#very loose maths here

[pinkgoblinshark]

tigers is a comic with amazing art and purchasing the first book lets people appreciate it on a whole other level. however i have decided i will not share a single pixel of it*

*this is until i give up the bit. it is a very good book

my copy of Tigers arrived at my local book store!

(jpeg compression intentional)

...WHAT THE HELL IS THIS IMAGE QUALITY LMFAOOOOO

[francy-sketches]

The age difference between tommen and myrcella bothers me way more than it should like sometimes it's 2 whole years sometimes they're the exact same age like grrm wanted to make them twins but he forgot. Girl what is the truth

[national-hockey-gay]

Congrats on your graduation, bud! I hope you’re proud of yourself (and even if you aren’t, I’m proud of you)

thank you!! i am definitely very happy about it!

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[akanemnon]

Can you possibly have headcannons for Frisk or Chara?

Since you mentioned Frisk first I'll go for them. I wanna keep this uncluttered. Here are some random facts about TR!Frisk:

even though they eat trash, they are a very picky eater. It boils down to mouthfeel for them.

they literally can see with their eyes closed. They're almost all the way squinting, but still able to make out most things.

Frisk is HIGHLY competitive. Don't make a bet with them no matter how dangerous it is. They WILL do it and you will loose your money.

they can't read, or do math, or ride a bike, or swim... Anything you learn in childhood basically

they have one hell of a throwing arm though

they are the "infinity+1" kind of kid

Frisk has all the same body quirks that Kris has

they constantly toss and turn in their sleep

as started in the comic, they supposedly suffer from amnesia. They don't even remember if they have parents or not

despite their chubby appearance, they always crave movement. They hate staying in one place for too long, because they get bored very easily. And you DON'T want them to get bored. Walk your Frisk at least thrice a day.

[arminsumi]

DIRTY TALK.

fem / afab reader

NOTE: just trying smth out... a dialogue-only smut scene from ur fave. it's literally just the script of what your fave is saying lmk know what u think :) it was fun to write and very satisfying bc i am a huge lover of dirty talk writing. anyways it was written with armin/gojo in mind but the char is ambiguous, you can insert anyone

🔞 mdni / 18+ content

SUMMARY — diaolgue/script of your fave's dirty talk

WARNINGS — smut, dialogue-only

WARNINGS — pls ignore errors i wrote this over maths homework, dialogue-only smut, dirty talk, unprotected sex, he's super horny, soft dom, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink, aftercare, slight size kink, "good girl" used, "slvt" used, "baby" used, pre-established relationship, playing with ur clvt, 2x orgasm (reader), laughing when he cums, implied overstim, lmk if i have missed a warning thank u, i'm sure it's fem reader implied but i wasn't too sure so idk lol it's 1 am im going to bed

WORDCOUNT ≈ 750

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

"God, I'm so fucking horny, baby. Spread those legs 'n let me use that pretty pussy, 'there we go. Here, put your legs on my shoulders. I've got you. Fuck look at that perfect pussy, all wet 'n ready for me — yeah? All for me? Just for daddy? Gonna let me stretch you out? Good, good girl. Breathe deep while I just s-slide the tip in. Oh fuck. Y-you're so fucking tight today, t-tighter than usual — fuck me — oh you're gonna make me cum so fast, haha. Loosen up a bit for me. Thank you baby, fuuuck let me slide it in, just like that. You're so perfect. Look at that... look how we fit together. Our bodies were made for each other, don't you think? Yeah? Oh fuck, don't clench up yet, loosen for me again. Fuck. That feels so fucking good — ahah — I'm not laughing at you, baby, j-just can't believe how good it feels to — fuck — ahhhuh — yeah that's a perfect little slut, just take daddy's cock like you're meant to."

"Gonna spell your name on this dick, baby? Yeah? Cream and cum all over it? Oh, fuck, can't wait to make you cum again and again and a-again — yesyesyes — fuck that's so good, when you tighten 'round my length like that. Feels like your cunt is sucking on my cock, 's so fucking good. Baby! Fuck, hold onto my arms if you need to. Oh, nasty slut moaning already? That's okay, you can let it out. Moan all you need to — moan into my ear while I fuck this little hole loose. Haha, are you gonna cum already? That's okay, you can cum. Play with that little clit — so cute. Faster, play with it faster. I wanna see you go numb on my fucking cock. Yeah? What is it? Oh this spot? You want me to fuck this spot? Right here? F-fuck, right here, baby? Yeah that feels so fucking good, doesn't it? Ooh, baby cum for me. Cum. Don't worry about a thing, daddy's got you safe in his arms. Let go and get your sweet relief. There we go — oh fuck, haha, there we fucking go. Someone came big time, huh? Look at those legs shaking. Yeah, now daddy wants to cum, too. Got me all fucking worked up. Just gonna take it out for a moment... ah, fuck don't worry baby I'm gonna put it back in. Don't wanna overstimulate you on accident. Huh? Oh? Really? Fuck alright, I'll fuck you up just like you want it, then. Turn around slut, let's give that pussy a good filling then. Oh my god 's fucking tigh-tighter. Shit, makes me wanna fucking bust. Baby? Look into my eyes and tell me how much you love this cock. Fuck. Yeah, again. Say it again. 'Need to hear you say it again, baby. Louder. Fucking louder. Don't care if the neighbours hear you, just need to hear that sweet voice breakingg while I fuck — fuck — baby yes, yes of course I'll cum inside y-you. Are you really sure? You're not on birth control, right? Gonna get that pusssy knocked up if I cum inside. Oh fuck — can you repeat that?! You want my baby? Yeah? Fuck, you want my seed? God, baby, yes, yes fuck I'll give you my fucking babies. I'll make you a mommy. Stay right there, fuck — oh my god I'm close. I'm so fucking close. Gonna fill up that pussy, stuff it so good not a drop spills out. Oh my fuckin' god you're creaming so much, 's this what you've been into all along? Sh-shoulda told me sooner, 'woulda fucked my cum i-into this tight hole — every — fucking — day. Fuck, baby, ahah I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna — oh god, yeah, you gonna cum again? Cum with me. Let me play with that clit. Fuck I'm cumming — I'm cumming — gonna cum so hard 'n knock up that pussy — fuuuck — oh god, fuckfuckfuck ahah — ahaha that's — so — fucking — good — fuck. Holy shit. I came so much... look at all that... aw baby, don't let it drip out; tighten up 'n keep it deep inside. Get pregnant for me. Hm? I love you, too, dumb baby angel. Let's get that pretty pussy cleaned up. Aw, you can't stand up by yourself? Legs too numb, huh? Here, I've got you. I'll massage your legs in the bath. Ah, you're the sweetest. Y'know how cute you sounded begging for my cum? Sorryyy! I like teasing you, you know that!"

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[goddessofvalyria]

MANEATER | Michael Gavey x fem!reader.

Summary: The popular girl meet Michael Gavey, the nerd boy who has a crush on her at the party. This one-shot is based on "Maneater" a song by Nelly Furtado.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns (she is described very beautiful, charming and fashionable and she has a friend named Milly), she and Milly kissing for joke making Michael horny. Oral (f receiving), masturbation (f and m receiving) SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, Michael being insecure and virgin.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 5421

Oxford, 2006.

The club was located a few minutes outside Oxford University. As soon as we entered, it was a whirlwind of lights and deafening music. She and her best friend Milly arrived together and as soon as we entered, she felt all eyes on her. Sure, she was the most beautiful girl in the whole university, the most popular and also the biggest bitch. She was wearing a sparkly top and a glittery fishnet skirt, her hair left loose and a strong perfume covering her skin. She was so beautiful and confident, she walked through the crowd leaving the scent in her wake. Michael Gavey, the nerd of Oxford was there all alone. His only friend Oliver Quick had convinced him, before leaving him alone and joining Felix Catto's group. She saw immediately, his face was a mask of discomfort in the crowd, his gaze searching for something - or someone. Oliver and Felix were already drunk, a cumbersome and provocative presence, making a mess with their group of stupid friends. Michael wanted to go back to his dorm and study or maybe read something about math, he had no idea why he had agreed to go to a place where he felt out of place and uncomfortable. He was wearing a shirt and cargo pants, his sweater over his shoulders and his rectangular glasses on his face. He hated that place. He had tried to socialize, but they had all kicked him out.

Milly grabbed her friend's hand and dragged her to the dance floor. They danced to the music, trying to get lost in it, but she could still feel everyone's eyes on her and she couldn't help but appreciate it. She loved being looked at, especially by boys and their ugly, jealous girlfriends. That was shortly after, when Michael Gavey saw her. She was the most beautiful girl in all of Oxford and everyone, absolutely everyone had a crush on her. And he, like a poor fool, had fallen for it. It was enough for him to see her in the hallways of the school at the beginning of the year, her hair loose, dressed in mini skirt, a top that she wore without a bra and the trail of perfume she left when she passed in front of him. She had noticed it several times, but Michael knew that those like her were maneaters, girls who only wanted to appear and never really be. Girls like her were diabolical and in his sarcastic nerd mind, even a little slutty. It was not new that she had fucked with some boys in her math class and other rumors said that she had had a threesome with Felix Catton and Oliver Quick. But this last gossip, was just his supposition.

"She would fuck them all, if she could" Michael spat acidly, watching her dance and move her ass. She and her best friend danced almost in symbiosis, moving in sync against each other. Michael continued to watch them, but he knew the technique of those two damn girls: they acted that way to excite the boys and then fuck them in the bathrooms. One was more diabolical than the other.

She noticed, Michael Gavey was not taking his eyes off her and her best friend, so she looked at Milly. "The loser is watching us" he shouts in her ear. "Michael Gavey, the fucking nerd loser who wants to fuck?" Milly laughed.

"Yes exactly, little Mikey" she laughed. "What do you say, we make him lose his mind?" she joked. "He's looking at us like he wants to get a hand job right here and now" Milly continues. "I'm in" she agrees, so the two girls come closer and kiss with tongue. It's not the first time they've done it, in a disco, they do it almost all the time. It's their technique and it's always worked. The relationship between her and Milly is purely platonic, as they consider each other like sisters.

Michael Gavey froze when he saw them kiss. His heart skipped a beat, and his face flushed a deep crimson. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think—his mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, a cocktail of lust, disgust, and shame. He had heard the rumors, the whispers in the halls, and the taunting jeers from guys like Felix, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely. He had known she was provocative, knew she liked the attention, but this was different. This was cruel.

The kiss between her and Milly was anything but innocent; it was a performance, deliberate and calculated. Michael’s stomach twisted as he realized they were doing it for the attention—his attention. It was as if they knew he was watching, knew he was the one fool enough to be entranced by their display. He could feel the mocking laughter bubbling up in his throat, but it was aimed at himself. He had always been the outsider, the nerd who didn’t belong, and now he was the butt of their joke.

As they pulled apart, their eyes flicked towards him, confirming his suspicions. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. She was laughing, that cruel, beautiful laugh that made him feel so small. He hated her in that moment, hated her for making him feel this way, for making him want something he could never have.

But even as he felt the anger rise within him, there was another emotion lurking just beneath the surface—desire. It disgusted him, this twisted need to be noticed by her, to be the focus of her attention, even if it was only to be humiliated. He cursed himself for it, but the desire was there all the same, gnawing at him, making him feel dirty and pathetic.

Michael turned away, his face burning with shame. He could still hear their laughter over the thumping bass of the music, and it felt like knives in his chest. He had to get out of there, away from the lights, the noise, and the suffocating sense of inadequacy that clung to him like a second skin. He pushed through the crowd, his movements jerky and frantic, desperate to escape the scene, to find a quiet corner where he could be alone with his humiliation.

The music pulsed around them as she and Milly continued to dance. She tried to shake off the tension, losing herself in the rhythm of the song. Milly moved closer to her, a sly smile on her face. “Sister, did you see Michael Gavey’s face when he saw us kiss?” she shouted over the music, laughing. “Damn, I bet he got horny…”

“He’s always so into studying, like having fun is a mortal sin.” She took a cigarette from her clutch and put it between her lips. Milly nodded vigorously, her smile growing wider. “That’s right! He’s such a loser. Sometimes I wonder if he even knows how to have fun, but he definitely got horny a little while ago and is probably in the bathroom jerking off.”

Milly took her hand, spinning her around. “Speaking of Michael Gavey, have you heard the gossip about him?” I raised an eyebrow, curious. “What gossip?”

“He’s a fucking virgin and he thinks you’re a whore because Oliver Quick, that bastard, spread the word that you, him and Felix Catton had a threesome.” Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Really? What the fuck, men are so pathetic when you reject them.” Milly nodded, her eyes shining with excitement at the gossip. “Yeah, it’s pretty disgusting, isn’t it? Imagine their disappointment though, you, the most beautiful girl in Oxford rejecting those two…”

“I decide which boy I fuck when and how,” she replied, visibly annoyed by the gossip. “But if you…” she immediately understood her friend’s intentions. “No!” I held up my hands as I took another cigarette from my clutch. “Not tonight.” “Seduce and fuck Michael Gavey, go ahead, make your fantasy come true. Let's see if you can loosen him up a bit," I looked at her, surprised and amused. "He disgusts me" she replied rudely. "He's a virgin and he's definitely never kissed anyone, he'd come like a boy in his pants on his first kiss."

Milly shrugged, a mischievous smile on her lips. "Why not? It could be fun, and who knows, maybe you'd discover something interesting. Maybe he's not as boring as he seems." She thought about it for a moment, the idea of ​​accepting the challenge mixed with curiosity. "Okay, I accept the challenge," I finally said, a determined smile on my face. "I'll show you that I'm not afraid."

Milly applauded, enthusiastically "Maybe you'll end up having more fun than you imagine" "With a little virgin?" she approached the aicha dancing to the music. "Who knows, maybe the little virgin has a big dick under those cargo pants and is waiting for you to teach him how to use it." "There he is, he's back," Milly said. "Go and fuck him" The challenge was on, and she knew that tonight would be just the beginning of a dangerous and intriguing game.

The music throbbed around them, adrenaline pumping through their veins. She walked over to Milly’s brother David, who was one of the DJs. “Put this on.” He gave her a knowing smile. “What are you two doing?” “We’re just having fun.” As the music changed to Nelly Furtado’s “Maneater,” she felt the energy in the room rise. She moved toward Michael, feeling everyone’s eyes on her as I made my way through the crowd. The nerd was still looking at her, visibly uncomfortable, but still excited from earlier. With a bold smile, she walked over to him and grabbed his hand.

“Come dance with me, nerd.” He looked hesitant, but before he could refuse, she dragged him onto the dance floor. The music engulfed them, and I began to move to the beat, trying to shake the rigid composure that seemed to bind him. “Honey, if you want to have fun, you’ve got the wrong guy!” From a distance, I could hear the laughter and the derisive shouts towards Michael. The boys in Felix Catton’s group were shouting something incomprehensible, but the tone was clearly provocative. He couldn’t let them ruin his fun.

Everyone’s eyes were on us, but she didn’t care and had only one mission: to make Michael Gavey, the math nerd, give in to her taunts and prove to Milly that she could have any boy she wanted. “So, Michael,” she said, walking closer to him, a provocative smile on my lips. “You…” he looked shocked, her hands on him were simply wonderful. “There are rumors about you,” Michael said stiffly. “Oh yeah? The ones that say I’m a whore? Maybe because the little nerd loser has voiced his thoughts” she moved closer to him, their faces face to face. "I know it was you, I know it was you who started spread around the university the rumor that I had a threesome with Catton and Quick" she grabbed Michael by the shirt. "But no, I didn't fuck them." Michael felt the heat of her body against his. "I think underneath all that composure there's someone who knows how to have fun, huh nerd?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “They say you’re a loser, show me you’re not.” She started dancing closer to him, their bodies in sync with the beat of the music. I turned, resting my back against his chest, my hips against his. Every move was a studied tease, every look an invitation. He could feel the tension building, but it was an electrifying tension, full of anticipation. Michael began to relax, responding to my movements. His hands settled delicately on his hips, following the beat of the music. It was clear he was giving in, giving in to the attraction between us.

“See? It’s not that hard, Mikey.” She turned, whispering the words in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. He smiled, looking down for a moment. “You nerdy little loser.” She brought her hand close to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw with her nails. “You’re horny, aren’t you?” Did you like watching me kiss my friend?"

She pulled away slightly, looking him in the eyes. "Mh?" Michael seemed ready to accept the challenge. "Tell me" she slid her hand down his chest, letting it slide down to his cargo belt. "Did you go to the bathroom to jerk off, Mikey?" She grabbed his face with one hand. "Or did you come in my boxers like a little boy?" she continued to tease, Michael felt his cock harden. No, he hadn't gone to the bathroom, but to the bar to drink a bottle of water. At one point, we heard Oliver Quick's voice, closer this time

. "Look who's finally woken up! Michael Gavey the nerd finally having fun, I wonder if he'll be able to fuck her!" Anger shot through her, but she decided to take advantage of the opportunity: she moved even closer to Michael, their lips just inches apart. "Ignore him" she said softly, coaxing him. Her breathing increased, Michael looked at her red lips. "He doesn't have this" she wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up at his face. Thanks to the high heels, the height difference had decreased considerably.

"You really are a handsome boy" she murmured persuasively. "I like nerdy boys, they turn me on." She blew on his lips and when she heard Felix and the others mocking Michael again, she kissed him with her tongue in front of them.

Michael’s mind was still reeling from the taunts and the scene he had just witnessed when she suddenly turned her attention to him. He barely had time to register what was happening before she was standing right in front of him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. The air between them crackled with tension, and Michael felt his pulse quicken, his breath catching in his throat.

Without a word, she leaned in, her lips inches from his. He could smell her perfume—intoxicating and sweet, wrapping around him like a drug. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to leave before things spiraled out of control, but his body refused to obey. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, helpless in the face of her allure.

And then, she kissed him.

It was sudden, intense, and completely unexpected. Her lips were soft against his, warm and inviting, and Michael felt a rush of heat flood through his body. His hands moved of their own accord, one tangling in her hair, the other grasping her waist as he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, their tongues brushing together in a dance that was both electric and desperate.

Every rational thought flew out of Michael’s mind, replaced by a primal hunger that consumed him. He had never felt anything like this before—the raw, unfiltered need that surged through his veins. He could feel her pressing against him, her body fitting perfectly against his, and it drove him wild. The world around them disappeared, the pounding music and the crowd fading into nothingness as they lost themselves in each other.

She was equally caught up in the moment, her usual cool demeanor giving way to something more passionate, more real. Her hands roamed over his chest, pulling him even closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was messy, needy, and full of the kind of desire neither of them had expected to feel—at least, not for each other.

As the kiss finally broke, both of them were left breathless, their eyes locked in a moment of shared disbelief. Michael’s heart was racing, his body humming with the aftershocks of what had just happened. He saw the same confusion in her eyes, the same unexpected lust that had taken them both by surprise.

Michael was horny as hell and she was soaking wet between his thighs.

She could hear whistles from her best friend in the distance, but she ignored them. "Can I… can I kiss you again?" Michael asked, she nodded. "Michael, put your tongue down my throat, don't let me do it all by myself. Now, fuck, grab me and touch me Michael. I know you want it, everyone does."

At the contact with his lips she sighed, she felt Michael's hands go down to my hips and grab me. "You smell good" Michael whispered, his erection pressing against her hips. Aware that she was half naked, she had to admit that I had lost the bet with Milly. That situation had aroused her and now I just wanted to take him to one of the bathrooms and fuck him.

"I… I want" he whispered between kisses. "Do you want what?" she asked wickedly. "I want to touch you, I want…fuck." Michael panted, her cheeks red. "Do you want to finger me, Mikey?" she spoke, drawing the words out of him. "Yes, I want… to do things to you… what the fuck…" he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her.

"Then do it to me here and now, no one will see us," she moved closer to Michael, pulled him close to her. "Have you ever touched a woman?" she whispered trying to make him feel at ease, he shook his head. "No, he admitted with shame. "But I would like to, I would like to so much."

Michael moved his hand away. on the hem of her mesh miniskirt that showed her thong. "Put your hand under my miniskirt, move my panties to the side and put your fingers in me" she whispered kissing his neck. "Move your middle and ring fingers in and out, your thumb on my clit. I know you're a good, smart boy, I know you'll treat me like I deserve" she connected their lips in a dirty kiss, Michael followed her orders and disappeared his fingers between her thighs. Her skin was smooth, warm.

He slipped his hand between them, with one finger he moved her panties to the side and used his middle and index finger to penetrate her, her pussy was soaking wet, hot and tight. He had seen some porn, locked in his room, nothing compared to this.

"My Good boy" she whispered moaning in her ear, Michael immediately found her clit and began to circle it with his thumb. "You're a fucking whore" he whispered in her ear. "And I want you just like that for me, for your fucking math nerd" she began to move her hips against his fingers, then slipped a hand into his boxers.

"Let me return the favor, nerdy boy" he whispered, letting her finger him. "I know you took pictures" he continued, pulling out his secret weapon. "You do hand jobs on those, huh?" She kissed his neck, Michael pinching her clit. "You're smart then" he whispered. "Cum for me," Michael whispered shortly after, feeling his cheeks flush and his erection ache in her smooth hand.

"Fuck Gavey, don't come in your pants" she whispered, moving her hand, caressing the tip of it. "Come on my fingers," Michael had his forehead resting on her shoulder, and she felt her legs tremble. "Mikey, oh fuck" she whispered kissing him and shortly after came on his fingers.

"My good girl" Michael whispered excitedly. "Do you want to have sex?" she asked feeling his excitement dripping down her thighs. Michael nodded, "Fuck yes" he whispered out of himself not recognizing himself anymore.

"Let's go to the bathroom Michael, I have the condoms" she gave him one last kiss to calm him down, took his hand and they disappeared behind the doors of the women's bathroom.

No one had noticed what had happened except Milly who had been watching them the whole time, but now she too found herself busy with one of the boys, more precisely with Felix Catton. She wanted to make him pay.

She grabbed Michael's hand and pulled him toward the bathroom, her grip firm and determined. The club's lights and noise faded as they hurried down the hallway, her intentions clear as she led him to one of the stalls. Once inside, she slammed the door shut behind them, locking it with a quick twist of her wrist. The small, confined space was suddenly filled with an intense, almost palpable tension.

Without giving him a chance to think, she pushed Michael against the door and kissed him fiercely, her hands gripping his shoulders. Michael was overwhelmed, his mind spinning from the intensity of her kiss and the suddenness of it all. His back hit the cold metal of the door, and a shiver ran down his spine, but it wasn’t from the cold.

In between kisses, he managed to stammer, “I—I’m a virgin…”

She paused for a brief moment, her eyes searching his, but instead of laughing or mocking him, she nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Don’t worry” she whispered, her voice low and reassuring. “I’ll take care of you.”

Then, she kissed him again, more gently this time, her hands moving to cup his face. Michael’s heart pounded in his chest, his nerves and excitement mixing in a heady rush that made his legs feel weak. He had never been in a situation like this before, had never imagined that she would be the one to lead him into it. But there was no hesitation in her, no doubt, and it gave him a strange kind of confidence.

She pressed closer to him, her body warm against his, as her hands began to explore, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Michael’s breath hitched as she continued, her touch both firm and tender, guiding him as their clothes quickly became a forgotten heap on the bathroom floor.

Her naked body was fucking divine, she was a fucking Goddess. Michael held her out. "First… I… wonder if… I can taste you" he whispered shyly, his cock was erect, long and hard. She licked her lips. "Yes" she whispered. "But you have to kneel down, pretty boy" she whispered almost with amusement.

Michael was embarrassed, but he knelt down in front of her kissing her on her cunt. "You smell good and you look so beautiful" he whispered looking up at her. She brought her hands up to his face, grabbing his glasses and taking them off. "You're so sweet" she whispered throwing them on the pile of clothes. "How… how do I do this?" he asked placing his hands on her thighs.

"Let me show you" she replied amused, lifting one leg up to Michael's shoulder. "Open me up like this first" she whispered bringing two fingers to her pussy. "With two fingers" she opened for him. "And then you lick me" she lowered her face, caressing his lips. "I know you can do it, Mikey" Michael nodded burying his head between her thighs, fuck it was wonderful. Slowly he licked her on her opening, licked her on the clit and soon after he put his tongue inside her, fucking her. "Fuck, Mikey" she panted feeling his long and thick tongue. "Fuck" she continued, Michael licked her, tasting her and it was incredibly sweet.

He grabbed her thighs with both hands, his nose pressed against her clit, "Pretty girl" he whispered between the licks and soon after, without restraint, she came on his lips, panting like a whore. Michael licked her and got up from her, holding her tightly in his arms. He looked at her.

"Do you want?" he asked, unsure if he had tired her. "Yes" she whispered, grabbing her purse, she took the condom and ripped it off with her teeth. "You're fucking hard Mikey" she murmured, putting it on him. "Now pick me up and lean me against the door" she clung to him, planting a kiss on his lips. Michael did as she ordered. "And now let me do it" she brought her legs behind his hips, pushing him against her pussy. Michael took hold of himself and entered her.

"Oh god!" he gasped, feeling his cock buried in her pussy. "Now move, my good boy" she teased, Michael began to push into her, he lowered his face to her breast and sucked on her nipple, she moaned, pulling his hair. Soon she concentrated on the thrusts, both of them lost in pleasure, Michael touched her deeply, fucking her so good. Every thrust was pure pleasure, his cock inside her filling her to perfection.

As they moved together, the initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by something raw and powerful. Michael’s nerves faded, overtaken by the growing pleasure that coursed through him, each touch and movement heightening the connection between them. For a few brief, intense moments, nothing else existed but the two of them, lost in each other and the wildness of the moment.

"Mikey, Mikey"! she gasped, squeezing herself, he felt her pussy contract around his cock. "Cum for me, fuck" he ordered. He brought his fingers to her clit and as she had taught him, the moves were fast, but gentle. She came with an orgasm that overwhelmed her, Michael filled the condom and pulled out of her, holding her in his arms.

Michael felt every sensation intensely—the warmth of her skin, the rhythm of her breath, the softness of her lips as they kissed again and again. "You are beautiful" he whispered again, squeezing her, then came the shame of what he had done and her cheeks blushed shamefully.

When it was over, they were both breathless, their bodies slick with sweat, their heartbeats racing in unison. Michael leaned back against the door, his mind still struggling to process what had just happened. She looked at him with a mix of satisfaction and something almost tender in her gaze, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

She adjusted Michael’s glasses back on his face, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Michael, still catching his breath, felt a rush of shame wash over him. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, a mix of guilt and embarrassment gnawing at him, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed every moment of what had just happened.

She looked at him, her expression softening. “You were… wow,” she admitted, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice. “I didn’t expect that.”

Michael looked up, trying to read her face, unsure of what she meant. But before he could ask, she continued, her tone shifting slightly. “I should probably tell you… this started as a bet” she confessed, her voice low, almost hesitant. “But honestly, even if it hadn’t been, I would have found a way to get close to you eventually. Maybe I would have asked for help with math or something.”

At her words, Michael’s stomach dropped, the humiliation cutting deeper now. His fists clenched at his sides, anger and hurt flashing through him. He had been nothing more than a game to her, a joke. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

Seeing the hurt in his eyes, she quickly added, “But that doesn’t change what just happened. It was real for me, Michael. I didn’t expect to feel anything, but… I did. You were incredible.”

Michael’s anger faltered at her honesty, the rawness in her voice catching him off guard. He hesitated, still processing everything, but then, in a small, uncertain voice, he asked, “Would you… would you maybe like to go out with me sometime?”

She smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. “Are you asking me to out on a date, Mickey?” she replied, without hesitation. “But yes, I’d like that.”

Relief washed over Michael, and a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. They quickly dressed, the earlier tension replaced by a new, tentative connection. As they exited the club, the cool night air wrapped around them, a stark contrast to the heat they had just shared.

They walked hand in hand, the noise of the club fading behind them as they made their way back toward the university. The campus loomed ahead, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, the night quiet and peaceful around them. Neither of them spoke much, but the silence was comfortable, filled with the unspoken promise of something new and unexpected.

For the first time that night, Michael felt a sense of calm, a strange mix of contentment and anticipation. As they walked together, he couldn’t help but feel that, despite everything, this might just be the start of something real.

As they walked hand in hand, Michael felt a gnawing guilt bubbling up inside him. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “For calling you a bitch and a whore… and for spreading those rumors about you. I didn’t know you, and I… I was wrong.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, her expression softer than he expected. “It’s okay, Michael” she said, her voice gentle. “Honestly, I was trying to get your attention. I just… didn’t know how to go about it.”

Michael looked at her, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. “But why me? I’m just… a nerd, a loser. I never thought someone like you would even notice me.”

A smile tugged at her lips, and she squeezed his hand. “I like nerds, Michael. I’ve always found them interesting, different. You’re smart, and you’re real. That’s what caught my eye.”

As they continued walking, she winced slightly, her pace slowing. “These heels are killing me, she admitted, glancing down at her feet with a small, pained smile.

Without a second thought, Michael offered, “I could carry you if you want.”

She looked at him in surprise, then nodded, a playful grin on her face. “You’d do that?”

Michael nodded, his heart pounding a little faster. He bent down and lifted her into his arms, her weight light and warm against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and before he knew it, she leaned in and kissed him again, her lips soft and warm.

But this time, something was different. Michael didn’t feel the rush of excitement he expected. Instead, a strange sadness settled over him. He had been so wrong about her, so blinded by his own insecurities and misconceptions. The girl in his arms wasn’t the person he had thought she was—she was more, and he had misjudged her so badly.

As they continued their walk toward the university, her head resting on his shoulder, Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted inside him. He wasn’t the same awkward, resentful nerd he had been just a few hours ago. He didn’t quite know who he was becoming, but he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want to make the same mistakes again.

Michael couldn’t help but think about how wrong he’d been, but before he could dwell on it too long, she broke the silence with a teasing grin. “You know, you really are a maneater,” he said, half-jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

She smirked and leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Actually, Mikey, you ate me out in that bathroom.”

Michael blinked in surprise before a laugh bubbled up from his chest, the tension between them melting away. She was funny, confident, and completely unexpected. All he wanted now was her—just her, in all her unpredictable, fascinating glory.

She looked at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Michael, do you like that for our date see each other in your room, have sex again… and then watch a film… like, maybe one of the Star Wars movies while we eat some junk food?”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The idea of spending more time with her, doing something as simple as watching a movie, felt oddly perfect. And the fact that she wanted to watch Star Wars? That was a dream come true.

He grinned, excitement bubbling up inside him. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his voice full of eager anticipation.

She smiled back at him, and as they continued their walk, Michael couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest nerd in the world.

[scribefindegil]

Do you sew? Do you have boobs? Do your tops never seem to fit correctly despite following all the instructions on the pattern? THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT! Sewing patterns usually just tell you to match your full bust measurement to their sizing chart, but this isn't enough information to tell you if the garment will actually fit.

Here's the problem. Imagine three people who all have a 40-inch bust measurement. But one of them is completely flat-chested, one of them is very well-endowed, and the third has the mythical "average" figure that the pattern was designed for. Despite having the same circumference, their torsos are completely different sizes and shapes! So while our lucky "average" sewist can cut out the pattern as written and have it fit, that same size is going to be much too tight in the shoulders for the flat-chested person and much too loose in the shoulders for the buxom one.

And that sucks, because an adjustment to add or remove fullness from the bust is much easier to do than trying to re-size the shoulders and torso. Instead of starting off with the pattern size that matches your bust measurement, it's a lot better if you can start off with the size that fits your shoulders. But almost no patterns tell you how to figure this out!

What you need is to match the high bust measurement. Here's an image (from "Ahead of the Curve: Learn to Fit and Sew Amazing Clothes For Your Curves" by Jenny Rushmore, a GREAT book for learning to fit garments, especially if you're bigger) on how to measure high bust vs full bust.

The difference, in inches, between the full bust measure and the high bust measure is your sewing cup size. (usually not the same as your bra cup size, which is the difference between the full bust measure and the underbust measure. yes, it's confusing. sorry)

So how to use this to figure out what size to cut out from your pattern? If you're using a Big Four sewing pattern, those are all drafted for a B sewing cup, so the high bust for any given size will be two inches less than the given (full) bust measurement. Choose the size that matches your high bust. Then compare the full bust measurement to yours. If it matches, great! If it's smaller or larger, you will have to do either a full bust adjustment or small bust adjustment. They seem scary because they're slash-and-spread adjustments, but if you find a good tutorial they're not that hard. You can also just make a mockup in the pattern size that matches your high bust and either add or remove fabric in the bust area until it behaves.

What if you're not using a Big Four pattern? Well, if you're lucky you'll find a pattern you like from a company that simply provides the high bust measurement as well as the full bust in their chart. A few places, like Cashmerette, actually include multiple cup sizes in their patterns so you don't need to do any math to get a good fit. Otherwise, if the company tells you what cup size they're drafted with, you can figure out the high bust from the full bust: A cup is one inch difference, B is two, C is three etc.

If the pattern company doesn't tell you anything except the full bust measurement, scold them about it. If you have to guess, smaller sizes will most likely be drafted with a B cup. There's a little more variation in plus sizes. Regardless, if you're making a mockup try to get the shoulders and neck fitting properly before you worry too much about the bust.

Now go forth and sew things that actually fit your body!

[seeingivy]

my kink is karma

satoru gojo x f!reader

**loosely based on my kink is karma by chappell roan

an: based on a request from gojo as taylor anon <3 this one is for u

--  

“hi honey bee.” 

you peer over the top of your monitor screen to find satoru gojo, the executive account manager whose murder you’ve been planning for the past few weeks, looming over your desk. his inhumanely long limbs are fixed behind his back, bright ocean blue eyes filled with glee. and you’ve been through this enough times to know exactly what’s going on. 

he’s caught yet another mistake that you’ve made. and he’s here to sick it to you, his favorite worker bee that he likes to irritate. 

satoru gojo is a nicely packaged sewer demon that arrived two months ago, replacing the little old lady who used to occupy the glass office at the center of the workflow. she was kind, a little bit confused here and there, but she got her job done without making a fuss and that was all that mattered to you. she made you blondies for your birthday. 

you didn’t realize how nice you had it until she was replaced with him. because satoru gojo was irritating, prancing in the way he always did – insanely tall and taking up too much space in your peaceful office – with a boisterous laugh, a strange sense of humor, and a tendency to be irritatingly perfect. 

a stitched and tailored suit,  designer perfume, and a sparkling rolex watch on his wrist. a pretty girlfriend that he bragged about at mandatory lunches, a shiny black mercedes, and a penthouse apartment in the center of the city. 

you hate him. you hate how you can feel him scorning at the worn down ballet flats that you wear to work, the vintage watch you snagged from the thrift store, and the narrowed look that he gives to your public transportation card as you tuck it back into your wallet when you walk into the office. 

“are you doing a sales report?” he asks. 

“i’m at my job. where i work in sales marketing. what do you think i’m working on?” 

you watch his eye twitch. the small movements – eye twitches, nose wrinkles, and the turning of his lip – you had been watching them, memorizing what exactly it was that pushed his buttons since he was so keen on doing it first. though, he would never show it upfront, at least not as openly as you do anyways. 

that was one of the nice things about satoru gojo. that he was intelligent and perceptive – enough for him to know that you were maybe the only person in this office who didn’t like him. that you could understand his niceness was masked in arrogance. that you had no intention of kissing his ass like almost everyone else in this office did. 

you loathed his very existence, the stupid jokes he made, and would rather hear nails on a chalkboard than the stories that he recounts from his weekends at his parent’s suburban villa. 

“i love a great sense of humor!” he responds, scooting his long legs over to the side of your desk and hunching over to get a view of your computer. 

he says it with a bright and sparkling smile, but you get the message clear and straight – i’d watch the attitude if i were you. 

the smell of his fancy cologne tickles your nose as he leans over, his face nearly cheek to cheek with yours as he places a little manila folder in front of you. you heave a sigh, opening it up to your sales reports from the last week, each one laminated and with a dark red mark in the center. 

“been looking over your reports. you’re getting a little sloppy with your math.” 

you scoff. 

“is that right?” you ask. 

“uh huh. just make sure you count your decimal points and your zeroes when you turn in this one. i know it can be a little hard sometimes, big numbers and all.” 

you bite down on your cheek, feeling the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. did he always have to be so patronizing? 

“now why would i do that? i’d put you out of a job if i did.” 

satoru clicks his tongue in cheek – one of the clear cut signs that you’ve hit one of his exposed nerves. that he’s a glorified calculator sitting in a fancy glass office with an arbitrary executive title slapped next to his name. 

satoru gojo hates that you always seem to make that point every time he corrects you. and you’ll take any chance to remind him. that he doesn’t do anything worthwhile. that he’s a pretty face and just that – nothing substantial underneath. 

“luckily for me, you’ve proven that you’ll be incompetent until the end. as long as you’re here, it seems that i will be too. i’d get back to it if i were you, honey bee.” he responds, the tone in his voice scathing as he walks back to his office, a glimmering plastic smile pressed to his face. 

--

you have mandatory team building lunches on fridays at twelve thirty. it’s one of the things that you appreciate – that you don’t have to wake up early to put together a lunch from the leftovers in your fridge. 

you cycle through every person in the office, rotating on picking up lunch that accommodates the budget and everyone’s dietary requests, and break bread to get closer to one another. satoru, naturally, goes over budget every time it’s his turn, and insists that it’s no problem – though he always seems to slightly mess up your order, while everyone else’s comes out perfectly. 

and on the days where he isn’t choosing the lunch, he’s so irritating – complaining of a sensitive stomach – and instead brings a nicely packaged lunch that his private chef makes for him every morning.. three courses, always packed with a dessert. 

one time you asked him if the chef wrote him little supportive notes in his lunchbox. you would be lying if you said it didn’t fill you with pride, that the small comment you made was enough to fill him with irritation for the rest of the work day. 

“what are your christmas plans, satoru?” 

you look over at your fellow sales associate, yuuji, and share a smirk with him. the two of you lean back, nursing your little sandwiches from the deli two miles down in your hands as you start the mental counter in your head. 

every day before lunch, you and yuuji make a shot counter of things that you expect gojo to say during team building. common phrases that fall out of his mouth like back at the villa, my custom tailor shop, and louis vuitton – the normal trust fund baby vocabulary, naturally – somehow always make their way into the conversation. 

you drink shots accordingly at happy hour after work. whoever’s word has the higher count has to pay for the entire night. 

your poison for today was private jet. yuuji’s was timeshare. 

“anne marie and i are heading over to her family’s timeshare in bali. they have a property over there – full pool, private beach and all.” 

yuuji snorts. you roll your eyes. 

“a private beach?” nanami asks, eyes raised as he neatly picks the tomatoes out of his sandwich and hands them over to shoko at his side. 

“a private beach, indeed. it’s right on the coast, equipped with boats for excursions and stuff like that. the timeshare comes set with all of those.” he states. 

“excursions.” you repeat, giving yuuji a wide eyed look as he fights the urge to laugh. 

satoru looks over at you, a clear distaste in his eyes, as he leans back in his chair, legs spread wide. 

“what are you doing for your vacation, y/n?” satoru asks. 

“i’m going home with yuuji for a few days.” you state. 

“right. that sounds exciting!” he states. 

you can hear the message laced in that one too – a clear and pointed diss that he’s going to be spending his time at a resort with his skinny legged model girlfriend and you’re going to be going home with the one gay guy that works at your office and get drunk in the bar in your hometown. 

“which airline are you taking?” satoru asks. 

you grin. 

“delta.” 

“never been. i use my private jet to get around.” 

you give him an exaggerated gasp. 

“a private jet? tell me all about it.” 

you’ve goaded him right into your trap – as satoru then says the word private jet a total of seventeen times, defeating the measly eight times he said timeshare – and delight in the fact that you’ll at least get to have a nice night out. 

--

on the first tuesday back from break, freshly minted into five days of the new year, your co-worker katie shakes your shoulder aggressively ten minutes into your shift. you note that four days into the week, satoru has yet to return to the office and you hope that it’s not just good luck – that maybe he fell off of his duffy boat in bali and lost all his memory, rendered incapable of ever returning to the office again. 

you pray that your new boss isn’t as much of an asshole as him. 

you look up to find katie’s eyes wide, an excited smile on her face, as she leans down into your space. katie is one of the few friends that you have in the office, the third person who finds satoru and his antics irritating. 

“did you hear about gojo?” she asks. 

“every thing i know about that man is against my will.” you deadpan. 

she giggles, leaning down to whisper. 

“oh my fucking god. come here. you’re going to love this.” 

she stands up, scanning the room, as she gestures for you to stand up, the two of you making your way over to the break room. you can’t talk so freely about him when his little lackey’s are still lingering around, who will most definitely tell him that the two of you were gossipipng. 

and god knows that would only make his head bigger – knowing that everyone talked about him even when he wasn’t there. katie strides into the room, taking residence over the coffee machine and shooting nanami a polite smile, as she starts absentmindedly brewing a cup of coffee. 

“he’s losing it.” 

“who?” 

“satoru. he’s going fucking crazy apparently.” 

you snort. as if. satoru’s definition of going crazy would be mixing and matching different designer brands – like wearing a gucci watch with a louis vuitton tie. 

“turns out that his glamorous vacation to bali with that raggedy anne doll never happened. she had a whole meltdown and broke up with him after his credit card got declined at a restaurant they went to a few days before the trip.” 

you nearly choke on your spit. 

“what?” 

“apparently it was just a fluke, his card got momentarily blocked since he bought some new car. but she literally freaked out on him and left him stranded.” 

you snort. 

“there’s no way.” 

“she told him that it was unacceptable. that she had enough.” 

“well, i’ll say. she milked an entire designer wardrobe out of him.” you whisper, earning you a giggle from katie. 

“i know! anyways, sharon from hr told me that he’s taken the past four days off because he doesn’t have transportation – he fucking crashed the mercedes when he was driving home from the breakup.” 

“you’re fucking kidding. the g-wagon?” 

“i swear to god.” 

it feels a little mean, but you can’t help but delight in all of it. 

that despite it all, karma’s real. and it’s finally satoru fucking gojo’s turn. six months of patronizing comments and arrogance has finally caught up with him. his pretty girlfriend is just that – a pretty girl who wanted to do nothing with him. the car he brags about has been demolished and at the very least his larger than life ego has taken some type of hti. 

“oh, look, look.” 

katie shakes your arm, the two of you peering through the glass window to see satoru climb out of the bus – the same bus that you take to work everyday to save money – with what you can tell from here is an unironed suit and messy hair. his tie isn’t even done properly. 

and when he walks in, all you smell is the fancy cologne, with the faintest hints of tequila lingering behind. a smell that you only catch, because it’s one that you’ve drowned out on a bad day. 

you and yuuji pick horrendous words for lunch – yours being luxury brand and yuuji’s being private chef – and much to your dismay, he says neither. he actually doesn’t say anything. just sulks in the corner and disappears as soon as he finishes the tacos. 

you leave a mistake in your sales report. he doesn’t even catch it. 

--

“can you close out my tab, toji?” 

toji, the bartender who’s well aware of your antics – and perhaps even more upset than you are that your hoity toity boss didn’t play along well with your game today – gives him a nod, wiping his hands with the towel as he looks over at you. 

“you too, doll?” 

“no, i’ll have another before i head out.” you state. 

he gives you a nod, shuffling off to the side to get yuuji’s bill, as you slump down on the bar, yuuji mimicking your motions as you both lean your heads against one anothers. and he leaves just as fast, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head as you swirl the little ice cubes in your drink as you watch the bubbles fizz out. 

“rough day, y/n?” 

you shrug. 

“same old – can’t really complain. you?” 

toji smiles. 

“you see that guy over there, at the end of the bar? this is the third day that he’s drank up my entire supply of tequila.” 

you follow the line of his vision to see satoru – the satoru gojo slumming it in this rather disgusting bar, at least for his standards – his tie messy and the buttons of his shirt loosely undone sitting at the bar. 

“him?” 

“uh huh. broke up with like the only girl he’s ever dated, apparently. whoever she is, thank her fucking ass. he tips well over.” toji murmurs, giving you a smile as he rearranges the glasses. 

you give toji a weary smile, pressing the cash down on the bar, as you make your way over – noting that tequila smell is not masked at all this time – as you slide into the seat next to him, tapping on your shoulder. and he looks over, the rims of his eyes red and eyes squinting as he leans forward.  

“honey bee?” he slurs. 

the smell is overwhelming. 

“the one and only.” you respond. 

you reach forward, sliding the little shot glass out of his hand and placing it behind the bar. you turn back to find that his hair is messy, whatever mousse that he’s used to style it has clearly run fraught, and his cheeks flushed pink. 

“that’s enough for one night, gojo. let’s get you home, yeah?” 

“huh?” 

“home. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or a household?” 

he glares. 

“i know what a home is.” he deadpans. 

“perfect! let’s get you to yours.” you respond. 

satoru turns over to you, blue eyes weary, before he shrugs and slumps down onto the bar. you roll your eyes, scooting your chair closer as you pull up your phone. 

“i’ll do you a liberty. i know you’re probably morally opposed to taxis, so i’ll call you an uber. what’s your address?” 

satoru reaches up, his fingertips brushing your wrist, as he snatches your phone and places it flat on the bar. 

“no thank you.” 

“toji will kick you out, you know. and he doesn’t even know you like that, he’ll probably be really mean since he has a wife to get back home to and all.” 

satoru snorts. 

“then i’ll just go to another bar. i’m not going home.” 

you groan, noting that of course he was going to be stubborn about this too, and that whatever it was in your chest – pity, you suppose – was making you so insistent on making sure he didn’t die from alcohol poisoning tonight. 

“what’s so bad about your pretty penthouse?” you ask. 

he huffs a sigh. 

“there’s pictures of anne marie everywhere. and i fucking hate that bitch.” 

you snort, hearing such choice words about the barbie doll that you never had the pleasure of meeting, as you hop off the stool. you figured he was going to be more of the emotional drunk – crying and whining – rather than cursing her very existence. 

“okay, c’mon. i know somewhere you can go.” 

--

you feel bad for him as the night goes on. because he’s so drunk that he’s sobbing the entire drive back to your apartment, a horrendous mix of drunk ramblings about how honda civics are actually nicer than he expected and how he didn’t even know that this part of the city existed. your previous thoughts about emotional drunks were completely revoked. 

he leans his entire weight on you as you drag him into the elevator, plopping him down on the couch, as you task yourself with making him a green smoothie before letting him pass out into the abyss. it’ll help with the raging hangover you’re positive that he’s going to have tomorrow – and you hope that it means he’ll spare you some kindness the following morning, for saving him from his imminent death and all. 

you change into your comfy pajamas as the smoothie blends – a loose old dartmouth t-shirt and shorts – and pour it into a glass. you take a deep breath, bracing yourself, as you make your way back to the couch where satoru’s peeled his sport jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt nearly halfway down. you make it a point to not ogle his perfectly chiseled body. 

“alright, satoru. this will help with your hangover tomorrow, just drink it really fast because it tastes horrible.” you state. 

satoru looks over at you, completely unfazed by the green drink you hand him, and decides that he’s very shamelessly going to check you out. you can see it in his eyes – the way they follow your bare legs and your mismatched socks, before he looks back up at you and frowns. 

“am i that fucking pathetic that you’re helping me?” he asks. 

you grin. 

“yes.” you respond. 

satoru appreciates the honesty, gulping down the thick and tart smoothie that you made him, and slams the glass down on the coffee table after the fact. he wipes the residue on the back of his hand and shrinks into the couch – and you can’t help but shiver at how normal he looks. 

it’s the first time that you’ve understood it, why everyone thinks he’s so attractive. he has soft and full cheeks, striking blue eyes that go perfectly with his snow white hair. a few freckles dot his nose. 

“well, let’s hear it. make all the fun you fucking want.” satoru murmurs. 

you roll your eyes. 

“do you think i’m a bitch? i don’t kick people when they’re down. something you’re wholly unfamiliar with, i’m well aware.” 

“you have no problem doing it in the office.” he states. 

you scoff. 

“you always start it. you can’t really get mad when i start dishing it back. and i’m a little bit better than you. i won’t make comments about you now that pretty malibu barbie’s broken your heart now because i have a shred of decency.” 

satoru scoffs. 

“you’ll just do it tomorrow, when i’m keen enough to fight back .” he states. 

you sigh, leaning back on the couch, as you look up at the wallpaper pressed to the ceiling. it’s slightly peeling and you make a mental note to replace it when you get the time – which knowing you, you probably never will. 

he was impossible. 

when you look over at him, his eyes fixed to the peeling wallpaper too, but with glimmering tears sprinkling out of his eyes, though they’re slower and quieter than the sobs that he was heaving in the car. you wonder how much he really had to drink. 

“you need to replace your wallpaper. it’s coming off.” satoru seethes. 

“okay.” you respond. 

you look back at the ceiling. you could give him some advice too. 

“you should stop dating gold diggers.” you state. 

he rolls his eyes. 

“how was i supposed to know she was a gold digger?” he asks. 

you laugh. 

“it’s not normal to buy your girlfriend’s entire wardrobe. and her car. and her..”

“okay, okay, okay. it was a gift!” he defends. 

“you know, normal people get a giftcard and call it a day. or a candle from target.” you respond. 

there’s a whisper of a smile on satoru’s face as he sighs, before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“okay, well. i was trying to be sweet. her love language was giving gifts.” 

you snort. 

“shocker.” you deadpan. 

he reaches for the closest cushion, before smacking it straight across your chest. you’re quick to snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest, as the two of you stick back to the silence. 

“so what do i do?” he asks. 

“what do you mean?” 

“i dunno. never done a break up before. she was like my first girlfriend.” 

you would understand it. you would, you suppose, if that was something you could relate to. being so in love that you can’t be with anyone else. but then again, that lingering question would always come back to you – how could you know that this person was the one if you hadn’t tried anything else? 

in your very limited experience in your very short life, one thing always rang true – that the more time you took to learn, to experience, the better things seemed to get. you had a bunch of shit friends in high school and now you’re friends with yuuji. you had four different majors before you picked marketing because it let you be creative. you’ve dated four different guys but you’re still looking for the one. 

that’s why you didn’t understand it – how people could be so one and done, on something so serious. granted, that’s probably how they end up with gold diggers. 

“do you have anything of hers?” you ask. 

satoru gives you a strange look, before digging his hand in his pocket, and fishing out his wallet. he opens up the little zipper, yanking a little silver necklace out of the leather, and placing it into the palm of your hand. 

you feel your eyes widen a little bit, sparkling diamonds set in a little circular mother of pearl design, as you run your fingers over it. you shake yourself out of it, looking over at him resting his forearms against his knees, expectantly waiting for an answer. 

“real cute. go throw it out of my window.” you state, handing it back to him. 

“i beg your pardon?” 

“so a window is an opening in the wall or roof that…” you start. 

he lightly shoves you, before clutching the necklace in his fist. 

“i can’t throw it out. it’s fucking expensive.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“that means nothing to you. you’re not throwing it away because you still like raggedy anne.” 

“raggedy anne?” he asks. 

“yuuji, katie, and i call her that. red hair kind of set that one up for us but…” 

his eyes widen, as he leans forward. 

“do you guys not like her?” he asks. 

you shrug, as you stand up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as you pull him closer to the window. the question catches you off guard – that he would care what the three of you would think. 

you peek your head out the window –  a few cars still milling on the street, the lights lazily changing, as he joins you and sticks his head out the window. 

“i can’t, honey bee.” he states. 

“yes, you can. it’s just a necklace.” 

“but what if she wants it back?” he asks. 

you fight the urge to slap him, as you stick your head back into the warmth of the apartment. he follows suit. 

“you would go back to her?” you ask. 

“i dunno. i –” 

“she would probably only want to get back together so she can get this fucking necklace back. because she’s a gold digger! screw her, surely you could do better than that!” 

satoru frowns, as he peaks out of the window again. and he makes the motion like he’s going to throw it before he looks back at you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. 

“it’s limited edition. maybe i should sell it and –” 

“no. you’re going to throw it out of the window right now, on the count of three.” 

“i really don’t want to. we should do something easier first.” he whines.

“one.” you state. 

he panics. surely he couldn’t be serious. 

“this can’t be how normal people cope. i could hit someone and give them a black eye..” 

“two.” you scold. 

“maybe i don’t want to be a normal person. i think that this is all –” 

“three.” 

you snatch the necklace out of his open palm and throw it straight out of the window. it makes a little clinking sound when it finally hits the bottom, the two of you poking your heads out of the window to now see it tangled in the sewage gutter that’s been dirtied by the recent rain. 

“you threw her necklace.” satoru states, in exasperation. 

“when normal people can’t do it on their own, a trusted friend does it to keep them in line.” you state, pushing back into the apartment and wiping your hands. 

satoru follows behind you, his steps featherlike, as you reach for his phone and start scrolling through the contacts. he’s leaning his head over your shoulder, eyes wide as you pull up anne marie’s contact and hold it out to him. 

“you’re going to make me block her too?” he asks. 

“no. you should call her once and say some mean stuff and then block her.” 

satoru’s eyes widen. 

“mean stuff?” 

“call her. tell her she’s a gold digger. that you think her voice is annoying or something.” you add. 

satoru crosses his hands over his chest. 

“that’s not very mature.” 

“okay, but you’re back in dog years since you’ve been dating this girl forever. plus, i’d say it’s immature to be in a god knows how long relationship with someone just for their money. does she have any consideration for you?” 

satoru pauses, like he’s mulling the thought over. 

“if you don’t do it, you’re going to become even more weird and repressed than you are now.” you state 

“i’m not repressed!” he whines. 

“be immature! say a bunch of bullshit and then hang up! you’ll feel great – you…you’re supposed to do these types of things at least once. this is like a rite of passage.” 

satoru gives you a weary look as you lean forward, pressing the dial button. his eyes go wide as you start whispering, gesturing for him to do it. 

“hello? satoru?” anne marie says, voice confused.

there’s a considerable amount of sound behind the speaker, loud booming music making it very clear that raggedy anne is at the club while satoru’s moping it out in your apartment. 

“do it.” you whisper. 

“hi annie.” satoru murmurs. 

you roll your eyes at the nickname. 

“did you want something satoru?” she asks. 

“yeah. yeah, i just wanted to say…” satoru starts. 

“hold on one second.” she says. 

there’s a murmuring over the speaker, which she’s clearly covered, as you start whispering. tell her she’s annoying! she won’t even give you the time of day on a phone call!! 

“sorry, i’m back. i’m on a date right now so i was just trying to slip away.” 

satoru looks up at you. 

“you’re a bitch.” he murmurs. 

you fight the urge to laugh. 

“what did you say?” anne marie responds. 

“you’re a bitch.” he says louder. 

“good! say it again!” you whisper. 

satoru has the whisper of a smile on his face, the silent support goading him on, as he keeps talking. 

“you…you’re annoying. you have a really high pitched voice and every time you wake up in the morning, it gives me an ear splitting headache. and you…you look horrible in blue.”  

the choice of words is a little middle school, but you’ll give it to him. there was a first time for everything. 

“say something else.” you whisper. 

“is that a girl?” anne marie asks.

you both widen your eyes, before satoru quickly hangs up and start laughing. you note that for your standards that was horrendously tame, but the glint in his eyes seems to signify that it’s at least done something for him, because it’s the first time he properly smiles after entering your apartment. 

“how was that?” 

“fucking great! she sounded like an idiot!” he responds. 

“she sure did.” 

“now she’s probably wondering which girl i’m with and working herself over it.” he responds. 

you shake your head, pulling out the sheets to make the fold out bed for him properly, before you make your way back over to your own room. screaming middle school insults seems to sober him up enough, because he joins you in folding the sheets, a smile on his face. 

“have you done that before?” he asks. 

“done what?” you ask. 

“throw stuff out like that? call an ex-boyfriend?” 

you smile. 

“mhm. my first boyfriend irritated me so bad that i took everything he ever gave me – a dried up bouquet of flowers, a necklace, birthday cards and all that type of stuff – and threw it in a trash can outside of the bank i go to. and the calling, i did that once when my ex-boyfriend decided to go to san diego for a trip instead of meeting up with me. he made it pretty clear for a week that we were going to break up on that day and i had hyped myself up for it, just for him to not show up. so i got pissed and called him then and there.” you state. 

satoru’s floored.

“really? that’s such a dick move.” 

“i mean, s’pretty standard.” 

you’ve been on the carousel of assholes your entire life. but satoru shakes his head. 

“i can’t believe someone would even do that. that’s unusually cruel.” 

you forgot about that part. that with having experienced next to nothing, there’s a sense of naivety that comes with it too. 

or hope. whichever word speaks to you more – and at the current moment, it’s the latter, only because he seems so genuinely downtrodden by it – so genuinely believing that people are meant to be good and kind that he can’t fathom someone being mean and selfish just for the sake of it. 

you feel bad for him. 

“that it is. almost as cruel as dating someone just for their money.” you respond. 

satoru sighs. 

“yeah.” 

“that’s kind of the cool part now.” you respond. 

“what is?” 

you sit down flat on the bed, the sheets nicely tucked in and folded, as you pat the little spot next to you on the bed. he obliges, his legs stretching out a considerable distance past yours, as you cross your arms over your chest. 

“this is going to sound really weird, but some day you’re going to agree with me.” you state. 

“okay.” 

“you’re going to feel a lot of things in the next few months. and then after the fact, when you’re really truly over it, you’re going to realize how real all of that was.” 

“meaning?” 

you shrug. 

“you’re going to mope and listen to sad songs for a while. and those songs are going to hit like they’ve never hit before, you’re going to realize people have been writing about this exact feeling that you’re experiencing for years. you’ve just gone through a shared experience that almost everyone has, no matter who they are, of getting your heart shattered.” 

satoru’s never thought of it that way. granted, he’s only been thinking about it for three days, but still. 

“then you’re going to be pissed. you’re going to do a bunch of stupid stuff and you might even regret it a little bit, but that’s part of learning more about yourself. maybe you really do like to have the last word. maybe you can’t fathom it at all, seeing that person ever again. either way, you’re going to figure out something about yourself and it’s going to make it all the more worth it. that’s part of this entire thing – experiencing something new, doing things three, four, five times and fucking up each time, just to…get something out of it. figure out whatever you’ve got going on in this thing.” you respond, flicking at his forehead. 

satoru rubs the spot, glaring at you, as you shoot him a smile. 

“there’s no point in doing anything once. you’re going to live a really long life, were you really only going to date and love one girl the entire time? i know you must have more to give than that.” you state. 

“do you not believe in marriage?” he asks. 

you frown. 

“who said i don’t believe in marriage?” 

“i mean, you seem like so…hippie dippie. i get what you’re saying and…and i’m even inclined to believe you’re right…but where does that stop? you can’t go on experiencing things and people and loving forever?” 

you smile. 

“why do you think so little of marriage? do you really think all of that stops once you enter a relationship with someone?” 

satoru freezes. 

“you keep doing that stuff, but with the person you know is meant for you. clearly your relationship with raggedy anne must have been really, very boring, because getting to do new things together is the fun part. i’d argue that it’s even the point of even being together – growing into something new.” 

satoru thinks you're wise. he thinks that he’s still leftover drunk and whatever it is you’re saying is coming out like poetry to him, that it’s singing to the tune that’s been going on in the background of his head for the past year, because really – his relationship was very boring. 

it had gotten monotonous. maybe he stayed because he didn’t know anything different. maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with stalking your every move – making sly comments, finding mistakes in your reports - just because you were always so keen to give him a different answer, one he couldn’t predict, the only constant thing about you being that you were always different. 

“your brain looks like it’s working overtime. you should go to bed.” you state. 

“okay, yeah.” 

satoru is still drunk. somewhat drunk. maybe a little. 

it’s why he leans forward, to press a warm kiss to the side of your cheek. he notes that your eyes go wide, as you immediately lift your hand to press your fingers to the skin, your cheeks flushing pink. 

“i was hoping you were going to give me like a thousand dollars or something as a gift for being nice to you.” 

satoru grins. because again, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting at all. 

“i could do that too.” he states. 

you roll your eyes, before reaching forward to pinch his cheek. 

“shut up.” 

“you’re pretty.” 

you’re taken aback by the comment, leaning back to cross your hands over your chest, as you eye him again. messy hair, swollen eyes, and pink lips from the drinks. 

“you’re not that bad either. you look way better like this.” 

“like this?” 

“you know…no fancy mousse. creepy perfectly tailored suit. having a proper meltdown and all. not to be rude, but your distress might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” 

satoru scoffs. 

“you’re just jealous that i look so great all the time.” 

you shake your head. 

“not at all. i’m not into that at all – the whole perfect, rich boy thing.” 

satoru leans forward, eyes wide. 

“what are you into?” he asks. 

you smile. 

“did you really crash your car?” you ask. 

he groans. 

“you know about that?” 

you laugh. 

“i’m into that. you being a real person. i think you’re very funny when you’re drunk and you have the insults of a middle schooler. your hair looks very good when it’s all messed up like this and your very genuine enthusiasm and curiosity is very refreshing.” 

“yeah?” satoru whispers, a glint in his eyes. 

“mhm. don’t lose sleep over it, okay?” you respond, pinching his cheek as you shuffle your way over to your room. 

satoru watches as you retreat, your mismatched socks riding up to your ankles, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re right. if he had missed out. 

he hadn’t done anything. anything at all. you were three feet away – with an entire life he knew nothing about. the little scars on your arms were all a story, maybe from pulling something out of the stove too fast or falling on the pavement, and he can’t help but wonder what it all was. 

if he could still gain it all, after years of falling behind. 

satoru was always an overachiever. he was going to do this, he was going to do this now. 

satoru stands up, legs carrying him to the door of your bedroom, as he firmly knocks on the wood. he hears something that sounds like a thud, before you swing the door open, your eyes adjusting to the brightness outside to find him standing there. 

“it’s been one minute.” you deadpan. 

“can i sleep with you?” 

“i beg your pardon?” 

satoru sighs. 

“i’ve never slept in the same bed as someone.” 

“huh? you and raggedy anne never…” 

he shakes his head. 

“i mean, like once, but it was by accident. my penthouse has two beds and i don’t know what it feels like to…sleep next to someone.” 

you pause. and let your curiosity get the better of you. 

“are you a virgin?” 

“i am not a virgin.” 

you laugh at the irritation in his voice, before holding the door open wider and gesturing for him to walk into the room. 

“my bed isn’t that big.” you state. 

“that’s okay. just…please? let me?” 

you assume that saying no would be equivalent to kicking a dog while it’s down. it’s what you reason to yourself as you let him in, watching as he giggles at your stuffed animals and your glasses in the nightstand before he wraps his arms around you, his embrace warm around you. 

you swear he kisses your hairline. 

“did you just kiss me again?” 

“hey. i’m experiencing new things. i’ve got tons of places i have to kiss you on my list.” 

you snort.

“you’re bold.” you state. 

“and you’re really very sweet. i really like you, you know that?” 

you roll your eyes, before leaning back into his touch. it’s so innocent, so unlike any other guy you’ve talked too – so excited about kissing you on the top of your head. 

maybe it’s a little bit less pity than you anticipated. 

“do you ever think i could do that?” he asks. 

“do what?” 

“what you’re talking about? doing things four, five, six times…growing with someone and all that?” he asks. 

you sigh, before placing one of your hands over his. 

“yes, satoru. of course you can.” 

--

the following monday, you’re greeted by a little box on your desk. you open it up to a giftcard and four target candles, accompanied with a little note and his horrible chicken scratch handwriting. 

honey bee,  heard normal people give gift cards and candles as gifts. but i’m indecisive so there’s four candles. also, they’re custom made and really expensive so don’t throw them out to sass me or make a point or something :O  satoru 

and you see him an hour later, a cup of the cheap office coffee in his hand, as he walks around talking to everyone in the office. his tie is a little bit loose and his hair is unstyled – and you think that it’s interesting, that he had taken what you had said to heart. and your previous thought stands. 

that he really does look better this way. 

he makes his way over after twenty minutes, leaning down and basically pressing his cheek to yours as he looks at your monitor. 

“did you check your math?” he asks. 

“do you want me to shove a pencil down your throat?” you ask. 

satoru laughs and you can’t help but smile. 

“did you like my gift?” 

“yes. but i have a few notes.” 

satoru stands up properly, leaning against your desk with his hands crossed over his chest, as he gestures for you to talk. 

“do tell.” 

“when i say candle, i really do mean one candle. and you know, i meant like an eight dollar candle. like the shit ones that give you allergies.” 

“candles can give you allergies?” 

“i get watery eyes when they aren’t soy or natural.” you state.

“noted. what else?” 

“when i say gift card, i mean twenty bucks. not two thousand dollars.” 

satoru whines. 

“so many rules. you’re so high maintenance, honey bee.” he whines, cupping your chin in his hand and squeezing once, before shuffling back to his office. 

--

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetnertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @timmytimmytuckyy @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga @skunabby @meisque @hoseokslefteyebrow @yoontaedotin

[lilislegacy]

Okay, I’ve been thinking about something lately

All the time I see people make statements about Percy that start with “Percy would never…”

Some examples I’ve seen: “percy would never kill someone/something in front of his mom” “percy would never yell at someone he loves” “percy would never get drunk” “percy would never let his child go to camp-half blood”

Now if you passionately believe one of those, hear me out. I’m not necessarily saying I disagree!

I’m saying… who would have ever thought Percy would torture a goddess and choke her on her own poison? And…. enjoy doing it? If someone had said that on tumblr pre-HoH, every single comment and reblog would have been “PERCY WOULD NEVER!!” I mean, who would have thought Percy would do a million things he’s done? He’s done some very not so ‘silly little guy’ stuff. He is an extremely complex character. In his own head and to some people, he’s sweet and fun and silly, but to many people he’s reckless and scary and dangerous. Some people see him as someone who’s very gentle and relaxed, but some people see him as someone who’s quick to get very angry and cause destruction. And the truth is, he’s all of it. It depends on his mood. Consistency does not apply to him in many aspects. He has consistent traits, like loyalty, humor, and bravery, but his actual actions and reactions are NOT consistent. I understand why we think Percy would never do certain things. We think we know based off of his past and his history with his mom, or with Gabe, or with Luke. And I’m not saying I think he would do those things, but unless he specifically states it, we can NOT, ever, infer what Percy Jackson might or might not do.

Like for instance, the drinking thing. I am not saying percy would be a big drinker, if one at all. And he probably does have an aversion to the smell of beer because of how the apartment used to smell when he was young. But we have no evidence that Percy associates all alcohol with Gabe. Alcoholic drinks aren’t just foul smelling hard liquors. There are a million different forms that you can consume alcohol in - some of which don’t even smell like alcohol, and barely taste like it. And in The Chalice of the Gods, it’s said that Sally drinks a glass of wine every night. And Percy thinks Sally hangs the freaking moon. So if his mom drinks, he definitely doesn’t believe that alcoholic beverages = the enemy. And here’s the thing, if Annabeth and Piper and Leo were all drinking and having a good time, like college students do, and they go “Hey Percy, come sit and have a drink with us!” there’s a very good chance that he’s so comfortable with his best friends, and just wants to let loose and be a college kid, that he wouldn’t even think about Gabe. He’d just be like “Sounds fun! Count me in!” But I don’t know. That’s the point. I don’t know. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. I truly think it could go either way. And even if he does drink, maybe he never - not even once - gets drunk. Maybe he’d drink in college and as a young adult, but when he becomes a father one day, he decides he doesn’t want his children to ever smell so much as a drop of alcohol on his breath, and therefore completely stops drinking. Or maybe he doesn’t ever like it, even in college. Or maybe he’s like his mom, and he and Annabeth just have a glass of wine with dinner. Who knows?

Not us. That’s what I’m saying. WE don’t know.

I’m not saying we can’t have headcanons based on what we know about him. I have a million. But the point is, I feel like we can’t try to pretend like we actually know what Percy wouldn’t do. As a fandom, we analyze him and his choices WAY more than he ever thinks about a single choice. He definitely does not think about his life and his actions as much as we do. (I’m not saying that he’s dumb or doesn’t contemplate his life and his actions, but he doesn’t nearly do it to the degree that we do.) Us, we pretend like it’s simple math. (Our first mistake, since math is consistent and full of rules, which is the exact opposite of Percy’s character.) We go “okay luke did this and gabe did this so therefore percy would never do this.” But Percy doesn’t think that way most of the time, especially not in heat of the moment matters. The only thing we 100% know about Percy is that he will always be loyal to his loved ones. But even then, we don’t know what that loyalty will look like. Is it sacrificing himself for someone? Is it murdering the enemy? Is it manipulating someone else? Percy lives in the moment. He doesn’t often think too much before he acts. He just acts. Whether it’s in a life of death situation, or his after school activity for the day. He is unpredictable, like the ocean. It’s one of his defining traits.

Honestly, I think that’s why annabeth is so drawn to him. With everyone else, she can read them super easily and know their next move. But with Percy, she has no idea. Which is frustrating to her, but also exciting. It’s a big part of her initial attraction to him. It’s also why many of us like him so much. We don’t know what’s coming next, and we never know what he will do in a situation. Like, how could we possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do when HE doesn’t even know? Half the time I don’t think Rick himself even knows.

We become so sure that Percy wouldn’t do something because we understand his character so well, right? But I think the truth is, the minute we become certain about what Percy would or wouldn’t do, is the minute we don’t understand his character at all.

Thank you for reading my analysis of Percy on why we can’t reliably analyze Percy

[foreingersgod]

You’re Everything . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: caitlin clark is the best basketball player in the media right now and you can’t help but feel like you’re no good for her.

y’all i don’t even write (so sorry if this is actual ass), but the cc content on here is almost non existent lol. so i hope you all enjoy :)

my masterlist: here

college is extremely hard, and unfortunately for you, it has pushed you to your breaking point.

unlike your girlfriend, caitlin, you’ve never been the athletic type. typically confined to your textbooks and essays rather than on the court or out in the field. Your studies were incredibly important to you and you were GOOD at school, but by no means were you as talented as the caitlin clark.

you’re so proud of caitlin, truly. she’s come some far in her athletic career. she deserves all the praise and all of the awards and all of the support. but regardless all the praise and admiration you showered her with, you couldn’t help but feel like you weren’t enough.

books littered the covers of your bed, chemistry worksheets and math textbooks seemed to stack up to the ceiling. your fingers dug into your scalp, lightly pulling at your hair. you had midterms coming up and you were starting to panic. last semester, midterms and finals flew by like a breeze and you were able to hold a very high gpa, but unfortunately this semester you’re crashing and burning. you were falling behind on assignments, forgetting due dates, and failing exams no matter how hard you studied. caitlin constantly reassured you that you were doing amazing regardless of how different your grades were last semester, but it’s really easy to say that when you’re passing every class and making history in basketball at the same time.

tears threatened to spill from your eyes and it felt like you were going to faint from all this stress. as you were sloppily scribbling down equations and flipping through flash cards, you failed to hear constant knocking and the lock of your front door turning. heavy footsteps echoed up to your room and you knew all too well who they belonged to. trying to get everything in order before your girlfriend reached your room, you quickly wiped your tears away and fixed your hair.

“YN i’ve been texting you like crazy, did you not-” she began. “hey hey hey what’s the matter, baby”

caitlin immediately seemed panicked at your distressed state, rushing over to you and sitting next to you on the bed. her arms instinctively wrapped around you as you nuzzled your head into her neck to hide your tears.

“it’s nothing, i swear, im just stressed for my chem exam” you lied. “you caught me at a bad time i guess” you attempted laugh it off, pulling a fake smile into the side of neck.

she pulled away from you, hands moving from you shoulders to your face, forcing you to look at her. she seemed to be looking at you for hours, studying the pain on your face and the dullness of your eyes.

“baby this is obviously not ‘nothing’…i’ve never seen you like this. over anything”

it didn’t take long for you to start tearing up again. “caitlin, i…i really don’t know…”

you can’t even get the words out. it felt like your sentences were building up in your throat and suffocating you. a small whimper managed to work its way out of you before you broke down in tears. again, caitlin was all over you, confused and hurt because she doesn’t know how to help you.

“YN please, please talk to me i need to know what’s going on, you’re scaring me” she said, pushing loose stands of hair out of your face and wiping your tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“i just-” you began, hiccuping from your sobs “i just feel like a failure!”

and that started it all. before caitlin could even protest such as absurd statement, all of your feelings and insecurities came spewing out.

“caitlin i’m extremely proud of you, please know that. i’ve never been so astonished by someone’s talent than yours” you sounded hysteric, you were sure. “but i cant help but feel like i’m a failure compared to all the amazing things you’ve done. you’ve broken records and changed people’s lives…you’ve won the awards and the adoring fans…and again, i can’t even begin with how proud of you i am…but looking back at all the things i’ve done…i’m nothing. for fucks sake i can’t even pass a god damn chemistry exam or a math quiz without losing my fucking mind. i don’t leave the house cause i’m too busy studying and i don’t have time to hang out with our friends or hang out with your team. i can barely pass my classes this semester and i just feel like such a burnout.”

it felt like it all came out in seconds. “you deserve so much better than someone like me. i’m nothing”

the silence that filled the room was heavy and haunting. you worked up enough courage to finally look at caitlin, scared that she’d realized you were right and confirm your worst fears. but to your surprise, she was crying too.

“you’re everything” her voice cracked, barely managing to get the words out. “baby you’re everything.”

“what?”

“is this how you’ve really felt? like you’re nothing?” you avoided her gaze “YN i couldn’t even begin to tell you how amazed i am by you. forget me, look at you!”

“cait.”

“no, i’m serious. you work your ass off every single day. you study you do your homework you go to work, and you still find the time to shower me with so much love and attention. you pour your soul into everything that you do and of course it’s hard, but please do not sit here and tell me i deserve more than you because i need you more than i need air, YN”

it felt like you had no more tears to shed, overwhelmed with feelings. so instead you took your girlfriends face into your hands, forcing your lips upon hers. you could feel her hands meander to the back of your head, toying with the hairs at the nape of your neck as she pulled you into a much deeper kiss.

eventually pulling away for air, you rest your forehead against hers while she whispers gentle “i love you”s . you finally feel relieved for the first time in a while.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Wonderful Tonight

Marcus Pike x Pregnant Female Reader - 18+

Summary: Marcus Pike takes care of his very pregnant wife, shaving her legs (and more) and then treats her like the delicious meal she is. CW: pregnancy, shaving, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (you can't get pregnant while pregnant, but all of you better be wrappin it up!), praise, pet names (baby, honey, etc.), multiple orgasms. This is fluffy romantic smut. AN: I write one piece with feelings and suddenly I'm Mrs Romance over here! I gotta say that I'm falling deeper and deeper for Mr Marcus Pike, JUST LOOK AT THAT FACE!!! I feel like their wedding song would have been Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, hence the title. Thank you @syd-djarin for reading this over for me. @survivingandenduring, I'll be waiting for my edits lol. Dividers by @saradika-graphics Word Count: 3.9k

A faint groan stirs Marcus awake, he takes a few seconds to fully come to, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Trying to listen for that sound again, unsure if it was a dream or not. He reaches across the plush white bedding of the king sized bed looking for you, his beautiful and very pregnant wife, only to find the bed empty. 

Usually, worry and panic would rush through him if you weren’t in bed, but you appear to be in your nesting phase and it hasn’t been unusual in these last few weeks for him to find you rearranging the nursery or ordering more things off Amazon at strange hours. You also seemed to have the strangest midnight cravings, like mayonnaise on ice cream, or there was that night he walked on you about to take a bite out of a kitchen sponge. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, looking over at his alarm clock. 2:56 am. 

The sound of you huffing and grunting floats from under the door of your ensuite bathroom. You sound like you’re struggling or in pain and adrenaline courses through Marcus as he hops up and rushes to the door. His mind racing to calculate the number of weeks pregnant you are and if it’s too soon for you to be in labour or not. 

He tries the door handle to find it locked. “Babe?” He calls, rapping his knuckle in the door gently. 

“Sorry. I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” you call back, your voice seems off like it’s laced with discomfort. It immediately sets his teeth on edge, you’re not fine, and according to his quick math you’re also at a point where you could go into labour and even though the baby would be a little early, they’d be past the danger zone and the baby would most likely be ok. 

“Please open the door. You don’t sound fine.” He says softly, pushing the panic down like the trained FBI agent he is. 

You’re quiet for a second before responding in a more stable voice, “Everything is fine. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Are you sure everything is ok?” He asks one more time, he knows your stubborn tendencies and how it usually takes him to ask three or four times before you give in. 

It’s silent again behind the door. Just the sound of you huffing like you ran a marathon before a sad little ‘no’ leaves your lips. It simultaneously sends him into fix mode and breaks his heart. He hears your bare feet pad across the tile floor followed by the click of the lock. 

He cracks the door slowly to come face to face with you in just your sports bra, naked from the ribs down. Your legs are slathered in raspberry and tangerine scented shaving cream and you have a purple razor in your hand. Your cheeks are pink with frustration and the exertion of trying to bend down. Your hair’s piled on top of your head, a few loose strands falling and sticking along the nape of your neck. 

He leans his toned bicep against the doorframe, only wearing his tight black boxers, then crosses his arms and looks at you tenderly. His voice is soft and full of love as he says, “Oh, sweetie. What are you doing?” 

The tears of frustration start to pool along your lash line. “I’m gonna give birth and I can’t be a Sasquatch, but I can’t bend over without feeling like my lungs are being crushed by my giant belly.” 

Marcus cups your face, wiping away the stray tear and bringing your eyes to his. “Honey, you’re not a Sasquatch. And even if you were, they’re doctors. Come here,” his hand trails to the nape of your neck and he pulls you gently into him, wrapping both arms around you and tucking your head into his neck, “They’re not looking at your leg hair. They’re focused on you and the baby.” 

You relax into his arms, belly pressing against his abdomen comfortably. “I can’t go into labour like this,” you say, anxiety wavering in your voice. 

Marcus drops his arms from your body and slides past you, slipping his boxers down before stepping into the large, glass walled shower. He turns the nob that controls the rainfall shower head and crooks his fingers at you as a silent call to walk to him. 

When you reach him, he starts to unzip the front of your sports bra. “What are you doin’, Mr Pike?” You say softly over the soothing sounds of the shower, watching his thick fingers pull the zipper down. 

“I’m shaving Mrs Pike’s legs,” he says as you look back up at him. His chocolate brown eyes soaked you in and made you weak in the knees. 

“Marcus, you -“ he cuts you off as your sports bra hits the floor. 

“I promise to love, cherish and treasure you,” he starts, lightly pulling you into the shower. He always recites his marriage vows when he can sense you’re about to fight off his help. His way of reminding you that he wants to be there, wants to care for you. He continues his speech as he leads you to the wooden bench, “In all circumstances; good or bad. Forever. Without hesitation or keeping score. From this breath, until my last breath, you are my wife, my love, my partner, and my equal.” 

He steadies you as you sit before taking a knee in front of you and smiling up at you sweetly. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. It’s the middle of the night and this incredibly sweet man doesn’t even question or fight you. Just supports and loves you with his whole being. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Baby, you’re growing a person for us. You deserve so much more,” he holds his palm out and you place the razor in his hand. His other hand wraps around your swollen ankle lifting it to rest your foot on his knee. Before you can say much he starts making slow, gentle strokes of the razor up your leg. 

You’re both silent for a moment, him lost in the sight of your soft skin as he shaves your leg, you lost in him and the way he’s looking at you as he drags the sharp razor so tenderly across your skin. The steam from the shower wraps around the two of you, encasing you in your own little cloud. The rest of the world and all your worries are temporarily blocked out until all your thoughts are just Marcus. Sweet, loving, emotionally available, Marcus Pike. 

He reaches for the detachable shower head and drizzles warm water down your shin and calf, using his free hand to rinse away the excess shaving cream. You go to move your leg away but he grabs your ankle to keep you there. After switching off the water he puts it back and looks up at you, placing a light and lingering kiss on the inside of your knee before placing your foot back on the warm tile floor and grabbing the other ankle. 

The shaving cream has washed away from the steam and backsplash from the rainfall behind Marcus, so he grabs the bar of soap and lathers up your leg. You watch again as he focuses all his attention on carefully shaving your other leg. Using the same little strokes, rinsing the razor more often than you would if you were doing it yourself. 

After rinsing off the excess soap he glances up at you. “Better?” He asks soothingly. 

“Ya,” you say, trying to convince him that your legs were your only worry, but he knows you better than that. He knows that when you flick your eyes away from his and your spine just slightly stiffens you want to ask something but are afraid or nervous to. 

“Honey, what else do you need?” His hand kneads the swollen and sore muscles of the calf that’s still propped on his knee. 

“Well…” you trail off as you start to blush. 

“Mrs Pike. Are you going to ask me to shave your pussy?” He says with a devious little grin. Eyes lighting up like a horny teenager, placing your foot on the floor. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say quickly. “I’m just worried that -“

He lightly covers your lips with his palm and Reminds himself to stay calm. he’s thought about how sensual it would be to shave your most delicious areas, but he knows you have some insecurities about body hair, and he didn’t want you to think you had to be clean shaven for him to find you sexy. Because truthfully, you could be a Sasquatch and he’d still want you. “Oh no, baby. I want to. I really REALLY want to.” 

You lightly kiss the inside of his palm as he smiles hungrily at you. Just as your insecurities start to cloud your thoughts Marcus places his hands on your belly and rubs gently. “For the record, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, clean shaven or not. I love the taste of your pussy when it’s like this, it’s sweeter and feels soft against my skin. Plus, I love the way you cry out when I tug on it. So don’t think for a second that my excitement over getting to shave her means I prefer it that way. I don’t. Ok?” 

You crash your lips into his, tangling your fingers through the slightly outgrown hair at the nape of his neck. He tastes like toothpaste still from before he went to bed as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, his soft wet tongue swiping against yours. The two of you stay like that for a while. Lazily making out in the middle of the night in the shower. His hands trail from your belly to your back, gently massaging the muscles of your lower back and then your hips. 

He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you catch your breath. “I’m going to get a new razor and your special shaving cream. Ok?” 

You nod against him. “Are you ok on the bench, honey? Do you need a towel to sit on?” 

“No, I’m ok. We can move if the ground is uncomfortable, Marcus.” He’s always beating you to ensure the other is comfortable. 

“Be right back,” he winks. You watch him walk out of the shower to the vanity. The water droplets on his back run down the toned and slender muscles that line his back, they catch in the curve of his ass before running down his tight cheeks. You find yourself squeezing your knees together at the sight of your naked husband. He truly is so beautiful, inside and out. 

He slips back into the shower and kneels before you, sitting back on his heels. “Slide to the edge, baby.” His hands come to your hips, guiding you forward. He licks his lips and looks up at you through his thick lashes, big brown eyes dancing softly around your face. “Spread your legs for me.” 

Normally, saying something like that would sound dirty, or like a command, but it floats gently over the splash of the shower. Soft, caring, and so sweet that you melt back onto your hands, parting your knees wide for your husband. His eyes glaze over slightly as his lips part, your glistening soft folds on display for him. He blinks a few times and takes a slow breath, reaching for the shower head again, cupping the water in his hand and drizzling it along your pussy. The breath catches in your throat, something about this feels incredibly sensual, and it doesn’t help that Marcus is looking down at your pussy like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Is the water ok? Not too hot?” He asks. 

How did you get so lucky, but more so, how did anyone divorce this man in the past? 

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” your voice waves, it’s breathy and full of arousal. He blinks up at you and smirks. He knows this is turning you on, and he plans to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as possible. 

He applies the cream and grabs the razor, popping off the flimsy plastic guard before getting to work. His hand rests above your mound, pulling back gently to make the skin taut. He uses little strokes, rinsing the blade between each swipe of the razor. You close your eyes and let your head fall back as he continues. Once he’s removed all the hair from the top, he rests his hand on the now smooth skin just above your clit and gently pulls back. A soft whimper passes your lips, he’s so close to your most sensitive spots. But he said he’d help you shave, so he continues, swiping the razor in the same short strokes down one lip, and then the other. By the time he’s done, your breathing is rapid and shallow. 

“You doing okay up there, baby?” He asks, placing the razor on the bench beside you. 

You moan a soft ‘mmmmm-hmm’ as he reaches for the detachable shower head. You open your eyes, watching as he tests the water on his hand and wrist before holding the stream over your pussy. You gasp at the feeling of the warm water pressure flowing over your now swollen clit. Marcus smiles up at you, the dimple on his cheek forming and setting you on fire. He clicks the button on the side of the shower head, increasing the water pressure and holding it closer to your core. 

“Marcus,” you whimper, leaning back further. Gravity lolling your head backwards. 

“That’s it. Just relax, honey.” He says in a hushed voice, his free hand gripping and massaging the soft skin of your inner thigh higher and higher until he’s at the top. His thick middle and ring fingers coming to tease around your entrance. 

“Oh god. Please, Marcus.” You say through bated breath. Your swollen breasts and belly rise and fall with your pleas. 

He dips the tips of his fingers inside you, feeling your walls pulse and flutter. Taking his time to slowly fuck his fingers into you, inch by inch. Slowly. Lovingly. All while watching how you react. Watching the way your mouth falls open, eyebrows raising slightly, lips going soft as you moan his name. 

Once his fingers are all the way, he curls them forward just as he clicks the button on the shower head, increasing the water pressure to its highest setting. You let out a long, husky wanton moan that echoes off the black tiled walls. “Cum for me, baby.” 

Your legs start to shake, as your body almost launches you towards your release. Every muscle seems to go slack and it waves through you, pleasure reverberating from your aching clit, spreading to every cell in your body. 

“Marcus. Oh fuck. Don’t stop, Pike. Please.”

You feel lighter, even as your heavy belly bounces as you grind shamelessly into Marcus’s palm and the spray of the shower head. He feels the grip of your slick walled pussy start to relax as you crest over the edge of your orgasm and start to come down. He pulls the stream of water away from your clit, the warmth of his large hand cupping you, his two thick fingers still working you slowly to the bottom of your high. 

“You’re such a goddess, baby.” He says proudly. The praise wraps around you like a warm blanket as he slides his fingers from you carefully. “I wanna take you to bed and watch you do that again.”

You find the strength to arch your neck forward and look at him. You smile sleepily and nod, allowing your beautiful husband to take your hand, shut off the water, and lead you to bed. Before helping you climb in, he moves his hands to cup your face, placing his lips against yours. His chest rumbles with a content sigh as your tongue swipes hungrily along his soft bottom lip. One of your hands scoops under your belly, lifting it to relieve the pressure on your lower back, the other reaches for his hard cock. You grip around the base gently and stroke him slowly, matching the energy of the kiss. 

“Mmmm, I like that baby,” he says between kisses, “But I’m not done with you yet. Let’s get you into bed.” 

You climb in as gracefully as possible, praying silently that you don’t look like those sea lions that you watched on your honeymoon in Alaska a few years ago. You lay down on your back as Marcus climbs on top of you best he can, stretching to keep kissing you, doing his best not to put any of his weight on your bump. This position immediately puts pressure on your body, making you feel short of breath. 

Your hands push at Marcus and you sit up slightly, seemingly fighting for breath. “Ugh,” you groan frustratedly, “I can’t breathe like that. I’m sorry. This is so unsexy.” 

“Unsexy? I’m rock hard for you,” he says, looking down and then back at you with a smile. “You lay how it’s comfortable, how about that?” 

“Pike, I’m only comfortable on my side with that crazy pillow under my leg.” You say, defeated and anxious. “I need you though.”

He thinks for a second, chewing his cheek as he surveys the pillows available. “Ok, what if you lay on your side, bottom leg straight, top leg hooked up and resting on the pillow?” 

You smile at him lovingly, “Is that really gonna be sexy?”

“Honey, I’ve never been more turned on by anyone in my entire life. You’re glowing. I’m amazed by you every day.” He fluffs the pillows around you as you turn away from him, bending your leg up as high as your belly allows. “Is that comfy, baby?” 

His fingers trace up and down your spine slowly as your body starts to sink and relax into the soft mattress. “Yes,” you whisper. 

His lips come to your neck, kissing the soft spot behind your ear, down your neck and then along the top of your shoulder, fingertips swirling along your back and ass cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed, moaning at his sweet caresses. His lips continue to kiss your skin and down your back, as he spins his body so his feet are at the head of the bed. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says into your skin between kisses. “So strong. So selfless. I love you so much, Mrs Pike.” 

Your whole body seems to tingle with anticipation of where he’s going to kiss next, you feel his hair tickle the inside of your top leg as he maneuvers his head between your thighs. You lift your leg higher, desperate to feel his mouth on your already sensitive pussy.

“Please, baby,” you gasp, arching your back slightly. “I need you to…” 

His warm soft tongue licks a slow and teasing stripe from your asshole to your clit. A tortured moan leaves your lips, hips bucking into his face. Marcus lets out a silent laugh at your reaction. He’s always loved how your body responds to him. The very first time he made you cum, both of you still fully dressed as you made out, hips grinding into his as you shook, he knew that he wanted to see that for the rest of his life. 

“Good girl, let me taste it.” He laps at you again, still just as slowly but with more pressure. Asshole, to entrance, to clit. Once. Twice. The third time his thumb comes to press into your now dripping pussy, tongue flicking around your nub slowly and with perfect pressure. 

“You taste so good,” he moans between licks. “Such a good girl for me. You’re gonna cum soon aren’t you?” 

“Yes. Yesss. Don’t stop, Pike.” He doesn’t stop, he never stops. Not until you’re either begging him to or you’re pushing him away. 

“Never, honey,” he mumbles into your wet folds, and that’s when the tight elastic behind your mound snaps, and you cum hard and loud. Your inner walls grip his thumb tightly, pulling it deeper. 

“M-Marcus…hnnggg…oh my god. Yes.” You’re lost in the euphoria. Every ache and pain from your pregnancy is temporarily erased and replaced with nothing but pleasure. Sparkling, warm pleasure.

It slowly starts to become too much, slipping into overstimulation. “Marcus. Stop, baby.” He’s always in tune with your body, his thumb already starting to slide out, tongue replaced with light kisses. 

You whine as he pulls away, already missing him and the intimacy. “Please fuck me,” you say over your shoulder, his blown out coffee coloured eyes almost black. He slips his body alongside yours, the arm closest to the mattress slipping under your head. He grips his dick with his other hand, pumping it while running it up and down your slit, collecting your arousal. 

“Ready, baby?” Marcus asks, kissing the top of your shoulder. 

“Just fuck me already!” 

If you weren’t pregnant he’d flip you onto your belly and drive into you, probably pull your hair and tell you to cut the attitude. But he knows he has to be gentler right now, so he slowly pushes the thick head of his cock into you. Inching in slowly, almost punishingly. “Don’t be a brat, baby. You know we have to be softer right now.” 

You wiggle your ass back, trying to get more. You need all of him. When he’s finally seated all the way inside of you he holds still, sucking on your neck. “Be good, or I’ll just stay like this all night.” 

“No, please, baby. Please move.” Your belly makes forward movement impossible so you’re just pinned between your bump and Marcus. “Pike, please.” 

He quickly pulls back to the tip and then slides back in. You cry out into his bicep. “Again. Please. Again.” 

“Fuck, I love it when you beg,” he whispers, fucking in and out of you a few more times. It’s deep and slow, always with a little extra punch of his hips at the very end. “Sound so pretty when you moan for me.” 

You reach down to rub your clit, him encouraging you with his words. “That’s a good girl. Touch yourself for me.” 

It doesn’t take long before you’re both on the edge, ready to tumble over together. To get lost in each other's pleasure. He moans deeply in your ear, whispering praises as you cum on his cock, holding off as long as he can before you feel his warm spend fill you. You’ve completely melted for him, unable to move or keep your eyes open. You both lay quiet, his softening cock still buried inside you, breathing heavily together. You both drift off, spent and happy and so unbelievably in love that it’s hard to believe something like this can exist. 

Marcus wakes up a few hours later still inside you. He slowly slips himself out, peels his body away from yours and tucks the blankets around you. He leaves you a little handwritten note that he’s going to get French toast and bacon from your favourite place. 

Ya, it’s definitely hard to believe that a love like this is yours. 

Taglist:

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@ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

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@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

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@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

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@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 002

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

cw: Misinformation, cannon-typical violence, drinking

Rating: 13+

Not proofread

WC: 5.4k

Walking down the long corridors of the Jacaerys watched you from the corner of his eye. His eyes wandered to your clothing and he felt his face heat up. It was quite revealing. Your top did not cover your arms and the sides of it well, it exposed even more skin. Your cleavage was visible from any angle. You wore what he assumed was some kind of bracelet, though there was a black square on it. Then on your fingers you were silver and gold rings. If you had access to this kind of jewelry despite being common born, then perhaps you were not. You also seemed to be unusually educated for a woman despite your manner of speaking. Along with that your neck sported two necklaces, one gold, another silver and your ears were decorated with what he assumed were pearl earrings. No one of common born status should be able to afford the jewelry you had. 

You turned your head to look at the young man who looked at you. You watched him turn away swifting avoid your eyes. You murmured an “okay” before jogging to the front of his mother.

As you went forward, your scent hit his nose and he found himself leaning forward every so slightly trying to inhale more. It was sweet, but not like the perfumes that were used. This smelled…he couldn’t describe but Jacaerys desperately wanted to smell it more. As he leaned forward he nearly tripped. He heard laughter beside him. Luke.

They both looked at each other before looking ahead at your backside. It was very pronounced with the trousers you wore. They were a gray color, tight around your thighs and bottom showing your figure, then loose towards the bottom. Both boys stared before looking back at each other. Luke grinned and pushed Jacaerys. He grinned back and pushed Luke. 

Standing next to the Princess she eyed you from the side of her eye. 

“Ehm, Princess? Where are we going?” You asked, walking next to her.

“To my father, see if you can heal him.” As she spoke you held your breath. It was clear they hadn’t yet discovered oral hygiene. 

“If I can’t?” You were afraid of the answer to come. You just wanted to go home and let your family know you were okay. The bottom line was, you needed to get home. The rest of your life was ahead of you and you would rather not spend it here. Especially if they didn’t have modern medicine. Sure you had romanticized the pretty dresses of medieval times but that didn’t mean you wanted to live here. Proper hygiene, modern medicine, the internet. You’d never survive without any of it. 

“You die.” Daemon spoke. Your eyes widened and you stopped. 

“What!? Now hold on!” You stopped dead in your tracks. “Who are you to make the decision? I have plenty of other things to offer!” 

“He is my husband. Prince Daemon.” The Princess answered. 

You sighed in defeat. “Listen, there is so much more to me than just medicine. Besides, I am not a pre-med student. My knowledge is limited. I’m much better in biology and math, and…and english. I can give explanations half the time, but I don’t know if I can cure him. You guys don’t even have antibiotics, or even vaccines!” As they listen to you speak words that were unknown to them Daemon grabbed your face with his hand to shut you up.

“You can either do what you are told, or your head comes off.” He spoke and he watched your eyes widen in fear. Daemon watched you look around as if pleading for someone to save you. There was no one who would help you. Finally you gave a silent nod telling him that you would do your best. 

“Jace, Luke, go to your chambers.” Rhaenrya spoke as they reached her father’s room. A small protest was made but eventually the boys left, leaving you alone with Daemon and Rhaenrya. 

Stepping into the room you gagged. It smelled like rot in there and immediately you stepped out holding your arm to your nose. “Oh goodness!” Breathing in your own scent you looked to your right to see the woman in green walking towards you. You nodded your head slightly in acknowledgment and she did the same with a questioning look. She stepped inside and finally took in one final breath you stepped inside. It was a grim sight. Helpers in white dabbed the sickly King with water. For a moment you wonder if they did have clean water. 

Stepping closer and looking at the disgusting sight, you find yourself wishing that you had worn something more covering. You’d rather jump into the cold water again than touch whatever it is the King had. There were like lesions all over. You felt your hair stand on end and you gave a shiver. There was a reason you never went into the medical field. Besides of course the amount of medicines you had to memorize, things like this, you would never be able to do. 

It reminded you of a certain movie you watched. What was he called? The leopard king? No, it caused similar injuries. “Leprosy!” You spoke in disgust and you backed away. “Damn damn!” You shook your hands as if trying to get it away from you. You didn’t know how to cure leprosy! Even if you did, the material they have isn't good enough. If anything, that man was on his deathbed. You guess it would be in a couple weeks till he succumbed, maybe earlier. People like this only tend to hang on when they have something they want to accomplish. 

You sighed. Turning to the woman in the green dress, Daemon and the Princess you shook your head. 

“Uh…can I talk to immediate family members?” You meant the Princess. They all nodded and all three walked out. “Uh only relatives.” You spoke again. 

“He is my brother.” “I am his wife.” Both came out simultaneously from Daemon and the woman in green, or in other words the Queen. You made a face. She seemed far too young for the old man, and if Daemon was his brother, wouldn’t that mean he’s the Princess's uncle? 

“Ehm, I thought she was your wife?” You asked, looking towards Daemon. 

“She is.” It was a simple response but you could not wrap your head around it.

“And you two are married?” Your brow lifted in confusion. Daemon nodded and you shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose. “That cannot be good for genetics.” 

“Genetics?” The Queen spoke beside you. 

“Yes, what you pass to your children. Genotypes and phenotypes. Genotypes are the genetic make-up one has, and phenotypes are the physical features one possesses. Incest doesn’t make for the best….anyways a lesson for another day.” You waved it off before you ushered them outside. 

Alicent looked at you and the gears started to turn in her head. If this ‘genetics’ was accurate…

“Do you really mean to kill me if I can’t cure him?” Alicent heard you ask quietly and she narrowed her eyes towards Daemon as he gave a knowing look.

“Well then I suggest you start preparing two caskets.” Your tone was grim. You looked towards Rhaenyra. “You are the eldest?” You asked her and she nodded. “Well, start mourning your losses, you will be Queen soon. There is nothing I can do for him, perhaps disinfect his wounds with alcohol but that's the best I can offer. Along with that…” You kept your eyes on Daemon watching his every move. “I suggest you either boil anything he has touched or burn it. Leprosy is contagious. Put a mask on him, it assures that germs don't spread. If you have any cuts on you, or your skin is broken, don’t touch him.” You spoke in low-tones. Of course you didn’t really plan to die, but you had to find a way to get out of here and fast. 

“Then you have come to the end of your use.” Daemon's hand curled around the hilt of his sword. You turned your gaze to the hallways, but Daemon was blocking the path. Looking down towards as he began to pull out his sword. Before you could register what you were doing your body acted on instinct and pushed his sword back into its sheath. You pushed the entirety of your body weight to combat his strength. You refused to die here in a medieval hell. His other hand came to wrap around your neck. You took a hold of the hand you were pushing down and bent his thumb backwards. He yelled and backhanded you. You groaned and held your face. Licking your lip you tasted blood. As you looked up, your eyes widened in fear as you saw a sword lifted above you. You closed your eyes and waited for the pain.

“Hold your sword!” You heard a yell and you opened your eyes to see a hand shielding you. Then you heard a clatter of the sword he was holding and groaning, shaking his hand. “I will not have you strike her down.” The Queen spoke. “You are dismissed.” She spoke as she turned away from them to face you. 

A long pause took place as both you and Daemon glared at each other. You heard a slight murmur before he turned to walk away Rhaenyra holding his injured hand. You kept your glare on him until he disappeared from view. However, it was replaced by a hand coming to reach for your face. You flinched away. You’d rather not be touched and contract leprosy, that means you can’t even touch your lip, even as you feel a drop of blood rolling down your chin. You licked it to stop it from falling onto your shirt.

“You can’t touch me, we’re unsanitary. I have to shower…or bathe I suppose.” You spoke in a low-tone and the Queen nodded ignoring the strange wording. 

“I will call for you once you are finished. I have some things I want to discuss with you.” Alicent would need your work on genetics. If what you said was true, Alicent could not allow a bastard to be named heir to the throne, or the possibility of her children being in danger. If calling upon your knowledge is what it took, she would do so. 

The Queen dismissed you and asked for servants to prepare you a bath. You walked away with the servants and a personal guard she assigned you. As your servant led you to whatever quarters you were staying at, you admired the architecture of the castle. It was breathtaking. As you were looking around you caught sight of the man with the eye-patch and his brother with a bottle in his hand. You looked at them with a blank face before looking away, though you did not miss their lingering eyes, more specifically, their lingering eyes on your bloody lip. 

…

“They will use her to question Jace and Luke’s parentage.” Rhaenrya spoke as she paced while Daemon rubbed his forearm, the pain had traveled from just his thumb to the entire forearm. He had spent the better part of the walk back to the room cursing your name. “She is not from here Daemon. If she is right about my fathers death? They will take her words if she is able to discover-” She didn’t let herself finish. 

“Anyone could predict that my brother will perish soon. In any case if she does say such things, then she will meet the same fate as Vaemond. The cunt only managed to injure me because I did not think she would fight.” Daemon reasoned watching his wife look down towards his hand with a worried look. 

“Even so, if what she says is true…then we should stay in King’s Landing until then.” Rhaenrya sighed as she bent down to hold her husband’s hand to begin bandaging it.

…

You scrubbed feverishly at your arms and skin hoping it would be enough to get rid of the germs. It would really suck if you died from leprosy. It was such an ugly way to go, and this bruise on your lip was already ugly enough for you. Damn Daemon and damn every other woman beater in this castle. However, you did feel a bit better in this water and now that you have gotten your things back. You couldn't believe your luck that the suitcase that brought you down just so happened to be the one with all the sanitary items in them. When you saw your soaps and shampoos you nearly fell on your knees thanking whatever deity was out there.

However, you never did get any of your clothes back and this suitcase only had limited options, it only really had one or two outfits to wear along with some undergarments. But! Beggars can’t be choosers. 

Rinsing your hair and body you stepped out and put on a robe. Unfortunately, you did not bring a towel. You dug through your suitcase pulling out lacy underwear and a lace bralette. “Y’know when I said I wanted crazy things to happen, I didn’t mean this crazy.” You murmured as you put them on. 

As you finished clasping the final hook you heard a knock then the door opening. “Woah!” You yelled as you covered your top half. The man who held the bottle from before entered with a smile. 

“Is this what women wear where you’re from?” He looked you up and down. 

“Get out!” You urged as you covered yourself with a robe. 

“Here.” He tossed you your purse. “Mother sent me to give it to you.” He gave you one last look before smiling and walking out.

You scoffed and dropped the robe. Only then did you really grasp what you had in your hand. Your purse. You unzipped it and looked through it. You felt a familiar rectangular shape and you smiled and pulled it out. 

“Thank you! To whatever god there is or whoever you are! Thank you!” You shook your phone happily. “And you!” You spoke to your phone as you powered it on. “Thank you for being water-proof!” As you powered it on, it was at seventy-five percent. It was good enough. You opened maps, though only the downloaded parts cap up. Cursing you saw you had no signal. You sighed and pulled your hair back in desperation. What good was a phone if you couldn’t call anyone?

You threw yourself on your bed whining. “Someone played me ultraviolence.” Just then you shot up. “Wait!” You grabbed your phone and went through the songs you downloaded before you crashed. Finding the song you giggled as you pressed play and threw yourself onto your bed as the song played. 

“This is so aesthetic.” You sighed. You felt like you could be an album cover as this song played. Here you lay on a fur bed in your lingerie in an old castle with a bruised lip. As the song came to an end you stood up and turned off your phone. It would be best to save the battery. As you hummed the tune you looked towards the dress you were supposed to wear. Your attire you suppose was a bit inappropriate for the times. However, as you lifted the dress you questioned how exactly you were going to put this on. 

So for the next two hours you spent trying to put on the dress. 

…

As Alicent sat in silence beside her father she leaned over and whispered in a servant's ear. “Summon her.” It was a quick command and Alicent watched as the servant girl left. 

“If she's right about Viserys, then it can be used to prop Aegon as king.” Otto muttered near Alicent. “Only if she can prove without a doubt that Rhaenrya’s children are bastards.” Alicent responded as she looked towards the dark hair boys who now spoke to their betrotheds. 

Alicent sat still waiting for your arrival. Though Viserys only wanted family, she figured he wouldn’t mind the small addition of you. Finally the doors opened and there you stood with a determined look and suddenly Alicent was transported back to when she first made her stance. The pressure and eyes she felt when she first wore her green dress. Now you walked with the same green dress with arguably the most important eyes on you. 

You glowed under the light, almost unnaturally so. Your features seemed enhanced, and your skin seemed impossibly smooth. An almost perfect blush coated your face and your lips shone as if they were covered in honey. Your eyelashes were long and darker than what she remembered. The mark on your lip appeared nearly healed. It was impossible. You had only been struck hours ago by Daemon Targaryen, and even if he did not put his full force into it. Alicent hated to admit it, he was still Daemon Targaryen. 

“I thought this was family only?” Daemon asked with a smirk. Alicent watched you to see how you’d react. She only saw you give a small smile while looking down then back up towards him before taking your seat next to Alicent. Alicent inhaled your scent and you smelled sweet, it also made her want to lean over and inhale you. Never had she met anyone who had smelled so good. 

“My Queen,” Alicent heard you whisper. “Thank you for the dress, I would’ve worn something of my own, but my attire isn’t exactly proper for this kind of setting.”

Alicent gave you a nod. “Of course.”

“What do I address everyone by? I know it is not their name but, what do I say?” You asked about playing with the hems of the dress. Alicent gave you a smile. “I am Queen Alicent, you address all royalty by ‘your grace’ including Prince Daemon and Princess Rheanrya. Next to you sits my father, Lord hand Otto Hightower, next to him sits my youngest; Prince Aemond,” She watched you give her a confused look.

“I would’ve thought he was the oldest.” You whisper looking towards Aemond who always seemed to be giving a stuck up smirk. 

Alicent gave a small laugh before shaking her head. “No, Aegon, the one who sits in front of you is my eldest.” She corrected as she watched Aegon lift his chalice to you and nodded. “Next to him is his wife and my second eldest Helaena.” Alicents smiled turned into a frown when she saw you look at her confused. She watched you shake your head and look over to Jacaerys. “That is Princess Rheanrya’s eldest son, Prince Jacearys Velaryon, then next to him his betrothed, Princess Baela Targeryen, and to her right his the second eldest, Prince Lucerys Velaryon, and finally Princess Rhaena.” 

“So I address everyone as ‘your grace’ then.” You whispered to her and she nodded. “Except for your father?” Once more Alicent nodded. 

A sound was heard outside and Alicent stood up and you followed right after her. Everyone watched as Viserys was brought in and his eyes zeroed in on you before giving you a small nod. Viserys called your name and you gave a curtsy, though Alicent has no idea where you learned that from. Alicent watched you as you looked to her before addressing the King properly and though she had only just taught you, a small sense of pride emerged in her chest. 

“I thank you for your suggestion to the Maesters. I feel…better as hard as it is to believe.” Viserys spoke to you, giving you a smile. You found it hard to smile back. Finally Viserys addressed his family and you sat silently playing with the rings on your fingers. 

“Prayer before we begin?” You heard Queen Alicent ask and for a moment you wondered what their religion was. As she prayed you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your lips. What was the mother, or the smith? It wasn’t funny but nonetheless a smile was on your lips. You looked across from you and saw Aegon pointing to his shoulders. You raised a brow unsure of what he meant. 

Once more he made the gesture with a questioning face and once you understood it, your face went hot. He was asking about your undergarments and where they were. You rolled your eyes and looked away from him and instead towards the end of the table where Jacaerys and his betrothed was. Once again, like before he was looking at you. He turned his eyes away quickly once more away from you. Then you looked over to the girl next to him. Despite the fact that Alicent had only just told you their names, you had already forgotten them. 

She looked at you with an almost questioning look. Perhaps it was the make-up. You don’t think they have ever seen modern make-up. You gave a small smile and she gave you one back. Then you looked towards the end of the table where the younger siblings of the two sat. The dark haired one looked towards you and unlike his older brother did not shy away when you met his gaze. You gave a smile and he returned it. Before you could get a better look towards the last one King Viserys spoke. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons Jace and Luke will marry their cousins Baela and Rheana further strengthening the relationship between the two houses—” As Viserys spoke it caused you to make an involuntary face. 

Their cousins!? That was madness to you!

Everyone heard a laugh and you controlled your facial expressions and you looked towards Aegon as he looked at you. He cleared his throat and said his apologies, though he looked at you and smiled and you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as you both looked towards each other. 

For the rest of the speech you both smiled towards each other as if you were both making fun of the King. Whilst you smiled towards Aegon you both were blissfully unaware of the looks everyone else gave, from Aemond and Otto, to Luke and Rhaena. 

Your attention was brought away from Aegon when the King stood up. As he spoke you looked from the corner of your eye to Aegon and he looked towards you. It seemed as if you were both speaking with your eyes. Your eyes shifted from Aegon to the King throughout his speech of family. You felt out of place and Aegon was the only one who seemed to respond when you looked towards him. 

But when Viserys took off his mask your appetite quickly left as it came. You rubbed your neck looking away from the King blinking towards Aemond who met your gaze but did nothing  but look back. It was almost as awkward as each time you tried to look towards Jacaerys, only this time Aemond’s gaze did intimate you. 

You looked away from him to down at the table then back up only to find that intense gaze still you. Once more you blinked and looked down before offering a weak smile, which was not reciprocated.

Finally you watched Viserys speak and you swore you saw small specks of spit fly out. It made sense the man had a hole in his face.

However, you were NOT catching leprosy besides, this was medieval food. You doubt you were missing much.

You leaned back in your chair. This was so not like the movies. Not to mention the whole incest stuff was just a little too much for you. Yes, you knew about cousins marrying each other but uncles and nieces!? Siblings!? You shook your head. As you looked up you saw Aegon watching you then look towards you drink. Looking around you saw others looking towards you expectantly. 

“Oh, sorry.” You took a small sip from the wine and found yourself smiling just a bit. It was good, well fermented. You observed the glass, it was quite nice. You found yourself looking at yourself in the reflection the wine offered and you drank some more feeling a warmth flood your face and ears and an involuntary smile grew on your face.

A loud sound startled you and caused you to flinch slightly. You looked up to see Jacaerys. He then looked over to you and once more he looked away. You raised a brow then you turned to watch Aemond stand. Then you saw Jacaerys lift his cup. Great. Another speech. How fun.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen eachother in years, I have fond memories of our shared youth…and as men I hope we may yet be friends and allies.” You don’t know why, but suddenly you began to giggle. 

You didn’t bother paying attention to the rest as you tried to stop the sudden laugh attack. Your shoulders shook as you held your face down and you felt eyes on you. 

You looked up to see the displeased look on Aegon’s face and Jacaerys grabbing his shoulders and you had to cover your mouth and you gave a slightly louder giggle. You breathed in deeply trying to calm yourself but the smile would not leave your face. 

“I’d like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon, it isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Helaena spoke and though it was a sad statement you laughed and all eyes shifted to you. Helaena, the sweet thing laughed alongside you. You both laugh, grinning towards each other. 

“This wine is very good.” You giggled out. Soon the music started and you continued to drink. As the food was passed to you, you refused it. As the night progressed you watched Helaena and Jacaerys dance with each other and then your laughter suddenly died down. 

It reminded you of your own family dinners. What did your family think? You wondered when your funeral would be? It would only be logical that they assume you’re dead. In the hall where everything was bright, your face sat out of place and a sorrowful expression sat. 

“A dance my lady?” You looked up to see Aegon. 

“I don’t know how to dance the way y’all dance.” You spoke in low tones. 

“How do you dance to this music?” Aegon tried once more watching from the corner of his eye his wife and Jace dance. 

“Waltz maybe? I don’t know” You responded. 

“Teach me then.” Aegon takes your hands and pulls you from your seat. A smile from flattery comes on your face and you feel others watching as you walk past Helaena and Jace. Your face turns a shade of pink. 

“The best I have is from Cinderella.” You whisper as you take his arm and place him around your waist and you take his other hand holding it in your own as you step closer to each other. 

“I don’t know what Cinderella is, but if it means you’re this close to me, then I think I’ll like it.” Aegon teased. “So what now?” 

“Umm good question. Okay just follow my lead. Step backward with your right.” You told him looking down between the both of you. As he stepped backwards you stepped forward with your left foot. “Now backwards with your right foot.” You whispered and you followed his movements. “Okay to the left with your left foot next to your right foot.” He nodded and you followed after him. “Finally step forward with your right foot, moving it slightly in front of your left foot, those are all the moves then you just repeat.” After one or two mistakes both of you began dancing to the beat of the music avoiding Jace and Helaena. 

You smiled and giggled as you both danced. “We dance like this until the songs are over” Aegon asked as he pulled you closer to him and you shrugged. “I suppose we can spin.” You whispered and led him into dancing in a circle. You pulled his hand away from your waist and raised the hand you held to spin yourself then once more you both resumed dancing. 

“I thought you said you did not know how to dance?” He grinned and you shrugged. “Not to this music.” 

“Mayhaps you may show me your music one day.” He suggested and you both spun. 

“Perhaps.” You smiled at him. 

The room stood still as they watched you both dance, shades of dark greens spinning and seemingly gliding across the floor to the music. It was hard to look away, especially because it seemed so scandalous having a man and woman so close to each other. 

They watched as Aegon let go of your hand and lifted you up and spun you in the air before setting you down to dance once more. They all watched you both laugh as you both once more glided across the floor. However a fist hit the table abruptly stopping the music. You let go of Aegon and turned to Aemond. 

“Final tribute.” Aemond raised his glass and you looked towards Aegon confused. He shared your look. “To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them is handsome, wise…strong.” 

There was an implication, though it was one you could not understand. You looked towards Aegon who had a large smile on his face. Clearly he understood the reference. He pulled you by the hand and took his cup and grabbed your own, filling it to the brim with wine for you. 

“Aemond.” Queen Alicent warned. 

You raised your cup alongside Aegon looking towards Luke though his eyes were only on Aemond. Then you looked back towards Jace who looked like he was seething, though he stood in a funny way that made you giggle a bit. 

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three strong boys,” Aemond finished. 

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace challenged. You were thoroughly confused. 

Was the word ‘strong’ an insult here? “Prince Aegon, is strong not a compliment here?” You whispered. 

He grinned and shook his head. “It is. My nephews are just…sensitive.” He whispered back. 

“Why? T’was only a compliment. Do you not think of yourself as strong?” Aemond finished and you watched as Jace walked to him and hit him. You gasped and then you were pulled back behind Aegon as he slammed Luke’s head onto the table. 

“Stop!” You yelled towards Aegon. Aegon seemed to be around your age while Luke looked to be thirteen. You tried to pull Aegon off pushing you back. As you were pushed back, so was Jacaerys. You both collided into each other while he took the brunt of the fall. 

He helped you up and went back to charge back but you held onto him. As you held him back, it was the first time you really got to look at him. At any other time he would look away. As you looked longer you noticed that he had very pretty eyes. A nice dark brown. “Stop.” You whispered out. 

“Are you going to hide behind a woman nephew?” Aemond remarked while giving a cruel smile. 

You saw Jacarey narrows his eyes and begins to push against you. “Are you gonna hide behind your words?” You glared back towards him. 

“This does not concern you.” You turned and looked up towards Daemon. He towered over you, and he still had his sword on him, you knew you got lucky last time. You doubt you will be so fortunate next time. You saw his hand coming towards your face and instinctively you stepped back away from Jacaerys. The stinging sensation his backhand gave you came back and your lip felt like it was pulsing. He gave you a cruel smirk enjoying your fear of him and he stepped closer and you stepped back. 

You wanted to look away from him, but you feared that if you did he would cut you down. It wasn’t until you bumped into something that you looked back and saw a glimpse of long white hair. However, as fast as you looked back, you looked towards Daemon again, though you weren’t fast enough to evade the hand that grabbed the bottom of your face, squeezing it so that it made the cut on your lip open again. 

You hissed out a cry as his thumb was putting pressure over the bruise he had caused earlier. You felt hands on your shoulders pulling you back away from Daemon’s grasp. Daemon scoffed before he wiped his hands on his pants, showing some of your foundation. You could only assume that some of your bruises were showing. 

“You look good green.” It was all Daemon said before you were ushered out by Aemond by command of Alicent. 

Note: Every time I try to go team black I somehow end up writing for green. Also, I think I would really die if I had no music.

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[vaaaaaiolet]

A jam-packed mission memo leaves you short on sightseeing time in gorgeous Santorini. You're heartbroken about missing out on the views, but your husband Leon is perfectly content with the one he's got. You just need a little convincing.

mdni IT IS ON SIGHT. married f / m smut where y'all are agents. anti sigma male leon agenda, he's switchy!! size? kink, HEAVY praise, di leon breeding kink canon (very slight), HAIR PULLING, tiny non weird mention of kids, ft. death island dilf watch

a/n: SORRY ABOUT THE TITLE JUMPSCARE it’s a lyric from cinderella by remi wolf! um. i forgot how to write LMFAO. this got so fucking nasty do you still love me. this fic has as much plot as there is flavor in a can of la croix. consider it my gift to all you lovelies in exam season. find the hozier lyric for a cookie :3 ilysm <3

word count: exactly 2.9k // read on ao3

You lean out over the hotel room balcony; huff under your breath, “Absolutely criminal.”

A postcard scene stretches out in front of you. Santorini is blue: cerulean skies, seagulls wheeling above your head, sapphire-capped buildings painted snow-white in the distance begging to be photographed and framed on your work desk. Bath and Body Works doesn’t hold a candle to the salt air you’re breathing in, but the catch – there’s always a catch when working with the Feds – is that you don’t have a moment to spare admiring the scenery.

The rattle of suitcase wheels over tile tells you your husband’s back from the hotel lobby. Heartbreaking, isn’t it, that you’re here on mission and not honeymoon?

“Beautiful,” a low voice murmurs behind you.

“Isn’t it?” you pout, bending over the handrail. You’d even dressed for the occasion to ease your heartache. Splurged on a teeny sundress and swapped out of your sweatpants as soon as Leon let you loose in the airport.

You hear him exhale a whoosh of air. Disappointment, you’d bet, cause that’s all you’ve been feeling since getting handed a jam-packed mission memo upon touchdown. “I know, I hate missing out on the sightseeing too,” you add, griping.

“That’s not what I'm talking about. Oh,” Leon sighs deep, dreamily, “just stand there and let me look at you, sweetheart.” 

So that’s what he meant. You bite back a smile when a large pair of hands magnetically find their way to your hips. The DSO figured they accounted for diversions interfering with the mission, sending you with him as support, but you’re well aware that Agent Kennedy doesn’t get distracted by pretty views. 

All except one.

“You look beautiful,” Leon whispers, dropping a kiss on the ticklish spot under your ear.

He’s doing it on purpose. You burst into a fit of giggles, willfully distracted from Leon’s hand slipping under the short hem of your dress that doesn’t stand a chance against wandering fingers. His other arm wraps under your ribs, presses your back to the solid warmth of his chest, and against your better judgment, you let yourself fall into his embrace.

It’s a recipe for no good. Your hand reaches back and finds his cheek by memory. The situation gets ten times worse when Leon smiles against your fingertips and a soft, entreating kiss gets planted onto your palm within seconds. 

So as usual, you have to play bad cop. “Leon.” 

“Baby.”

“We only have one hour before we have to go down to the lobby.” Uh oh. You’re melting into the lullaby sway of his arms. 

“We do,” he hums, trailing lazy kisses down your neck. 

“None of the equipment’s unpacked and it’ll be a bad look if we keep the Greek agents waiting. They get here at five sharp, remember?”

“Mm.”

“Leon,” you laugh. It’s like arguing with a wall.

“It’ll take me five minutes to change, five more to get the go bag ready,” he reasons, digging his chin into your shoulder. The sneaky hand under your dress finds the warmth of your inner thigh; gentle squeezes of its plush plead the other half of his case. 

You’re left to do the math in your head. Bad sign. Addition turns into multivariable calculus when Leon starts plucking at the barely-there gusset of your G-string. 

Snap. Snap?

Screw you, sundress-appropriate underwear. 

“I’ll be generous,” he declares. “I’ll give you ten whole minutes to get ready when I’ve seen you get ready in two.”

Ten and ten, that’s twenty. Leaves an awful, admittedly delightful lot of time to yourselves in an Uncle Sam-paid suite.

“So what’re you gonna do with all that time, baby?” you tease. You clench your thighs together to trap your husband’s meddling fingers, make him say it with his chest.   

Snap! 

And Leon finally cracks with a groan of your name. 

“You know how hard it is to watch you prance about in this-” he grumbles, yanks the hem of your sundress with his free hand, “barely a dress, knowing we won’t have a moment’s peace until we’re on the plane back home? I’ve been dying for a minute alone with my wife, and now…”

In a whirlwind of blue with a twist of his arm, you spin from facing the ocean view to a pair of baby blues bubbling with desire. 

“I’ve got forty of them,” he grins.

You know that smile. You remember it from your wedding night, the same wild look in his eyes when he undid the bodice on your bridal gown and turned you around just like this. And you see it when you cup his face, just the same as then, your heart thudding pit-a-pat as if it hadn’t learned how to handle itself around Leon by now. 

The two fingers he’s tracing along your slowly soaking folds, however, is new. 

You know better. Don’t you?

He cajoles you as the thrumming between your legs starts to flicker hot. “Come on, doll. Miss Practicality,” Leon teases. “It’d be putting our best foot forward if we clear some jet lag before meeting the on-site team, wouldn’t it?”

You’re breathless, hips pushing up to invite the heel of his palm underneath. 

“Clock’s ticking, Mrs. Kennedy.” God, it’s delicious when he says it like that. “We’re at thirty-eight now.”

Already? 

“Time flies when you’re having fun. Enjoying ourselves, aren’t we?” 

You look down to discover your dress magically rucked up to your waist. Leon’s damn near pressed against the balcony wall to keep himself on his feet with how unabashedly you’re grinding against his hand. Goodness. 

So it’s no surprise when you eventually muster the guts to admit mutiny to the mission memo. It’ll just suck to be on paperwork duty when you get back. Does it still count as coercion if it’s not him but your cunt begging you to give in? 

“Make it quick,” you gasp.

Leon’s resultant beam could outshine the sun. 

His hand pulls away from between your legs with a delicate thread of arousal trailing after it; it glitters in the Aegean sunshine. He gives himself a moment’s indulgence to admire it with a Cheshire cat grin lighting up his face, but in true Leon fashion, he keeps his word. You’re hoisted into his arms and whisked back inside the hotel room, squealing with delight when you fall backwards onto the four-poster bed. 

Leon locks his lips onto yours like he’s starved of air. You’re willing to believe he actually is with the fervor he shimmies the offending sundress down your hips. “Breaking my heart, angel, acting like I’ve never made you come in a tenth of the time we’ve got,” he chuckles between kisses littered down your stomach. “But I can’t even get mad at you.”

He never can. Not even when you nearly cut off his breathing, clamping your thighs around his head when he drops to his knees. It’s why he passed his hypoxic training with flying colors. What other reason would Leon have if not to suck at the ambrosia under the pearl of your clit?    

And the noises he makes. Obscene in every sense of the word. “Can’t believe I get to call you mine. Taste so fucking sweet, how the hell…” 

You’re sugar on his tongue, Turkish delight. You melt, feel blood flush your face when you soon hear him throw his belt aside, shiver at the shlick-shlick of Leon starting to palm himself from between your legs while the flat of his tongue laves at your cunt. 

He takes his time with his favorite part, lingering below the tender nub that makes you sigh so sweetly. Bumps your clit with his nose to make you squeak, his throat rumbling with mirth that travels up your spine. It’s only at your mewl of a request that Leon gives you his left hand to hold. Whatever his baby needs. 

You’re still clutching his hand when you cry out, cresting your first wave of syrupy pleasure. 

“So pretty when you come,” Leon coos. “Just like that. There you go.” 

He peels your sticky thighs apart to marvel at the gossamer mess you’ve made for him. He could go for ages like this, tucked between your legs. Too bad the clock doesn’t play nice and Leon’s mean, mean, lungs make him come up for air eventually. He surfaces with glossed lips and a punch-drunk smile to match your blissed-out one. 

Under fluttering lashes, you watch him run his tongue over his lips. Savoring you still. So, so close to sinking his teeth into you and your hips buck for him to hurry up – a piece of information that you’re aghast escapes him.  

A hungry whine bursts past your lips and Leon only glances at the watch on the nightstand, surging up to peck your cheek innocently. “We’re still good on time.”

Damn his stupid watch. You’ve caught whatever feverish haze Leon was under a while ago, hell, you think you helped him build up a resistance. 

It aches. You ache. “You know what I mean, Leon, please.”  

“Do I?” 

Leon distracts you with a heady kiss as you gasp at a new sensation: his middle and ring fingers squeezing past the flutter of your cunt. The frigid kiss of his wedding band in your warmth jolts you awake. 

He does.

He’s all bark and no bite. “So impatient. Still so tight and you’re begging me already?” Leon hisses softly. 

“I want-” Thick fingers curl up inside you, choke the words in your throat. Squelch on their way out.

“Say that again?” 

It happens so fast you can barely breathe. 

“Fuck!” you cry out. 

Leon laughs when he sinks in. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You sounded cute.”

It’s your fault for being so easy to please after he worked you open, but you can’t help it. You’re being crass. Fuck it. The immediate stretch of Leon’s dick is fucking delicious when he slides into your pussy just right. So full when he’s slow to pull back out, so gentle when he makes it good for you after jumping through those hoops. 

You’re giddy off his cock, breathless when he grabs you in by the hips. He mashes a quick kiss on your forehead like he’s too shy to look you in the eyes, all while he’s got his hand pressed over the slight swell of your lower stomach, fucking feeling himself go in and out. Even helps you fit the head of his cock back in when he gets too excited and slips out of you. The contradiction makes your head spin. 

He fucks you into the bed, hanging onto every pleased hum that leaves your pretty little mouth. Groans, “Yeah, baby? That feel good?” 

“Mhm!” You’re not exactly subtle about your pleasure. It’s what Leon loves about you.

“Right there?”

“Oooh my god!”

The needy pitch of your squeal sets something off in him. Abandoning your hips, he throws your legs up on his shoulders to reach that much deeper inside. Pussy tight as sin, gorgeous heat wrapping him in molten velvet – you’ve got him in a chokehold. 

“Couldn’t keep my hands off you after that stunt with the dress,” Leon growls, whispers filth to hear you whimper. “So fucking perfect. Girl of my dreams. Taking me so well even though I’ve got you crying on my cock.”

Shit, you are. 

He’s watchful to a fault. Leon brushes stray tears off your cheek with a rough thumb, looks for any dissent on your face while you nod as desperately as you can. “Good girl.”

Oh. You’ve got something to say about that. 

When his hips start stuttering, you find your opening and lock your ankles behind his waist. It’s exhilarating watching Leon’s eyes fly open behind his damp copper bangs. 

“You sure?” he rasps, poorly veiling his pleasant surprise.  

It’s your turn to laugh: his speed picks up the moment you tell him yes. But you can’t let him get comfortable yet. Mid-thrust, you spin your finger in a quick air circle. Switch. 

He raises a brow, but he’s quick to comply. Not without a pained grunt, though. You caught him hanging by a thread.

Top goes down; the sticky, sinful sound of Leon momentarily pulling out of you echoes in the suite as he flips onto his back. You crawl up to his lap and let him handle your hips onto his painfully hard length as a courtesy. 

Leon’s always had trouble keeping his mouth shut around your cunt. “Pussy’s all swollen from me,” he breathes in awe, slack jawed. Can’t help groaning at the mess when he carefully thumbs your folds apart to pop the head of his cock back in, and you let out a honeyed moan, back where you belong. “So cute.”

Down, down, there. You take him to the hilt and Leon chokes on his spit. 

Everything fades into a Gaussian blur, dreamy all over when you plant your hands on his bare thighs. You’re rocking up and down in seconds after adjusting yourself with a soft hiss. 

Leon’s hands come up to cup your ass. His eyes nearly cross, mumbling, “Goddamn.” 

You bite back a giggle, still on the edge of consciousness yourself. 

He’s fighting to keep eyes on you, but he can’t help how his head throws back at heaven gliding up and down on his lap. Kisses descend in flocks down your breasts once Leon gets his wits about him, and then it’s back to a fervid pace. Racing towards the finish line while sweat drips down your back and your thighs burn almost as divinely as the drag of Leon along your walls.

And he’s no pillow princess. Leon’s hips jump up, urgently joining the dizzying up-down of your rhythm. 

“Gorgeous, so- fuck! Could watch you fuck yourself on my cock for hours,” he grunts behind clenched teeth. 

Gorgeous, yes, you. You with dewy eyes and a lurching tautness in the pit of your stomach. You’re so fucking close to plummeting. 

Babbling broken syllables, your hand flies up to grab the short hairs at the back of his neck. You know Leon. Not a soul on the planet but you can ever get this close. Your frantic tugs pull strained whines from his throat; jerk his hips as if he’s bringing down heaven himself. He might as well be.   

“Leon, I’m gonn-”

“If you don’t ease up, I’ll come,” he gasps. “Can’t last. Won’t.”

You’re helpless in that regard. It’s déjà vu when you anchor your knees to the mattress. Finality clicks in Leon’s brain and he grabs the back of your head, crashing onto your mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue because he knows you too. He’d felt you flutter before you did. 

You shatter into his mouth. 

The velvet clench of your cunt proves lethal. Leon’s tumbling right after you, swallowing your every cry, body going rigid as a flashbang of euphoria courses through him. Unbridled pleasure passes through your spasming walls and injects into his veins. 

Leon’s spend starts to pour into you; you feel like you’ve swallowed the sun. It’s messy, running down your thighs in minute rivulets. Warms you from the inside out as your thighs finally falter and you crumple into his waiting arms, feeling lighter than spun sugar. 

“Holy shit,” you laugh incredulously, running a hand through your sweaty hair.

Leon can only shake his head for the first few seconds, blinking in a pleasure-drunk stupor. He has the most solemn expression on his face when he tells you, “I saw the light. Swear on my life.”

“Is that right?” You wipe the perspiration off his forehead, smiling.

He nods, breaking into a grin only when you squint at him. “Okay, maybe it was just the bathroom light. Still, that was incredible. You nearly sucked the life out of me, sweetheart.”   

You shrug modestly. “Maybe I just wanted payback.”

“For?”

“Teasing me all the damn time, using up my expensive shampoo,” you count off on your fingers, holding up an exaggerated middle finger for the third, most egregious offense, “and not telling me we wouldn’t have time to sightsee in Santorini!”

“I’d argue you’re the better view, doll.”

“Oh, come on! People pay hundreds to come here and I want one good photo. Just one for my work desk, promise me that.” 

Your husband chuckles. “I’ll take you to Santorini ten times over after this mission’s done. We’ll make a vacation out of it. Maybe even a family one.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Bet we’d make pretty babies together.” 

He kisses the top of your head, soft and sweet. Nothing could burst your cocoon of bliss now. 

Nothing except the incessant beeping that starts emanating from both your comm pieces plugged into the wall. Almost as if on cue. The realization shocks your back ramrod straight. 

“Leon,” you murmur, “what time is it?”

He scrambles to grab his watch from the nightstand. “It’s…oh, shit.”

“The time, please?” 

Your voice is reedy, scarily calm, and Leon swallows before answering, “4:50.” 

“You wanna test your theory about getting ready in five minutes?”

(The two of you meet the on-site team twenty minutes late. The excuse Leon gives them, while toeing the back of your shoe, is that he got sidetracked admiring the view.) 

((You’re totally making him do the paperwork when you get back.))

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 2

A longer chapter today because it didn't want to end. It's Steve finishing all the costumes.

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

Part 1

****

Steve worked on Max’s costume first. Like Robin’s Max was going to be a pirate. He had the names of a couple of lady pirates in his back pocket for them to pull out if they ran across assholes at the Fair.

Because Max was underaged he set out to find a less form fitting costume then Robin’s.

He found a large men’s black shirt and pants and tailored the waist to fit Max’s slender form. Paired with the boots and the hippie vest he dyed red, she looked bitchin’.

Then he focused on Lucas’s costume in secret. Every time someone came by, Steve would hide it out of sight. He didn’t want anyone to see it before it done.

Whenever anyone would ask about it he would pull out the tunic that he had been working on for his costume.

It was blue and white in a checkerboard pattern. Blue on the right of the top portion and then on the left on the bottom portion.

The pants that he was using for Lucas’s costume were similar to Steve’s for his.

Not loose like Max’s, but not tight like Robin’s. He knows it’s technically inaccurate, but he wants to be comfortable and he’s not about to make a poor little sophomore to-be uncomfortable either.

He finishes it with a week to spare and then picks up the other outfits from the moms.

He throws a party and has them all make their own weapons for their costumes.

Lucas is the only one that didn’t join in.

Steve put his arm around Lucas. “So why aren’t you in there making something, too?”

Dustin is making a spear, Max is making a cutlass, and even El is making healing potions with water and food coloring.

“I don’t know what to make,” Lucas admitted shyly.

“What does your ranger use?”

“A bow,” Lucas said. “But I wouldn’t know even where to start with that.”

Steve smiled. “A bow’s easy. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He helped Lucas build up a stick with toilet paper and aluminum foil.

“Shouldn’t it be curved?” Lucas asked as Steve was putting on the handle.

“Nope!” Steve said cheerfully. “It curves when the bow is strung.” He added the long string and the bow bent. “See?”

“Oh!”

Lucas pulled back on the string and the bow bent further.

“It’s more for looks,” Steve said with a wince when the bow remained bent. He straightened it out. “But let’s make you a quiver. No arrows though, your mom would kill me.”

Lucas laughed.

“It’s so cool you know all this stuff, Steve,” Will said. “Why don’t you ever want to join us for D&D? I think you’d be really good at it.”

Steve flushed. “Too much math and I’m not very good at the role-playing part.”

“What would you do if you could play any character?” Eddie asked. “It doesn’t have to be any of the classes or races.”

Steve licked his lips. “You won’t make fun of me for it?”

Everyone looked down at their feet. They were swiftly learning that teasing Steve was one thing, but that they tended to take it too far.

“Go on,” Eddie urged. “If anyone makes fun of you for it, I’ll nuke their character to hell.” He grinned at all the kids.

“That has no effect on me,” Max said, tossing her hair back. “I’m not in your nerd game.”

“Whatever you say, zoomer,” Eddie said with a wink.

She gasped. “Who told?!”

El tilted her head to the side. “Why? Is a zoomer a bad thing?”

Max deflated. “No.”

Eddie winked at El and the girl blushed.

“So Stevie, what would you like to be?”

“The merchant.”

“But that’s–” Mike stopped when he saw Eddie’s glare. He licked his lips. “Wouldn’t it be more fun to be the hero?”

Steve tilted his head to the side and then scratched his cheek. “Um...I’m not trying to brag here. But I’ve been the hero in real life. It’s not fun. It’s terrifying. But being able to armor and arm the heroes? Make sure they have everything they need to succeed? Now there’s the dream.”

Eddie rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“That’s his DM thinking face,” Dustin said.

“Is that a bad thing?” El asked.

Lucas shrugged. “Sometimes. It can end in us fighting the worst Big Bad ever. But it can just make things more interesting. Like a tidbit of backstory for one of the NPCs.”

“So a former hero who has retired and settled down with the love of their life to sell the fruits of their travels...” Eddie spoke out loud more to himself than to everyone else. “Magic items, healing potions, weapons and armor the shopkeeper is willing to part with now that they’ve settled down.” He looked up at Steve with a grin. “I like it.”

Steve blushed hard.

Will lit up. “Does that mean the next merchant we meet is going to be Steve?”

Eddie’s grin got bigger. “Anybody have a problem with that?”

Everyone turned to look at Mike. “Hey, I don’t care what your NPCs do, man. As long as the story’s good.”

Steve’s blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down the column of his neck.

He cleared his throat. “Everyone done with their weapons? Because I think we should do a final fitting so we can make sure nothing needs to be adjusted.”

“Why?” Will asked. “Don’t you think our mom’s did a good enough job?”

Dustin crossed his arms. “Yeah. I thought you trusted our moms.”

Steve sighed. “It’s because you’re adolescences. Your bodies are always constantly changing. Lose weight, grow two inches, fill out in weird areas. I just want to make sure everyone is going to have a good time next week, okay?”

Will and Dustin looked at each other and then nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” Dustin conceded.

“There are three bathroom and four bedrooms,” Steve announced. “So there should be rooms for everyone to change into their costumes.”

They all grabbed their costumes and then dashed for their favorite rooms to try and get there first. Max beat Dustin to the upstairs bathroom, sticking her tongue out at him before slamming the door. So Dustin got Steve’s bedroom.

All the other kids went scrambling for the other bathrooms and bedrooms while Lucas was left standing in the middle of front room, looking down at his sneakers.

“Did you want to try yours on right now?” Steve asked, leaning down to try and look Lucas in the eye.

“I don’t know if I want to be an elf anymore,” he muttered darkly.

Eddie and Steve shared a concerned glance.

“Did someone say something?” Eddie asked. “You were really happy about it when you were making the bow with Steve.”

“Not really,” Lucas said with a shrug. “I just kept thinking about the ears. I know I can have Will draw some really good ones, and he wouldn’t give me shit about it, but...”

Steve sighed. “But you know that Mike would. Fuck, I’m going to kill that kid.”

Lucas waved his hands. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ve got an old pirate costume from a school play I did. I’ll just join Queen Max’s crew.”

Eddie licked his lips. He didn’t have them yet. Jeff was still making them. He shared another glance with Steve.

Steve nodded.

Eddie turned back to Lucas. “It’s up to you, man. But Stevie and I have something in the works regarding the ear situation.”

Lucas glanced between Eddie and Steve but couldn’t find any indication that they were mocking him.

“This isn’t a prank to make me look stupid, is it?” he asked, just to be sure.

“Scout’s honor,” Steve said holding up the correct salute.

Eddie snorted. “Of course you were a boy scout. Could you be any more perfect?”

Steve blushed and ducked his head bashfully. “I’m really not.”

“Anyway,” Eddie huffed, shoving his hands in his back pockets. “Try on the outfit at least. Because you don’t have to be an elf with the costume Stevie made for you. But at least see it before you dismiss the idea completely out of hand.”

Lucas took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m being stupid. I shouldn’t care what they think anyway. Just as long as I’m having fun.”

“That’s the spirit!” Eddie said clapping him on the shoulder. “So where is this masterpiece, my liege?”

Steve walked up to the sofa and pulled out a plastic bag. He thrust it at Lucas’s chest.

Lucas looked down at the bag a moment before taking it from him. He pulled out the warm grey breeches first. They weren’t the broad kind that Steve had made for Max, but they were loose enough that they would hang a little over the top of the boots.

“They’re so soft...” he whispered.

“They’re made out of light weight material to keep you cool,” Steve explained. “There will be absolutely no heat stroke or heat exhaustion on my watch.”

Lucas let out a small huff of laughter and he took that as one for the win column.

He then pulled out the pale blue gambeson, it was trimmed in antique silver ribbon.

“It’s not strictly historically accurate,” Steve said with a shrug. “But I figured I could take liberties considering it was supposed to be fantasy based.”

“Steve...” Lucas said, voice rough from emotion. “It’s perfect.”

He threw his arms around Steve and hugged him tightly and Steve hugged him back twice as fierce.

“Let’s put these away for now,” Eddie said gently tugging them from Lucas’s grasp. “You try them on after everyone leaves.”

Lucas nodded and let Eddie pull them away, but he kept hugging Steve.

Suddenly there was a burst of activity as the other kids came back. Robin, too.

Steve let go of Lucas to take a look at his ragtag crew of misfits. Robin and Max’s costumes he knew would fit to perfection. His exacting standards would bow to nothing less.

The costumes that Joyce and Claudia made were good too. He let out a little breath through his nose.

“Looking great, guys!” he told them. He tugged Will’s tunic a bit. “You grew some, there.”

Will looked down and blushed. “I didn’t even realize.”

“That’s because you’ve been wearing shorts,” Steve explained, “so you just didn’t notice.”

“You were right to make sure the costumes still fit,” he murmured, trying to pull the tunic down to the right length.

Steve’s shoulders sagged. “You were just trying to defend your mom, dude. It’s fine.”

Will and Dustin still shared a look of chagrin anyway.

“I can add a couple of inches to the hem,” Steve continued. “I have some ribbon that will hide the extra material.”

Will nodded.

Steve moved on to Dustin and tugged on the side of his shirt under the vest and then tugged on the waistband too. “Don’t tell your mom this, but you’ve lost weight. She’ll freak out and try to feed you the entirety of your cupboard.”

Dustin blushed. Claudia Henderson was notorious for constantly feeding anyone who came through her door.

“But I’ll just pin it in case your weight fluctuates again,” Steve said. “The hazard of being teenagers unfortunately.”

Dustin nodded with a sigh of relief.

Max’s was perfect, as was El’s beautiful red dress.

But she was looking at the ground twisting her hands together.

“What’s up, Supergirl?” Eddie asked.

She looked over at Will and then down at her feet again. “I don’t want to be ungrateful. Joyce did an amazing job.”

Steve tilted his head. “But?”

She sighed. “But I was wanting a gold trim, but Joyce didn’t have any and I didn’t want to make her buy some...”

Steve held up a finger and then dashed off.

But he was back before they even had time to wonder where he had gone. In his hand was a cloth bag that he handed over to her. “Pick your ribbon. It’ll take me a day to add it to the dress, no problem.”

El looked down at the bag in shame. “Steve...”

He clicked his tongue. “I don’t want to hear it. I have to extend Will’s tunic anyway, adding ribbon to yours would be cinch in comparison. In fact, why don’t you both pick a matching ribbon to be twins.”

Will and El perked right up and the two of them wandered over to the sofa and began sorting through what Steve had.

That left Mike. Steve walked around the outfit. It had a white, billowy top with broad black pants and red tunic to watch El’s dress.

“Looks good, Mike,” he said. “Is there anything you’d want a little different? I don’t mind adding to your costume, too.”

Mike chewed his bottom lip. “There is the one thing. I asked Claudia about but she said she wouldn’t have the time...” He looked over at Dustin and blushed.

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“Little...” Mike grunted. “I don’t know what they’re called. They aren’t strings or tassels, but kinda a cross between the two to kinda hang down off shoulder of the tunic...”

Steve pulled out his drawing pad and doodled something out really quick. Mike peered over his shoulder.

“A little more spaced,” Mike muttered.

Steve erased and doodled some more.

“Yeah, like that.”

Steve nodded. “I can do it, but you want to see something cool?”

Miked nodded back and Steve left the room again. He came back with a weird little device.

“This is what I use to make tassels,” he explained. “I’m betting Claudia doesn’t have one.”

Everyone looked at Dustin.

“I’ve certainly never seen one if she has,” he replied.

Steve nodded again. “That’s what I thought.” He showed them how to make tassels and Mike’s face lit up.

“This so cool, Steve,” he whispered.

“Do you want to make your own tassels?” Steve asked, gleeful at finally finding a common ground with the prickly teen.

“Can I?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You’ll just have to do it here. I’ll get the leather scraps from the tanners on Saturday and you can come over on Sunday to do it, okay?”

Mike nodded. “Thanks, man.”

El and Will picked out a nice braided gold ribbon and he set it aside, making a note to grab another spool to be on the safe side.

Soon it was time for everyone to leave.

Eddie took home Mike, El, and Will. Leaving Steve to take home Max, Lucas, and Robin.

Steve turned to Lucas. “You okay with these two seeing your costume?”

He figured Max was fine, but Robin might be a no go.

Lucas looked at her thoughtfully.

“I can go make us all lunch if you don’t want me to see it yet?” Robin suggested.

Max hopped up. “I can help. I want to be surprised next week.”

Lucas let out a sigh. “Thanks, ladies.”

Max rolled her eyes and Robin snorted as they wandered toward the kitchen.

Steve tossed Lucas the bag and immediately he began to strip. He put on the costume and ran his fingers over the material.

“Steve you really out did yourself.”

Steve grinned. “Bend, twist. Make sure you can move in it. I don’t want you popping a seam.”

Lucas did as he was told and Steve circled around him.

“Looks good,” he said. “Now go take a look in the mirror. Then tell me what you think.”

Lucas nodded.

Five minutes later Lucas came out with tears streaming down his face.

“Oh no!” Steve cried. “It’s that bad?”

Lucas shook his head and then launched himself into Steve’s arms. “It’s perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushed. “You’re welcome.”

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

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