#this occasionally comes to my mind and it's fuckin great

[mollyjeanne615]

just remembered that jerry from parks and rec is in poe party

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

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warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

 He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.  

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris

[cntloup]

You're both unhinged and self-sabotaging... idiots😒

Everything was going perfectly. Even though for him, managing a relationship was very difficult, also challenging for both of you. Due to his job, his past, also yours... you had your own demons too. But after some time of battling your inner demons and trying so hard to be better for each other, you could say it was perfect... Or so you thought.

Doubt started creeping through the crevices of your mind, dribbling droplets of poison bit by bit.

He started coming back home late, sometimes drunk... never too much, but you always noticed.

You started finding bits and pieces of what your poisoned mind thought as evidence... evidence of what? No... it couldn't be.

There were occasionally pieces of paper with someone's number on it in his pockets when you were to empty them before doing laundry.

There were strands of long hair on his clothes, different colors each day.

It all messed with your mind to the point of madness.

You started to pull away from him more and more every day.

And it seemed as though he didn't care at all.

What you didn't know was that he was doing the same.

It was all too much for him, so new... this newfound feeling burning in his heart, seething more day by day, overwhelming him to the point of wanting to entirely sever the ties between you.

And he thought he doesn't deserve it. All the love you give him, doting on him all the time. He felt like you're wasting your pure heart on a broken man who can't give anything back, pouring all your heart into this blackhole.

-----

"What’s wrong?" he asks, noticing your lingering gaze on his clothes.

"What’s this, Simon?... I- I keep finding these on your clothes..." you respond, voice almost shaking as you're on the verge of tears.

"We were sparring with the rookies. That's probably where they came from." he says, pausing for a moment, "What? You thought-"

"What about the numbers? Huh? The numbers in your pocket?" you cut him off, a cutting edge to your tone as you glare at him with rage... and fear... fear of what you might find out.

"What? They probably slipped them in my pocket when I was in the shower... fuckin' perverts... I was gonna throw them out... I forgot... What are you trying to say?" he says, voice rising with each sentence to match your angry tone.

You continue staring at him with millions of emotions coursing through you all at the same time.

Until you suddenly break down, wailing as you collapse on the ground and he's utterly dumbfounded as he stands there, not knowing what to do... or what even happened to cause such a reaction.

He takes you in his arms, still not sure about the whole situation.

"What’s wrong, love? Please talk to me!" he says while holding you and rubbing your back to somewhat soothe you.

"Simon! I- I don't know what's wrong with me... I'm sorry..." you choke out through violent sobs.

"Why did you come back so late? Not just tonight... Why did you start to act so distant all of a sudden?" you ask, gazing at him through glossy eyes as countless tears stream down your face.

"I'm sorry... I... I'm not used to this..." he utters in a quiet voice, head hanging down.

"It was going great! What happened to us?!" you ask as you cling to his chest while still uncontrollable sobs escape you.

"I think this is new for us both." he says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

"Yeah..." you hum, holding on to him tightly, not planning to let go any time soon. And he will hold you back through all of it.

"We'll work through it, right?" you ask hesitantly, "We will, love... I promise." he says, finally putting your mind at ease.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 23

Prompt: Sleep

Words: 1300~

TW: Allusions to Sex (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I watched a few 'my nighttime skincare routine' videos for this one, but I'm no expert, so as always: take everything in with kind eyes and a grain of salt in your heart.

Enjoy!

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost patted at Johnny’s hip as he heaved himself up into a sitting position, “Can't sleep yet, gotta clean up.” 

“Ye ge’ up ye smeggin’ randy bastard,” Johnny slurred as he rolled onto his belly to bury to bury his face into the pillow, his griping now muffled but understandable, “Cannae feel me fuckin’ legs. Tellin’ me tae ge’ up.” 

Ghost couldn't help giggling at his dramatics. He gave Johnny’s bare arse a playful swat and heaved himself off the bed.

Ambling over to the bathroom he wiped himself down, then brought a warm damp flannel back to the bed and chivvied Johnny into rolling over so he could wipe him down as well. Ignoring Johnny’s whining, Ghost moved his limbs around until he was sure his boyfriend was fully clean. Eventually, Ghost abandoning the cloth to rub his bare hands soothingly over Johnny’s stomach, cresting up occasionally to pet over his ribs and down his sides. Soap staring up at him with half-lidded eyes and a besotted gaze. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost tapped at his thigh, “seriously, you need to brush your teeth at least or your mouth’s gonna taste like ass in the morning.” 

“Damn righ’ it will,” Johnny licked at his lips and bounced his eyebrows suggestively, yanking a surprised bark of laughter out of Ghost. 

“Shut the fuck up, you fucker.” He laughed, shaking his head and turning away to walk back to the bathroom. Pointedly pulling out his own toothbrush. 

Johnny heaved a great mournful sigh, then tipped himself off the bed. Coming to join Ghost in standing before the mirror and bushing away at his teeth. The mindless task had a strange warmth to it, now that Ghost was getting to share such domesticity with the man he loved. Ghost spat until the gritty feeling of the toothpaste had mostly left his mouth, then started pulling his nighttime skin products out of their drawer. Johnny rinsed his mouth and stepped back out of the way, settling in to lean against the bathroom’s doorjamb, finding contentment in watching Ghost go through his routine. 

Ghost hesitated, the thought tugging at the edges of his brain not a new one, but something he’d never had the guts to act on. Hell, it’d taken weeks of Johnny staying the night before Ghost felt comfortable not shutting himself in the bathroom to do his routine in private. Unwilling as he was to face Johnny’s judgement, not after his mind had placed his approval on such a pedestal.

Of course, Johnny didn’t give a fuck when Ghost had finally -wordlessly- caved, the supportive little fucker that he was. 

“Did you want to…” Ghost gestured vaguely at the various bottles clustered on the edge of his sink, unsure of how to properly word his offer. 

“Nae, I can wash my face after,” Johnny’s rejection dropped Ghost’s heart down to his stomach, then his next words sent it soaring again, “Ye dun have to wait fer me, mo chridhe. Ah’m no’ in a rush.” 

“No,” Ghost hurried to correct, an absurd sense of urgency lending him courage, “Did you wanna do it with me?”

“Do what?” Johnny puzzled, darting glances between the sink and Ghost, “Your stuff?” 

Ghost nodded, keeping dimly hopeful eyes on Johnny, mumbling a quiet “Yeah" and forcing himself not to pick at his hands. 

“O’ course,” Johnny accepted, pushing off the doorjamb to come stand at the sink with Ghost again, “Bu’ ye’ll have tae show me how, I dinnae ken how to do any ae this.” 

“No,” Ghost corrected again, “I wanna do it for you.”

“Any’hing you want, mo chridhe,” Johnny agreed without hesitation, staring up at Ghost with adoration pooling in those blue eyes of his, “Whit’s first.” 

Ghost forced himself to drag his eyes away from his perfect, wonderful, handsome, supportive boyfriend and turned on the tap.

“Quick rinse,” He muttered, splashing over his face with the water, then patting his face sort of dry with a clean towel. He stepped away from the sink and gestured for Johnny to do the same, that wasn’t something Ghost could do for him, without risk of accidentally waterboarding him. 

“Cleanser,” Ghost turned off the water and popped the cap on the micellar water, tipping a generous amount onto a cotton round and dragging it gently over his face. Disposing of his then pulling out a new cotton round, he cupped Johnny’s chin in a hand, tipped his face up, and did the same for him. 

“Why’re we doin’ it twice?” Johnny questioned when Ghost pulled out a third and fourth cotton round and went over their faces again.

“First pass takes the dirt off. Second one actually cleans.” Ghost explained, snapping shut the cleanser and turning on the tap again, “Another rinse.”

Shutting off the water, Ghost grabbed his bottle of exfoliator, pulled the dropper free and squeezed four or five drops onto his palm, he rubbed his hands together then patted it over his face. “Exfoliates,” he told Johnny as he patted at his boyfriend’s face much more gently. 

Pulling forward his toner, Ghost spun the bottle for Johnny to read the label.

“Witch Hazel?” He exclaimed with a laugh, “Ye casting spells on me, mo chridhe?” 

“Love potions,” Ghost played along with a smile, he knew Johnny’d get a kick out of that.

“No need fer tha’,” Johnny purred, obligingly closing his eyes so Ghost could pat the product onto the faint dark circles that sat under them, “Ah’m already well obsessed with ye.”

Ghost pressed a quick kiss to Johnny’s lips, then pulled away. Cracking open his tub of vaseline and smearing a dollop over Johnny’s exaggerated pout. Making sure to get into the corners, the edges of Johnny’s mouth were always cracking. 

“Whit’s this?” Johnny asked as Ghost droppered more liquid out from a different bottle, closing his eyes to permit its smearing across his face regardless, trusting Ghost to guide him in his ignorance. 

“Serum.”

“Oh, is tha’ all? Explains every’hing.”

“Got lots of vitamins and stuff,” Ghost elaborated at Johnny’s sarcastic besmirchment of his truncated answer.

“This is a retinal,” Ghost preempted, holding up another dropper bottle, “and this is a hydrating serum,” yet another dropper bottle. In truth, Ghost didn’t know why skincare companies thought he wanted his bathroom to look like an apothecary, there was nothing wrong with pump bottles, much less chance of cross contamination. 

“It needs tae be diluted?” Johnny guessed, watching Ghost drop some of each into his palm.

Ghost nodded, it didn’t actually need to be diluted, but ghost found it a touch harsh on the skin without it. 

“Last thing,” Ghost promised, holding up a tube of overnight face-moisturizer. Easily passing it over when Johnny held an asking hand out.

“Ah’ve some’hing like this,” Johnny said, turning the bottle over in his hands to read the label, ignoring Ghost petting the cream over his face.

“Is it a face-moisturizer?”

“Whit?”

“What you’ve got. Is it a face-moisturizer?”

“Ah dinnae ken. It’s a moisturizer an’ ah put it on my face.”

“Johnny,” Ghost sighed despairingly, wiping his hands off on a towel and taking the tube back from Johnny to put back in the drawer with the rest, “You shouldn’t put body or hand moisturizer on your face, it’ll give you spots.”

“Didnae know tha’,” Johnny nodded thoughtfully, no doubt thinking back on previously inexplicable bouts of acne. 

Ghost sighed again and shooed Johnny back out of the bathroom, flicking off the lights and turning to see him already flopped onto the bed. Thankfully, after having dropped the dirty topsheet into the laundry. 

“Come give us a coorie, mo chridhe,” He beckoned, lifting an arm invitingly. 

Ghost flopped onto his chest, smiling at the way Johnny dramatically let all the breath wuff out of his chest.

Leaning up, Ghost luxuriated in exchanged loving kisses with his boyfriend, letting his movements linger and slow until he pressed a final hard kiss against Johnny’s jaw then snuggled down into his chest for the night. Turning his head to face the door and feeling Johnny press a loving kiss against the crown of his head in return.

Thank You For Reading!

The topnotes of my Ghoaptober entries are undeniably Domesticity/Slice of Life, and I'm not mad about it.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built for Love Part 6 (MBJ x Famous OC)

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of past experience with DV

A/N: I'm really excited about this one because… we are getting some fluff and smut with minimal to no angst lol love that for them! Enjoy!

“So how’s shit with Charlotte going?” Calliet asked, the loud crack of the pool table filling the air as Michael took his first shot.

“You mean, Els, get that shit right nigga,” Stello interjected, snickering lightly as Michael rolled his eyes at him. If there was one thing his friends were always going to do, it was make fun of his romantic side. 

Michael let out a low chuckle, choosing to let his best friend’s comment pass him by without a retort. “We’re good. She’s… she’s good.” 

“You sure? Cause you don’t seem sure.” His friends immediately picked up on the pause in his words.

“Nah, she is good. Great actually. I’m gonna sound crazy sayin’ this but she’s the one.” 

“Nigga, it’s been three months. Relax, my guy.” 

Michael shrugged. “When you know, you know. And I know that shit. It’s just…” Michael scratched his head. He had not told his friends about Charlotte’s past yet. He questioned whether it was his place to do so, to share details of her life she did not offer up herself. It seemed that only her family and closest friends knew the truth and he did not want to spread it around. However, he could not deny that he could use a sounding board as he navigated such murky waters. And he was not a man who was afraid to talk with his boys about his problems and be vulnerable. He decided he would just keep it vague, the details were Charlotte’s story to tell. “Things really are good. It’s just this shit from her past that comes up occasionally. Her ex was abusive.” 

“Oh shit. For real?” 

“Fuck.” 

“He hit her?” 

Michael shook his head. “Yea. The couple things she told me were fuckin’ insane. And I don’t think I’ve heard the worst of it. If I ever see that nigga…” He let out a deep exhale as he clenched his fists. Michael was far from a violent person, he could not even tell you the last time he even had a desire to get into a fight with anyone. Everyone in his orbit, including himself, would describe him as the calming force in a room, he always had the ability to keep his emotions in check. However, if he thought too long or too hard about Shaun Parker, all he could feel was rage. And the only action he could think of was ripping him limb from limb. 

“Damn, that’s tough. How is she doin’?” 

“Most of the time, she’s great. She’s herself. You know she’s shy and reserved in front of other people but once she’s comfortable, she’s so energetic and fun to be around. She’s charming but still has that cute awkward shit goin’ on that keeps her real and honest, fuckin’ hilarious. But the rest… I’ll say or do somethin’ that triggers her and she seems terrified of me but doesn’t know it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like it’s not a conscious thing but I can feel it wafting off of her sometimes. The first time, she broke a wine glass at my place by accident, got red wine on the rug. She’s clumsy as fuck. But I don’t care. It’s actually kinda cute. And shit happens. It’s just a fuckin’ rug. By the time she came over again, I had a new one already. She looked like she had seen a ghost, pale and freaked out. She apologized a hundred times. Her hands were shakin’ so hard, she couldn’t even pick up the glass. A couple weeks ago, she forgot we made dinner plans, same thing. And it wasn’t a big deal at all. I actually preferred it cause I was tired as hell. We ordered in and just talked. But I could feel her whole body tense like she was waiting for me to lash out at her. We were out last week, she was chatting with the waiter while I took a call. She was like an entirely different person when I got back to the table. And I wasn’t thinkin’ twice about who the fuck she talked to. But in her mind, she committed a crime or some shit.” 

“That shit’s heavy,” Calliet offered as he rounded the pool table for his shot. “Seems like small shit to us but to her, it means a whole other thing. How you dealing’ with it? I know that shit bothers you.” 

Michael scoffed, taking a long sip of his drink. “Of course it fuckin’ bothers me. To have the woman I love seem terrified of me, terrified I would even consider hurting her like that? Shit is frustrating. But I dunno. I did all this research on how to be supportive and been slowly tryin’ to add that in. But I dunno. Just worried it isn’t enough.” 

“Want my two cents?” Steelo offered. Michael was usually weary of taking relationship advice from his best friend. Steelo’s longest committed relationship amounted to months. But he also never pretended he wanted anything else, he was more than happy living the single bachelor life. Michael decided to just hear him out. If it was bad, which it was likely to be, he would just ignore it. 

“Hit me.”  

“I know I was anti-Charlotte after everything went down in Philly but this the happiest I’ve ever seen you. I think you gotta just keep showing up and maybe, actually talk to her? Research is great, google is your best friend. And you can do all that. But you also gotta know what she needs and the only person who can tell you that is her. Ask her, give her time to figure out what she needs from you, and then do those things in addition to the other shit. And I know it sounds crazy but maybe she also just has to hear you say that shit. You know… assurances and all that… women love that shit.” 

Michael glanced at Calliet who merely shrugged. “Hey, I agree with him. Broken clock is right twice a day.” 

The men laughed a bit at Michael’s friend’s expense before the only married man in the group added, “Nah but forreal. The kid is right. Talk to her. Ask her how you can make her more comfortable and go from there.” 

“That might be the first solid dating advice you’ve given me.” 

“Check back in another decade, I might have more.” 

***

“Dinner was delicious, babe. You know when you said you could cook, I definitely thought you were lying.” 

Michael chuckled. “My momma taught me a thing or two. Said she wasn’t raisin’ niggas who couldn’t throw down in the kitchen.” 

She nodded. “Well, shout out to your mom. The women of the world, particularly this one,” she pointed at herself. “Thank her.” 

He brought her a plate with a piece of chocolate cake on it, his favorite. He smiled as she did a little happy dance in her seat. His girl most certainly had a sweet tooth. 

“Don’t tell me you made this too? Cause then I might have to marry you,” she joked. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby,” he winked at her and smirked, causing her to roll her eyes. “But nah, my sister would kill me if I took credit for that. She’s the baker. I’m hopeless with desserts. It’s my favorite thing of hers. ” 

“Then we are a perfect pair. You can cook and I’ll make dessert.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he kissed the top of her head before settling back in his seat. 

He watched her eat for a few minutes, enjoying her facial expressions and small but distinct sounds of delight with every bite. She was clearly in heaven. But tonight had not just been about showing his girl a fun time and cooking for her, it was also about broaching a difficult conversation and putting his friends’ advice into action.

“Hey, Els.” 

“What’s up?” 

He held out his hand for hers, his thumb going to rub the inside of her wrist. He started doing it more often after their dinner date fiasco, realizing that she seemed to respond well to it. It was a small and gentle touch, but every time he did, her body visibly relaxed and seemed more at ease instinctually. 

“What do you need from me to feel more comfortable and safe?”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow in confusion, her spoon gently clattering against the slide of her plate as she sat it down. “What prompted that question, Mr. Jordan?” 

“Well, I just know this is your first relationship since everything. There are triggers and shit that are gonna come up. And that’s ok, I know it all takes time. I just… I want to assure you that I ain’t him. And I would never hurt you. And whatever you need me to do to help you believe that and feel you know, more at ease, I’ll do it.”

Charlotte’s heart melted for a moment before her own guilt set in. She tried not to think much about her triggers. They happened far too often. And each time, she would curse herself for it, profusely remind herself that Michael was not her ex, and swear to herself that it wouldn’t happen again. However, it always did and it felt like by the time she saw it coming, it was too late to stop it. However, what she never wanted to do was make him believe she thought he was like Shaun. She knew that was not the case in her heart, mind, and soul. However, she knew, as the famous book and her therapist constantly reminded her, the body kept a different score, kept a laundry list of every beating, every humiliating and degrading moment. She may have pushed the memories out of her mind but every single one was still etched in her bones. And she could not force that out of herself, it would only take time. 

She clenched her eyes shut for a moment before sighing. “I’m sorry, Bakari. I-I never want you to feel like I think you’d hurt me or something. I know… I know that isn’t you.”

He shook his head. “Hey. Don’t apologize. I didn’t bring it up to blame you. Your past is part of you and I know it ain’t shit you can just turn on and off when it’s convenient. That’s why I want to know how I can help?” 

Charlotte stood up, abandoning her cake to join him across the table, sitting on his lap. Her hand settled against his cheek, her fingers playing with his coarse facial hair. 

“There is nothing you need to change, Michael. A-and I’m not just saying that. You’re everything I could hope for. And you treat me better than I could’ve dreamed for myself. I guess…” She paused. “I didn’t realize how hard it would be trying to be in a relationship again. I’m not afraid of you. But when you live in constant fear for so long, it sort of becomes part of you. It guided every decision, every choice, every action… every second of every day. And I think, sometimes, even though I know in my soul you aren’t him, that fear is still there in my bones. And when it hits, I don’t even realize it until it feels like I’m drowning in it. A-and I’m sorry for that because I know it’s not fair to you. I’m trying really, I promise.” She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, afraid of where this conversation might actually be headed. “B-But if it’s too much for you, I u-understand. I c-can’t expect you to stick around forever while I figure o-out my -”  

“Love, stop. Breathe. That’s not what this is at all. I’m here until you get sick of me, baby girl.” He peppered her face with pecks causing her to laugh. “And don’t apologize to me cause I don’t need it or want it. I just want you to be ok and happy with me, not worried when some other shoe is gonna drop. If there’s nothing, great. But if there is, I just want to know it. We don’t gotta discuss it tonight. I have a whole surprise waiting for you downstairs. Ain’t tryin’ ruin it. But just promise me, if you ever feel like you do need something from me to feel safer o-or I’m doing something that makes you feel unsafe, promise me you’ll tell me.”

She pressed her lips to his. She appreciated that he was not shying away from her reality, that he was jumping in to address the hard things. She would not have blamed him if he wanted to end things but he was still here, still loving her and wanting to work through the kinks of their relationship. If he was willing to have hard conversations, she had to be willing too. She could not just will all of this away, she had to actively work on it. 

“I promise.” 

“Aight, good. Now we got the hard stuff outta the way, wanna follow me to the basement?” 

“Are you gonna tell me what the surprise is? I thought you cooking for me and the food not killing me was the surprise?” 

“Ha. Ha. Ha. And nah, I’m beginning to think you really don’t know what surprise means.” 

“I know what it means, I just like to be in the know.”

“Alright, close your eyes.” 

“Bakari…” she whined. 

“Just do it, Els. Damn, you never listen to a nigga,” he mumbled. 

She winked at him before acquiescing to his wishes and closing her eyes. 

One hand held onto hers while his free hand settled on her hip as he led her downstairs and around a corner to his movie room. 

“Ok, open.” 

She opened her eyes to find the room completely different from the last time she came down there. Giant cozy pillows and blankets draped like a tent covered the floor, a whole set up of popcorn and other snacks and two cocktail glasses waiting for them.

“I know you’re kind of a homebody so a more creative spin on dinner and a movie?” He offered with a shrug. 

“You did all this??” 

“Yea, I remember you mentioned once on set that you and your siblings used to have movie nights and make forts in your basement.” 

She giggled as he led her to the perfectly constructed tent in his basement. He essentially turned his downstairs into a campground, with soft lightening and cushy blankets and pillows littering the floor around his flat screen tv. 

“This is far better than any fort we made.”

It clearly had taken him and perhaps a team of people time to set it all up. It was beautiful. She leaned over and picked up a pack of gummy bears, her favorite. “You didn’t have to do all this for me,” she whispered. “It’s too much.” 

Michael shook his head. “Nothing is ever too much for you. Besides, press tour is in what, two weeks? We’re gonna be busy so we gotta enjoy the time together while we can.”  

Michael went to the bar to pull out a pitcher of mojitos before he got situated in their fort next to her.

“Not gonna lie. I’m kinda looking forward to it. It’ll be my first real press tour.”

“I’m about to be all your work firsts, then?” 

Charlotte nodded as she took a sip of the cocktail Michael made for her. 

“Yea and some personal ones, I’m sure,” she muttered under her breath, thinking back to the conversation with her friends.

“What’s that mean?” 

She let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all.” She turned the gummy bears toward him, allowing him to take a handful before she snuggled into his side. 

The pair snuggled and joked as they watched Bad Boys, a movie that made it onto both of their top five movies lists. Their banter carried them through most of the film, the pair analyzing and offering their two cents as if they were experts on thwarting criminals. The pair made their way through an obscene amount of snacks and a pitcher of mojitos as they watched the first movie and its sequel. 

“Those drinks were so good,” she muttered as she examined the now-empty pitcher, a small pout on her features. “If this whole acting thing doesn’t work out, you could be a bartender for sure.” 

Michael laughed and rubbed her thigh. “You wanna just crash here? You shouldn’t drive home after all that. And it’s already late as hell,” he remarked, glancing at his watch to find it was almost 1 am.  

She shrugged and winked at him. “Jokes on you… that was alllllll part of the plan. Your bed is more comfortable than mine.” 

“Damn, you just usin’ a nigga for a comfortable bed??” 

“Not just the bed… Comfortable bed, free meals, cuddly oversized sweatshirts,” she listed on her fingers with a sly smile. 

“You know I’m good for other things too,” he whispered with a smirk on his face, his fingers drawing featherlike patterns on her exposed thigh that sent chills down her spine. She knew exactly what he was suggesting and she did not know if it was the liquor or just the overall effect he had on her body, but she wanted to know what those things were. She wanted more. More of him, more of his touch, more of his love. And she did not want to wait a single moment longer. 

And she did not want the night to end, their last true moment of solitude before life picked up again. They would be traveling and exhausted for a month. Though she was excited to spend her first press run with him, she knew it would not be true alone time. It would be work and since they were not a public couple yet, they would have to exercise some discretion.

She threw caution to the wind and straddled his hips, ignoring his surprised look as she took charge of the moment. She kissed him before nibbling on his ear and whispering, “Why don’t you show me?” 

Usually, those words would have had Michael ripping a woman’s clothes off within milliseconds. However, despite the lust coursing through him, he forced himself to pause and confirm her wishes. Once he knew Charlotte wanted to take it slow, he always made sure to pump the brakes before things got too hot and heavy between them. No matter how hard it was - and it was excruciatingly hard - it was one of his many attempts to show Charlotte that he understood and respected her boundaries and subtly remind her she had agency in their relationship. He never wanted her to feel pressured to do something she did not want to do because she was conditioned never to say no. He wanted her to know she was steering the ship and he was fine with whatever speed she chose. 

Admittedly, this was the longest he ever waited for a woman to sleep with him. They were well into month three and had not progressed past heated make out sessions. However, Michael, honestly, did not mind. He longed to bury himself inside her, to taste her, to show her pleasure she had never known before. But he knew it would be more enjoyable for both of them if she was truly ready for it. 

Michael’s eyes grew wide with surprise as her statement settled in his brain matter. He leaned back over her, his soft hand cupped her cheek and held her eyes to his. 

“You sure? We don’t gotta do anything you aren’t ready for, Els. And we been drinkin’ and shit. I’ll wait as long as you want, love.” 

Charlotte offered him a soft smile. “I know. And it’s very sweet and it makes me love you even more if that’s even fucking possible,” she let out a nervous laugh. “I trust you a-and I want you. That’s all I need. So I am very ready for you to break my back like you promised.” 

Michael chuckled and kissed her on the neck softly. 

“You sure?” 

Charlotte knew she would not find the words to describe how desperately she needed him. It was no longer a want that could be diminished by her anxieties and fears, it was a need. A need that felt as fundamental to her survival as oxygen to her lungs and sustenance to her body. His willingness to take it slow and respect her boundaries, the ways he went out of his way to make her feel safe and desired daily only increased her lust. So she decided to show him through action. 

“Yes…” she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her shoulders, thankful she decided to wear a matching bra and panty set. She had no intention, originally, of their date night taking this specific turn but she was grateful nonetheless. She felt empowered and assured in her decision as she watched his reaction, pure lust and desire taking over his features. 

He licked his lips before he captured hers again. She moaned as his hands enjoyed free reign of her body, softly kneading and gripping her ass and thighs. She could feel the desire pooling between her legs, the movie playing on the tv long forgotten. She did not stop him as he flipped her onto her back, his chest pressed against hers as he sucked on the soft skin of her neck. 

Michael took his time as he kissed her, paying close attention to every moan and groan, his ears perking up when he hit a sweet spot. He wanted to know every intricacy of what she liked and just how she liked it. His path of kisses and gentle nips down her body was deliberate and slow, he savored  how her whimpers became needier as he went. But he did not speed up. He was determined, desired to see her come undone piece by piece, and that was a process he could not rush.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as his lips lingered against one of her scars, knowing they made her insecure about her appearance. 

By the time he reached her lower stomach, her whimpers had turned to pants of need. Charlotte had never experienced foreplay like this before. She did not understand how he was already so attentive, the way he seemed to immediately respond to her body, picking up on cues Charlotte would not have been able to articulate herself. If her body was an instrument, Michael seemed to already be a savant, hitting the right notes with every caress and touch.  It was a slow march and Charlotte was feigning for the main event, feigning for him to fill her. 

Michael finally detached his lips from her body and made quick work of removing her thong. 

“All this for me?” He whispered as he licked his lips as he admired the wetness between her thighs. 

He spread her legs and licked his lips before kissing her inner thighs. Charlotte almost saw God when he added in a gentle bite, sending sparks of pleasure through her. With every passing second, his lips got closer and closer to the treasure between her thighs, a coveted meal Michael had been waiting months to taste. 

However, realizing his intention, Charlotte immediately felt the first wave of anxiety and insecurity hit her, pulling her out of the moment and mind-numbing fog of pleasure. 

“W-what are you doing?” She breathed out, stopping his path toward her core. 

“About to get a taste,” he muttered as he continued kissing her inner thighs. 

Charlotte squirmed for a moment before quietly offering. “Y-You don’t have to do that… if you don’t want to.” 

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. There was literally nothing he wanted more in this world at this moment. “I definitely want to. What’s wrong?” 

“N-Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just never…” She scratched her forehead and kept her eyes trained on the ceiling. It was embarrassing and she did not really want to say it out loud. Similar to her lack of an orgasm, she had also never revealed to anyone that her sexual experience was severely lacking in terms of receiving pleasure. Giving? She was good at it and enjoyed it occasionally. But she had always been the giver and now could not even fathom what receiving felt like. She knew, based on conversations with her girlfriends, that she was missing something spectacular and life changing. But the mental block was there and she found it hard to want it. “Never mind, it’s embarrassing.” 

Michael chuckled. “Aint shit to be embarrassed about with me, baby.” He kissed her softly on the lips. 

“No one’s ever given me…” 

Her words died in her throat but Michael did not need her to finish the sentence. He knew exactly what she was trying to say and shocked was an understatement. He had jerked himself off more times than he would ever admit dreaming of her paradise, what she tasted like, and what sounds she would make when he finally found himself in that promised land. And to think that no one had ever taken the time or care to give her that pleasure angered him more than it should have. He supposed he should be happy he was the first one to give her that experience but he hated that her sex life prior to him had been so lacking.  

“You trust me?” 

She nodded immediately. “Of course.” 

“Ok, then just lay back and relax for me, aight? If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. But I don’t think you’re gonna want me to stop.” He offered her a knowing wink.

Michael was not a man who begrudgingly engaged in foreplay simply because it was required. The build up was his favorite part of the experience, knowing he was giving his partner exactly what they needed and wanted, worshiping her body like the queen she was. He would bask in every moment of proving to her that he wanted to do this task more than anything else.  

“Always so cocky,” she muttered with a smile. 

“And you love that shit,” he shot back as they traded playful jabs. “Now relax… and let me take care of you.” 

Michael’s hands pushed open Charlotte’s legs, her pussy glistening with need. 

Not wanting to waste another second, he leaned in and enveloped her clit into his mouth, sucking gently. 

Charlotte let out a deep moan, a moan so visceral and carnal, she did not even know she could produce such a sound. But she didn't even know her body could feel pleasure like this and he was only just getting started. 

It seemed Michael was right about one thing, she most certainly did not want him to stop. 

Michael poured his whole soul into his ministrations, pulling out every trick he knew to send Charlotte over the edge. He licked and sucked, spelling out all his love and adoration with every caress of his tongue. He savored every moan and groan, every plea for him to go faster. 

“Fuck… B-Bakari… p-please don’t stop.” 

Unnecessary directions, in his opinion, he could do this all night. 

Charlotte’s eyes clenched shut as she grabbed one of the plush pillows on the floor and moaned into it, suddenly remembering that Michael’s parents lived with him. 

“Put the pillow down,” he emerged from her legs to demand. “Room’s soundproof, I promise. I wanna hear you.” 

She immediately tossed it to the side as she rode the waves of pure passion and ecstasy his mouth provided. She was not sure where to concentrate as every pleasure sensor in her body felt like it was on fire. She was overwhelmed and yet, she wanted more. She wanted to drown in it, drown in this feeling that seemed to never end. Every time, she felt as if she must be reaching its peak, he pushed her higher and higher. 

His eyes never left her face as he devoured what would now be classified as his favorite meal. The moment she came, he wanted to see it. Every sound she made only spurred him on as he inched her closer and closer to her mountain top. 

Charlotte felt her world go dark, everything in her snapped as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She felt as if she was in fog, Michael’s voice distant and quiet as she experienced her first orgasm. She felt as if he had just altered the course of her life at that moment. She wondered if this was what rebirth felt like and how she had ever lived without this unfiltered… bliss. She let out a stream of curse words as she rode out her orgasm, Michael offering her praise that she could barely register.

“That’s it, Els. Cum for me.” 

He emerged from between her legs and kissed her, allowing her to taste herself. 

“You taste so good, baby. So sweet,” he offered as he gave her a few moments to settle down. . 

“T-that was…” She struggled to find the words as her already slightly hoarse voice filled the space. 

“You liked that, baby?” He asked, his deep voice sending jolts of pleasure down her body. His finger entered her, immediately curling into her g-spot causing her to gasp. 

This man… was going to be the death of her, she decided. 

“Y-Yes,” she whispered. 

“You want more, Els?” 

She nodded fervently. Michael pushed himself off the floor and quickly stripped down, his manhood standing at attention for the woman he loved. 

Her breath hitched slightly as she took in his length and girth. He settled himself between her legs before starting to push inside her. 

She let out a groan of pain that made him pause, his eyes immediately filling with concern. He started to pull out when she wrapped her legs around his hips to stop him. 

“N-No, don’t. I-it’s just been a couple years. That’s all. I’m good, promise.” 

His forehead fell against hers as he slowly pushed inside her. His eyes did not leave hers, pausing his movements every time he saw an iota of discomfort or pain on her face. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, professed his love and adoration for her, told her how good she felt around him as he waited for her to adjust.

And once she gave him the ok, he started his slow and steady strokes into her. 

“You feel so fucking good, baby” he muttered as the soft slapping sounds of their hips meeting filled his basement. 

His dick curved right into her g-spot, forcing words of adoration and love from the depths of her soul at the end of every stroke. Her soft pants morphed into moans and screams of pleasure as she felt jolts of pleasure throughout her body.  

“F-fuck, I l-love you,” she panted out. “Harder,” she demanded, Michel more than happy to oblige. 

He increased his pace, relentlessly fucking her. She was thankful this portion of the house was soundproof, his basement soaking up the loud symphony of their collective moans. . 

She could feel all of the love and adoration he held for her in every stroke, every affirmation he whispered into her ear as he sent her soul to another plane. All she could do was pant and cry out in pleasure as he promised to love her until his last day. 

Michael’s physical fitness and stamina meant that they were just getting started. Michael and Charlotte moved around his basement, fucking on any and all surfaces that they saw fit. He transitioned between positions like an experienced dancer and pulled countless orgasms from the depth of her soul. 

“Fuck. Just like that baby. Ride this dick,” he moaned. He let out a low growl as she rode him, he was in heaven as he buried his face in her chest, his mouth enveloping her nipple. He was surprised at how much she responded to it, her head falling back in pleasure, her mouth agape. She cried out in pleasure as he gently bit down on the swell of her breasts. He switched between the two, making sure to give each equal attention. 

“You look so sexy riding my dick,” he praised her, causing her to increase her pace. 

She ignored the burn in her thighs as she continued, her thoughts only focused on giving him the same pleasure he gave her. She loved this position. It made her feel emboldened and in charge. And so she decided to enjoy that feeling and switch it up, giving him another view to enjoy. She slid off of him, both of them groaning lightly at the feeling of emptiness while she repositioned herself in reverse cow girl and slid back onto his dick. 

Michael smirked at the satisfied moan that escaped her lips as he filled her again. He grabbed her hips, thrusting into her rapidly as he enjoyed the view of her ass bouncing against his hips. He had let her control the pace before but now? It was his turn again. She yelped lightly as his hand spanked her. It was unexpected but not too rough, clearly to test the waters. She moaned, letting him know that she enjoyed it, the edge of roughness and small jolts of pain mixed in with his gentle touches. 

“You like that, baby?” He asked as he spanked her again, his strong arms lifting her body up and down as if she weighed nothing. 

“Y-Yes! I love it,” She panted out, breathless and exhausted as he fucked her. “I’m g-gonna cum!” 

Her hands pressed against his stomach to hold herself up as she rode the length of her orgasm, her body barely staying up right. When she calmed down, he lifted her off of him and instructed her to get on all fours. 

He positioned himself behind her and massaged her ass for a moment, admiring the perfect view. 

“Arch your back for me, baby. That’s it, good girl.” 

Charlotte could’ve cum right then, hearing him praise her. 

Good girl, she wanted to hear that every day for the rest of her life. 

She groaned as he entered her again, this position allowing him to get even deeper than before. Charlotte’s screams grew to new heights as he fucked her senseless from behind, taking her directive to break her back extremely serious. She was thankful that the strength of his thrusts naturally buried her face in the pillows of their now destroyed fort; she did not think even a soundproof room could contain her at this point. 

In this moment, she realized exactly what Jazz meant: this was life-changing and fun. For the first time, she was not waiting for it to all be over, she was enjoying it, actively meeting his thrusts to increase her pleasure. And when his fingers dug into her hips to hammer into her at his own pace, like a man possessed, she was more than willing to surrender her entire being to him and let him give her exactly what he believed she needed. Because he actually knew, every action was meticulous and measured, attuned to needs she did not even know she had. But he did and she loved him for it. So she surrendered, surrendered to bliss, knew she would forever happily hand over the reins of her pleasure to him because she desperately wanted what he had to give.

“Why you running, baby?” He asked as he fucked her, her body instinctively shying away from the intense pleasure of another orgasm building too fast. 

“I-I… I-it’s too much…” she breathed out, unable to form coherent sentences.

“You want me to stop?” He asked as he continued fucking relentlessly. 

“N-no,” she whimpered, and it was true. Her body felt as if it may die if he stopped but also that another orgasm might kill her. In a split second decision, dying from pleasure seemed like the better way to go. 

“Good girl. You’re taking me so well, love. Cum for me one more time, baby.”

As he felt her pussy snapping around his dick and her screams grew louder, he knew she was close. He reached around and rubbed her clit to give her the extra push she needed. 

Charlotte let out a breathless scream, her vision going black as the most powerful orgasm of her life ran through her. She didn't even get to feel him cum inside her as he finally reached his own peak. 

When she finally opened her eyes again, Michael was sitting watching her intently. 

“Welcome back, almost had me worried for a minute. You ok?” 

All she could do was nod, not understanding how he looked completely unruffled while she felt as if she had done a triathlon. 

He held out his hand to help her up and slide his robe around her. She was surprised to find him already in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. 

“H-How long was I out?” 

He laughed, kissing the top of her head. “Just a couple minutes. Come on, I’ll start a bath upstairs.” 

She groaned as she tried to move her legs. “M-My legs don’t work, babe. N-Not gonna make it upstairs.” 

He laughed and swooped her up into his arms. “Good thing you have me then.” 

Charlotte snuggled into his chest as he carried her to his suite. He made quick work of filling the tub with hot water and helping her into the tub, the smell of eucalyptus, her favorite, filling her nose. 

“This is sweet,” she said, her voice raspy from their activities. “T-thank you.” She settled into the bathtub, her head lulling back as her eyes fell closed. The warm water felt like heaven on her aching muscles. 

“You feel ok? Was afraid I was too rough at the end?” 

She let her head fall lazily in his direction, a content smile on her face. “No, it was great. Though I think you might've thought I was a gymnast at one point, really pushed the limits of my flexibility. And I now feel like I need to go to yoga classes so I don’t need to soak my muscles every time we have sex,” she laughed. “But it was perfect. You’re perfect.”

They shared a sweet kiss before silence fell over them. Charlotte did not stay in the tub long, her desire to be in Michael’s arms again overwhelming. Once she was done, Michael gave her clothes to throw on and they climbed into bed. 

Michael’s head rested on her chest, both of them muttering soft I love you’s before they drifted off to sleep.

***

“Charlie!” 

Charlotte's eyes gravitated toward a familiar voice, finally landing on Chris who had commandeered a corner booth toward the back and was waving at her. 

“How are you??” Her voice took on a sing-songy tone as she hugged him before sitting across from him. “It’s been way too fucking long.” 

“I know, I know. It’s tough. I’m rarely out here and you’re never in NYC anymore.” His voice was filled with teasing accusations as he referenced her disappearing act. “But I’m glad you were able to fit me in.” 

The pair spent over a half hour catching up, Chris sharing gossip from the NYC theater scene that Charlotte was no longer in touch with. She considered Chris MacDonald to be one of her closest friends. He had been her mentor when she was at a school, he was a recent graduate working on his musical and worked with students in his free time. He was easily the most talented songwriter she had ever heard, his first musical becoming a staple on Broadway within months. Every song he touched turned to gold and money. They transcended the usual mentor-mentee relationship quickly, becoming good friends. Chris always vowed to make her his leading lady in one of his shows one day. 

“So what are the next few months looking like for you?” 

“We’re starting press for Creed out here next week. Then the premieres here and press and a premiere in Philly. We have a couple of events and things once it hits theaters and then I should get a break right before Christmas. Thankfully, since it is the first one, the press schedule isn’t insane. But it's still a lot.” 

“So I gotta know, do you miss the stage at all?”

“All the time,” Charlotte moaned, her shoulders collapsing a bit. Chris was the type of person who knew the answer to his question before he asked it. So she knew there was no use in lying. “All. The. Time.” She emphasized. “Movies are great, don’t get me wrong. Can’t say anything too bad about them, after all, my first major film led me to Michael. Who you have to meet by the way. But it’s just not the same. It doesn’t… make my soul happy the way theater did? Money’s better,” Chris immediately nodded in agreement. “But that’s about it. Just doesn’t really fulfill me the same way.” 

“Would you want to go back?” 

An antenna in Charlotte’s mind went up as she heard his tone, his voice taking on the tenor of someone who was dipping a toe in to test the waters. 

“Ummm yea, I mean I’d love to go back. But… the practicalities of it. Just don’t think it is in the cards for me.” She shook her head gently and picked up her coffee. The mug hid the sad smile she had on her face, a realization that her choices meant her dreams weren’t a possibility anymore. “Besides, there isn’t a theater director who knows my name who’d give me another chance.” She simply shrugged. “It’s cool though. My life’s out here now, new relationship’s out here, friends, family. It’s better this way.” 

Chris nodded. “What if you were looking at a writer and producer who wanted you to be in their next show?” 

Charlotte laughed, “Very funny, Chris.” She had heard about his next project through the grapevine, which just completed an off-Broadway run in Massachusetts and was picked up to perform on Broadway in the new year. His musical, The Lighthouse, followed the closing shift of a dive bar during a winter’s storm. It was one of those shows where the entire play takes place in a singular room, following four characters, the owner of the bar and his wife, and the main character, Ashley, and her ex, who is a bartender. Charlotte had only read reviews of it but every review praised Chris for his poignant examination of relationships, human connection, and the innate desire to fight for the things and one you love, even when the fight seems foolish and you are outnumbered.

“I’m being dead serious, Charlie. I know you’re about to start promo for the film so you wouldn’t get that break you’re looking forward to. But it premieres on Broadway in March. We are casting new folks since the off broadway cast is transitioning to other roles. And for the lead, I started with your name but didn’t think you’d want to come back. And after scouring my brain for months and chatting with other writers like Lin and all roads lead back to you. You’re perfect for it. Your voice, your skills… you would knock it out of the park.” 

Charlotte shook her head, “Oh Chris… thank you but I can’t. It’s just not for me anymore.” 

“The stage was made for you, girl. Look, I wasn’t trying to come here and beg you but I will if I have to. I want you, Charlie. Not some random girl no one has ever heard of… You, the woman who made me cry the first time I heard her sing, the woman with perfect pitch, a woman who's been through shit and knows how to bring that pain and vulnerability and channel it into a performance. Look, I could get any recent graduate from Juilliard or Yale and throw them in this show and it would be good. But I don’t want ‘good’. I want excellent and you are excellence. Just give me a year. One year. Not even a year,” he corrected himself as she shook her head. “Six months. Six months and you’ll be nominated for a Tony in 2017, maybe even 2016 depending on when they cut off the season. ” 

At the sound of the coveted award Charlotte had dreamed of her entire life, Charlotte perked up. “How do you know it’s Tony worthy?” 

“Because I wouldn’t have flown across the country to grovel at the feet of one of the greatest actresses and singers I’ve ever seen for anything less than a Tony-winning role. Six months to a year, max. Give me six months of your life, Charlie and I swear - you’re Grammy and Tony nominated at worst… two steps closer to an EGOT at best. Come on, don’t tell me you forgot? This was on the vision board you showed me when you were a plucky, annoying freshman. This is it, this is the opportunity to make that vision board come true.”

Just as Charlotte opened her mouth to rebut him, he stopped her. “Look, I gotta jet to another meeting. But don’t say no just yet, please? I promised the team I would have my Ashley by the time I got back home on Monday. I’ll send you the tracks, the video of the workshop, talk it over… pray on it, and get back to me in a few days. Just promise me you’ll think about it, Charlie. Please?”

Charlotte nodded weakly. “Fine… I’ll think about it.” 

She knew logically there was nothing to think about. The mere idea went beyond playing with fire, it was playing with a raging inferno to move back there. For all she knew, Shaun was a mere powder keg waiting for the right spark to explode and she would be handing it to him on a silver platter. However, her soul and her ambition, well those parts of her were thinking… and they were thinking hard.

She said her goodbyes to Chris and paid for her coffee. And before she could even make it outside to her car, she heard the ding of several emails, all from Chris with the music tracks. She slid into her car and hooked it up as she drove to Michael’s. Since they broke through the physical intimacy barrier, she essentially lived at his place. After spending almost every night there, he cleared out a drawer and gave her space in his closet. Now she rarely went to her own spot. 

Since his house was a bit farther out, she made it through Act 1 of the show before she pulled into his driveway. However, she did not immediately turn it off to get out of the car. She was so enthralled that she just sat there in his driveway with her eyes closed, falling deeper in love with the music with every passing chord. 

“That fucking bastard,” she muttered to herself as her head thudded back against the seat. “The great Chris MacDonald strikes again.” 

It was always a running joke among the Broadway community that no one ever said no to Chris. If he wanted you, he would always find a way to convince you to work for him. Whether it was the strength of the piece itself or his persuasive abilities, no was not a word he heard. 

And she hated that it was working on her. This was award worthy. It was more than that, it was a game changer. It would take more than a year to pick up steam but when it did, it would become a household name. She could feel it in her bones. And the main character, Ashley, was perfect for her. Her ballad, which closed out Act I, was giving Defying Gravity levels of emotion. It was climatic and she could just picture herself singing it on stage. And while the show was filled with drama and emotion, it struck the perfect balance of being funny and relatable. It was the type of show you left and talked about for hours with your friends, examining each character and their decisions with a fine tooth comb.

She sat in her car and typed out notes on her phone as she worked her way through Act II, noting things she picked up on and wanted to discuss further with Chris. She did not even realize how long she sat out there until she heard a knock on her car window. 

“Shit!” She jumped almost clean out of her skin as she turned to find Michael staring at her with a quizzical look on his face. She took a deep breath before opening the door. “You scared me.” 

“My bad. I saw you pull up 30 minutes ago. Wanted to make sure you were good. You on the phone or somethin’?” 

“30 minutes?? Sorry, baby. I was just listening to these songs Chris sent me.” 

She pulled herself and her bag out of the car and followed Michael into the house. The house smelled delicious, Michael immediately returning to the oven to check on his Bolognese sauce.  

“How was coffee?” 

“Um… intriguing, that’s for sure.” Charlotte threw her bag down on one of the bar stools and immediately grabbed the loaf of bread and other materials that were sitting out to help Michael finish dinner. 

“Ok, elaborate.” 

Charlotte sighed. “Well, it wasn’t a friendly catch up like I thought. He has a role for me… in his new show.” 

“Ok… and?” 

“It’s really fuckin’ good, Bakari. Like game changing good. Like household name good. He said he just wanted six months out of me, which is more than enough to be nominated this year or next.” 

Michael nodded. “Ok… I’m hearing all the good things… sounds like good shit. But you’re hesitating. What’s stopping you?” 

She turned to face him, leaning against the counter. “Well first, my life is here with you. Not in New York. We’ve only been dating for three months. I don’t want to lose what we have.” Michael glanced at her, waiting for her to say more. “A-and I left New York in such a weird way. I don’t even know how people feel about me now. A-and 8 shows a week??” She ranted, taking her frustration out on the helpless loaf of Italian bread in front of her. “Don’t even know if I can physically do that shit anymore. I’m not that good of a dancer… I mean when would we have time to see each other if I’m doing 8 shows a week? I could kiss my current career goodbye. I feel like I started down this road, don’t know if I should backtrack?”

Michael turned her away from the cutting board and took the knife out of her hands. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her closer and closer to him. 

“What’s really wrong, Els? Cause it ain’t any of the dumb shit you just mentioned.” 

Charlotte immediately felt offended, her body attempting and failing to twist out of his firm but still gentle grip. “Excuse me?? Those are legit concerns, thank you very much.” 

“No they aren’t. You’re never gonna lose me cause you’re pursuing a dream. New York is a plane ride away, I’ll come to you when I’m not filming. Long distance relationships work and thrive every day, Els.” He started to list off, dismissing her concerns one by one. “You left to save your life. Fuck anyone who doesn’t understand that or sympathize with that shit. Besides, who even gives a fuck what they think? You got Chris in your corner and more people than you think, that’s enough. You can dance just fine. And you run like 6 miles every single day so physically, you can do anything including sing and dance for 2 hrs 8 times a week. And it’s not backtracking. You started in the theater, took a break and are going back. People do that shit literally all the time. I think you’re scared. And if you want to say no for all those practical reasons to Chris, fine. But at least be honest with me. Why are you really hesitating?” 

She picked at her nails, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip. She hated that she had to consider him, this dark cloud that hung over her head and still indirectly affected her decisions. She hated that he still had this much power 

“I left New York for a reason, Bakari. A-and that reason is still walking and talking and… I don’t think I can ignore that just because Chris dangles a shiny Tony in front of my face.” 

“Do you really think he’d try something?” 

“I… I dunno. But I also don’t know if I want to test that theory. I gave it all up then because I couldn’t stay alive and keep it. I tried that and it didn’t work. All I got was a break in and three days in the ER. How’s this time gonna be any different? Seems dumb to walk right back into the lion’s den.” 

“Are you walking back into the lion’s den or following your dreams? Was he a Broadway enthusiast or somethin?” 

Charlotte let out a humorless laugh. “Hell no. He hated musicals… and joy… and laughter… and me,” she added under her breath with a humorless chuckle. “What does it matter?” 

“It matters because who's to say he will even know you’re there? Even in the most popular shows, the everyday person doesn’t follow news about it. And this is a new show, not like that rap one everyone I know keeps going to see about the dead white people?”

“Hamilton?” Her judgment of his lack of theater knowledge showed in her laughter.. “‘That musical with the dead white people’” she chuckled. “It’s the hottest ticket of the year, babe.” 

“See,” he emphasized, ignoring the tone of shade in her voice. “I’m an actor and still don’t know this shit.”

“Bakari… be serious, please.” 

“I am!” He laughed. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is even the most popular shows, the non-broadway goer doesn’t know whose in them. You’re a rising star and the benefit of a rising star is that you can still keep a low profile when you want. For all that nigga knows, you’re still in LA. Talk to Chris about promo and maybe keeping a lower profile for the first couple months and all that and secure your dream, babe.”

“But I already proved I can’t have both, Bakari,” she repeated. 

He shook his head. “No, you couldn’t have both then. It’s been a couple years, you’re different. And who knows, that nigga could’ve moved to another state or be in a new relationship or anything. A lot can change in two years, right?” 

She scratched her head. The things Michael said made total sense but there was still this wall standing in her way. 

“Els, baby. Look at me.” His finger lifted her chin to look him in the eye. “I think you should do it. It’s six months until you come back here. Ever since I’ve known you, being the lead of a show has been your dream. And you miss it. And now someone is handing you the opportunity on a silver platter. Why miss it a second time? And if it makes you feel safer, I’ll move with you.” 

Charlotte shook her head. “Baby, I can’t ask you to move across the country for me. Your family, your friends… your life is here.” 

He shrugged. “And in six months, my life will still be here. My future is wherever you are. And I told you a couple weeks ago that I’d do whatever you needed to make you feel safe.” 

“Yes, with you. Not out in the world. I can’t ask you to upend your entire life for me. We haven’t been together that long.” 

“Semantics. I told you I’d do whatever you needed. This counts in my book. Don’t think about the length of time we’ve been together or where it is or any of that shit. Would it help and make you feel more comfortable if I went with you? At least for a couple months?” 

Charlotte studied him for a moment, realizing he was truly being sincere. She found it hard to ask for such a thing but she could not deny that it would help her. Even just knowing that she could come home to someone each night and be safe in their arms felt like it would change everything. 

“Y-Yea, it would help a lot. But you really don’t have to, babe.” 

“Ok then it’s settled. If you take it, I’ll go with you. I know we’re jumping ahead and skipping some steps but I’m in if you are.” 

“You don’t want to think about it?” 

He shrugged as he moved to put the garlic bread in the oven. “What’s there to think about? It’s like moving for a role. It doesn’t really change much. When would you have to be there?” 

“Top of January, the show is supposed to premiere on March 1.”

He nodded. “Ok so if you decide to do it, we can move right after Christmas to make sure you’re there in time.” 

Charlotte chuckled.  “Yea while you’re planning our move, I actually need to decide whether to do it.” 

Michael leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “I’m removing obstacles so you can make the best decision for you. Not for me or because of that nigga. For you. If you want this, we’ll do whatever we gotta do to make sure you’re safe while you do it, ok?” 

Her arms went around his shoulders, their bodies flush against each other. “How’d I get so lucky to find you?” 

“I’m the lucky one, honeybee.” 

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, “Honeybee? That’s a new one. Where’d that come from?” 

“Cause you taste sweet, like honey.” 

“‘I taste sweet, what do- ohhhhh,” the memory of him saying that during the first time he gave her head came back to her mind causing her to laugh a bit. “Thought I’d try it out. It has a cute ring to it. You don’t like it?”

“I like any nickname you give me, love. But… let’s make this the only one inspired by our sex life, ok?”

“Deal.” 

The pair ate dinner before retreating to his bedroom. They did not talk about Chris’s offer again until they were settled in bed, Charlotte laying on Michael’s chest. 

“I think… I think I want to do it. You’re right, it’s my dream and I might not get another shot like this again,” she offered in the quiet and darkness. She knew he was not asleep yet. 

Michael did not even take a beat before he responded, “I guess we’re moving to New York then.” 

Charlotte sat up, leaning on his chest. “You knew I was gonna take it the whole evening didn’t you?” 

He shrugged, before shifting so she was laying back down. He placed a kiss on the top of her forehead and merely smiled. “Yea… when are you gonna learn? I’m always right, baby,” he joked. "You gonna call Chris?

She bit down the joke that bubbled to the surface and merely settled back into his arms with a smile. 

“Yes you are, baby. And in the morning, it's after midnight."

"Yea and you said he flew all the way out here for you. That man is probably waiting by the phone for you. Call him, if he's asleep, you can try again in the morning. Besides, knowing you, you'll find some way to talk yourself out of it by morning." He reached over to her side and grabbed her phone. "Call him, babe."

"Touché." She slid out of his bed and paced, one hand fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt she had on while her feet dragged across his soft plush carpet.

She waited for a few moments with bated breath until she heard his voice fill her ears.

"Hey, Chris! Sorry if this is too late to call? Hope I didn't wake you."

"Oh no, I was just up working and praying your name would cross my phone sometime before the night was over. Please tell me you called me this late with bad news."

Charlotte chuckled and glanced at Michael who gave her an encouraging smile and thumbs up.

"No, no. Just calling to tell you that you can tell the team you found your new Ashley."

She had to hold the phone away from her ear as his screams of delight threatened to bust her ear drums.

"God, I fucking love you, Charlotte Bennett. I could literally kiss you."

"I think my boyfriend would have something to say about that," she chuckled. "But yea I'm in."

"Amazing. I'll send over details to you and your team tomorrow and we can talk more then. Seriously, Charlie, you won't regret it. I promise."

"I know, thank you, Chris. Seriously. Ok, talk tomorrow. Bye."

She hung up the phone and turned to Michael, the realization hitting her.

"I'm gonna be leading a show on Broadway." She ran back to the bed and jumped on it, her previous exhaustion long forgotten as her excitement took over.

Michael enveloped her in a tight hug before they both settled back into bed.

"This is gonna be good, Els. I can feel it."

She placed a quick kiss on his bare chest. "I feel it too. Thank you. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing this without you."

"I gotchu, Els. Always."

Tags: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings

A/N: As always, thanks for reading! We finally got some smut (woohoo). Tbh smut is like really hard for me to write lol so I hope y'all liked it? I really wanted it to be intimate and showcase how close they've gotten in a short time. They could be sexy and honest and vulnerable and playful with each other and it not ruin the moment, it only enhances it for them. Next chapter, we'll get some fluff with their first public outing as a couple and press tour cuteness (think Tom/Zendaya and Corey/India from Queen Charlotte level cuteness). I'm gonna try to get a one-shot out this week too before I'm off on vacation. We'll see if I can actually get it done :)

Leave a comment on what you thought of the chapter and let me know if you want to be tagged!

[arminsumi]

hi to my fav author 🫶 i was wondering if you could do prompt 13? but make it where dilf armin has a lactation kink 🫢 if your comfortable with that. thank you so much and have a great rest of your day

Oh sure thing angel 🤭💕hope i wrote satisfactorily hehe

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💕 ꒱ MILK MDNI

░ 🐬 Dilf!Armin x fem!reader

⚠️Cws; kinky SMUT 🥵🌶️

⚠️💦Smut cws; kinky sex, lactation + breeding + daddy kink, boobie sucking/milk drinking 👀, unprotected sex (creampie), dirty talk, mating press position

As soon as you cooed your newborn to sleep and tucked your kids into bed, Armin eagerly led you into the bedroom with feverish kisses down the hallway.

From the moment the bedroom door snapped shut, Armin was all over you; his hands praising up and down your body like he hadn't touched you in weeks.

"Someone's excited." You giggled teasingly when he put his hot lips on your boob. "Ah, 'Min, 's sensitive after milking, be gentler." you moaned against the top of his head. His hair tickled under your chin as he pulled off while sucking your nipple.

His eyes twinkled when a little bit of your milk squirted out by accident. You giggled embarrassedly, "You sucked too hard, not my fault." you defended immediately, but Armin licked an erotic stripe from under your boob, over your nipple, and latched his lips right back on.

"Hey, 'careful or more's gonna come out." you warned him amusedly. "I don't mind. It t-tastes good." he pulled away to speak, breathing hot against your sensitive nipple. He flicked his tongue against it. All he could think about was how heavy and full your boobs looked.

"What, are you tellin' me that you wanna drink my milk?" you teased. He looked up at you and sensually massaged your boobs. His eyes twinkled a bit when you said that, "Y-yeah, I do..." he blurted out. You raised your brows and laughed breathily, because you thought he was kidding at first.

"Don't laugh, I-I'm serious." Armin said, his whole face was searing with heat. He wasn't sure if he should play it off as a joke. It all depended on your response. "I'm down to try anything with you." you told him.

Oh boy, he pressed you down onto the springy bed so eagerly when you said that. His plush lips latched back onto your nipple, and he sucked gently. Occasionally he pulled away to circle his tongue around it, or come up for a kiss.

He whimpered and gulped down your milk hungrily. "Fuck, angel, your milk tastes really good..." he sighed, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He put his lips on your other tit and tried sucking it for milk, too.

He was so hard against you, it made you wonder how long he had thought about doing this. Probably even back when you were first breastfeeding a few years ago, you remember noticing him paying special attention to your tits back then, as if he wanted something more than just to feel and kiss them.

Armin couldn't help but lay into you after he tasted your milk.

He muffled a moan on your boob when you ruffled his hair. He was so docile and almost submissive until he sunk his heavy cock inside. "Fuck, 'm gonna fuck 'nother baby into those hips." he groaned when he started thrusting into you.

His cock filled you up deliciously, but he got frustrated that he wasn't balls deep inside, so he pushed your legs as far back as he could.

Armin's eyes focused on the sight of his cock stretching you out; he loved seeing your pussy cling to him like that. "Fuck, fuck th-that's so good... that pussy's so fuckin' good, 'makes me wanna cream inside you so bad. You want that? Want daddy to give you some milk, too?" he murmurs against your face.

Armin's thrusts make the bed shake. You can barely stutter out in response, "Yeah, daddy, 'gimme your milk, please." you replied sensually.

He let out a tell-tale groan and stilled inside you.

You couldn't squirm because that tight position he had you had you in. His palms pressed your legs back as much as they could go, but one hand came to hold your ankle when he felt you shaking.

He knew that the feeling of receiving a hot creampie brought you close to cumming yourself, so he thumbed your clit and pressed a hard kiss to your lips.

"C'mon, cum f'me – that's it, let go and enjoy yourself." he murmured, rocking his sensitive cockhead in and out while rubbing a pattern that made your tummy do loopies.

He licked his lips and watched intently as your breasts jiggled while you went through your orgasm. His pale, veiny hands kept a firm hold on your ankles, his dick throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten and untighten convulsively around it.

"God damn," he sighed breathlessly, coming down to give your tits a sloppy kiss, "So delicious, baby, 'gotta let me suck your milk again."

I'm gonna be real I haven't paid much attention to lactation kinks, so I shrugged and thought... booba sucking and milk drinking... hope that's what it's all about 👀

[chiyoso]

update

hi pookie. to those who read this the first time, welcome back, this is a re-write. an update. i kinda found the initial update i did rushed, not clearly descriptive of my situation outside this writing hobby of mine. also for the ones that i tagged, i have notes for you <3 (sorry for the tag 🫶🏻)

alright. hello hello. i'm chiyo, a jjk-focused/sporadic genshin and hsr fanfic writer, and you've caught me, and this blog in such bad time, and im so, so very fucking burnt out.

writing for me should be fun, stress relieving, and that goes for any other hobby i have. i have been told and supported countless of times to take a rest, to take a break from this, but my stubborn ass continues to try and get something out, anything to keep my blog alive, hells, it feels like a toxic relationship where i keep coming back, because i remember all the fun, happy and fond times i had in this app, only then to return to why it becomes draining, exhausting.

just sat there, occasionally laid on my back, using my phone, but with unmoving thumbs, with a brain lacking the world that needs the narrative to make a story, fuck, where has it gone?

that innocent, startup of mine, the newfound love and interest for that world of fiction that you all create. dude, i remember being so happy discovering that this brain of mine can conjure up so many shit, all because of your words, it's fucking amazing. hence, the start of the era of my honkai star rail writing journey. (hsr/hi3rd fans who followed me, i let you down with my jujutsu kaisen brainrot obsession im sorry lmao)

“take a break hira,” “take a break chiyo,” “please, take a break.”

i've heard it all, and with utmost love and respect, thank you.

thank you for everything, every word, every action, and every peep of interest you all had for me. small and big creators, who, stopped by because of my small percent chance drop in on their feed, because of the stories i created that you shared, i've met so many wonderful, inspring and motivating people in tumblr, fuck, i didn't expect to crrate a little community all by myself, with my grit alone, it's so rewarding for someone who strives for perfection, for someone who struggles with her mental health daily, for someone who deluded themselves in a world of fiction, I can't express my genuine gratitude enough.

i'm not quitting. maybe i should've mentionrd that earlier to prevent you from getting rattled, but continuing off, i don't find myself quitting this writing journey, maybe i'm just not in the right mental headspace for it at this time. damn, my ex really fucked me up LMAO.

right, i'm aware of the less and lessening interactions i've had with the people i've encountered throughout tumblr, i feel sick of myself for not being able to catch up, nor interact with any of you as much as i could anymore, it really, really fucking sucks, i hate it, i hate it, i do.

i still have leftover projects to go over and publish, because i still want MY ideas, MY thoughts, MY worlds of fictional prowess to all of you. i'm not done, but i will say, that i'm- i'm so incredibly, so very sorry to the ones that were highly, to the heavens, expecting greatness from me, to the ones who were anticipating my unfinished stories, fuck, there's so much to do, yet my body, my mind, they do not respond, as if i'm losing my sense of time, literally.

all i can say to those sticking with me because of their plain interest for me, i wish, i pray, i'll beg, beg for me, my soul, my mind, my body, my spirit to heal, and heal faster, so i can love you all at my 100%, not with my trying 20%, and lower.

thank you. to the old, and to the recent supporters that got me to 3k followers and counting, fuckin' wild. actually insane.

i'll continue to write. i'll continue to create. i don't want to quit.

i don't want to leave the only thing that gave me freedom, and the genuine happiness the first time, making me discover shit about myself, and there's that.

p.s. apologies for my jjk brainrot everyone who followed for genshin and hsr <3 also that one popular otome game, love & deepspace? yeah, that shit's also fucking me up so good.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: (lawd i feel bad for tagging)

@ainescribe @wanderingconstellations @teapartyspilled @v3lv3tf0x @ciarchivez ⸻ you fucking OGS. literally five pillars of my life, the cheerleaders, my absolute undying support of this blog, you saw me at my noob tumblr handling form, the lows, the highs, and the absolute peaks, i consider all of you special, i do, you all made tumblr and the writing community such a fun place for me. thank you, thank you, i just can't spam that voiceline enough.

@peachdues @screampied @chuluoyi @blkkizzat @jabamin @flametrashira @meowzfordayz ⸻ you superstar mutuals of mine. we've only interacted sporadically, PLEASE BLAME MY BURNOUT AND COLLEGE SCHEDULE FOR THAT, but all of you invoked so much burning hope, and motivation for me through your stories, AND your interests for me, whether it'd be something about my themes, edits, stories, it doesn't matter, you all took interest in lil' ol me, despite what, being such big content creators? FUCK??? that's insane. thank you.

god, i seriously wish my schedule would just clear up by a fuckton, and then again, i was the one who took psychology and performing arts 💤 i hope, hope HOPE i get to interact with you all again once i take a leave/break from college.

⸻ with all my love, chiyo.

[autisticempathydaemon]

[M4F] Inside the Mind of Your Goofy, Nervous Next Door Neighbor

Tags: [Vanilla] [Internal Monologue] [Silly] [Pining] [Masturbation] [Speaker Orgasm] [Stream of Consciousness] [Mental Ramblefap] Mentions of [Athlete] [Shower Sex] [Creampie] [Sweatpants]

Type: NSFW

Tone: silly, casual, occasionally insecure

Setting and SFX: Inside your head, so possibly a slight echo?

WC: 1,280, ~11 - 13 minutes

Author's Notes: Yeah, Geordi of Redacted Audio fame was a big inspiration for this; how could you tell? /t

[Knocking, footsteps] I’m coming! Hold on, hold on, let me get some pants on! I’m-

[Door opening] (startled) -coming! Hey, neighbor! How are- how are you? What can I do for you today?

Oh, shit, is that mine? The new Amazon guy must have dropped it at your door instead of mine. It was so nice of you to bring it over.

[Awkward laugh] (Trying to be funny and failing) You didn’t open it and look inside, did you? I’d hate to have to swear you to secrecy or else.

[Pause]…because it could have been a, you know, sex toy or disembodied finger or…

…something awful or…

(Weak) It’s underwear.

[Laugh] Yeah, let’s say that I just woke up. That explains why I’m sticking my foot in my mouth, absolutely. What about you- just finished a morning run?

That’s so cool. I’ve always thought about getting into it, but if I had to run in circles by myself, I’m pretty sure I’d bore myself to death.

[Laugh] (Flustered) You’re so sweet to invite me out running with you, but I’d hate to be a bother and slow you down. In fact, you probably want to get to your own apartment and shower, and I’m keeping you…

[Pause for realization] (Even more flustered, rambling) -which is not to say you stink or anything! Or that you look messy! I just imagine you’d want to get clean after exercise, you know? You actually look amazing, and you probably… smell…

[Groan] (Abashed) See what I said about the foot in the mouth?

You planning to do just that only helps a little bit, but I appreciate the attempt. I should let you get to it; I’ve kept you long enough. Thank you again for bringing this over.

Yeah, maybe I’ll see you later. Have a good shower!

[Door closing, pause, thunk of head against wood, internal monologue begins] “Have a good shower”? Really? That is not a normal thing to say, man. You don’t end a conversation with your drop-dead gorgeous, hotter than the sun neighbor with “have a good fuckin shower”.

How should I have ended that conversation?

I don’t know, dude, some normal way like “bye”. Like “have a great day”. Like “I bet you smell so fucking amazing. Please let me kiss you and find out whether I’m right”.

Maybe not that. Don’t tell the beautiful girl you think about how she smells. Also, don’t tell the beautiful girl that she brought you your underwear. That’s weird.

Why do I think that’s weird? Everybody wears underwear. She wears underwear. I wonder if she has the pretty, lacy kind or maybe something skimpy and red-

[Thunk] This. This is why we’re weird. This is why we still don’t know her number or her type or her name, because we keep thinking about her underwear and because we just bought super Mario boxer briefs with little 1UP mushrooms on them.

Ha, if we keep thinking about her in lingerie, we’ll have mushrooms in our pants and on them.

I’m going to do the world and her a favor and become a hermit. I am a problem and god’s punishment to women and a dipshit. This is why I’m single. This is why-

Is that the sound of the shower starting next door? Fuck, that means she’s naked on the other side of the wall- naked and sweaty and bending over to peel the leggings off her body.

I want to lick the sweat off her neck and shoulders.

That’s weird… but also really hot. Am I into that? Is it the sweat or the idea of the sweat dripping down the skin of her neck and between her breasts, down her stomach?

[Groan, optional schlicking and moaning begins] Pretty sure it’s the breasts. I wish she weren’t showering over there. I wish hers was broken so she’d have to come over in a towel and borrow mine like in that video last night. God, if you exist, could you make my life a porn set for just one day- just long enough for the girl of my dreams to borrow my shower and say we should share to save water?

I bet her voice is so much better bouncing off the shower tiles than through the shitty, thin walls.

That’s gotta be why people are so into shower sex, right? Why else would they risk the slippery floors and rapidly cooling water?

I’d rather fuck her somewhere softer, quieter- somewhere like this couch. I’d love to sit her down after a date and talk, get to know her, get to touch her.

God, I’d love the opportunity to take her out on a date, go around town with that gorgeous fucking girl on my arm. Even better, I wish I could make her dinner, have her sit across from me like she lives here instead of next door, like she belongs here.

If I took out for dinner and a drink, I could see her in that dress and heel combo she wears out on Friday night sometimes. That’s really tempting, but if I made her dinner, I could see her cozy and comfortable, and god is there anything cuter than a cozy, sleepy, beautiful woman?

If she was over here in those patterned sweatpants that sit on her hips like a halo on an angel’s head, I might just propose.

Better yet, she could be here naked- naked and under me and soft and warm and wet and letting me touch and spread her thighs, letting me pin her hands by her head so I can grind against her and slip inside-

Or I could bend her over the arm of the couch. I could spread her open, bury my face and tongue in her pussy, show her how good I could make her feel, find out if she’s a squirter.

Shit, wait, no, then we’d make a mess on the couch.

Who the fuck am I kidding- I couldn’t care less. She’d be a gorgeous fucking mess under me, and I could make a mess of her, cum on her ass and watch it drip down her skin.

God, those thighs looked so goddamn good in her workout gear today, thank god for Lululemon.

Her mouth looked even better. I’m surprised I managed to talk to her when I was just thinking about how kissable her mouth looks- and how fuckable. She’s always beautiful, but I bet she’d be even more beautiful with her lips wrapped around my cock, cheeks hollowed, spit dripping down her chin. I’m pretty sure if I saw that and looked her in the eyes, I’d cum right down her throat, and Jesus, that would be so hot.

It’d be hotter if I came inside.

(Nearing climax) I’m so right; if I got the chance, I’d have to cum in her, fuck her sweet and close, missionary-style first. That way, I could wrap her thighs around my hips, dig my nails into her waist, feel her breasts pressed against my chest, her arms around my neck, and her lips next to my ear, moaning and sighing and saying she loves me-!

[Orgasm, deep breathing in the afterglow, pause] (Chill, drained) Fuck, I am down bad. That was sappy, man.

[Cleaning up, moving, wiping, etc.] Get her number, get her name, have a normal conversation with her, and then we can start thinking about her telling us she loves us, you absolute dipshit. At this rate, she’ll never want… to…

[Pause, groan- the post-nut clarity] (Aghast) Fuck, she asked me to go running with her. Fuck, she was flirting! I’m an idiot!

[ohimsummer]

JENNY ( ft. mikasa)

— crushing, mikasa x fem! reader, black! reader, modern au, fluff, inspired by this song, idk a lil sum sum for Mikaaa

Mikasa had known you for a while, just a couple months shy of a year. You two met at some college frat party, forcibly shoved into each other by drunk and rowdy partygoers. She murmured out a ‘sorry’, but her apology is completely drowned out by your loud exclamation.

"God dammit!", Your words are still hard to hear over the deafening music. "Spilled my fuckin' drink!"

The hustle and bustle of patrons does nothing to help the situation, so Mikasa ends up accompanying you off to the edges of the crowd so you can get cleaned up. And as she turns back towards you, she gets to see the face belonging to such a pretty voice. The shine of your glossy, plump lips, bottom one tucked between your teeth as you struggle to deal with the growing stain on your sweet, satin dress. Her eyes roll over rounded curves, dark skin highlighted by flashing rainbow lights, and long, sleek hair that cascades over your shoulders and down your back.

“Are you checking me out?”

Your words pull Mikasa from her thoughts, and the red blush on her face is immediate. She prays that the lights are distracting enough to not make her embarrassment noticeable.

“Uh, no.” comes the low and curt response, almost inaudible over the beating of her own heart.

Clammy hands rub at her jeans as you pause, and then release a symphony of giggles. You grab handfuls of paper towels off the roll on the table, dabbing at the stain while throwing playfully suspicious glances at Mikasa.

“O-kay...but I mean...I wouldn't have really gave a fuck." You smile up at her with a mischievous glint in your eyes.”Just, ya know, be a lil’ more subtle about it. But if you wanna look, baby, I don't mind. Tryna catch eyes tonight, anyway."

Your playful tone, the wide grin on your lips, and just the way you’re staring at her, and that’s it. Mikasa's a goner.

From that point on, you have her wrapped tight around your finger. Mikasa finds herself cancelling plans with her friends if it meant getting dragged off to watch you get your nails done, or help you pick out hair in the shop for your next hairstyle. “Braids, locs? Twists? Or should I go for another wig?”, you ask her. And Mikasa doesn’t answer because she can’t decide. Because she knows you’ll look great in all of them.

It's on a familiar Friday night that Mikasa finds herself again at your apartment, sitting on those familiar, cotton sheets and bathing in the comfort of your company. You’re in the bathroom; Mikasa spots you swaying your hips to whatever song is currently playing as you finish your nightly routine early, and occasionally peeking at her through the mirror. Mikasa can tell you’re amused at how she can’t hold your gaze.

“You okay back there, Mika?”, you ask. The smile is evident in your voice.

“Mhm.”

“My laptop’s on the nightstand, why don’t you find a movie for us to watch?”

Mikasa obeys your order without question, browsing the streaming service’s array of selections and occasionally asking your opinion to get a feel of what she could choose. You eventually finish your routine, climb onto the bed and position yourself next to her; both of you lay stomach-down on the sheets with a thick blanket to block out the cool air of your apartment. Mikasa ended up picking some old, slasher-comedy flick, but despite the bad takes and cheap jumpscares, she finds herself heavily absorbed in the movie’s terrible plot. You, on the other hand, are drifting off deeper and deeper into slumber, head lolled onto Mikasa’s shoulder but she doesn’t even take notice. 

The credits begin rolling across the screen and Mikasa finally takes note of your limp form. “Y/N?”

“...Hmm...?”, you hum at her, moving to clutch her arm and snuggle against her shoulder. 

Mikasa stiffens for a few seconds under your touch, then forces herself to relax. “Do you want to go to bed? I can leave.”

“No, ‘m not tired, baby..”, your mumbled voice is barely audible and the words are slurring together. “Stay here with me.”

She’s glad you’re too drowsy to notice the way her face is deep red, and how her breaths have become shallow like she’s afraid to breath too hard in fear of waking you up. In spite of her nervousness, Mikasa decides to test the waters, and slowly but gently lays her cheek against the crown of your head. Being this close, she can smell the light, lingering scent of shea butter and coconut from your hair conditioner; it calms her down just a little, enough to get comfortable resting her head against yours as she listens to the low sounds of your rhythmic breathing. Mikasa closes her eyes as sleep begins to overcome her, as well. You two sit like that for a while, comfortably silent and poorly fighting off the persistent urge to doze off. 

“Mikaa?”

The quiet murmur infiltrates her ears and makes Mikasa crack her eyes open.”Mm?”

You’re silent for a few seconds before speaking again.”D’ you wanna go out with me?” Another pause. “Like a date?”

Mikasa’s mind feels heavy in her head, and though the curse of sleep is muddling her thoughts, she’s well-aware enough to spout a response. ”Of course.”

She hears the content sigh blow from your lips, feels the heavy rise and fall of your side against hers. “Okay.”, is all you can say. It sounds relieved, like a huge burden has been taken off your shoulders.

You don’t say anything else, and Mikasa eventually realizes you’ve finally drifted off to sleep. She dozes off right next to you, still not fully understanding the weight of your question and her answer and what it could mean for you both. But who cares? She’d think about it in the morning. Right now, she just wanted to sleep next to you like this forever.

[sarroora]

Hey you are the first artist I saw in my recommended page who is posting actively about palestine.

Artist make art about any shit, LGBT rights, the war in Ukraine or any other shit that they see as important.

I makes me upset that nobody of them said anything about Palestine. I think "A fuckin genocide that is going on man! How can you say nothing about this???"

You are a great person, I wish you lots of success in your life and your loved ones to be safe. Have a great day/evening!

ANON IM SCREAMING

I’ve been writing a whole damn love letter to you for 25 whole minutes on my PC and then the ELECTRICITY. WENT OUT. It freaking went out and I hadn’t saved. I’m so mad awsftghjkl but I’ll try to recap what I generally wanted to say -

I’m aware that countries with colonizer histories like France, the UK, USA, etc. are doubling the efforts on spreading disinformation on one hand, and Zionist propaganda on the other. Not to mention them throttling and censoring social media. I think many people in the west are too afraid of posting about Palestine even to their personal accounts, since they might get fired. It’s insane. So much for ‘democracy’.

Another issue is that the majority of news and footage is being reported in Arabic, and only a *fraction* of that gets translated into English and other languages.

As they crack down more on people reporting what’s happening in Palestine, I think it’s a good idea to follow Middle Eastern accounts and news outlets before the algorithm takes you away. And I honestly think people won’t mind if you ask them to give you a rough translation of what’s being said so long as it’s not too long.

Twitter (X) and TikTok are pretty good so far in that they have much less censorship, so long as you know what trigger words to avoid. As for news outlets, you can always watch YouTube, technically, and Al Jazeera has some of the most incredible footage from the ground you’ll ever see. As far as I know, they’re nearly the ONLY news outlet in the world that still has journalists INSIDE Gaza. I’ll take the word of a journalist in actual Gaza over some corrupt CNN mouthpiece any day.

And now is more important than ever to keep talking about Palestine. My info is probably outdated, but last I knew, 46 out of 50-something Gazan journalists were killed by the IOF. That’s 85% of the workforce reporting live from the ground.

That’s no coincidence. 46 out of 50 is no ‘accident’. The particular journalist I would occasionally come across on TikTok was killed by the IOF a few days ago. I still can’t comprehend it.

If there’s anything this human crisis proved, it’s that even a single little measly voice matters. So don’t stop talking.

[edwinspaynes]

If the TLH Squad Had Social Media, Part II

Because everyone seemed to like Part I so much!

Lucie and Cordelia will occasionally host dramatic readings of The Beautiful Cordelia (and The Wicked Queen Cordelia) together. They take reader input for plotlines and Lucie will slap them together.

Matthew has an entire Instagram page devoted to Oscar photos. It has millions of followers. He's Big Mad that Oscar has more followers than he does on main.

James and Matthew stream video games sometimes. James takes it very seriously and tries to be good at it. Matthew does not take it seriously and is balls-to-the-walls insane. Matthew's method is very well received. James is envious and Does Not Understand that this is what the internet's for.

And now my Matthew and Thomastair biases are about to come out again btw I am SO sorry

Matthew's Sponsorship Gifts

Matthew has an extremely popular travel vlog and people LOVE him. He has a really charming and witty personality that just amasses an enormous fan base. He probably has the most fans of everyone in the cast, neck-in-neck with Alastair who is widely beloved for his dry wit and commentary.

In any case, people begin trying to send Matthew fan gifts. He doesn't have a permanent address, so he announces that they should send EVERYTHING to 102 Cornwall Gardens. He then begins accepting sponsorship gifts, but he only takes the most outrageous and useless ones to prank Alastair and have them sent to his house.

Thomas and Alastair end up with a life-size Tardis phone booth. They end up with fake-marble and bronze statues of the greats (that Thomas constantly compares in his head to Alastair's physique and finds lacking). They end up with a broken but big grandfather clock and an enormous chair shaped like a hamburger. This is inconvenient because Thomas has to haul them into the house (though Alastair doesn't mind watching).

Just when the two of them have fucking had enough, Matthew sends them one final sponsorship gift: a Grotrian grand piano. He's apparently saved up a ton of sponsorship money to surprise them. Alastair has admired them forever and he is so touched he almost cries.

The prank sponsorship gifts stop after that.

Thomas and Duolingo

Thomas Lightwood would fuckin love Duolingo. It's got languages. It's got an owl. He thinks it's the best thing ever invented. He was born to do Duolingo.

He and Alastair sign up for different languages together and will try to outpace each other. This competition helps them both learn. When guests (see: the rest of the TLH cast) some over, they'll gossip about them in their target languages in front of them. Matthew suspects something's up.

Offhandedly, Alastair mentions that he Does Not Like Duo. He feels threatened by the app notifications telling him he'll show up at his house if he forgets to practice his Turkish. He specifically cites his 'beady little eyes.'

Matthew uses his terrible artistic skills to paint a VERY CURSED image of Duo. With HUGE eyes. And he hangs it on the wall outside Alastair's bedroom while he's shut inside it.

The screams can be heard all across London.

[icannotreadcursive]

Question I was thinking about: which Hazbin Hotel character would you be down to go on a three-day road trip with? Because I think that, despite likeability, each and every one of them would start driving their companion completely insane in their own unique way.

Oh damn, oh shit, I gotta think about this.

I think Vaggie.

Cuz—while I am so sure she's somewhat prone to backseat driving when it's not her turn at the wheel, which would irritate me, and is probably a bit of a leadfoot—she'd also definitely be a great copilot in the "keep an eye out for the exit", "am I clear to merge?", "can you hand me a french fry?" kinda ways, I think we could find a pretty boppin' middle ground on music tastes, and would probably end up teaching each other new swear words while being pissy about other drivers' stupidity.

You also, though, get my thoughts on the pros and cons of everybody else.

Alastor drives like a fuckin' madman, no one can convince me otherwise. Anybody else in the car during his turn at the wheel will be in fear for their life for non-serial-killer-related reasons. And then there's the serial-killer-related reasons; I don't wanna be an accessory to anything, even assuming I'm safe. He's also a judgemental shit-talking bitch, which I would enjoy when aimed at other drivers, but have very little patience for when also inevitably aimed at me. The overlap of music tastes would work out well here, too, though (hello electroswing). And I have interests in radio, music, creepy shit, true crime, and food so I think the chitchat would be pretty good.

I could do a day trip with Charlie no problem, but after three days we would be fighting because her blind peppiness wore me down, I snapped at her about some unexamined hypocrisy or something, and she got defensive, but then she got overly apologetic which pissed me off more. Genuinely think she's fine as a copilot—probably great at feeding-the-driver-snacks duty—but might be overly timid about certain things as a driver (like merging) in a way that might bug me, depending.

My tolerance for inebriated people is generally pretty limited, so that puts a massive asterisk next to both Angel and Husk for things being dependent on how their sobriety's doing.

Angel also drives like he's running from the cops, but I think that could probably be reigned in by establishing some road behavior boundaries like it's a kink negotiation. Honestly, that's probably the key to making it through a road trip with him without losing my mind. Roadtrip buddy safeword system, and taking breaks. The music, banter, and snack situation would be fire. (Though the banter may occasionally need reigning in.) He strikes me as very down to go check out random roadside points of interest, which would be fun. Having to inevitably drag him away from sexually harassing the clerk every time we stop for gas would not be. And not actually his fault, but this would bug me: having to readjust the seat every fucking time cuz he's so goddamn tall.

Husk has some of the same judginess issues as Alastor, but is overall one of the more chill options. Would be a decent and responsible co-pilot when it comes to things like navigation duties, but either cops an attitude about or outright refuses things like snack duty. If he's sober, I feel like he's generally a pretty good driver, but I also think he gets road rage, which I don't wanna deal with.

I...am not sure Niffty can drive. I don't think Niffty should drive. That right there makes her a bad candidate for only companion on a multi-day road trip. And then I don't think I could comfortably tolerate her degree of manic-obsessive behavior for that long in close quarters. Bless her heart.

That's everyone I have articulate thoughts about

[pretttydemonboy]

For Charlie and Vicky:

💖⚠️💭🌊👁️❗️🐺

oh fuck okay this is gonna take a minute let's crack in

Vicky:

💝 - How much effort do they put into appearances? Do they have a favorite article of clothing?

Vicky's a rockstar, so there is a large chance if you see her she's dressed up for a show. This may feature a frohawk teased to the high heavens and corpse paint. Her favorite article of clothing is a studded red leather jacket. It was a gift from Cass so if anything happened to it she'd burn the world down.

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be?

WARNING: IS A LITTLE WEIRD ABOUT DONATING BLOOD

💭 - How is their mental health? Do they struggle with guilt or shame?

Vicky's moral compass is a little skewed especially right now. She definitely felt guilt over kissing her best friend's vampire girlfriend that she also had feelings for, but that's mostly resolved now. Right now her driving emotion is rage because her crew is being hunted by (she suspects/I suspect AND I'M RIGHT I KNOW I'M RIGHT I SWEAR) someone from her past that blames her for everything that went wrong for them and she wants to make sure this fucker dies this time.

🌊 - Does this oc have a secret or repressed desire?

She would not mind getting to share her best friend's vampire girlfriend still, but she'll settle for being the occasional juicebox

👁️ - How do other people perceive this oc? How close do their first assumptions come to the truth?

I had to ask my fellow players for this'n because it's hard to tell what other people think of Vicky. The general consensus is that she's overall a cool hot lesbian both in spite of and because of the whole lycanthropy thing. Also the phrase "incorrigible simp" was used. These are all correct things.

❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

I think from a general standpoint, Vicky's priorities are just to keep her family safe. By any means necessary, which leads to the current priority of eliminating the stalker known as Knife Guy.

🐺 - How does this oc deal with solitude?

Oh she fuckin hates solitude. I think you'll very rarely find her alone and if she is, it doesn't take long before she is trying to find someone to be near. Not even necessarily to talk to, she just needs to know that she's not alone. Losing people will do that to ya.

Charlie:

💝 - How much effort do they put into appearances? Do they have a favorite article of clothing?

Charlie is less concerned with his appearance and more with comfort and functionality. Sensible pants, not too loose and not too tight, and almost always something with long sleeves because he is basically always cold. He has to cut all the tags off of all his clothes but he saves them so that he knows what sizes to buy in the future if he needs to replace them.

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be?

WARNING: WILL IMPRINT ON YOU LIKE THE BABY DUCK

💭 - How is their mental health? Do they struggle with guilt or shame?

Charlie is a generally nervous person, which can come with a lot of irrational guilt and shame that have no basis in reality! But he's working on it! He is also constantly worried that his friends are going to get sick of him and leave him behind if he's not useful enough but we don't need to think about that.

🌊 - Does this oc have a secret or repressed desire?

Charlie doesn't know what he wants at all, he doesn't have a great sense of self right now so without doing a lot of self reflection I don't think I could say what desires hide in the corners of his mind.

👁️ - How do other people perceive this oc? How close do their first assumptions come to the truth?

So far I would say most people have perceived Charlie as a softhearted boy with surprising magical abilities. Maybe a little too soft depending on who you ask (Alice). This is largely correct because Charlie doesn't really have a mean bone in his body. We have yet to encounter what happens when he's pushed to any kind of breaking point though.

❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

Keeping his friends safe, not sabotaging his relationship with Tuck by being an anxious mess, and doing as little harm as possible along the way.

🐺 - How does this oc deal with solitude?

He's used to it. Whether he likes it or not is a different story, but if you asked him he would say he's fine! He's absolutely fine, no need to worry about him!

THANKS SID!!

[polyhexian]

Actually fuck it it's 1am and I'm ready to- well, not trauma dump, but I'm gonna be mad about shit that's not polite to talk about in public or whatever. Hi everyone welcome to my transformers shit post blog

Anyway. So most people are not aware I have siblings because I never talk about them and that's because I haven't willingly spoken to my sister in seven years because she's an abusive narcissist and out of her fucking mind violent. But that's not important I bitch about her lying about having fuckin lupus despite the fact it's already killed enough of our family as it is. My brother I talk about even less and you know why??? There's literally no way to talk about him with modern social politics without pissing someone off. My brother is six years younger than me, low functioning down's syndrome/autistic. He's 23 now, nonverbal. I changed diapers until I moved out of my parents house at 17. 24/7 supervision, radio ankle monitor for safety, blablabla. He's visibly disabled. You look at him and immediately know he's disabled so like. I can't even begin to tell you the amount of places I've been kicked out of with him

Every time I see people get into fucking identity politics about like "low/high functioning" hurting their feelings it makes my lip curl, and I know I'm irrationally mad about it but like. What else am I supposed to be? Chill? Did you know "disability" is only for people who weren't born disabled? You only get disability if you're able to work and lose that ability. If you were born disabled? Go fuck yourself. There's programs and whatever but they all fucking suck donkey shit. My family didn't get a cent from the government to help take care of a severely disabled child until he was fucking nine. My brother is deaf AND blind. Like. Come on.

And finally when we did it's still like. Fucking nothing. At one point it was like... I dunno, 600 a month plus some shit like boxes of useless bargain bin diapers? Most importantly we got a certain amount of hours from like a medical care facility. Like, special babysitters, essentially. Fifteen hours a week maybe. Like great thanks that's super helpful. I was scrubbing shit off the walls when I was twelve. Thanks for the fucking help. My brother is difficult and strong and can be occasionally violent when he doesn't get his way. We went through every goddamn care worker in town. I remember at 15, after my dad left, my mom was like. Too depressed to do shit and so it fell to me, terminally adultified child. And because my brother is so difficult the hourly pay for working with him was higher than other clients, so their workers were always super interested in working with him. But I'd answer the door and I'm a tired angry fifteen year old and I know they're going to know the second they look at him why he pays so well and that it's still not worth it to them. So I used to open the door and say hi, my parents aren't coming to meet you, I'm in charge and I know how to forge my mom's signature. I'm tired and I don't want to waste my time with a bullshit interview. Come in, meet him, and if you decide this isn't going to work within like five minutes, that's great, fine, I get it, whatever. I'll sign off on your sheet that you were here for the full hour, so you can just go home and get paid for coming and I don't have to play grown up pretend bullshit for an hour of my time. My mom HATED that I did this but like nine times out of ten they left after fifteen minutes. They weren't worth my fucking time.

Eventually we did legitimately. Straight up run out of people willing to work with him. The company didn't send us anyone new because there wasn't anyone and because we didn't use the fifteen hours a week we got for two weeks in a row the government cancelled his entire benefit system and put him back on the waiting list. The one he was on for nine years, remember? We had to sue them over it to try and keep from losing the little they gave us and the company was so fucking butthurt about it that they called cps on us. Childish bullshit.

I've been kicked out of restaurants and movie theatres and stores and fuckin. Roller rinks or arcades or whatever kinds of places exist because he's disabled and scary and a lot of work and loud and messy and people don't want him around. It makes me bitter and angry and venomous. You wouldn't even recognize me around him. I know I can be a bitch on the internet sometimes but irl I'm soft and timid a lot of the time. I don't like talking to strangers. But you drop me in a room with my brother and I turn into a snarling fucking animal and the second I sense disgust I'm going to make a fucking scene. I've yelled at people in restaurants. What the fuck are you staring at?? I'm so sorry, is my brother enjoying his meal disturbing you? Good thing I don't give a shit. I'll embarrass myself and everyone else in the room without giving a single shit. One time I literally stormed on stage during a high schools talent show for disabled students to scream at a teacher backstage. No subtlety. No politeness. I stood up and I climbed up on the stage and stormed through the curtain. I can't fucking control myself. The anger has built up over the decades and it spills out. How fucking dare you.

And what am I supposed to do with that? That's not inspirational. It's not polite. It's not a nice story. It's "I love my brother but he's incredibly difficult and the government and society as a whole has gone so far out of their way to make keeping him safe and happy extraordinarily difficult that I'm always ready to get in a fight over it with anyone who gives me an excuse." People don't like stories like that. I don't want custody of him when my parents die and every single qualified care facility and group home in the state has refused him because he's categorized as "dangerous" because he can be physically difficult. So he just gets completely abandoned by the world who says wow that sucks but tough shit. Maybe just die about it?

I literally can't post photos of me with my brother without people thinking I'm fucking like baiting or whatever the fuck, like, white knighting my disabled brother for sympathy. As if I'm not just memeing with my family or some shit. And then I can't complain or I'm an ableist. It's easier if I just shut up and don't talk about it, isn't it?

Internet disability politics doesn't and has never given a single rancid shit about low functioning disabled people. The absolute zero sum most at risk people in society. What am I supposed to do when my parents die? I literally cannot take care of him physically or financially and he can't leave the state without losing benefits. I don't live there anymore. I have to uproot everything and go home? Or what, turn him over to the state so he can deal with the, what, 65% chance of sexual abuse that happens to nonverbal low functioning disabled people? Be fed dog kibble and left to rot in a piss stained mattress for days? I've seen these places. He can't talk so they can do anything they want to him. No one is going to stick up for him. No one cares.

It boils my fucking blood just to think about. I don't want to hear any woke ass takes about functioning labels from someone on Twitter if they've never materially contributed to the well being of a low functioning disabled person in their fucking life. Those terms aren't for you asshole, they're for them, because they need more help and protection. Tired of trying to keep up with the politics and labels placed upon my family member by people with no stake in the suffering at the end of the stick they're poking him with. It's all so easy in theoreticals but what if "what happens to my brother if my parents die" is a question that's loomed over your head for a decade without an answer? I'll listen to your thoughts on the matter when you Paypal me ten dollars so I can send him some more scarves to stim with.

People hate messy uninspiring stories so they would rather you just shut up and stop reminding them about it. Literally I think if I still lived down there and one more restaurant manager asked me to leave I would fucking stab them

[pricescigar]

Soap, Ghost and Gaz HC's

Description: hihi!! can I request some headcanons of soap ghost and maybe gaz with a s/o who has vitiligo? can be gn or fem I don't mind either way but thank you!! i love your writing sm <3

No specific gender assigned, so everyone can enjoy! ❤️

Simon "Ghost" Riley 💀

Even if Ghost found the world a cold, cruel, and dark place there is beauty in everything.

And that's when he met them, despite he spends most of his time in service. He still loves to spend time with them as much as he can.

Ghost finds them beautiful, in every way possible, even the little things.

And he finds you very beautiful, of course Ghost was aware of your skin condition. But he didn't care.

They were the most beautiful person in the world to him, Ghost didn't care about anything else.

Whatever happened or what treatment you want for, Ghost was there for support and being the wonderful boyfriend he is.

Ghost loves kissing your body gently, caressing your body always whispering about how beautiful you are

"You're so fuckin' beautiful."

If anyone dared to mistreat you, they'd have to go through Ghost first. He'd never let anyone talk to you like that.

He may or may not have gotten into a few fights because of it but that's okay.

You were his darling, his love. And Ghost loves you so much.

"You'll always remain beautiful to me."

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish 🧼

It's easy to say that Soap is a careless spirit, especially when it comes to relationships. He loves everyone for who they are as a person.

And what better way to find someone to match his energy, that special person was you.

From the first time Soap met you, he was gobsmacked in how beautiful you were.

"I gotta say, you're really fuckin' beautiful."

When he became aware of your skin condition, his feelings never changed. Soap still loved you for who you were as a person.

He supported you in every way possible.

Soap loves being your rock, your comfort when times were hard and comforting you whenever you needed him.

He would always reassure you that he finds you beautiful regardless and nothing would ever change his feelings for you.

And at times when you found it hard or feeling a little sleepy conscious, his words always reassured you.

Soap was head over heels for you and it was pretty obvious, especially the others noticed that as well.

Occasionally Soap got teased a few times but he didn't care, he loves showing you off and how lucky he was to have them in his life.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick 🧢

Gaz met you when he was still apart of the police force, that may have been so long ago but he still kept in contact with you as always.

You two were once were; Co workers to friends to best friends and now in a relationship together!

Even before you two were in a relationship, he would always comment about how beautiful you was.

"You're looking beautiful as always."

And of course everyone teased poor Gaz at that point, but he didn't care. But it was clear he really loved you from the start.

You two shared everything together, thoughts and feelings... Secrets, he whatever was bothering you as well.

Gaz is a great listener, emotionally and logically good for comfort and advice.

He understood sometimes you self confirms about yourself, and how you looked but in his eyes, you were special.

"You're special to me, always, never forget that... You are you, your own kind of person."

When you two got together, Gaz was over the moon but he understood that you wanted to take it slow and he was patient as well.

He loves showering you with gifts, or even the little things that remind you of him.

Gaz is sweet and gentle, and whenever needed he helps you with your treatment such as putting on sunscreen for you or going to your phototherapy sessions.

Even in the lost intimate moments he loves showering compliments on you. Always saying how wonderful, beautiful and amazing you are.

As Gaz always said to you:

"I'll always love you, for you. You'll always be my one true love."

[piceuscelus]

t4t ciri/cerys, cerys is so determined to seduce ciri she doesn't realize how easy it's going to be (idk if you wanted, like, trans SPECIFIC prompts vs just prompts with trans characters? i do very much envision this as trans girls having slutty crushes on each other and being endearingly awkward about it bc maybe people haven't responded well to them in the past, or maybe ciri doesn't realize cerys is also trans? but also just a simple cute blushy t4t fuckfest would be great lol)

(i will send another, trashier prompt next)

hi i know this prompt was Forever Ago but i did NOT forget it

it just fuckin Refused To Go

but it went! finally! and now it's here! and it's even below my tumblr post limit! (it admittedly might not be exactly to the prompt. but)

it'll be going up on ao3 like, immediately after this ask posts in case anyone is terribly concerned about content tags but this one is Extremely Tame and soft

trans woman Ciri / nonbinary Cerys

It’s a pity, Ciri thinks, that she doesn’t make it back to the Isles very often. Of course, she knows perfectly well why she doesn’t – she rules both Nilfgaard and Cintra, and thus most of the southern half of the Continent. She’s entirely too busy to be galavanting off to Skellige without a purpose – her court will barely allow her the occasional Witchering break, and they only do that begrudgingly because if they don’t, she tends to start threatening to skewer diplomats. The likelihood of that stuffy lot agreeing to let her vacation to Skellige for no good reason is slim to none.

There is the upside, though, that she never has to bother with a week-long boat trip unless she has a hankering for being sea sick.

When she lands on solid ground, it’s bright and sunny and frigidly cold. She takes a deep breath and just revels in it for a moment, even as she starts to shiver, taking in the familiar smells and sounds. 

Of course, as soon as someone notices her standing there in the courtyard, a commotion starts up.

She sighs, but tolerates the sudden influx of guards and their squires rushing over to investigate, and then, once they’ve assured themselves that she’s a known guest, if an unexpected one, the addition of half a dozen maids that arrive to fuss. All of them are bowing so low they may as well be kneeling – it would be faster and require less stumbling, at least – and stammering as they try to address her with an amount and type of formality that’s always been a bit foreign on the Isles.

When she can finally get a word in edgewise, she cuts straight to the chase. “Yes, thank you, where is Queen Cerys?”

One of the guards answers. “Her Majesty is with the jarls, out on the cliffs.”

Ciri raises an eyebrow. “What for?”

“It’s a tradition, Your Imperial Majesty,” another guard says, the capital letters and his unfamiliarity with her title obvious in the stilted, slow way he speaks. “A…rebirth, of sorts, for the new year. All of the jarls, the druids, and the Queen jump into the sea to be cleansed.”

“And several others, for the fun of it,” one of the squires adds, sounding almost bemused, as if he doesn’t quite understand how the dive could be fun.

Ciri isn’t entirely sure fun is the right word, really – she’d probably use thrill instead. She remembers, now, years and years ago, watching Eist do something similar – but it was in the summer, when the cold waters were a fairly refreshing shock, and not the tail end of fall, when falling into the sea could easily become a death sentence if you were stupid or sickly. She’d been allowed to jump then, too, though only into the shallows and not off the cliffside with the rest (for the sake of her grandmother’s blood pressure).

Then again, the line between the concept of fun and thrill is a thin one, and, well – she’d come to the Isles for fun, hadn’t she?

“Which shore are they on?”

– – – – –

When Ciri finally makes it up the cliff where the local nobility are making like ritual-minded lemmings, Cerys is just beginning to strip down to her underthings in preparation for her own jump. It appears she’s the last of the leaders to go, most of the jarls already soaked and shivering on the beach below.

She keeps her more lurid thoughts to herself, watching Cerys shuck her dress, and makes a split second decision to distract her mind from the gutter. “Aye! Time for a late arrival?”

The spears immediately pointed in her direction aren’t a shock, so she mostly ignores them, just stopping where she’s at and waiting.

“Don’t you lot recognize the damn Empress?” Cerys asks, laughing as everyone sort of sheepishly shuffles their weapons back to where they belong. She looks at Ciri to continue, “And don’t you know better than to barge into a group of Islanders unannounced?”

Ciri laughs, too, but doesn’t bother answering – it’s a rhetorical question, and they all know that really, she’s allowed to barge in wherever she’d like. She gestures to the edge of the cliff. “Well, may I join?”

Cerys also gestures to the cliff, but with an over-exaggerated, fake curtsy. “You may!”

Immediately, there are a handful of damp squires appearing at her side, hands held out, so she strips off and hands her clothes over. She only strips down to the same as Cerys, the single layer of underthings – she doesn’t particularly understand the point of wearing anything for this, but she’s also aware that her penchant for nudity is unusual, and is willing to follow the Queen’s lead.

“Together, then?” Cerys asks, when Ciri steps up to her side. They’re both shivering lightly in the icy breeze wafting in from the waves. “Or would you like the honor alone?”

“You’re the Queen of the Skellige Isles, Cerys, it ought to be your honor,” Ciri says, half-teasing, and Cerys’ eyes sparkle.

“And you’re the Witcher Cirilla of Vengerberg, Lioness of Cintra and Empress of Nilfgaard, The Swallow Bearing the Sun in Her Wings,” Cerys retorts, “and you outrank me by a league. So?”

Ciri rolls her eyes as theatrically as possible at the full title, though she’s privately pleased that Cerys used both of Vengerberg and the informal order of it. “Together, then.”

She offers her hand as she takes a step closer to the cliff’s edge, toes already freezing in the sparse, damp grass. 

Cerys steps up alongside her and threads their fingers together. “Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” she says, with a little half-curtsy, still a fake one since she’s not wearing a damn dress, and a smirk that belies the formal tone. 

Ciri immediately drops Cerys’ hand just to shove her off the cliff and jump right after her.

– – – – –

By the time they’ve swum back to shore, anyone else who wanted to jump has already done it, and it turns into a race back to the castle before fingers and toes go from numb to dead. All the same, they’re laughing as they finally stumble into the marginally-warmer stone halls, the mood easy and light, chatter and laughter echoing off of the high ceilings. 

It’s only when they’ve made their way to Cerys’ rooms, already prepped and ready with a large, steaming bath, that Ciri realizes she has absolutely no idea where she’s meant to be staying. Or if she’s even welcome. 

Her rank and power do a lot to smooth the way wherever she’d like to go – and her sword and medallion often do what the crown cannot – but she prefers not to use any of them like a cudgel. 

Cerys, though, seems to have the same realization a beat after her.

“I can send someone to make up a room,” she says, “but in the meantime, we could share a bath.” There’s a hint of lechery in the quirk of her lips. “Only if you don’t think that would be too…improper, of course.”

Ciri nearly asks where in the world Cerys picked up the idea that she’s ever given a single fuck about proper, but decides that playing coy is much more fun. “It might be,” she says, slowly. “But….”

She rubs her arms and shivers. It’s a little exaggerated, but certainly not entirely an act – she is cold, clothes still wet and skin a little slimy where the seawater lingers.

“It’s cold, and it’ll take too long to make up another bath for you,” Cerys says, and this time her tone is at least half-serious. “You’ll catch your death, Your Imperial Highness – and I cannot, nor do I want to, imagine the horrors your court would bring down upon me if I allowed it to happen. I’m just a lowly Islander queen, after all.”

The snark is back, with the last part, and Ciri can’t help how she snorts.

“Alright, alright.” She prods Cerys into the room and follows along, closing the door behind them. She catches sight of a door across the room shutting with utmost gentleness, likely a servant who had realized that they were not needed and decided to at least be discreet about their eavesdropping. “I’m sure my honor will survive the blow.”

“Mine certainly won’t, but it’s not as if I had much to begin with,” Cerys retorts, and Ciri chokes on another laugh.

“You know what they say about Skelligers,” she says, trailing off with a wink, and Cerys just raises an eyebrow.

“What, that we’re one good blow away from a fight?”

Ciri giggles. “No, that you’re one good blow to anyone’s honor.”

It clearly takes a second to click, Cerys squinting at her for slightly longer than a typical beat, but Ciri sees the moment it finally dawns, the queen’s eyes going wide before she starts cackling.

“That was awful, Cirilla,” she scolds, but she’s grinning wide and there’s no heat to her voice, just poorly-concealed laughter.

Before Ciri can come up with another witty reply – either about her wonderful wordplay, or the use of her full first name – Cerys is huffing and shaking her head, starting to tug at her own layers. 

She tosses them directly onto the floor with no care as she wriggles free of them, and Ciri starts to do the same, struggling out of the top dress and progressively wetter layers beneath, until she’s reached the last of them, her underthings still soaked and getting slimier by the second. 

She hesitates. As unpleasant as the soggy cotton is, and as thrilled as she usually is to be free of clothes, it’s…. Well. If this were just a bath with a friend, or even just fellow nobility, it wouldn’t be anything to drop her clothes. She’s done it before in springs and bathhouses. 

But this isn’t just another sovereign, or even just a friend. This is…well, it’s Cerys, someone that Ciri can admit (at least in her own head, privately, to herself) she’s been carrying a torch about for…as long as they’ve known one another, probably.

(Definitely.)

Cerys is speaking again, though, as she’s peeling out of the layer just above her underthings, struggling with the fabric as its soaked so much water up from the layer below, and Ciri is distracted from her not-quite spiral about her infatuation. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” Cerys says, and Ciri’s stomach drops to the floor in the split second it takes for her to notice the wry quirk to Cerys’ mouth. Before she can relocate her own words, Cerys continues, though this time it’s quieter, more of a mutter. “...then again, s’pose I have no room to speak on that.”

Ciri doesn’t think she was meant to hear that last bit. She’s aware that she should probably pretend she didn’t.

But she’s burningly curious as to what, exactly, that means, so she quirks a brow when Cerys’ eyes next catch hers. “Oh?”

Harmless, directionless flirting is one thing – something they’ve been doing for the same amount of time Ciri’s carried the torch – but that? That sounded like an admission.

Cerys makes a small, short sound, something of a cross between a squeak and a snort, coloring a little. “If I may be crass, Your Imperial Majesty,” she winks, and Ciri feels herself flushing, because this time the title sounds more genuine, even if it’s in a crude way. “You have a truly spectacular pair of tits.”

Ciri snickers, and before she even thinks it all the way through, she’s quipping, “Thank you, Yennefer helped me pick them out when I got tired of being shaped wrong.”

What she’s said sinks in just a second too late, and she sucks in a breath, biting her cheek against trying to over explain. It’s possible Cerys will misunderstand that – think it has to do with self-esteem, and not anything to do with the confused whispers about wasn’t the heir to Cintra a boy? – but if she opens her mouth again, she could give the truth away.

But Cerys’ mouth drops open to mirror how tightly Ciri’s gritting her teeth, and she stutters, “You were – ” before she’s squeaking and putting a hand over her mouth. 

They stand frozen, just staring at one another, for a long moment. 

Ciri tries to find her voice, tries to come up with something to say – to brush it off, or to admit the truth, or maybe a secret third option she hasn’t come up with yet. She doesn’t know, but the silence is stretching out longer and longer, and she feels like there are ants crawling along the back of her neck.

Despite all her frantic thoughts, Cerys beats her to breaking it. “Something we almost have in common, then,” she says, and finishes peeling out of her underclothes, revealing her own chest – perfectly flat, nothing but solid muscle and pink-white scars cupping the shape of her pectorals. “Mousesack helped me pick mine when I got tired of the same.”

And the scars are – obvious, really, Cerys is hardly the first person Ciri has met with them, but it takes until she speaks for it to really click, and then – and then she’s laughing, caught somewhere between fierce relief and flustered sheepishness. 

“Good to know we have that in common?” she asks, voice shifting down a little, like it hasn’t since she was thirteen and Yennefer started teaching her how to pitch it higher, and she hopes that Cerys understands her meaning – that she means a bit more than just picking out surgi-magical modifications to their chests. 

She expects that Cerys will laugh, probably – that she’ll poke fun at Ciri, almost certainly. What she doesn’t expect, in any way, is for Cerys to step into her space, reaching out and cupping one roughened palm around the nape of her neck to yank her even closer.

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than that,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is ghosting over Ciri’s, the distant suggestion of a kiss.

Like hell is she going to turn that down.

They’re still shivering finely from the cold and wet, Ciri’s underthings uncomfortably slimy between them – really, it’s atrocious how seawater just never actually seems to dry, just turns to slime and then…crusts – but none of that really matters, not in the face of the kiss.

The kiss, which is going quickly from chaste and almost innocent to something decidedly more hungry, Cerys’ fingers finding  their way into Ciri’s hair, her other hand creeping around her waist and then up to cup her ribs. Ciri, for her part, gets her hands on Cerys’ waist first, and then shifts them to the lower curve of her spine and the place between her shoulderblades as they press closer. 

When they finally break apart they’re both panting, and the way Cerys’ fingers are curling around the curve of Ciri’s skull, a rough, callused thumb rasping back and forth just under her ear, has Ciri shivering for reasons entirely unrelated to the damp.

She doesn’t know if Cerys misreads the trembling, or if maybe she understands and simply makes an unrelated decision, but without a word she’s taking a step back, pulling Ciri gently toward the bath. The way she tugs at Ciri’s remaining clothes, though, is significantly less gentle. 

It’s a little hard to get naked, considering that they both refuse to step away from another with equal fervor, but between four hands they manage. They also succeed – somehow – in clambering their way into the bath without injury.

Through another kiss, they end up settled on a very convenient seat along the edge of the ridiculously large tub, Ciri on the ledge and Cerys perched in her lap. The position leaves their bottom halves in quite close contact for the first time, and before Ciri can even start to – explain? apologize? she’s not entirely sure – Cerys is humming, a distinctly pleased little sound, and settling her weight more firmly in Ciri’s lap. 

“Hello there,” she says, and rolls her hips, pinning Ciri’s half-hard cock properly between them. “I’d ask about pockets, but all things considered, I think I can just assume you’re happy to see me.”

Ciri wants to say something in response to that – even if it’s just to cry hypocrisy about Cerys’ early rebuke of Ciri’s earlier pun – but all that comes out is a thin, reedy little moan. 

It makes Cerys laugh, but it’s a breathy sound, cut off when she presses their mouths together again, so Ciri isn’t too terribly offended.

She’s usually more put together, she swears she is, but, well. This torch has been burning for a little less than most of her life, for fucks’ sake. 

While they kiss, Cerys starts to move, rocking her hips to grind them together, and both of them end up making broken, breathless little noises into each others’ mouths. The water intensifies the friction, washing away the slick either of them could produce well before it’s of any use, but it also makes the movements easier, smoothing out the jerkiness where both of them are startling to tremble.

Gods above, Ciri should not be this close because of a handful of kisses and a pretty queen in her lap. She’s not sure if it’s because she’s been pining for a ridiculous length of time, or that she’s not had much time for anyone except her own hand lately, or maybe that Cerys really is just that incredible. Whatever it is, she absolutely refuses to embarrass herself so thoroughly, at least this first time.

It takes entirely too much willpower, but she gets her hands on Cerys’ hips, stopping the rocking movement and splashing water over the edges of the tub with the sudden interruption to the water’s motion. Cerys makes a little sound, whiny and petulant, and Ciri is halfway through a choked sort of coo at how cute that was when Cerys’ eyes snap open.

“Sorry, was that – ”

Ciri feels a little bad when pressing her fingers over Cerys’ lips apparently gets some bathwater in her mouth, but she doesn’t need an apology and doesn’t want to entertain it. “I’m fine,” she assures. “I just – have a better idea.”

At that, the scrunched combination of shock and concern on Cerys’ face smooths out, replaced instead by obvious curiosity. Her eyes are bright and her lips are a little swollen from their kisses, and Ciri has to resist the urge to lean forward and nip at them, at least for now. Instead, she starts prodding Cerys off of her lap, and giggles when Cerys’ expression once again shifts in a heartbeat, turning to a small pout even as she follows the silent direction and finds her own feet.

Ciri can’t resist that, not entirely, so she leans forward to kiss the corner of the pout as she also stands from the bench. Cerys turns her head and turns it into a real kiss, because of course she does, and Ciri is weak, so she allows it for a long moment.

“C’mon,” she finally says, when they have to pull apart for air, and before Cerys can complain – or catch her in another kiss – she slips behind her and gently nudges her forward again.

She tries to turn at first, clearly trying to sit, but Ciri gets her arms around her waist and keeps her facing forward. She nuzzles against Cerys’ ear and whispers, “Like this,” before guiding her forward again, until her knees are pressed to the bench. 

From there, she drags her hands back down to Cerys’ hips, then her thighs, coaxing her to keep going forward, until she’s kneeling on the ledge. That’s when she seems to get the idea, suddenly tugging out of Ciri’s grip to scoot forward and bend at the waist, bracing her palms against the thick edge of the tub.

“Yeah, perfect,” Ciri murmurs, and leans forward to press a kiss between Cerys’ shoulderblades, fingers finding the stretched smoothness of the scars on her chest. She kisses down Cerys’ spine, hands following the same path but down her front, and when she’s reached where her back starts to curve into ass, Ciri shifts her weight and drops into a low crouch.

She uses her hands, curled around the very tops of Cerys’ thighs, to shift her hips up a little more, just enough to lift her cunt properly above the water.

Cerys shivers and whines, soft and breathless, and Ciri presses a kiss to where the waterline is lapping at the back of her thigh.

“This okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cerys is almost panting. When Ciri looks up – she has to lean a little to the side, to see more than the curve of Cerys’ ass and spine – Cerys is turned to look over her shoulder, eyes gone wide and dark.

She keeps their gazes locked as she slowly trails her fingers up and to the side, along the cut of Cerys’ hipbone, and then in and down, until she’s petting over the soft curls just above her slit. Cerys’ lashes flutter, mouth dropping open for the space of a panting breath before she’s sucking her bottom lip into her mouth to bite at it. 

She whines when Ciri doesn’t keep going, squirming a little, hips rolling forward into Ciri’s hand. Ciri chuckles and turns her head to kiss along the curve of her ass and back down to the back of her thigh.

“Can I?” she asks, dragging her fingers further down, almost to Cerys’ clit but not quite there yet. Already, she can feel the heat – the difference between the water and Cerys’ body, the apex of her thighs, much warmer where she’s all swollen.

Cerys whines and bucks her hips, stammering out a, “P-please.”

Ciri lets the movement do what it intended to do, since she asked so nicely, fingers slipping over Cerys’ clit. The friction of it is a little rough with nothing but water between them yet, but Cerys just whines and bucks again, so Ciri keeps going, until Cerys has made a proper mess of herself and the touch is slick and wet.

“Good,” Ciri murmurs, mostly thoughtless, and traces an intentional, firm circle around Cerys’ clit at the same time she mouths along the edge of her outer labia, tongue flickering barely over where she’s wet and fluttering. Those touches earn her another whine, more desperate this time, as Cerys leans harder against her braced arms just so she can raise her hips and press back into the tease of Ciri’s mouth. “Yeah, fuck, so good.”

“C-Ciri, please,” Cerys breathes. 

Ciri curses and leans further forward, flattening her tongue over the slick mess built between Cerys’ thighs. The sound Cerys makes in response could be reasonably called a shout, if it weren’t so pitchy and breathless, and Ciri grins but doesn’t bother pulling back. When she teases her tongue at Cerys’ entrance, she gets another almost-shout, and when she presses in, the sound turns into a low, warbling little mewl.

Her cock throbs where it’s bobbing in the water, and she imagines the two of them are probably going to sully it enough that a brand new bath is needed, but that’s the only real thought she spares for it.

“Fuck, fuck, please,” Cerys finally gasps, after Ciri has spent a few minutes pressing her tongue just inside the clutch of her entrance and then pulling back out to trace her folds before doing it again. 

She hasn’t even really been meaning to tease – she’s just…taken with the taste of Cerys, with feeling her twitch and flutter. Entirely too taken to be paying much attention to the passage of seconds – or to keep moving her fingers, she realizes. The pleas, though, bring her right back, and she hums into Cerys’ heat before she’s pressing closer, rubbing at Cerys’ clit again as she presses her tongue as deep as she can get it. 

Cerys squeals, hips jerking, and Ciri reconsiders her original intention to pull back and say something filthy. Instead, she stays right where she is, shifting in her crouch just to relieve some pressure on her ankles, and tongue-fucks Cerys until the she’s starting to shake and babble.

“Fuck, fuck, you – ah, ah – oh gods, Ciri – ”

Whenever Cerys makes a new noise or starts shaking harder, Ciri follows that as if it were explicit directions, until Cerys is no longer babbling, she’s just making scattered noise, entirely breathless. She’s so hard she could use her cock as a hammer, but all she can really focus on is how sweet Cerys’ cunt is, all of the pretty noises and trembling that she’s working out of her with just her hand and tongue. It’s – heady, and hotter than it has any right to be, and so much more than she’d ever even dared dream about, at least consciously. 

Cerys can make jokes-that-aren’t about how far Ciri outranks her all she wants, but in Ciri’s opinion, Cerys is so far out of her league that it balances them right back out. She’s fairly certain Cerys would take offense to that, though, and not at all for her own sake, so Ciri fully plans to keep that as a thought to herself. 

She’s almost worried, for a split second, when Cerys’ suddenly goes tripwire-taut, but then her mouth is suddenly flooded with slick and she understands. She groans, but doesn’t let up on her ministrations, working Cerys through the peak of the pleasure and out to quivering on the other side.

“Ciri, Ciri, fuck, oh my gods – ”

She doesn’t stop until Cerys fumbles a hand back and catches at her hair. The feeble tapping at her head is, by itself, ineffectual in making her stop, but she doesn’t want this to tip into the bad kind of overstimulation, so she follows the silent direction and pulls back. 

She intends to ask something cheeky about if that was good, but before she can manage more than just the breath in, Cerys is leaning up and turning, the hand still sort of limp against Ciri’s head finding its way into her hair just to tug slightly. 

“Please get up here and fuck me,” Cerys pants, tugging at her hair again, and Ciri certainly isn’t going to say no.

It’s not the first time she’s experienced the sensation of her dick overtaking her brain, but she thinks it might be the most intense instance of it.

“Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, and lets go of Cerys just long enough to brace on the side of the tub and the ledge so she can lever herself back to standing. She ignores the tingling in her legs – it’s not bad enough she’ll topple, so it doesn’t matter – and instead bends to press along Cerys’ back, one arm slipping around her waist while the other hand goes to her throat. She nudges at Cerys’ jaw with her fingers until she turns properly and Ciri can kiss her again.

She has to take her hand away to reach down and guide her cock, but Cerys barely seems to notice, at least until Ciri is nudging up against her entrance.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” she gasps, head dropping back down as her knuckles go white around the edge of the tub. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” Ciri murmurs, lips trailing along the curve of Cerys’ throat in absence of her mouth.

It only takes some more minute shifting, using her other hand to steady Cerys’ hips as she guides herself with the one around her cock, and she’s slipping in. They both make high, shocky little sounds, and Ciri bites at Cerys’ shoulder as her hips jerk.

She wants to go slow, to check in, but Cerys is letting go of the edge of the tub to throw her arm back, fingernails digging into Ciri’s hip when her hand finally finds it, and she doesn’t have much choice with the way she’s yanked, unless she wants to send the both of them tumbling over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. 

“Fuck me,” Cerys repeats, and Ciri makes a wordless sound of agreement before she’s doing just that.