognition, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection that had begun to blossom between us.

I smiled softly, realizing that despite the bustling surroundings, I felt completely at ease with Oscar beside me. It was as if we had stumbled upon a quiet sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city, where our shared laughter and exchanged stories were the only things that mattered in that moment.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile still playful. "You know, Y/N," he began, his voice carrying a hint of flirtation, "there's something about this bookstore that feels like it's hiding a secret or two. What do you think?"

I chuckled softly, intrigued by his observation. "Maybe it's where all the lost plot twists end up," I replied, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in my eye. "Or perhaps it's a portal to a parallel universe of unfinished stories."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "A bookstore as a gateway to alternate dimensions? Now that's a plot twist I can get behind."

"Who knows," I mused, leaning back slightly in my chair. "Maybe we're characters in someone else's story right now, and they're wondering how our plotline will unfold."

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "You know, as much as I enjoy pondering these ideas, sometimes it leads me down a path of existential dread. The vastness of the universe and our place in it—it can be daunting."

I nodded in understanding, recognizing the weight of his words. "It's a lot to wrap your head around, especially when you start thinking about multiverses and infinite possibilities."

"Yeah," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I try not to dwell on it too much. That's why I appreciate stories—they provide a narrative structure that helps make sense of it all, even if it's just for a moment."

"That's true," I agreed, feeling a deeper connection as our conversation touched on deeper themes. "Stories give us a way to explore those big questions in a way that feels manageable, contained within their own worlds."

Oscar smiled gratefully. "Exactly. They offer us glimpses into different perspectives and allow us to navigate through complex ideas in a way that's both enlightening and comforting."

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued by his introspective nature. "Do you ever wonder who you'd be in a parallel universe? What job you'd have?"

He chuckled softly. "Sometimes. It's a fun thought experiment, imagining different versions of myself in alternate realities."

Curious, I asked, "So, what do you do in this universe?"

He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Guess."

I considered for a moment, trying to match his playful demeanor. "Acupuncturist?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head with a smirk. "Is that the best that you can come up with?" He said, teasing me.

"Quantum physicist?" I guessed, trying to make each guess more outlandish than the previous one.

"Not quite," he chuckled. "Do I really seem like the type to be in that job?" he asked.

"To be honest..." I trailed off, "Not really, no," I said quietly. Laughing at my honest response, he gestured with his hands, prompting me to guess again.

"Funeral director?" I ventured, this was literally a shot in the dark. If such a happy man was in such a depressing career I would immediately be so disappointed and sad.

"Getting warmer, but no," he teased. "Again, do you really peg me to be the type of person who would be a funeral director?" He asked again.

"No! I'm just guessing the most outlandish and random jobs," I held up my hands in mock frustration, pretending to surrender.

"Yeah I can tell, some of these jobs are quite random," he smirked. "But to be fair, my actual job is way more random than what you think it is, I genuinely bet you could not guess it," He provoked me again.

"Please do not tell me you work at a car dealership," I sighed in exasperation. Those people were the worst types of people to deal with as they keep pressuring innocent customers. God, I hoped Oscar wasn't that.

Oscar's face suddenly lit up. Shit, if that was his actual job...

"Close but no," Oscar's smile widened.

"What do you mean close but no?!" I got louder, the competitive spirit in me arising, "That's so vague"

"Okay, to give you a hint, it has something to do with cars," he said calmly. Ahh, that was much better, I see what he meant.

"Are you a tire technician?" I asked.

"Nope," he replied, popping the p.

"An auto-instructor?"

"Wrong, again."

"A diesel technician?"

"Loud, incorrect buzzer."

"That one guy that tests the car for quality issues... the quality control engineer!"

"Not it!"

"You're joking... right. I've guessed all that I know, and I really do not know much about cars in general, just tell me what it is, I give up," I said, finally exasperated as I went through all possible options of what Oscar did for a living.

Oscar leaned forward again, his smile widening. "I drive for McLaren Formula One."

My eyes widened in surprise, momentarily stunned by his revelation. "Seriously? Formula One? I would never have guessed that!"

He laughed at me, momentarily erupting into a guffaw at my blatant shock. "That is literally the most random job relating to cars, and it's motorsport, not just cars. I would have never guessed that, really!" I continued, still surprised.

"That's not fair, you shouldn't have made me guess. I didn't know you were famous," I said, teasing him lightly.

He grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. "I guess I don't fit the typical stereotype, do I?"

I shook my head, still processing the unexpected twist in our conversation. "Definitely not. That's amazing, though. How did you get into that?"

Oscar leaned back, folding his arms with a playful air. "Well, it all started with a love for speed and a bit of luck. I've been racing since I was a kid, and somehow, it led me here."

"Impressive," I replied with a smile. "You must have some incredible stories from the track."

He nodded, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Plenty. It's a world of its own, filled with highs and lows, victories and near misses."

"I can imagine," I said, genuinely intrigued. "It sounds like a thrilling life."

"It has its moments," he agreed, his tone turning thoughtful. "But enough about me. I want to hear more about you. What's your story, Y/N?"

And so, as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the bookstore windows, we continued to share stories and laughter, each revelation deepening our connection. Eventually, as the conversation naturally drifted to an end, Oscar leaned forward with a gentle smile.

"You know, Y/N," he began, his voice warm and sincere, "I've had a great time getting to know you today. Would you like to grab dinner with me later? Earlier I saw this dinner place on Google Maps that had splendid reviews."

Surprised yet pleasantly flustered by his invitation, I couldn't help but smile. "I'd love to," I replied, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of continuing our conversation beyond the cozy confines of the bookstore.

And with that simple agreement, like a chapter in a novel, our first chapter closed, leaving us both eager to see where our story would lead next.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note:

ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

(part TWO coming soon, comment if you want to be added to the taglist <3)

[jymwahuwu]

cw: maid!reader, humiliation, discipline, they are mean

You were wearing a maid uniform, holding tea and milk absentmindedly, but then you bumped into Professor Ratio. "Ah!" That was the guest invited by Mr. Aventurine! You were shocked to find that tea spilled on the professor's clothes, staining his clean and strong chest. "S-I'm sorry! Sir, I will get you a towel now."

"…You can't even walk? Why are you so stupid that you can't focus on the things in front of you and grab a cup of tea." After holding back for a few seconds, Ratio gritted his teeth and reprimanded. You were frantically looking for a towel, but for some reason you fell to the ground again. He couldn't help but roll his eyes quickly, feeling your stupidity penetrate the air.

There was a giggle. Aventurine sat on the sofa and witnessed what happened, but he narrowed his eyes with a smile.

"Did this gambler hire you to challenge me?" Ratio crossed his arms and sounded bored.

Aventurine defends you, but only a little. "Hey, come on. Isn't she cute? Clumsy but cute."

"I didn't know you appreciated stupidity so much."

"Um, I'm just not as serious as you."

As if getting hope, you found a towel, rushed forward and wiped it on his naked chest, apologizing pathetically. Ratio grabbed the back of your hand.

"Can I discipline her?" He remained polite.

"Of course, do whatever you want to her. This is written in the labor contract: willing to accept corporal punishment." He shrugged, "But by the way, we haven't finished discussing this cooperation yet."

Your skirt was folded up around your waist and your pumpkin pants were pulled down. You put your hands on the smooth wall and spread them open. Your vagina is so pounded that your legs are almost unsteady. He leaves slap burns on your ass. "Sorry-sorry! Mr. Ratio!!"

In the end, the entire discussion of collaboration ended with you holding the book on your head, sobbing, kneeling, thick cream dripping on the floor.

[amongemeraldclouds]

starry eyed

Tom Riddle never meant to feel affection. That warm, sickly feeling felt like indigestion and heartburn. An inconvenience. But Salazar, you had never been on a date. It was an injustice he needed to make right.

Tom Riddle x f!Reader | Based on this request | Fluff

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party | 1.9k words

It was just supposed to be another project. Tom Riddle expected you to just be another schoolmate who would let him do most of the work so he could have things exactly as he wanted. He never minded the work; enjoyed it, even. But he did mind having another student’s grimy fingers all over his carefully planned and skillfully executed projects. Just the thought of it made him want to cast crucio on whoever owned those grimy fingers.

Yet you managed to squeeze your way through his neatly arranged schedule. A row of clean lines and routines that made room for your squiggles and smiles. Literally. You had penciled yourself in his timetable “library with y/n for Astronomy project :)”. At least you had capitalized the A in Astronomy as all subjects should be.

That was how he first found himself walking towards you at the library. People respected him, was even intimidated by him. But you smiled up at him like you had been friends forever and he nearly doubted for a second if he was supposed to be there. He figured you were either naive, a lamb prancing into the lion’s den, or simply unbothered.

“Why did you invite me here?” He asked, placing his books across you in the library.

“Hi Tom,” you beamed, ignoring his question. “I’m doing great. Thanks. For a smart person, that sure is a silly question.”

He clenched his jaw and so you soldiered on. “We were paired together for the project so I thought we’d meet tonight to discuss. You may not be used to it Mr. Perfect, but I always help out with all my projects so like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

“Fine,” he breathed out quickly. “Just try to keep up,” he said curtly as he opened his books to discuss.

“Maybe you’re the one who has to keep up with me,” you said, unfazed.

But he ignored you and launched straight into the project details and his plans. Your eyes widened and you grabbed your notebook and pen. Tom’s mouth twitched and you imagined it was his version of a smile. He really was going to make it difficult for you, but you were up for the challenge.

You may have also had a crush on him, but that definitely had nothing to do with the way your heart was pounding in your chest. School could also be intense and exciting. Ha.

By the third written sentence, you managed to catch up and gather all the details he had in mind for the project. You asked questions about the plan and Tom was surprised you mentioned a minor detail he had not previously considered. It irritated him, but you had also managed to earn his respect.

The discussion had been a lot more engaging than he thought. Though it probably didn’t say much considering his expectations had been so low, it had melted with the lava down the centre of the Earth.

You tapped on the table lightly. “Now that we’ve accomplished a lot, it’s time for snacks!”

Tom blinked, not sure if he heard you right. “What are we to do with snacks?”

You blinked back. “To eat. So we can take a break from all the studying?”

“I don’t do breaks. My focus levels are perfectly fine,” he stated.

“This is why you’re so grumpy all the time! You don’t eat snacks or take breaks,” you slapped a hand to your forehead.

“Ah yes you have cracked the mystery. You now know everything about me,” he replied sarcastically and you snorted. If you hadn’t felt so tired, you may have spent some energy being embarrassed for your un-lady like behaviour in front of your crush. But you had your priorities straight.

“Try these biscuits I baked and I promise you will know all about joy and the wonders of the universe,” you offered.

“So it’s spiked?”

You looked horrified. “I’ll have you know my baking is magical all on its own.”

“It’s bad enough that I have to work on this project with you. If I go on this break with you, will you leave me alone to complete this project?”

“Maybe,” you said, scooping up your belongings and rushing out the library before he could change his mind. You inwardly cheered when he followed you.

Tom didn’t take any of your words seriously, but when he bit into the biscuit, the buttery goodness that melted in his mouth made him feel like he was coming home to a place he never knew he belonged to. Not that he would ever tell you.

“What’s your favourite astrological event?” He asked as he savoured the biscuit.

“I love meteor showers, though I’ve never seen one before. Imagine seeing a cluster of stars raining down the sky,” you said, after a moment’s pause.

“Don’t have to imagine, I’ve seen it before,” he said unimpressed.

Your eyes widened in fascination. “What did you wish for?”

He looked affronted. “I don’t do wishes, I make things happen.”

You slapped your thigh and his eyes followed your movement, making you blush. “How could you not make a wish? It’s like having a magic lamp and using it as a teapot. Where’s the wonder and romance?”

“Magic is a science, it’s why we’re here,” he insisted.

“We’re here for biscuits,” you declared instead and shoved another into your mouth. He inwardly smiled. Sure, if anything were to be magical the way you saw it, he supposed it could be those heavenly biscuits. 

He was sure that was the last time he’d meet you outside of class. But the very next day, he found your squiggly handwriting on his timetable again. “Library with y/n for Astronomy project + snack break :)” He sighed, but he secretly looked forward to the buttery biscuits.

You made good progress on the project as the days passed. Tom continued to be surprised by your helpful contributions. Sure they were unconventional and your process was far too scattered for his liking, but you came up with creative ideas and were equally as committed as he was to the project.

Tom suggested extra research for some information he wanted to include and you managed to read all the chapters he wrote down. All for the love of education. You were certainly not a girl trying to impress your crush. Nope.

The snack breaks were also not as miserable as Tom thought they would be. You got to know each other better and there was something strangely fascinating about you. Then there were those life-changing biscuits.

He sometimes found himself craving those buttery goods during his long hours of studying. The problem was that he could not get them anywhere else except from you. It didn’t help that you were nearly done with your project and would soon have no reason to see each other. That diabolical woman, he thought.

Something else stayed with him. On one of your snack breaks, you finally built up the courage to ask Tom about his dating life. He managed to deflect and turn the question around to you, but you didn’t mind. Hopefully you sharing would one day help him open up to you.

“What was the last date you’ve been on?” He asked and you watched in slow motion when he licked the corner of his lip to catch a stray crumb. You had to dig your nails into your palm to stop yourself from squealing.

Then you thought hard about his question. “What qualifies as a date?” You asked cautiously.

“Someone who likes you takes you out, preferably somewhere you like, and you spend quality time together.”

“Well,” you turned it over in your head, “then I guess I’ve never been on a date before.” You quickly added, “I have had boyfriends before, we just did things they liked and anyway, it’s no big deal.”

It had been days, but he still seethed at the memory. He was not one for romance, but even he felt indignant that all that sunshine and sweetness was wasted on boys who didn’t know what they had. That evening, he added you to his timetable himself. He was going to set things right.

“Are you sure you’re not here to m*rder me and take full credit for our brilliant project?” You asked as you followed Tom Riddle deeper into the woods. You hugged your coat tightly as the evening chill swept around you. The crickets chirped and twigs snapped below your feet.

“Do you think I’d announce it if I was? Besides, there’s no one around so you’ll just have to trust me,” he replied.

“I thought we were becoming friends,” you remarked.

“Never assume things,” he said matter of fact.

You gripped your wand tightly and walked on. He was right. You followed a boy into the woods at night because you had a crush on him. You cursed inwardly and vowed to make better decisions in your next life.

We’re here!” he announced. There was a clearing ahead and before you could ask what it was, he pointed to the sky. “Should be about now,” he commented. The next moment, you watched as stars glittered and rained down the sky. It was a meteor shower. Your eyes brightened, reflecting the glowing lights that dove through the sky.

“You said you’ve never seen one before and it just so happens there’s one tonight and this is the perfect spot,” he explained before you could even ask. He then asked you to make a wish.

“Only if you make a wish with me,” you said, looping your arm around him. You figured it was the closest he’d allow a hug. Surprisingly, he stayed beside you, letting you lean into him.

“Isn’t it enough to just watch this with you? You like it, don’t you?”

The pieces clicked in your head. “You said and I quote ‘a date was when someone who likes you takes you out, preferably somewhere you like, and you spend quality time together.’ Mr. Tom Riddle, is this your way of telling me you like me? Is this,” you motioned at the stars and around you, “a date?”

“What did I tell you about assuming things?” He deflected and pointed at the stars again. “They won’t fall forever, you know. Are you going to use this magical lamp as your teapot?”

Perhaps it was the shooting stars or the cold evening air, or being alone with the boy you liked in the dark forest, that made you bold. 

“What if you’re the only one who can grant my wish?” You gave him your brightest smile and Tom could read all the words you’d never speak aloud in your eyes. He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips and he brought them down to yours.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle and you wrapped your arms around him, letting your body melt against him. He pulled you in closer, his arms strong and confident as if you belonged to him. He placed tender kisses down your jaw, moving slowly to your neck, and as you gazed up, you watched the last of the stars fall down the sky. 

The cold bit down your skin as Tom stepped back and you immediately missed his warmth. “You like me!” You beamed.

“How are you so sure I’m not just after the biscuits?”

You wrapped your arms around him, enjoying the warmth again. “I’ll bake you all the biscuits you want. Doesn’t change the fact that you also like me, which works perfectly because I like you too. You’re never getting rid of me now.”

Tom returned the hug. Not that he wanted to get rid of you anyway.

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party

A/N: Tom secretly liking biscuits is so adorable. A subtle nod to our tea party!

[joemama-2]

Midnight Baking

megumi x reader

a/n: a little cute fluffy drabble after my last megumi post, he's so lovely.

"move over.” megumi's gruff, but tired voice startles you, almost causing the whisk in your hand to fall to the ground. you turn you head over your shoulder, it's dark and late at night so you have to squint your eyes to actually see him. he's rubbing his eyes, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. only then do you realize that he wants you to scooch when he lazily motions with his hand.

confused, you move a bit to your right and he walks to the sink, turning the water on and getting started on washing the several dishes you already had in there. he wants to scold you about the number, especially since you obviously just started. but everytime he does, you hit him with a "i'm baking, obviously i'm gonna dirty dishes".

"did I wake you up?" you ask, voice quiet in case he actually is just sleepwalking, which would explain this. never has megumi helped out with your late night baking scandals, considering he wasn't an insomniac like you and he was a pretty heavy sleeper.

"no." he mutters, a lie. "i was awake for a while, figured i'd help you." his hands work diligently at the dishes, lathered in soap suds. and you can't help the small flutter of your heart and grin forming. but, he quickly adds on. "don't wanna wake up to a shit ton of dishes to wash either."

"hey!" it's a little too loud since he gives you a side glare, causing you to lower your voice. your attention turns back to whisking. "i always clean up after myself."

a huff. "you mean I do." you want to roll your eyes, but you know he won't see it, so you hold back.

a small silence envelopes you too and he finishes washing, wiping his hands. "brownies?"

"mhm." you nod. "but i'm adding some matcha in them, cause remember you said you had them that one time at that cafe you didn't invite me to."

a sigh is held back from him. you two have gone over this already, he says it was a lunch invite from itadori, but you say it was a date and he's cheating on you. "didn't think you remembered that."

"why wouldn't i?" you look at him, setting the whisk down. "i remember everything you tell me."

god, he feels his cheeks heat up. he fights back a smile, instead huffing. "yeah, yeah, whatever." he reaches up to grab one of the trays from your cabinets. a thought goes through his mind that makes him wonder how you would reach it if he wasn't there.

setting the tray down, you begin to fill it with the matcha brownie mix. "you need to start just reading a book if you can't sleep." he says.

you scoff. "i'm not you."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means you're a bookworm." he frowns, that cute one that makes you kiss it off his lips every time. after the mix is successfully poured in, he opens the oven and places it in. you already had it preheating.

he leans up and see you licking the whisk clean, like always. and like always, he allows you to offer him some, tongue swiping over the same areas yours just did. "a cute bookworm, though." you say, gently chuckling as you welcome his arm around your waist to bring you closer.

"i'm not cute." he holds the whisk out for you to get the last few licks, because he knows you'd throw a fit if he took it all. been there done that. his thumb absentmindedly rubs soothing, small circles along your hip.

"uh huh, sure you're not, cutie." he grimaces and you laugh, hand cupping his cheek as you two share a light kiss to one another's lips. at least that's what you think before he dips down for another. and another. and ano--

"okay, okay." you huff playfully hand squeezing his cheek. "don't get ahead of yourself, you'll hurt yourself."

his face buries itself into the crook of your neck, inhaling your oh so sweet scent, placing a small kiss to your pulse. "shut up." he grumbles.

you two move to the couch, laying on him and idly playing with the hem of his shirt as you discuss mundane things to pass time until the pastries finish. you tilt your head up to meet his eyes and he's already looking at you.

he stares back. "what?"

"nothing, just thinking."

"about?"

"how much i love you."

and you always knew just the right things to say. his ears heat up again. "why are you being so cheesy right now?"

"can't i express my love to the greatest, bestest boyfriend ever?" you scoff.

"i'm your only boyfriend." he retorts. his eyebrow raises as you look away, holding back a smile. "don't do that." he nudges with his shoulder.

"do what?"

"not agree with me."

you roll your eyes now, looking back at him. "don't get your panties in a twist, you already know you're right." he says nothing and you let out an overdramatic sigh. "you're my only boyfriend."

he hums in approval, it's your turn to nudge him. "your turn?"

"for?"

"tell me you love me and that i'm your only girlfriend and i'm the best." now, he turns his head away, inhaling a hiss as if you couldn't be further from the truth. "megumi!" you say, lifting your body up slightly.

he lets out a small chuckle, pulling you down and kissing your lips, thumbs caressing your cheeks. "you're my only girlfriend, you're the best, and i love you."

you smile. "i love you more."

he lets out a small sigh, but gives into your cheesiness. "i love you most."

[adore-laur]

GET OVER HERE

— i don’t know what the plot of this is 🫶

——

Your phone's default ringtone goes off from its place on the coffee table. Your eyes shoot up from the book you're reading, and you see Harry's name appear, along with your lock screen, which is a candid picture of both of you. After bookmarking the page you were engrossed in, you reach forward and slide your thumb across the screen to answer.

"What's up?" you say, holding the phone to your ear.

"C'mere," Harry murmurs lowly on the other end.

You screw your face up and absentmindedly pick at a loose thread on your pants. "Why?"

"Because I need to discuss something with you."

A scoffed laugh escapes your mouth. He's literally in the room next to you, getting ready for the show, so you ask, "Can't you just text me or tell me right now?"

He's comically silent before uttering an innocent, high-pitched "No?"

You sigh loudly and rise from the comfy couch. As you hang up, you leave the lounge and traverse down the hall. It takes precisely seven steps to reach his private dressing room. The door is wide open, with aromatic cologne and quiet melodies wafting through.

Harry is the first thing you see. He's sitting comfortably in a canvas chair with only a towel around his waist and socks on his feet. The counter in front of him is a mess with hair products, cosmetic brushes, and face creams scattered on the surface. His phone lies on his lap, which means he's been talking to you on speaker.

You clear your throat, which causes him to turn his head and look at you. "What did you need to discuss with me?"

He meekly smiles. "Hi."

"What do you want?" you rephrase impatiently, wanting to return to your romance book. It was just getting steamy!

"Come closer," he says, glancing you up and down.

You notice that he hasn't moved his hands away from his face. They both unnaturally cup his cheeks, and you can't figure out why.

"Why are your hands like that?" you ask with suspicion.

His eyebrows pinch together. "Like what?"

"You're being weird."

"You're being weird."

"We're not doing this," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Tell me what you need, or else I'm walking away. I have a book to finish."

Harry keeps his hands on his face and curls his pinky finger to beckon you closer. "Get over here."

Your heart flutters when he says it in a way that implies you might be in trouble. You rack your brain for anything that could have led him to call you and have you come to his dressing room.

As you slowly walk to him, his eyes don't leave yours. When you stand in front of him, his legs spread in invitation, and he says, "On my lap, baby."

You do as he commands and sit on his left thigh. One of his hands moves from his face to rest on your waist, while the other stays put. He hasn't put his rings on yet, so his fingers feel bizarrely bare on your skin.

"What?" you whisper, your gaze curiously dancing over his face.

Harry leans back in his chair. "Wanna know why I'm covering my cheek?"

"Yeah. I've asked that already."

"Don't get sassy with me."

You swallow nervously. "Did you cut yourself while shaving?" you guess, knowing it's happened a few times before.

"Nope," he replies, tapping his fingers against his cheekbone. "Try again."

You purse your lips and ponder. "Hmm… do you have a zit?"

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, obviously not amused. "You're on a roll today, aren't you?"

"Just tell me," you breathe out as your shoulders slump.

"You," he says while jerking the leg that you sit on, "gave me a hickey the other day. Right on my jaw, where everyone can see."

You roll your lips in to try to hide your smile. "I'm so sorry."

Harry removes his hand, revealing a brownish-red mark on his jawbone from when the both of you were in a hotel suite in Tacoma. It's a known rule not to leave marks, especially since it's common for him to be photographed in the cities he visits. You take all the blame. You couldn't help it, really—it's nice to be a little greedy sometimes.

"Now I have to tell my makeup artist to cover it up," he mutters, his hand squeezing your ankle. "I have to come up with a stupid excuse and tell them that I punched myself or something."

You laugh. "That's a terrible excuse."

He tilts his head to the side and gives you a blank stare. "Oh, is it? Then would the culprit be so kind as to help me out?"

"Just say, I don't know, that you got hit by something thrown on stage."

Harry blinks three times before saying, "That's actually a really good idea. Okay, you can leave now. Your work here is done. Discussion over."

You lean closer and whisper, "Where's my reward?"

He gives your ass a salacious squeeze. "Meet me in our suite tonight after the show. Better be on your best behavior."

——

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

Hey guys I'm awake and well now let's continue (Rook's Dream):

We find ourselves in Savanclaw where we find Savanaclaw Rook and I honestly love him here he looks like a dog I left outside in the rain by accident (affectionate)

Now everone's confused as to why Rook's in Savanaclaw, but then Rook drops the bomb that Vil is in RSA and everyone's like "WHAT?!"

Stop Rook is literally just being the biggest neigevil oshi cuz he just wants Vil and Neige to be besties 😭. He's so open about it too like he's literally geeking about their interviews together to the point that he's squeezing Grim and Epel cuz he got too excited (he's so fr for that honestly). But then Sebek snaps and Rook apologizes because no one in Savanaclaw is a neigevil fan as well :((

But Ortho encourages Rook by wanting to visit his room so that they can learn about Neige and Vil. Grim questions the decision, but that's like the only way they can break Rook out of the dream, and now Rook's just murmuring to himself and how he will introduce them to Vil and Neige

Once they're near Rook's room he literally told them not to barge into his room and the gang did exactly what they're not supposed to do

AND OH MY GOD ROOK'S ROOM IS JUST????

(pov: you're in a neigevil oshi competition but your opponent is rook hunt)

SEBEK THOUGHT THIS WAS A RITUAL ROOM FOR A SECOND AND ROOK IS CURRENTLY LOSING IT 😭😭😭. Apparently Rook has been hiding his hyperfixation for THREE YEARS and he can't just let the group go...until they watch DVDs of neigevil interactions

This went on for five hours and Rook was gushing, sobbing and crying over it, Silver actually slept for the first time in the realm of dreams because of this 💀. Before the group leaves, Epel couldn't help but ask Rook if he still remembers what happened during VDC, an d Rook mentions that he remembers that Vil and Neige performed "Yahoo, Yahoo" together.

The group meets again with Idia, and they're discussing the events of Book 5, and how the entire incident during VDC might have been the root cause for Rook's dream to turn out like this. Because in this dream, Rook never transfers to Pomefiore because Vil was never in NRC to begin with. Rook was most likely haunted by that incident because he trusted Vil so much, that he'd rather have Vil and Neige be friends instead of rivals to prevent the whole overblot situation

SO NOW THE GANG IS THINKING OF A WAY TO WAKE UP ROOK BY PERFORMING ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL

(I REALLY WANT TO SEE THE WHOLE THING YA'LL TO WHOEVER HAS A LINK TO THE RHYTHMIC PLS SEND IT TO MEEEEEE)

But their positions are the following: Vil - Epel Jamil - Ortho Epel - Sebek Kalim - Yuu Ace - Grim Deuce - Silver

Basically Epel had to teach the others the entire choreography of Absolutely Beautiful and he said it's fine if they don't perfect it because in the original they weren't able to perfect it as well. But then everything suddenly goes blurry and we get dream Vil and dream Neige suddenly performing "Yahoo, Yahoo", and now Rook is back to being an oshi again.

But Epel wasn't having it, he points out to Rook that the real Vil looks more sinister and had a more sharper look to him and that he was more poisonous and beautiful. That's when Epel told Rook that he was a far worse traitor back when he voted for RSA if he tells the words that Vil wanted to hear to the fakes.

That wakes Rook up, he remembers everything now because he was wondering why he cried during their Absolutely Beautiful performance. Idia then gives Rook the "invite" to join them as well. Rook changes clothes and fights

Btw I just wanna show you guys his groovy here because it's that special to me

Idia was laughing because he now has a video of Sebek dancing and Sebek is just yelling at him that he won't forgive him if he showed it to anyone.

Surprisingly Rook mastered thew magical girl transformation faster than the gang, but they're learning. Rook also tags along with the gang to save the last person, Vil

AND WE'RE DONE WITH ROOK'S DREAM, JESUS CHRIST IT GOES FROM UNSERIOUS TO SERIOUS IT'S FUNNY. But I'm covering Vil's dream last, see you then!

Next: Vil's Dream Previous: Epel's Dream