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postracehair · 12 hours ago

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gold rush

max verstappen x reader | 2.4k

max verstappen stands across the room from you at someone else's party. he's not yours, but he could be.

cw: cursing, perhaps overly introspective, allusions to sex, kissing, semi-established relationship without commitment, confessions, being desperately in love with max

a/n: this is a little different from my usual style. i...wrote it in two parts while wine drunk and yearny and listening to gold rush by taylor swift on repeat. it's a lethal combo for a girl, let me tell you. posting in honor of today's qatar win. i really like this one. please be nice to me. <3

It's torture.

Standing here across the room, glass in hand, watching.

He just looks so fucking good.

"Fuck me," you mutter. Some deep, animalistic urge tells you to bite clean through the rim of your wine glass. Chew on the shards until they're sand and swallow them easy as anything. It would probably be less painful than what you're currently doing.

Watching.

The object of your scrutiny straightens almost imperceptibly. A minuscule lengthening of his spine invisible to anyone who isn't examining his every move. For someone who is watched more often than not, you're surprised he feels your eyes on him.

But he does.

Max Verstappen turns away from his conversation partner slightly, a barely there shift of his chin to glance around the room. Blue eyes like the fucking ocean or some other cliche you can't think of right now. His focus face, you've called it. That got him to laugh, once, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes driving your heart into a frenzy.

Evaluating, cataloging. Looking for the racing line and finding -- you.

Leaning back on the wall not ten yards from him, wine glass in hand.

You're going to heat it up with your palm holding it like that, he'd told you once. You have to hold the stem.

They teach you that in Monaco? you'd teased.

Flirtations. One of a hundred, a thousand. Nothing memorable for him, you tell yourself. Each conversation an axis-shifting event for you.

It's embarrassing, actually. To want someone this much. To be one of millions.

But you know. You know how he looks in an empty room, how he mutters to himself when he folds his laundry, how he straightens his shoes against the wall of every hotel room.

You know him.

Maybe that's why this is dangerous. You've got ammo, you've got evidence. You know that Max Verstappen is like the rest of the world. A boy who wanted desperately turned into a man who has everything. And still wants.

Is that what binds us all together? The depth of our longing?

Max finds your gaze and holds it. The girl he's talking to -- pretty, smart. You know her peripherally -- keeps speaking, hand not holding her drink waving in the air, eyes focusing somewhere above his hairline.

Lots of people make this mistake. It's all in his eyes, if you can stand to look at them. Everything he's feeling. A challange that, once met, melts into an open door. He'll show you everything if you just step over the threshold, invited or not. Sometimes all we want is someone to bang on the door when we're already in bed. Make us get up, come downstairs. There you are. I was waiting for you.

The eyes tell you everything. You take a long sip of your wine and he watches, jaw ticking. He didn't shave today. The light stubble makes him look older, though you know his heart. Fluttering like a boy's, yearning like a child's. He wants just like you do. If only you knew what and just how much.

I don't know what comes next, he said. His head in your lap, hair soft and golden between your fingers. What else is there?

So much, you said. You traced the line of his nose with the pad of your thumb. That's the best thing about it.

About what?

Life.

There is a world in which you came to this party together. Distant, fuzzy. You mussed his hair with your hands after begging him to leave the gel on the shelf. He kissed off your lipstick before you made it out the door. The steady beat of his heart under your palm in the doorway, a sure reminder of the dip he makes in the universe. Your center, always orbiting around him.

Reality is louder. More crowded, smells like champagne and burnt pastry. It's a room full of people where you can only look at one. Where he's looking back.

You jerk your chin towards the back hallway, the one the leads to the bathroom only the girls go to in pairs. To debrief, to prepare. A secret from the hostess meant for moments of reprieve. At the very least, you'll need one of those.

It you're lucky, one of those will come to you on two legs and stormy eyes.

Could you be imagining it? Wouldn't be the first time you lived in your head a little too long. But -- fuck. The dreams you've had. The way you've looked at your life and slotted him into it. It's almost too easy, a game with no stakes. But the buy in is steep, nonrefundable. How you got here is irrelevant. You have to pay up.

You wind your way through laughing people, velvet dresses and barely buttoned shirts. Sparkly eye shadow and satin bows, well-wishes and chaste kisses. 'Tis the damn season, indeed.

The hallway is quiet. No one in the bathroom, the door hanging open, light off. You lean back on the wall, glass loose in your fingers. Eyes closed, wondering if you'll wake up somewhere else. Somewhere you want less, somewhere your blood isn't singing, isn't begging you to get closer to him.

"You look nice," Max says. Your lips curve into a smile, a smirk, a grimace. Are they not all the same around him? Teeth showing, muscles out of control. He bypasses all of your sense, worms his way into your bloodstream with just a word.

"Thanks," you manage. Eyes open, now, and fuck, you feel it. Right in the chest, like a punch that digs beneath your ribs and takes its pound of flesh.

Max looks good. You saw it from across the room but here, in front of you, you can see it more clearly.

There's something about him. A boyishness that remains around the eyes, the mouth. Hopeful mischief, maybe. Eternal youth, promise, faith.

God. This would all be so much easier if you weren't in love with him.

He studies you. Takes his time, gaze tracing the lines of your face. Your brows, your lashes. Nose, lips. Lips. His eyes stop there.

"You were staring," he says. Never one to back down from a challenge. Never one to let you off easy. It's a compliment, the way he drags you to the ring. Keep up with me, he's saying. Make it interesting.

"Yeah," you say, slowly. It drips out of your mouth, lingers in the air between you. "You look good."

His eyes flash. You're meeting his expectations. Always hard to live up to those, when the standard he holds himself to is so damn high. He expects you to climb up that mountain, too. If only to show that you're wiling to. That he's worth it. That you want to.

And he does look good. Max values honesty above most things, but his cheeks flush all the same. It's pretty, not that you'd tell him that. Maybe one more glass of wine and you would. It's not an original thought, far from it, but you reach for him all the same, liquid courage loading the barrel and cocking the gun.

You cup his cheek, thumb pressing to the corner of his mouth. Like a marionette with his strings cut, he sighs. You breath with him, leaning in. Everything else fades away, the world turning around the place where his skin touches yours. Palm on his stubbled cheek, eyes locked like you're moored to each other.

This is why you haven't let him go. Because it's like this. It's insane.

And Max knows it.

"What are we doing?" he whispers. His throat bobs and he looks unsure. Not an expression you've seen on him very often, but maybe that's the punchline.

This matters to him. Maybe as much as it matters to you. He leans into your palm and the fingers of one hand curl around your hips, pressing hard enough to bruise. He carefully tugs your wine glass from your grip and sets it on the thin table in the hall before crowding you agains the wall.

"I don't know," you whisper back. You're close enough that he must feel your breath on this lips. It's inexplicable, this feeling -- you should know. You've tried.

He reorients everything, you've said over and over again. It's like I'm seeing the world for the first time, but with him in it.

His breath is hot on your lips. "I need you," he says. "I --" He swallows. Pupils swelling, mouth set. You half expect him to pull on a racing suit and get in the car.

"Max," you manage. It's not a surprise, not really, but it stings the way that only the things you want can. "I--

"Nothing else is like this," he says, sounding more sure than you've ever heard. "No matter what, or who, it's not like this. I'm always thinking of you."

Something inside you crumples. Your very bones, maybe. Your heart, surely. He can't just say these things.

"Don't say if it you don't mean it," you manage. Your throat is thick, tears resting just behind your eyes. It makes sense to no one else, this love. This passion, this soul tie.

"I mean it," he says, voice steady. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask this of you, but I am. I'm asking."

Love me. Stick by me. Tell me you feel it, too.

You close your eyes again, but what appears behind your lids is no less than what's actually happening to you. This is the stuff of dreams, the deepest part of your heart that beats his name.

"I don't know how to do this," you whisper. His lips drag from your pulse point to your ear.

"Me neither," he replies. "But we have to try."

"I've wanted you for so long," you gasp. His fingers have snuck under the hem of your shirt, nails scratching up and down your back. "Max--"

Your name is a prayer on his tongue, a blessing, a benediction. A plea. You've never felt so safe as when he is at your altar.

"Let's go," he says. "Let's get out of here."

The where doesn't matter. The how, the why, the when. It doesn't matter.

Sometimes, things just happen the way they are supposed to. Lovers unite, reunite, and love. Is that not enough?

"Bet you say that to all the girls."

Your voice is hoarse, ragged. The opposite of his well-honed determination, his tunnel vision. You wanted this, didn't you? But you're stalling. Having and wanting are different.

"No," Max says. "Hey, look at me."

For all your talk, you keep doing anything he asks. It's so easy. You are so safe in his hands, even if they burn.

He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth and you open your eyes. Despite the drinks you watched him down they're clear. Ablaze with certainty.

"Max," you whisper. His nostrils flare.

"Just you," he says. "You have me. Just you."

He does this thing, when he's away. You bought him a keychain -- a lion, of course -- on a whim. Figured he'd throw it in a drawer somewhere and forget about it. But then he sent you a photo from a country you've never been to, holding up his keys, the lion dangling in the sunlight.

You get photos from all around the world, now.

Maybe...maybe, you can believe him. Maybe you can take. Maybe dreams can bleed into waking.

What else is there to do? His jaw ticks, lips parted as he exhales. You feel it, warm and shaky. That won't do.

The kiss doesn't surprise him. It's inevitable, a corner he's driven in his sleep, the finish line that always waits for him. Max always knows where he is going and maybe he knew you were on the way here, too.

And god, does he know how to kiss you. You're the one who leans in but he takes the wheel quickly, one hand pressing into your lower back under your shirt and the other dragging up your ribs to settle on your jaw. He licks into your mouth like there's a secret to find, like he can peel back your layers and find your heart in his palms, beating in time with his.

Nights in his bed, slow mornings watching him wake. Phone calls just to hear you breathe, texts and gifts and hints that, if you'd just say so, this could be more. This could be it.

But he's waited. You realize he's waited for you.

"You have me," you say, pulling away with a gasp. His lips chase yours, hovering so close that every word makes them brush. Your hands are woven in his hair, noses pressed together. Almost one person. "Max," you breathe. "You have me."

There are a thousand ways this could go wrong. Even if your world orbits around him, even if his heart is magnetized to yours, a star in the sky always pointing north -- reality is not so kind. It will be hard. No one will understand. People will want what you have, what you will hold dear for the rest of your life.

But it doesn't matter. Because Max -- a world champion, a boy who wanted who became a man who had everything -- is holding you. He smiles so wide it spreads to you, two smiles pressed together in the dim light of someone else's party.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay, let's go."

He kisses you once more, sloppy, teeth clacking, and grabs your hand. Out of the hall, through the party, barely a word for anyone else. Everybody wants you, you told him once. Hm, he'd said. I don't know about that.

But he gleams. He shines, flushed cheeks and bright eyes as he looks back to check that you're still there. Squeezing your hand in his, a man on a mission. Following that racing line all the way home, all eyes on him. But he knows where he's going.

Out of the party and onto the quiet street, breath floating up and away in excited puffs. Under the streetlight Max looks ethereal. Beautiful, boyish, in love. He's a dream come to life.

Your dream. Looking back at you like he's thinking the same.

He says your name like he's been looking everywhere and finally found you. Reaching the end of the road, throwing the door open and falling to his knees. An answer. The answer.

He kisses you on the empty street. You fall, and fall, and fall.

Together.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #mv33 x reader #mv33 #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: gold rush

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sugawhaaa · 18 hours ago

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SAN X READER

⚝₊ ⊹˚Scented feelings⚝₊ ⊹˚

☆-Part. 2-☆

Warnings:: SMUT

Genre:: thigh riding, oral (f/m rec) fingering, mega dirty talk, choking, finger sucking, hair pulling, size kink (san), praise, degradation, creampie, aftercare

Pairing:: dom!san x sub!fem!reader

A/N:: Since San fans are lowkey freaky as hell I made the nastiest fanfic to be uploaded on my page for yall ❣️ for the San sluts

Taglist:: @playboygeniusphilanthropist (fucking love that username) @silver-hwaberry @zerosleepafk @ghostyycat7 @rosydipity @honsans-atiny-24

🎧::

His words caught you by surprise, “I don't mind you staying the night but if you wanted to spend time with me you could've just asked baby,” he has this smile on his lips that makes your stomach flutter.

“I guess I was just…intimated by what you might say,” you look up at him nervously and his expression falters for a moment before chuckling.

“I guess I can relate,” he pauses for a moment before leaning back. “Since we're gym buddies I was afraid you'd take it differently if I asked you out or tried to make any moves,” he then runs his hands over his face. “And I was afraid you'd notice the way I looked at you when we worked out. Sometimes I just couldn't control myself, it's no excuse, but my eyes would always be drawn to you sometimes in inappropriate ways,” San explains and you're shocked by his confession. “I felt so bad about it but at the end of the day I'm just a man,” he continues to look away before turning back to you to see your reaction.

“No San, you're different,” you put a hand to his thigh. “You're kind and considerate and the fact you felt guilty about it proves that you are good at heart,” you explain and his eyes soften as you compliment him. “Besides…I can't say I never looked at you in dirty ways,” you smile. This was definitely a next step in your relationship; this is quite a big confession to reveal, a moment of vulnerability.

“Have you…thought about me in those ways too? Romantically or…” he freezes, the word lingering on his tongue like a potent flavour. “sexually?”

His question got you off guard because it was true. Late nights you'd stay up imagining his hands on your body, his body completely open to your eyes, feeling him…

“I suppose I have,” you admit with pink cheeks and San lets out a sigh of relief.

“So this feeling is…mutual?” He leans closer to you again and your attention is quickly drawn back to him. Silence falls upon the room and your eyes rake over his body trying to decipher your next move and his intent. You move closer to him and without thinking further place your lips on his.

San jumps lightly at the contact but quickly loosens up to the feeling and kisses you back. His hands reflexively jump to your waist, to pull you closer, and the side of your face. The kiss quickly turns into more, his tongue roaming around your mouth and dancing over your tongue. He pulls you onto his body and you're pressed flush against his body, his warmth spreading across your body. You pull back from the kiss to breathe but San keeps his face near your body, his breath hot against your neck as his hands continue to rub your waist and back.

“San…” you breathe out and he tilts up to look at you, his bangs in his eyes and his cheeks flushed. “I…I wanna have sex with you,” you admit and he smiles slightly before resting his face in the crevice of your neck. His hands sliver underneath your shirt to feel your warm skin. He smiles warmly and he encourages you to feel him up too.

"Here, let me undress," he effortlessly lifts you off his body and sits you on the couch. He stands up and begins to undress; he throws off his tight black shirt and unties his sweatpants. You just sat there wide-eyed as you took in the sight of his body. His broad chest and shoulders, his thin waist and wide hips, his biceps and thighs; you felt yourself drooling at the sight. Now he was left in his boxers, his bulge threatening to rip them open as he stood above you.

San tilts his head as he watches you gawk at his body. "Your turn," he smiles as he sits back onto the couch and you blush.

"Haha...I don't think I can compare to...your show," you admit before standing up; you were a lot more hesitant when undressing than he was. You take your shirt off without much worry but when it comes to bra you're a little more hesitant. You bring your arms to your back and unclip the back of your bra, letting your breasts spill out of the cups. San bites his lip harshly as he watches, no words needed.

You then move on to your pants. You undo the button of your jeans and slowly unzip the crotch before pulling them down to pool at your feet. San smirks and leans back, spreading his legs, as he stares at you.

"You've been working hard darling," he then pats his thigh loudly, telling you to sit, and you comply quickly. "You're a good listener, you always have been," when you rest on his thigh he pulls you closer your folds rubbing against his thigh making you whine softly. "Anytime we'd work out I'd tell you 'just a bit longer' or 'one more time' and you'd always listen so well," he rubs your thighs in a circular motion, his palms wide enough to cover the flat of your thigh. "You think you can listen to those same orders tonight?"

His question made your walls tighten and your heart race. San chuckled softly as he felt the throbbing of your pussy against his thigh. "I'll take that as a yes," he leans up to kiss your neck and his cock presses against your pelvis as he does so.

"San...I can't wait any longer," you whine and he looks up at you, intrigued by your statement.

"What do you want baby? Wanna get off on my thigh?" He offers, open to discuss your plans, and you nod quickly. He pulls you closer, your pelvis flesh against his hip. "Do you want to move yourself or want my help?" He offers again as he brushes your hair back.

"Maybe a bit of both?" You then can't take it any longer; you begin to grind against his thigh and it quickly becomes intense. Usually, you'd gradually increase the speed and pressure but you couldn't take it. The way you moved made you look like an animal humping their owner. Your hips moved with determination as San praised you.

"Good girl, keep using me until you cum baby," he growls in your ear before biting on your neck, sucking the skin hard. You moan loudly as the friction from his thigh begins to make you shake. He brings his hands to your breasts and massages them, flicking the nipples with his thumbs every now and then, before sucking on them. His teeth graze over your sensitive bud before sucking in the hardened nipple.

"I'm getting close," you whine and San pulls back from your boobs to talk.

"I know baby, just hold on a little longer," he smirks before licking your nipples. You moan as your gut begins to tighten.

"S-San! Please~ I'm gonna cum," your words are damn near incoherent between the moans and saliva building up in your mouth.

"Let it out baby, cum on daddy," he growls between making out with your tits and that singular statement is the turnover. Your body shivers as you clench his shoulders, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. You let out a symphony of hoarse moans before panting heavily, falling limp against his body. The room fills with your heavy breathing as San kisses your neck. "Good job baby," he smiles against your neck and you whine softly.

"I wanna suck you off," you blurt out and San is momentarily taken aback.

"O-Of course darling, go ahead," he sits back and spreads his legs slightly for you to wiggle in between them. You can see the wet spot on his boxers from riding him which makes you blush for a moment but you remember your goal here. You sit between his legs comfortably and gently rub his cock through his boxers. He groans softly and throws his head back. You could tell he was eager, his cock twitching and aching to come closer to you.

You could tell just from his bulge that he was very impressive which made you a little nervous, but no worries, anything to see him in pleasure. As you gently tug off his boxers your mind reels with images of what he'd look like, his head thrown back, his lips parted, brows furrowed, his neck exposed for you to suck and bite on.

Once you free his cock from his underwear you notice his confident facade begins to falter for a moment. You gently pick up his cock into your hand and give the tip a little kiss. San gasps and looks down at you, his heart racing at the feeling of your tender lips. He lets out a little moan as he watches you kiss and lick around the tip of his cock.

"Good girl, you like to tease don't you?" He smirks softly as he shifts your hair over and holds it up behind your head. You take him deeper into your mouth and he whines softly, his hips bucking up. "Oh god, your mouth feels so good," he moans with a grin, his chest heaving with excitement. He looked down at you again through hooded eyes as you took him deeper and deeper until his tip reached the back of your throat.

You choke softly but don't let it stop you. You slowly pull him out of your mouth, only to the tip, before repeating. "God damn," he growls harshly. "You're doing so good-fuck," he tosses his head back again and his grip tightens in your hair. "Would it be embarrassing if I came already?" He chuckles softly and you shake your head; you double up your efforts in hopes of making him cum sooner.

You feel his cock begin to twitch and his hips jerk every time his tip hits the back of your throat. "Oh yeah~ I'm cumming baby," he moans before biting his lip. His back arches off the couch as his fist clenches harshly around your tucked-back hair, though a few strands have fallen from his grasp and into your face. Just as you feel a hint of his flavor touch your tongue you pull him out of your mouth, letting his cock rest against your face and spurt out cum.

San was shocked at your lewd display but he loved it, his cock growing hard already. "You're a dirty one," he laughs and your smile before flicking a bit of his cum off your face and onto your finger; you dip your finger into your mouth and lick it clean. "Fuck," he chuckles softly before reaching for a tissue box on the table stand. He wipes down your face, his hands warm and gentle against your face.

Once he's done cleaning you up he lifts you onto his lap effortlessly and firmly places his hands on your ass. "Why don't we trade places? You sit on the couch and I'll go on my knees for you," he offers and you smile, excited for what he has planned. He stands up, carrying you around his waist effortlessly, and sets you down on the couch. He goes on his knees between your legs. He gently prys them open to reveal your clothed pussy, sopping wet.

You had a little bush there as well that you admittedly embarrassed about. You knew at some point he'd have to see but you were nervous, what if he thought it was gross? While you were busy worrying San began to give your clothed folds kitten licks. You gasp softly as he rests the side of his head against the inside of your upper thigh, his tongue still flicking your clit as he brought his hand up to trace your folds. He was really good at this.

"W-Wow, you've done this before," you chuckle softly as you lean back.

"I've had some practice," he shrugs before blowing on your clit. "Now let's see what you've been hiding so desperately," he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties and pulls them down. You blush softly and fight the urge to close your legs. "My, my, you're so wet baby," as San pulled off your panties you could see the damp spot in the center.

As the panties reached your ankles he gently lifted your foot by the back of your ankle to slide your foot out of one hole and then the other. He was so gentle with you and never let you do anything yourself; the definition of princess treatment. "Why were you so shy, look at this," he smirks as he slides a finger between your folds, parting them for him to see. "So wet and vibrant,"

You let out a whimper as he plays you like a fiddle, his tongue torturing your clit and his fingers dancing around your entrance but never making the commitment to dive in. "You're so patient," he pulls back with a little smirk to praise you. He continues to tease you mercilessly before finally committing to the bit. He dips a singular finger inside you and begins to explore around your warmth. "You're so tight baby," he murmurs into your folds, his voice low and muffled.

He brings a hand up to the underside of your thigh and lifts it on his shoulder. His finger rubs the deepest point of your pussy as his mouth laps at your folds, sucking and pulling the sensitive skin. The room fills with your sharp gasps and whimpers as he eats you out. He adds in another finger before beginning to thrust them into you, loosening you up for later.

"S-Sannie~" you moan and he grins mischievously. "I-I'm close..." you admit and San continues his dual assault on your pussy. "A-Ah san!" You cry out as your legs reflexively raise up, your hands fisting in his hair.

"Cmon baby," he flicks your clit back and forth with his tongue rapidly, determined to push you over the edge. Your body begins to tense, your eyes squinted shut, as your orgasm hits.

"San!" You cry out his name one last time before clenching your thighs around his head. His tongue and fingers never stop stimulating you, only slowing to ease you out of your climax. He kisses your clit softly before pulling back. The orgasm still lingers in your head and stomach.

"Good girl, good girl," he rubs your thighs softly as your body continues to shiver. San can't help but smile at how much you enjoyed his efforts. "Do you wanna keep going or are you all done for tonight?" His question makes you quickly jump back to your senses.

"I am far from done," you jump up and Sannie laughs.

"Alright, what do you have planned my love?" San sits up next to you on the couch. You think for a moment.

"Maybe...doggy style?" You blush softly and San's eyebrows lift slightly.

"Your wish is my command princess," San smiles before helping you to get into position. He goes on his knees behind you and grabs the base of his cock, guiding it to your slit. He rubs it up and down a few times. "Are you ready baby?" San confirms one last time and you nod.

He then slowly pushes past your tight warm walls. The two of you moan loudly in unison as you feel his cock stretching you out.

"Oh god," you moan softly as you try to form words to describe this feeling. "You're so big," you laugh softly but in reality, you were panicking because of how big he was. Could you take all this? San smirks softly before leaning down slightly, gently placing his hand around your throat.

"You like that? Feeling my big cock stretch out this tight little cunt?" He growls in your ear as your eyes roll back as he thrusts slow and deep.

"Mmm yes," you smile and you realize you must look like a total slut but right now you don't give a damn, not when he's balls deep inside you.

"You're such a good girl," he slightly tightens his grip on your throat before bringing his hand to your mouth. You lick his fingers gently and his eyes widen. "You're a kinky little girl~" he chuckles before picking up the speed of his hips. He bites the back of your shoulder and you let out a symphony of moans.

As he bites true neck he picks up a familiar scent from your skin and hair. Was that his soap? He had to know if it was true. "Did you use my products in the shower earlier?" He smirks softly the taste of your skin lingers in his mouth. You blush softly but it doesn't matter anymore, you were already fucking him.

"Yes, I did," you whimper softly as Sans hips stay steady. "I couldn't resist it," you admit and San laughs.

"It's alright babygirl, but next time you should let me shower with you, waste less products that way," he grins and you laugh softly even though he was still pounding into you.

"Will do," you bite your lip before San suddenly goes faster making you grab the couch harshly. "Shit!" You moan as you feel his hand tangle into your hair. "Choke me, baby," you cry out and San chuckles darkly. He brings his arm around the front of your neck, his inner elbow right at the center of your neck, and your eyes roll back. "Just like that," you breathe out.

"You like that baby?" He kisses the back of your head, his face buried in your frizzy hair. "Oh baby I'm gonna cum. Where do you want it?" He moans into your ear.

"Inside," you reply as you feel your walls gripping onto his cock for dear life.

"Nasty girl, I love it," he chuckles lowly before doubling his efforts, trying to pull you over the edge. "You are so good, you're gonna take it all, aren't you? My big load in your little pussy," he growls and you can't even reply, pure pleasure possessing your body. You claw at his arm, leaving red lines from your nails as the two of you cum. "Fuck, yes," he growls as you feel him explode inside you.

San unlocks your head from his arm and lets you rest against the couch as your juices mingle inside your pussy. "Good girl, I'm so proud of you," he showers you in kisses as he rubs your back.

"That was amazing," you breathe out and San chuckles. He gently pulls out with a wet pop and your mixed cum drizzles out like a cream donut. San gently licks up the cum before giving your ass a gently appreciative pat.

"Let's get you cleaned up babygirl," he effortlessly lifts you up into bridal style and takes you to the bathroom. He carefully sits you down on the toilet as he gets the shower running.

"So...about that showering together?" You chuckle softly as you feel something fuzzy rubbing up against your leg. You look down to see Muffin looking up at you before meowing.

#Spotify #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez part.2 #choi san #san smut #san ateez #ateez san #choi san smut

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muddyorbsblr · 3 days ago

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mercy upon ourselves

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your multiversal duty of punishing perpetrators of infidelity in their afterlife takes an interesting turn when you see that the betrayed party is one of your variants | loose 'sequel' to 'all will be alright in time'

Pairing: Loki (God of Stories/Time) x Reader; Will Ransome x Reader (different Reader)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ | talks of infidelity; steamy moments at the end; (technically) mass murder; Cora Seaborne (yeah she's a warning); Will Ransome (in this case he needs to be a warning, too) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: this loosely takes place in the RTC 'multiverse', but no prior reading of the series is required; Reader is the goddess of fidelity

Dick-tionary: steamy moments (but not outright smut) starts at "Loki let out a low chuckle"

Your duty as goddess of fidelity, in theory, was simple enough. Upon the death of a betrayer, you were to choose their punishment in their eternal afterlife. After your first few thousand cases, they all began to meld into the same old tale, often feeling as if they all even wore the same face.

That was until this particular story. Where the face of the deceased and betrayed wife held…your own.

Before you could even call out to him, Loki was by your side in a heartbeat, laying his hands gently on your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "I can sense your unease, little Princess. What troubles you?"

Together you looked through the glowing branches that surrounded you, each telling the story of a different timeline, a different universe. Until you finally found the one which held the case you needed to review. The universe where your echo had died of a broken heart upon learning that your husband, Loki's echo in the form of a Reverend William Ransome, betrayed you to have an entanglement with a newcomer in your quaint village of Aldwinter.

"This is no variant of mine," your husband seethed. "I could never belittle our love like this, the thought alone pains me."

You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I know, husband. This timeline is simply…a fluke. Our echoes, our variants? They are not reflections of ourselves. His flaws and failures are not your burden to bear."

"Failure," he repeated, his top lip curling up in a sneer as he looked upon the faces of his variant and his mistress, living together under the same roof, sleeping in the very bed that your variant breathed her last. "That is precisely what this branch is. Perhaps it should just drift away…to wither and rot."

"Loki we should not punish an entire universe for the mistake of one man. There are still countless lives within this branch--"

"And your variant is no longer one of them because of the mistake of his one man. He deserves to suffer."

"And he will," you reassured him. "His suffering falls within my purview. It is my Norns-given duty to see to it. And while I know we both would relish in watching as this pathetic coward of a man sees the end of days upon him, I cannot in good conscience have it be at the cost of an entire universe. But perhaps the village that was complicit…the village that stayed silent to protect their precious reverend's reputation."

"What do you have in mind, my love?" He pulled you close to him, embracing you from behind, hands caressing your sides. Soothing himself from the unease of seeing how his variant dared take you for granted.

I was made to be yours. Words that resonated so deeply into both your souls. Words he used when he first confessed his love to you. The same words you yourself uttered when your memory spell had broken and you found him that fateful day eons ago.

The same words you both used within your new vows when he returned to you. And used ever since.

And somehow this insipid trifling man thought himself above those words? Dare even spit them back in the face of the same entities that weaved your two souls together so intricately that it bled through every timeline and universe known to him?

All the suffering in the Nine Realms would not be enough for this William Ransome as far as he was concerned.

"Well, husband, we are in a rather…unique circumstance," you mused aloud, a little sound of contentment slipping from your lips when he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I bear the same face as this Y/N Ransome…and they reside in a town that is riddled with a rather superstitious lot. And my variant…she deserves her revenge, does she not?"

Had it not been for the gloomier and grayer than usual state of the sky, it seemed a typical day in Aldwinter. It had been years since the spectacle that was your passing occurred, and the townsfolk had finally began to warm to the presence of Cora Seaborne. Sure, she and William would still get looks out of the corners of their eyes, especially when she would emerge from the house in a dress that people could have sworn was yours, but other than that, no one made any trouble for them.

Not to their face. Not anymore.

The cold heaviness of regret had made itself at home in the pit of your widower's stomach ever since that day, the day that he betrayed you. No amount of rationalizing could have him absolve himself of his sin. Any which way he went with his internal arguments, they would all land in the same place.

The blame fell entirely on him. And he would have to live with the consequences of what he'd done for the rest of his days.

In the form of the tombstone that would steadily erode with the passing of time.

And in the form of the new family he was all but strong armed into taking on, if only to spare himself more scandal and ridicule. He'd already lost the respect of a good number of the congregation, this would smite the number down to a paltry handful if he turned his back on his then pregnant mistress.

Though despite all their efforts at maintaining what they thought they'd found with each other, they had lost the babe. Twice. As if God Himself willed it so that no child would ever result from their treachery. A fitting punishment, as far as Will was concerned.

Love may not have been a weakness, but lust most definitely was. Lust was what drove him to commit the treachery that led to the loss of love.

He should have resisted. Walked away. Ran, even.

Perhaps if he had, you would still be here, serving as a bright ray of sunlight even in the dark gray overcast over your little town. Perhaps your children wouldn't have turned their backs on him and he would be allowed the privilege of getting to see them build their own families, lead their own lives.

Instead all he had was darkness and silence. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"William!" Cora's shriek traveled across the marshes.

Moments like these, he preferred the darkness and silence.

He tried to take in a breath before turning to face her, the picture of a doting partner. "What is it, Cora?"

"The look--the looking glass, I saw--"

Her stammering was cut short by the sound of Matthew frantically ringing the alarm bell. "TIDE INCOMING! EVERYONE GO INSIDE! GET TO SAFETY!"

One of the fishermen in the approaching boats stumbled forward until he fell limp in the reverend's arms. "The waves, they be the size of mountains. Bigger even. God is angry with us."

"No," Matthew wheezed, coughing out sea water. "That wasn't God, out there in the waters. Not our God. That was some sorceress, some witch. Demoness. We must find safety." He began to usher every villager he could find into the church. "She don't look like the type that shows mercy."

"She?" Cora spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the curate. "You…saw her face? Tell me does she look like--"

"Enough talk about the evil looming in on us, Mrs Seaborne!" he snapped, pointing his finger at the Ransome house. "Go home. May this evil, whoever and whatever she may be, have mercy on us all."

"What was that, Cora?" Will hissed as they made their way home. "You look completely beside yourself."

"I could have sworn I saw Y/N's face in the looking glass," she said shakily, gulping for breath, shuddering when she said your name aloud once more. "Will, she looked angry. Vengeful."

"You're not making any sense, Y/N is gone," he said tersely, a familiar lump forming at the back of his throat as he forced himself to acknowledge your absence from his life. He ushered her along, trying to ensure that she at least would not stumble too harshly. "I laid her into the ground myself, gave her eulogy."

"I know," she huffed. "But I also know what I saw, that was no hallucination, Will--"

"I've read texts that there are some pregnancies that alter with the minds, the perception of the expectant mother. Perhaps this is simply one of those cases," he waved off. "Look, Cora we're almost home. We can wait out the storm and then when this is all over you can rest. We all can."

She simply nodded and they cross the marshes back to their home, only to find Francis, pale as freshly pressed cardstock, awaiting them by the door. "Mother, F-Father, there's a woman--" he sputtered out, pointing at the open door.

And then you stepped out. "There you are. Cowards."

William's heart stopped in his chest watching you walk out of your old home, what seemed to be billowing fabric drenched and clinging to your skin, hugging every curve that his hands had longed for since your passing. Even soaking wet, your dress proudly gleamed a brilliant emerald green, and there was a glow that seemed to radiate from underneath your skin.

You were no longer of this earth. You were something…more. Something above them all. And it showed in the way you held yourself, in your gaze as you looked upon the marshes that held your former home. As you looked upon the husband that survived you, your upper lip curling in derision as you saw the bump protruding from Cora's stomach.

"Y/N…" he whispered your name, your sheer presence bringing him to his knees. "Sweet wife, you have returned--"

"Hold that rancid thought," you silenced him, raising your hand in the air as if grasping for something. In an instant, his words ceased, feeling as if his tongue had swollen and became as heavy as lead in his mouth. "You do not get to call me your wife, Reverend Ransome. Not since you sullied your vows and laid with this London whore."

Cora took a step toward you, opening her mouth as if to defend herself, or perhaps her lover. But you put a stop to that as well, raising your other hand in her direction, and suddenly she was forced to sink to her knees as well. "Please, Y/N," she pleaded with you. "Let us take this inside there is a tide coming--"

"Do you mean this tide, friend?" you spat the last word out, as if it tasted bitter on your tongue. Suddenly the tide was steadily approaching the shore, rising to a height that would completely engulf and decimate Aldwinter once it bore down on them. And you rose from the ground, floating well above the roof of the Ransome home, the reverend, along with his lover and her son, looking up at you in sheer horror.

"What do you want from us?!" Francis yelled into the sky, reminding you of how mortal worshippers would look to the sky and beg the gods for explanations. For miracles.

"I do not wish for you to give me anything, young Mr Seaborne. In fact, I wish to offer you all…a choice." You turned your gaze to the kneeling couple. "Get in the water. And perhaps I shall spare this town."

"Y/N please, this town is full of innocent lives, no matter what has happened to you I know in my heart that you would never wreak this kind of devastation upon--"

"What has happened to me?!" you repeated, your shrieking tone piercing even through the deafening sound of the tidal wave still standing tall, waiting to descend. "Your lustful indiscretion cost an innocent life, William Ransome. There is no innocent life in this town. Not anymore. The people here chose to stay silent, to keep your affair a secret for the sake of preventing a scandal. Though that didn't seem to work out the way you'd hoped, did it?" You motioned toward the wave with a jerk of your head again. "Get in the water."

The wave grew even more violent, already taking in the fishing boats and pulling it into its dark abyss.

They both stubbornly stayed still, still kneeling on the muddy marsh ground staying silent. The tramp's hand twitched toward the vicar's, but his moved upward, as if wishing to reach for you.

It was always you, she realized bitterly. She may have him now, but only as a result of his momentary lapse in good judgment where his body chose another's. But his heart…his heart would always choose you.

When presented with any semblance of a choice, Will Ransome would crawl back to you on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. And now she must lie on the bed she made. The bed they both made.

Only when you pointed toward her son, her dear Francis, and he was lifted up from the ground, kicking and struggling in mid-air, did both of them make a noise. Calling out to you, pleading for you to put him down and stop the madness. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, adulterers. Get in the water. Or your boy here suffers first."

"Y/N, stop this," Cora spoke, rising to her feet. "Are you not tired? It has been so long, years, even. Francis was still just a little boy when you last saw him. He is a grown man now, how long will you let anger consume you?"

Even from this distance, you could see the ire in Will's features, clearly ticked off with the words that came out of his lover's mouth. "My darling, please. What must I do to atone for my transgressions towards you? I will promise you anything, do anything. Whatever you wish for, it's yours, please can we just go home?"

You lowered both Francis Seaborne and yourself down to the ground, the young man running immediately to his mother, quivering like a leaf in the wind. The disgraced vicar reached his arms out toward you, every muscle tensing and freezing in place when you rose your hand into the air again. "It is the actions of philanderers like you that make the mortals look down on me, consider me a lesser god."

"God?" Cora repeated in a sharp exhale. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N--"

"Fools like you don't realize what awaits you on the other side of your mortality, where the fate of your eternal afterlife…falls to me," you cut her off, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Adulterers doomed to suffer an endless loop of the consequences of their actions."

"My wife--"

"Is dead, Mister Ransome," you bellowed. From the corner of your eye you could see villagers gathering at their windows, the horror in their expressions as they began to speculate on what exactly had come to terrorize their quaint little town. "You killed her, there is no use in denying it. Your foolish, licentious choices brought her to her grave. For that alone, you will suffer once your feeble human life reaches its conclusion."

"If you are not Y/N Ransome, then who are you?" Francis asked, voice shaking as he held on to his mother. "Why have you come to wreak havoc in our lives?"

You walked toward the town's vicar, tears in his eyes as he watched you move closer. He reached for your hands, looking like a wounded pup when you swatted him away. "I am the goddess of fidelity," you answered simply. "When betrayers like you and your mistress cease your time on this mortal plane, you and everyone complicit in your torrid affair will be at my mercy."

The tide rose even higher, looming menacingly over the town in a dangerous arch, blocking out what little light they once had from the sun beyond the clouds. You grasped William's chin harshly, fear evident in his eyes, heart thundering against his chest.

"But your actions, your infidelity in particular…upset my husband," you spoke, holding his gaze as you hissed the words inches from his face. "And for that, I am willing to bend the rules and begin your suffering ahead of time. Put forth the events that will thrust your pathetic souls upon my doorstep."

You rose from the ground again, rage for your fallen variant coursing through you as you heard them plead for forgiveness. For mercy.

"P-Please Y/N…" Cora sputtered out. "I will leave the town and no one will ever hear from me again, just please let me leave with my boy."

"No," you droned. "You have asked what you can do to atone, I presented you with a choice. Now I know how capable you both are of making choices, you've made several together, some of them even on the very ground you stand on. Which leads me to believe…you have made your choice. Stubbornly bargaining your way out of my wrath, out of your suffering. At the cost of this town you call home."

"You truly aren't Y/N Ransome, are you?" she spat out, a look of entitled indignance on her face. "The Y/N I knew wouldn't be this ruthless. She would have shown mercy--"

"Oh but I am showing mercy, you unworthy tart," you spat back. "For ruthlessness is mercy. Upon ourselves." With a flick of your wrist, the tidal wave was finally let loose.

And the little town of Aldwinter sunk into the water.

Before the tsunami crashed down and took you with it, Loki conjured a portal and pulled you back to safety, a bit of water splashing into your bedchambers before it closed. With a wave of his magic the water evaporated into the air, and your soaked dress was dried.

"Husband…" you spoke, a wide smile gracing your features when your eyes met his. You both were on the floor, the god cradling you in his arms as he pushed your hair away from your face.

"My darling wife," he breathed out, his own smile mirroring yours as he picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "Your flair for the dramatic has you reckless as ever."

He sat you on the edge of the bed, handing you a goblet of wine that did a quick job of warming you and canceling out the effects of the damp cold of Aldwinter.

"You should rest, my love," he said softly, moving to position himself behind you to undo the braids in your hair, carefully working his fingers through the wet strands. "This is the first time you wielded your newfound powers as a goddess, I can imagine your body feels overworked…and famished."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, causing your husband to chuckle and press a tender kiss to your cheek. "How did you know when to pull me back?"

"To start, I must admit that I was watching the spectacular show you put on, avenging your variant with such vigor," he whispered into your skin. His hands found their way to your shoulders, working away at the knots. "And our souls' threads are intertwined, little Princess. I can always feel when you need me. I was made to be yours."

"And I yours," you sighed contendedly, leaning against him when he wrapped his arms around you. When he cupped the side of your face, holding you as he pressed his lips to yours, you all but melted into his embrace. "I love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"And I love you," he murmured, continuing to kiss your lips as he maneuvered you to lie down on the bed. With a wave of his hand, the fabric that covered your skin changed to something much lighter, more sheer. One of your sleeping gowns, you surmised. "Rest, dear heart. I shall arrange for food to be brought to us for when you wake."

Your body was all too eager to obey the softly spoken command. The rest of you, however…well, after the ordeal in that despondent village on Midgard, the rest of you ached for your husband's touch. To wash away the muck of the marshes.

Loki let out a low chuckle, kissing along your clavicle as his hand roamed the side of your body. "I can always feel when you need me," he repeated, his tone holding a much more lustful intent than moments earlier. "And much as I want nothing more than to indulge in making love to my beautiful wife, I cannot, should not, be so selfish and ignore her body's need for rest." He made his way to your lips, allowing himself the tiniest sliver of decadence as he licked into your mouth. "You'll need your strength for what I intend to do to you later tonight."

Your breath hitched as images flashed in your mind of your husband teasing and pleasuring you, claiming your body repeatedly well until after the sun rose the next morning. In multiple places throughout your marital chambers. Constantly finding or making the time to bring you to orgasm in the midst of pampering you.

Suddenly it made sense why he would choose to deny you now…in exchange for a much more delicious reward just a few short hours away.

"Would you stay regardless, husband?" you asked weakly, already feeling yourself succumbing to the exhaustion and the slumber that your plush sheets promised. "Hold me?"

You weren't able to see the loving smile that graced your husband's face from your request. You only felt the soft kiss on your forehead before he positioned you to lay in his arms. "Gladly, my darling." He conjured a book into his free hand, ready to begin reading to you when a stray question entered his mind. "What of their souls, Y/N? What hellscape did you design for them?"

"I gave them what they deserve," you grumbled, shifting your position to hold him closer, your arm draping over his stomach as you laid your head on his chest. "Each other. They are doomed to spend their afterlife together, with Cora knowing that his heart longs for his late wife. And William having to watch from the sidelines as my variant finds new love. You have a stray echo that never found his fated, by the name of Pine. I presume by now they've found each other, starting a story of their own."

A/N: Hang on what's this…? Did I tease a future story at the end there? 😳 Why yes…yes I did 🤭 Ngl this year felt like I didn't get a whole lotta stories done especially in the latter half, but hopefully with everything finding a bit of balance, 2025 will look a bit different and I can set aside more time for story writing 💖

Ooh, and also I def got the idea to make this because of the "Get in the Water" song

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #will ransome x reader #will ransome x female reader #essex serpent fanfiction #essex serpent fanfic #muddyorbs writes

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softshuji · 2 days ago

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I love the idea of hanma drunk confessing but I also really like the idea of him confessing totally sober too. Picking up the phone, sitting by his doorstep, telling you he's got something to tell u cos "I'll be honest sweetheart, you're making me feel all sorta conflicted shit. I know we said it's just fucking but, I don't know man, it kinda doesn't feel like that to me anymore." And he doesn't even sound drunk, in fact you can hear the cars in the background. He's quiet, unnecessarily so. "I'm in love with you for real, and I know it's a bit shitty of me, to break our Agreement, so I get it if you wanna call this thing we got going on off." And there's a long pause before he clears his throat and says "anyway princess, I'll be seeing you around, call me when you get this yeah pretty girl?"

#God im gonna inhale him #to see this big man so bashful and confused in love hngngngng #pls #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #hanma shuji #hanma x reader

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sideysvault · 2 days ago

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𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 2)

Southeastern misfortune

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 2,114k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, mentions of dead, mature themes, enemies to lovers, hurt, comfort

full series masterlist. read part one.

────────

Without much thought of ruining her night gown, she began to try to take a hold of herself, sitting down on the unmarked path of the garden, slightly rocking herself back and forward, as slyly as she could, as to not start rumors. She tried to keep her mind focused on the soothing sound the crickets made, and let her thoughts waver with the cold wind.

“Are you alright?” There it was. That sweet voice.

Even if she startled the Princess, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the thought of being seen in such a precarious condition by her, she was still glad to have company. Quickly standing up, in a makeshift bow she muttered “My queen! My apologies”.

“It is fine. You must call me Helaena” As soon as the princess opened her mouth to protest the lack of formality, she continued “I have to admit, my title hasn’t brought me much joy, and, i much prefer being treated fairly, by my birth name”.

She hummed in response. Being married to a man like Aegon, a man that she knew as a boy, who she must have felt purely fraternal love towards, having to deal with the court and the angst of the upcoming war; No wonder she had no desire to be Queen anymore.

Heleana signals to a grasshopper that was strolling through the miniature world that is the soil in the garden. She smiles at it, and grabs it tenderly, to place it at the palm of her hand. The little animal, seemingly unaffected by the intrusion, continued his parade around the Queen’s arms.

“Is my brother not treating you kindly? Aegon can be difficult too, especially when he is drunk”.

A smile appears on both the woman’s faces. The amount of honesty was not expected, but it was comforting to laugh about one’s tragedies.

“No, no. The Prince is-” She fidgeted with the sleeves on her gown “Well, I-“ she sighed in exasperation with her inability to open up to the kind Queen“ I do not really know how to explain his offense” Accepting her emotional deceit, the Princess tried to change the subject “Are you having a tough night, as well?”

That question seemed to take the Queen far away from the garden. After the silence had settled in between the two woman, the sweet voice illuminated the echoes of the garden yet again “Mm” Heleana got closer to ther “You see, dreams are the whispers that guide my steps”

The Queen always spoke in a trance-like state, her mind seemed to live inside the oneiric, pulling her further and further away from the world surrounding her. But she was kind. Her eyes shined with a sincere caring that was hard to fake. Maybe they could become friends. After all, she had come to rescue her from her own mind, speaking earnestly, without hesitation or defensiveness.

Seeing Heleana’s kind eyes turn watery with desperation and a sense of shared complicity, a wave of guilt swallows her body whole. She did not understand what she was trying to say, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it or if she was to believe its veracity.

She decided not to hide her confusion, only her instinctive disbelief. Magic and prophets were just tales to keep everyone compliant.

“Pardon me, Heleana, but, what does it mean?” The Queen seemed to feel anxious all of a sudden, and she firmly grabbed the Princess’s hands, got closer to her, and whispered a terrible sentence to her confused ears.

“I am afraid. Not the dragons, the rats”.

It sounded unlikely, and it took you by surprise. She clearly seemed to think she was making an urgent confession, so you tried to be kind, despite your skepticism. There it was again, Targaryen’s queer costumes and the southeastern legends.

She took her hands off yours; The warmth of her touch disappeared as soon as it came. The Princess’s face must have given it away. Heleana quickly composed herself and softly uttered “You don’t believe me either” she had said matter-of-factly, disappointed and frustrated, yes. But mostly just with sadness coloring her voice.

————

After the dreadful encounter, It only took about two weeks for the heir to be murdered. It had been done, after all, by the rat men. The culprit was rumored to be not the Usurper, but her loose cannon of a husband. Either way, it did not really make any difference; A child had been butchered like cattle. The only male heir, yes. But also Heleana’s baby boy. The King had turned mad with rage and grief, and Heleana’s psyche and heart seemed to never be able to recover.

Upon the news of the tragic death, Prince Aemond was taken aback, but kept a serious temple and measured concern. She felt horrified to see his initial cold reaction, and she felt afraid of his familial detachment, and his growing ambition. Upon receiving the details of the horrific news, the Princess had to kneel and puke her sorrows out of her body. It had been a primal reaction, with a sudden feeling of nausea. She thought of the white-haired boy, as pale as snow, as happy as one can be. He was robbed of his future, of the love he could’ve received from his father, his sister and his kind mother, who may just have been able to raise him to be different from the King. But, egotistically, she primarily thought of Heleana’s desperate eyes, pleading for someone to listen to her premonitions, begging for help. The Princess had ignored her Queen’s distress, with a crime worse than treason, but that of treating a fellow woman as hysterical and mentally challenged. Guilt overshadowed any other thought on her mind.

The first night after the news was known, she thanked the Gods for showing proof of the Prince’s humanity. At the marital bed, when the sheets were already warmed by their bodies, and the echoes of the mumbling night could be heard, another noise could be made out from the chambers. Her husband, the chaste man, the disinterested man, found the warmth in his heart to shed tears for his sibling’s son. She felt such a great relief, that she quietly got closer to him, and wrapped his arms against his waist. The prince, who was not facing her, could feel the warmth of his wife’s tears staining his back with a shared sorrow. He slowly grabbed the hands that were firmly grounding him, and, in a weak moment, he caved in to his human desires and caressed her hands with his thumb.

The Princess did not sleep that night. When the tears stopped their flow, and her husband had finally fallen asleep, the spell was broken. Uncomfortable with this position of vulnerability and touch, she immediately tried to escape his tender grip. Now, alone with her thoughts again, she could accept that her inability to comprehend that there were things beyond her understanding of the world, her pride and brute vanity had contributed to the beheading of a little boy.

Feeling like a young child again; Turning and moving around the bed at night, she tried to understand what could be an empiric, logical reason that had made Heleana predict with chilling accuracy the events that would take place. The woman’s entire cosmovision and knowledge of life was shaken, and in the depths of night, she found herself suddenly scared of the ghostly profile that the chandelier projected onto the walls, she felt anxiety about the noises that echoed from the main hall, and mainly, she understood with horror that she could not come up for any reason that did not involve the ancient beliefs.

In the upcoming weeks, besides the political unrest, came the personal tragedies. The Prince, back to his normal self, had told his wife that the daughter of Heleana, not only haunted by her brother’s brutal attack, had been suffering recurring night terrors, worrying that she would be the next to be taken away.

The Princess’s heart broke for the little girl, and for her mother, who must’ve felt like another nail was being hit onto her skin with her daughter’s complicated grief.

So she took it upon herself to make their nights as easy as possible. Each day, she would invent a story to write down for Heleana to read to her daughter before bed, she would conjure tales of love and divine peace, tales of struggle that always ended with a nice resolution. The Queen, knowing that Princess’s kindness was motivated by her own guilt, decided to finally have a talk with her, in private.

As soon as Heleana called for her, the Princess promptly left her room, eager to get the difficult conversation started as soon as possible. With the rush she had felt she did not have much time to cover or hide her writings, which were not yet ready for the Queen to receive. Prince Aemond could not help himself, and as soon as she left, he walked towards the desk and found with a small smile in his lips that his wife had been writing children’s tales for his sister and niece. With fear of ruining the wet ink, he traced the mess his wife had for calligraphy. Without touching, his fingertips lingered over the comforting words, imagining what it would feel like to touch the magical world she had created to comfort his family.

————

When she entered the room, despite all the consuming guilt and shame she felt, all that her eyes could really focus on was Heleana. She was standing near the edge of the window, exposing her back towards the door of the chamber, not admiring the landscape, but feeling the cold breeze hit her face with tenderness. She looked like a divine apparition, with her pristine white hair that attracted light from the room and multiplied it with its color, with her usual trance state and the beautiful embroidery on her dress. The Princess did not know how to announce her arrival, so she awkwardly waited for the Queen to notice her. After some time, Heleana murmured something without turning to face her guest.

“They are helping.” She took a small breath before continuing, “The stories, I mean.”

The Princess’s heart broke once more for the girl who remained kind above all else, the girl who war could not completely taint, even after forcing her to experience the torturous pain of loss.

“Heleana, I’m deeply sorry, I-“ without being able to find the proper words, or knowing how to continue, she kneels before her, bowing to her not as the Queen, but as a wise friend who should have been listened to. The Princess looks up to her from the depths of the floor and says “I truly am sorry, I should have listened”.

Upon hearing those words, the white on Heleana’s eyes seemed to pulsate and expand on their own, clearly being attacked with flashes of the tragic night. When she finally closed them, she dropped to her knees as well, crying, and thanking the floor which provided a wonderfully solid base. It was comforting to know that she had fallen and could fall no further. The Queen said nothing, but took the Princess’s hands. Now, laying together on their knees, with their fingers intertwined and their heads against each other, that was the moment they truly became friends. The pair remained in that position for a while, before the Princess broke the sacred silence with an earnest desire to express what had been on her mind “You have a gift, Heleana. A gift that defies my common mind and my prejudge against the realm of the unknown. I truly am sorry. No one should doubt the words that your prophecies tell. Jaehaerys was a wonderful child, nothing could mend what has been done to him”.

“I do feel sad about Jaehaerys. But I ought not to, I think. Babes die all the time. The people at that horrid procession, they way they looked at me-”

Helaena dropped her hands, and started to avoid eye contact with the Princess. She focused instead on the pattern the dents in the walls of the chamber.

“You are allowed to grieve. Not as a high-born lady, but as a mother”.

The Queen never really met the other woman's eyes again, but a soft, almost imperceptible smile flashed through her face. They sat on the cold, solid floor for what felt like hours, not speaking again, but accompanying one another until dawn, when the time came for the Princess to finish the story and for the Queen to read it to her daughter.

────────

Notes: I finally got time to write part two! This series has given me my motivation back, and has helped me through tough times. Little people have read it, but to all of those who are re-blogging the work, I sincerely appreciate you and your kindness! It makes me smile -Sidey xxo

pd. My timeline is all messed up so ignore that too x

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torturedlexdepartment · 3 days ago

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Sorry

Rafe Cameron x reader

Author's note: again, I apologize 💀

Warnings: ANGST, breaking up

Summary: after a year of trying to force feelings, you decide to finally break it off with Rafe

I stared down at my phone as I sat at the foot of my bed. Seven missed calls and an unfeasible amount of text messages from Rafe. I knew it was a bad idea to have the “this isn’t working anymore” conversation through text, but I was a coward. I didn’t want to have to look him in the face and explain myself. And now that he was blowing me up, I just wanted to run and hide.

I was just about to shut my phone off when I heard the sound of a truck pulling up outside. My worst damn nightmare. I should have figured Rafe would show up at my house the second I started ignoring him. I had known the man my entire life, how did I not think of this? I watched him out my window as he climbed up my steps and pounded on my front door. My car was outside so there was no denying that I was home. I sighed deeply before meeting him at my door.

“What the fuck Y/N? You can’t send that text then ghost me.” He pushed past me and I closed the door. I stayed turned away from him, not wanting to see his eyes beaming on me but I could still feel them. “Are you going to explain to me what you meant?” Tears started to well in my eyes and he spun me around to face him. His whole demeanor softened and he brought his hands up to rest on my cheeks.

“I just don’t think we should be together anymore.”

“Why?” I could tell he was trying to stay calm and collected and it just made this whole situation more impossible for me to bare..

“I just think we are better as friends.” He huffed as he stared down at me.

“All of a sudden? Out of nowhere Y/N?” What he didn’t realize is that these feelings of mine were not all of a sudden. I had always kind of felt this way. We have been friends for years and when he confessed his feelings for me, I thought I owed this a real shot. I thought I could fall for him and lord knows I tried. But how could I love him when I couldn’t love myself?

“I’ve always felt this way, Rafe.” He took a step back from me. I knew my words stung.

“Y/N, we’ve been together for over a year.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to let the tears start trailing down my face.

“I know and I’m sorry, okay. I tried.”

“You tried? What does that even mean? You could have said something after a month or two Y/N.” He started pacing around my living room with his hands up in the air, sometimes running them through his hair. I hated that I was making him feel this way. I could feel his fear and anxiety and it made me feel one hundred times worse.

“I tried to give us a real shot. I��m so sorry, okay.” He barely let me finish before he questioned me.

“You don’t love me?” I felt frozen in place. I didn’t want to lie but there was no way to answer this question without hurting us both more.

“I care about you and you mean the world to me, Rafe.” I tried to walk up to him, to comfort him. I reached for him but he pushed my hands away.

“Answer the question Y/N, because you know I love you more than fucking anything.” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want this conversation to have to go down this path but it was the only way he was going to get it.

“Rafe, you don’t even know me.” He stopped pacing and snapped his head to look right at me. He looked at me like I was a crazy person and I’d be lying if I tried to say I didn’t start feeling like one.

“I’ve known you since we were kids so how exactly does that make sense?”

“You know what I want you to know.” I was running out of ways to try and explain myself. I wished he could have just accepted what I wanted and left me alone.

“What does that even mean Y/N?”

“You know the parts that I’ve allowed you to see, gotten as close as I’ve allowed you to. You don’t know everything okay. I’ve barely allowed you to scratch the surface. And if we keep going with this, I’m going to let you dig deeper and then you’ll see the real me, and I can’t let it happen.” I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable with someone and I hated the feeling.

“Y/N, you’re crazy if you think that after all this time that anything you say is going to scare me off. I already see you regardless of what lies you’re trying to tell yourself.” I was getting unbelievably frustrated. He wasn’t going to stop.

“Look, you deserve someone that doesn’t have to question how they feel, someone who knows what they want.” I didn’t realize that he was walking over to me until I stopped talking and looked up. He leaned down to kiss me and I pushed him away angrily. “Don’t do that!” He was trying to convince me and I refused to let him change my mind. It didn’t matter how much I cared about him or how much I wished this could work.

“Y/N will you just stop?” He pleaded.

“I don’t love you, Rafe. Not the same way. And I don’t think I ever can.” As I said the words, I could literally see the light leave his eyes. He looked down at the floor and held his tongue. He was fighting back tears that he didn’t want me to see. We both stood there silently for a few moments before he walked past me, right out the door. I found myself aching to say something, but there was nothing left to say.

I walked over to my window and watched him speed off out of my driveway and out of my life. The only relief I had was knowing that he was now free for someone else to love. And one day I’ll stop wishing that it could have been me.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #obx #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey fic #drew starkey x reader #Spotify

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crookedquotesonfood · 2 days ago

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"406 or Hong Hee Joo, he wouldn’t care anyway."

Many fans watching the show tend to focus on the male lead without noticing the female lead's feelings, or they somewhat underestimate her emotions.

But in my opinion, Hee Joo's feelings are very clear, even bordering on... madness and recklessness. From the start, although she said she wanted to grab the phone to ask for a divorce, the nature of that call seemed more like she wanted to vent her disappointment to him, to talk to him, to draw his attention. When she heard his concern for her over the phone, she happily rewound it over and over like a child, then laughed, "So he does get scared, after all."

She became flustered whenever he showed care for her, worried when he was attacked, and because of just one sentence from him, her emotions became chaotic, her heart constantly hoping that he would say just one confirming thing: "I care about you. Everything I’ve done and said was because I feared you’d get hurt." But our spokesperson here has his own troubles—he cannot confess his feelings, which makes her even more confused and uncertain. She fears that she might be deluding herself, thinking he cares when in reality he may just feel pity or honor-bound.

She practiced sign language using his videos—not in the usual sense of memorizing but in a way where she could tell, just from a quick glance at his shirt color or the background, exactly what the video was about. She studied so obsessively that she understood what he would say next even before he voiced it.

Then, after her father was threatened and she was repeatedly kidnapped and blackmailed, one might think she’d cave into fear and obey that madman’s manipulation. But no, because he came for her, she believed. Even though she was still hesitant and couldn’t muster the courage to speak the truth, even though she was panicking, she decided she couldn’t use that phone anymore and began to open up to her husband. I believe that if her sister hadn’t returned, sooner or later, she would have confessed everything and faced the hardships with him. But without drama, would it even be a chaebol romance?

Her sister’s return woke her up. She realized she was still just a puppet, a substitute, so she wanted to run away before getting hurt any further. During the party, hearing her mother insult her and her sister’s friends belittle her only made her more exhausted. The breaking point was seeing the man she loved standing and smiling with them. He was lofty and untouchable on his pedestal, while she was as insignificant as a speck of dust in the mud. How despairing it must have been!

When she was on the rooftop, she called him using the 406 number. I don’t know if others think the same as me, but I feel she didn’t do it just because she feared the kidnapper (at least not entirely). She wanted to use this method to catch his attention again. The phone rang again and again, but he didn’t pick up, making Hee Joo feel even more miserable. Her inner voice was like a plea: "It’s fine if you don’t care about me. But even if I approach you as 406, do you still not care?"

Both Hee Joo and Sa Eon love and feel deeply insecure because of each other. I hope they quickly grow, face their true feelings, confess and live happily ever after. Watching them suffer makes me sad too!

#when the phone rings #hong hee joo #paik sa eon

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cod-thoughts · 20 hours ago

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How far must i go to prove that i love you?

Word count: 6k

Relationships: GhostPrice, PriceGhost

Tags: PricGhostweek2024, love confession, Blow job, hand job, Ghost has dick piercings hehe, they're so in love, truly whipped its great.

This is for Day 1 of GhostPrice week: confession + Kneel and the title is what i was listening to while editing: "Mx Sinister - I dont know how but they found me"

Ghost swallowed; his throat suddenly tight. He’d never seen Price so relaxed, so at ease, and yet he looked right, like he belonged here. Against a kitchen counter as Ghost made him tea, warm from a fresh shower and relaxed. A kind of longing Ghost couldn’t name settled heavy in his chest, an ache that made him want to close the space between them, to pull Price close and tell him he didn’t want this to be temporary. Price noticed his gaze, eyebrows raising as he let out a soft laugh. “What’s with you then? Never seen a man out of a shower?” OR Ghost is so enamoured by a domestic and relaxed Price he blurts out his feelings and has to convince Price he does want this This is my first time writing actual smut please be kind oop 0_0 Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The mission went without a hitch, for once, no bad intel, no secret mercenaries waiting for them and most importantly. No injuries. Ghost couldn't be happier with how it turned out because this meant they had an extra three days in the safe house. Technically they weren’t on leave, but they might as well have been.

The safe house was a modest, worn place—a dusty sort of charm that only Price would’ve found this endearing, raving on about how cozy and homey it felt. It reminded him of his cabin in the country-side apparently. Even Ghost found himself oddly settled by the familiarity of it. Today was their last full day in the safe-house and they already managed to slip into a comfortable rhythm, both of them falling into a rare, quiet routine that felt almost… normal, domestic in a way.

Price was in the shower, water pattering softly against the old tiles, and the faint warmth of steam drifted out into the narrow hallway. Ghost could hear the occasional clink as Price moved about, no doubt scrubbing his face and muttering about the “bloody water pressure.” A hint of a smile tugged at Ghost’s mouth, something barely there, but the comfort of the moment made him less guarded, even if it was just him in the kitchen.

It was strange, the ease with which they’d fallen into this—how simple it felt to share the silence, to just be here. Price’s footsteps, his quiet huff of laughter, the way he leaned against the counter with that small smirk Ghost had memorised. These were details Ghost never let himself hold onto, and yet here they were, filling him with a warmth that was as terrifying as it was grounding.

God, what he wouldn’t give to have Price with him like this all the time, soft and comfortable, the lines in his face smoothing over in his relaxed state, his laughter more prominent and not marred by the world they live in.

He’d finished heating up a tin of beans, stirring it absently before putting the lid on it to keep it warm, and set the kettle on for tea, knowing Price would be done soon. The small tasks felt grounding, almost domestic—there’s that word again, strange but, maybe, it was what had been playing at the edges of his mind for a while now. This rare ease, this strange new rhythm. Ghost found himself watching the steam rising from the kettle, a bit lost in the warmth that filled the air.

He wasn’t quite sure when it happened—when the lines between Price as a superior, a mentor, had blurred into something… more. It was a disquieting thought, one he’d been trying to keep at bay, though not with much success. And here he was, cooking up beans and making tea, so utterly settled in Price’s presence that the prospect of leaving, of returning to the job, made him feel something uncomfortably close to hollow.

He never imagined this was even possible for him. To be alive and wanting something so fiercely. To want a life outside of being a soldier. It was all he ever knew but as the kettle clicked and he made them a cup each, exactly how Price liked it, it hit him like a blow: this was it. This was what he wanted, more than he’d ever wanted anything.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Price emerged, towelling his hair. He’d discarded his usual gear in favour of an old grey t-shirt, soft and worn, that clung to his still-damp skin. He looked… ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Ordinary was the wrong word entirely for that man, Ghost realised, because there was something extraordinary in the way Price took up space, in how naturally he filled the room.

There was something about Price that Simon couldn’t look away from, something that drew him in every time. It wasn’t just the way his shirt clung to the strong lines of his shoulders or the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends—it was him. The way Price moved with such unassuming ease, filling the space without even trying. The quiet strength in the way he stood, the subtle command he carried even when he wasn’t speaking.

And his face. God, Simon could stare at it forever. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes that deepened when he smiled, the way his beard softened his jawline but couldn’t hide the sharp angles beneath. The ruggedness of him—like he’d been carved out of something weathered but enduring—made Simon’s chest ache with something fierce. And then there was that scent, familiar and grounding: the faint trace of cigars, soap, and something woodsy, something unmistakably Price.

It wasn’t just the physical, though that certainly left Simon weak. It was the way Price’s presence seemed to settle the air, how his quiet confidence made even a dusty, cramped kitchen feel like the safest place in the world. How he could glance at Simon with those piercing blue eyes and, without saying a word, make him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

Simon realised, as he stood there, that he didn’t just want Price. He adored him. Every detail, every quiet moment, every laugh that felt like it was meant just for Simon. He wanted to keep this, to keep him—the man who somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel like home.

Simon didn’t realise he’d been staring until Price’s movement snapped him back to the present. He blinked, catching himself, but Price had already noticed, his gaze flicking toward him with a faintly amused tilt of his brow.

Price spotted the tea, grunted approvingly, and leaned back against the counter. “Bit of a treat, this. Thought we’d be stuck with the stale packs from camp.” He nodded toward the kettle, that subtle glint of humour in his eyes, as if a decent brew was the most luxurious indulgence he could imagine.

A kind of longing Ghost couldn’t name settled heavy in his chest, an ache that made him want to close the space between them, to pull Price close and tell him he didn’t want this to be temporary.

Price noticed his gaze, eyebrows raising as he let out a soft laugh. “What’s with you then? Never seen a man out of a shower?” His tone was light, teasing, but Ghost could see the slight furrow in his brow, as if he were trying to decipher what he was seeing in Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost’s mouth opened, then closed. He could feel the words pressing up against his chest, aching to escape, but he didn’t know if he had the right to say them. What if this ruined everything? What if he’d read all of this wrong? What if Price didn’t want this with Simon?

But looking at Price, standing there, comfortably out of uniform, looking so impossibly good and real, Ghost felt something snap. He couldn’t keep holding this back—not when every moment with Price felt like a promise he wanted to keep.

“I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed felt both endless and instant. He watched Price freeze, shock flickering over his face as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. For a second, Ghost’s stomach twisted, instinct screaming at him to retreat, to act like it had been a mistake, a momentary lapse he hadn’t meant. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take it back.

Instead, he stood there, unwavering, rooted to the spot by something stronger than fear. There was a sense of calm clarity in him, as if finally saying it—finally letting it go—was exactly what he needed to feel at peace. For the first time, he wasn’t hiding from what he felt, and it was terrifying, but also… grounding. This was his truth, as clear as any mission he’d ever undertaken. It was too much a part of him to deny, and he knew now, with a certainty he couldn’t ignore, that he wouldn’t take it back even if he could.

Price’s mouth opened, closed, the faintest line of vulnerability shadowing his face. “Simon… no. You don’t—” He stopped, eyes flicking away. “Why… why would you even say that?”

A part of Ghost had expected this. He’d seen how Price held people at arm’s length, always careful, always cautious with his own heart. But Ghost had spent enough time by his side to know that Price’s doubt was more than scepticism—it was insecurity. And knowing that broke something in Ghost, making him want to close the space between them, to make Price see himself the way he did.

Without thinking, he took a step closer, each movement slow, deliberate. He needed Price to understand. There was no question, no hesitation in his heart, and he wouldn’t let his own fear stand in the way of this. “Because it’s true, John,” he said softly, his voice filled with an intensity that surprised even him. “Because I mean it.”

Price shook his head, trying to look away, a faint, pained laugh escaping him. Ghost could see it, see the struggle on his face, the disbelief that anyone could love him like this, let alone him.

Ghost’s chest ached seeing Price struggle, watching the disbelief play across his face, the doubt that someone could love him, truly love him. He reached up, taking his mask off, wanting Price to see his whole expression. He cupped Price’s face in both hands, guiding him to look back, to look him in the eye.

“John,” he said, his voice low, steady, the words carrying a weight he’d never let himself show. “You’re not just my Captain. You’re the one person who’s… who makes sense to me. Every time I think about us, about this—it feels right.” He paused, his thumb brushing over Price’s cheek, the warmth of the touch grounding them both. “I’ve thought about it more times than I can count. Tried to fight it. But I can’t, not anymore.”

Price’s eyes searched his face, looking for any flicker of doubt, anything to convince himself that this was just a passing feeling. But Ghost didn’t let him turn away; he needed Price to understand how long he’d kept this inside; how much he wanted this to be real.

Every inch of him was screaming to make Price see that this wasn’t some twisted sense of duty or loyalty or a skewed understanding of the bond of brothers-in-arms. It was something that went beyond all of that, something he’d felt in every quiet moment, every time he found himself leaning closer, craving Price’s presence even when words went unspoken. And now, with Price standing here, with that soft shirt and his damp hair, looking so human and so his, Ghost knew he’d never be able to go back to pretending this was just camaraderie.

Price’s lips parted, a faint tremor in his voice as he asked, almost pleadingly, “Why me, Simon? Why would you…”

Ghost let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing over Price’s cheek. “Because I want this with you, all of it,” He gestured around the cabin frantically, trying to convey what he means. “I want this to be our normal.”

“Why… why now?”

Ghost swallowed, the rawness of Price’s voice piercing through him, and in that moment, any doubt he’d had about telling him vanished. “Because I want this. With you. I want the quiet moments, the domestic nights on a couch. I want to wake up to you next to me-” He paused suddenly, his thumb tracing along Price’s cheek. “I didn’t know how much until I got a taste of a life with you outside of the 141 these past few days. I thought I could live without you knowing but I can’t. I want you, John.” He took a breath, his own voice rough but steady. “And if you don’t feel the same, I understand. But I needed you to know.”

The look in Price’s eyes was one Ghost had rarely seen before—unguarded, vulnerable, and full of a quiet yearning that had been hidden for far too long. And at that moment, he knew he’d made the right choice, that he’d do it all over again if it meant being here, standing close, telling Price everything he’d kept buried.

When Price’s hands moved up to Ghost’s face, mirroring his touch, Ghost could feel it—the release of years of restraint, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted. “You… you really mean that?”

Ghost nodded, the relief and quiet happiness flooding through him. “More than anything.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Price’s hands tightened on his face, grounding them both. “Alright,” he whispered, voice thick. “Alright… Simon.”

Ghost leaned in, their foreheads touching, each of them grounding the other. In the quiet, Ghost could feel it—all the years of restraint, the walls they’d kept up, finally crumbling as they found each other, both feeling, for the first time, what it meant to be truly together.

They stayed close, heads tilted together, letting the newness of it settle, feeling the gentle thud of their heartbeats in tandem. Then, almost as if on impulse, Ghost—Simon, now—leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Price’s forehead, then his cheek, and then another, barely brushing the bridge of his nose. Each kiss was soft, almost giddy, like he couldn’t contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Price let out a soft laugh, an amused huff as he tried to dodge Simon’s unrelenting affections, but he didn’t quite succeed, and it only seemed to encourage Simon further.

“Bloody hell, Simon, give a man a moment to breathe,” Price grumbled, though his voice was edged with laughter, his own smile finally breaking free as he watched Simon beam with a kind of unabashed joy he’d never seen from him before.

Simon chuckled, his lips still grazing Price’s face as he planted another playful kiss just above his eyebrow, and then another on his jawline, lingering a moment longer as his grin grew even wider. He was thoroughly enjoying the way Price looked slightly flustered, a bit pink around the edges.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” Price muttered, shaking his head even as his hands settled comfortably on Simon’s waist, holding him close.

“Oh, I’m a menace?” Simon quirked an eyebrow, his tone teasing as he brushed his lips against Price’s nose, a sly smile lighting up his face. “This coming from the bloke who said he doesn’t need shit like this. Look at you now. Practically melting,” he teased, his laughter warm, delighted, bubbling up from a place so deep it surprised even him.

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “S’pose I am, at that,” he admitted, his voice softening, a hand coming up to cup the back of Simon’s neck. He looked at him, taking in the joy in Simon’s eyes, the warmth in his expression, and for the first time, he allowed himself to relax fully, to let the happiness settle.

Then, with a steadying breath and a smile that was soft and sure, Price looked into Simon’s eyes, holding him close. “I love you too, Simon,” he murmured, voice quiet but unmistakably certain.

Simon’s face lit up with an almost boyish grin, and he pressed another series of kisses to Price’s face, each one full of relief, of warmth, of a happiness he could barely contain. He laughed, the sound bright, full of life, as he finally allowed himself to believe in this moment, in the closeness he’d longed for.

“You’re a bloody nightmare,” Price teased, laughing softly as Simon practically smothered him with affection.

“Think you’ll survive it?” Simon whispered, his tone playful but the sincerity in his eyes clear.

“Aye,” Price replied, his own smile unguarded, hands still resting firmly on Simon. “I reckon I will.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, laughter mingling with quiet promises.

As their laughter faded, Simon’s hand lingered on Price’s cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding them both. They stood there, close and quiet, the moment stretching between them, soft and unhurried. Simon’s gaze moved over Price’s face, taking in the lines he’d memorised a hundred times over in the field, but here, now, he allowed himself the luxury of just looking, of feeling.

Without a word, Simon leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Price’s mouth this time, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of his neck. Price returned it just as slowly, the firmness in his grip telling Simon all he needed to know. There was an intensity in the way their mouths moved together—deliberate, deep, each kiss pulling them closer, as if the space between them was something they couldn’t bear.

Simon’s thumb brushed along Price’s jaw, and his other hand found Price’s waist, holding him steady as they leaned into each other. Price’s hand slipped up, fingers threading through the short hair at the back of Simon’s head, grounding them both, drawing him closer.

A low hum of contentment escaped Simon, their breaths mingling as he let himself get lost in the feeling of it—of them—no longer holding back. There was no rush, just the slow burn of realisation and a shared understanding, the unspoken promise that they were finally here, together.

When Simon finally pulled back, he stayed just a breath apart, his gaze fixed intently on Price, the weight of his affection clear in his eyes. His thumb brushed slowly along Price’s jaw, his touch confident, knowing, as he leaned in again, lips ghosting over Price’s in a way that was both teasing and familiar.

There was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze, a playful glint that Price recognised, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it in this situation. He felt his pulse quicken, as if somehow Simon had shifted the entire mood with just that one look.

“Y’know,” Simon murmured, voice low and steady, each word lingering in the space between them, “I could show you… just how much I mean it.”

Price’s eyebrows lifted, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process the words, that quiet intensity in Simon’s voice leaving little room for doubt. Simon’s hands slipped down to rest at Price’s hips, steady and sure, anchoring him, but there was a spark of mischief in his expression, a challenge that was somehow both serious and playful.

Price opened his mouth to respond, to say something, but the words didn’t come, leaving him standing there, a bit off-kilter, entirely captivated by Simon’s quiet, unwavering confidence. He could barely believe that this was happening, that this was real, but the heat in Simon’s gaze left no room for uncertainty.

Simon chuckled and brought his lips firmly back onto Price’s, making him release a small gasp at how forceful Simon was being. God, that noise. It went straight to Simon’s cock, fuelling his arousal. He had to hear more, had to hear Price fall apart.

He shifted his hand on Price’s hip, moving under the thin shirt Price had on. Simon grabbed at the soft layer of fat around Price’s abdomen, groaning into the kiss. Fuck, he wanted to bite at the softness.

Using his hold on Price, he pushed Price against the counter, connecting their whole bodies together in a sinful grind. Their chests brushed against each other, and Simon could feel their hard nipples poking through their shirts, could feel Price’s arousal against the thigh he’d shoved between his legs, effectively pinning Price down.

He moved a hand into Price’s slightly damp hair and tugged on it, drawing another soft noise out of the man underneath him. It only added fuel to the fire being stoked within Simon. He shifted his hand to cup the back of Price’s neck, pushing his thumb into the junction of Price’s jaw, making Price gasp in response.

Simon licked deeper into Price’s mouth, claiming him. Pressing him harder against the counter, grinding into him and running his tongue over Price’s. The man keened, thrown slightly off balance, using his hold on Simon’s waist to hold himself upright.

Simon scraped his teeth against Price’s bottom lip, gasping before pulling away abruptly. He felt Price chase after his lips, but Simon placed his hand on his captain’s chest to slow him down. He brought their foreheads together, just breathing in each other’s air.

“Fuck, Simon. Been wanting this for so long, didn’t think it was allowed,” Price choked out, chuckling as if trying to hide his sincerity.

Simon moved his attention to Price’s jaw, laying kisses across his beard, letting the surprisingly soft hair tickle his lips. Moving to Price’s neck, he had to restrain himself from outright biting at the smooth skin in front of him. Instead, he nipped it teasingly, running the tip of his tongue over the tendon, feeling Price shiver against him.

Resigning himself to not actually marking Price, not yet at least, he started tugging at his shirt, trying to get it off. Simon knew he should separate from Price even a little bit to get the shirt off, but it was a monumental task when Price smelled so good.

He finally relented when he felt Price shaking slightly with laughter against him. Simon did not pout as he was forced to move away, and if he did, Price couldn’t see it, his vision shrouded by the shirt for a few seconds.

They’d seen each other in various stages of undress; this shouldn’t be as world-shattering as it was, but God was Simon savouring every single second he got to ogle shamelessly at a shirtless Captain John Price.

His hands roamed over Price’s chest, feeling the hair that was just as soft as he thought it would be, squeezing his chest, feeling Price jolt at the sensation.

“Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive when I pictured this.” Simon smirked as he pinched Price’s hard nipples with purpose this time.

“Ah!” Price hissed, pulling his chest away from Simon’s harsh treatment. “Didn’t know I was either, to be honest.”

“Are you really telling me no one’s paid attention to these before?” Simon breathed out against Price’s lips. “Because I can’t help myself, love. Not when I get a reaction like that.” He added with a nip to Price’s lips and another tug of his nipples.

“Fuck, Simon. That feels good,” Price muttered. “Never thought you’d touch me like this, never let myself picture it. Ah!”

“Well, that’s a shame. I’ve thought about this for years, Captain. Thought about you under me, on top of me, thought about you inside me, about tasting you.” Simon said as he pressed fervent kisses and small bites over Price’s chest before finally actually biting him and sucking right above his left nipple, fulfilling that desire to mark him.

“Ah, shit! You menace, should’ve known you’d be a biter. Can’t say I’m complaining, though.” Price threaded his fingers in Simon’s curls, pulling him away from his chest and bringing their mouths together again, like he couldn’t resist it, before pulling back, murmuring, “Please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing. Please, Simon, you have to—I can’t do this once and forget about it.”

Simon’s gaze softened, his hand coming up to brush along Price’s cheek. “This isn’t a one-time thing, Price,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “I’m here because I want to and because I love you. One day, you’ll truly believe me.” He held Price’s gaze, letting the words settle, feeling the faint tension ease from Price’s grip.

Price swallowed, still searching Simon’s face, the lingering doubt flickering in his eyes. But Simon only smiled, slow and sure.

He leaned in close, his lips ghosting over Price’s in a barely-there kiss. “Let me show you, yeah?” he whispered, his voice warm and earnest. “Prove to you how much I want this. How much I need this.”

Simon slowly lowered himself to his knees, trailing his hands down Price’s chest to his thighs. Settling into a comfortable stance, Simon just sat there, on his knees in front of his Captain.

Price was speechless; he didn’t think Simon had it in him to be so bold, but he couldn’t complain—not when those doe eyes were looking up at him like he held all the answers to everything Simon could ever want.

Finally on his knees, Simon pressed his face into the bulge of Price’s jeans, savouring the feel of him. He had to get his mouth on him properly, and soon.

Simon pressed his mouth to the bulge in front of him. “Fuck, John,” he muttered to himself. “Can I? Please?” he asked, looking up at Price again.

How was Price supposed to say no to that?

“Yes, fuck, yes, Simon, whatever you want, darling.”

Simon began unbuckling Price’s belt, then his jeans, he started pressing open-mouthed kisses through Price’s underwear, he wanted to tease Price; to really rile him up but his own desperation won over and he tugged them down and pulled out Price’s cock.

Simon resisted the urge to get his mouth around it instantly, wanting to get a proper look at the picture Price made. God, but he looked good

Leaning against the counter, face and chest flushed, Simon’s bite from earlier was darker too. Simons eyes traced the flush all the way to Price’s trim waist before going further. His belt and jeans were hanging open, held up by strong, thick thighs that Simon couldn’t wait to get in between of. His underwear was pushed down revealing, in Simon’s opinion, the prettiest cock he’s ever seen. He never thought he’d ever describe a cock as pretty, but John Price never ceases to surprise him.

The head was flushed and slightly wet from pre-cum and Simon’s spit, the shaft thick with prominent veins running along it with a neat bush at the base. His balls resting against the waistband of his underwear and Simon had to stop himself from actively drooling.

Pulling himself out of his reverie and silently promising to himself that he’d take his time and worship Price properly another time, he shuffles closer so he’s really at eye-level with Price’s cock.

Slowly, his tongue poked out and dragged up the underside of Price’s cock, swiping across the head with extra care. Simon wanted to make sure he tasted every centimetre. Price threw his head back and clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the, frankly, whorish sound that feeling and visual managed to drag out of him.

Simon sat back on his heels. The position caused his trousers to stretch across his aching arousal, showing Price just how much this was affecting him.

“I want to hear you, don’t hide from me, love. There’s no one here, it’s just us.” Simon pleaded.

Price relented and removed his hand from his mouth and instead he brought it down to rub his thumb along Simon’s bottom lip, almost reverent in his touch. Simon gave his thumb a teasing nip before pulling away and repositioning himself. Too desperate to tease Price further.

He chose to wrap a hand around Price this time and squeezed gently, just feeling his arousal in his hand. He hummed at the responding groan he got before stroking up as much as he could and back down. The dry pull only heightened Price’s sensitivity, and he bucked into the unforgiving drag.

Simon brought his face down towards Price’s cock but bypassed it and instead started licking at the base before moving his tongue further down and licking around Price’s sack.

When Price looked down Simon’s eyes were glassy and looking up at him with so much adoration his cock pulsed against Simon’s cheek at the sight below him.

Simon couldn’t help himself; he gasped at the feeling of it against his face, twitching and beading with pre-cum from some light teasing.

Finally, he pulled himself together and he guided his face to the tip of Price’s cock and brought it into his mouth. Humming at the taste of his Captain on his tongue.

Price above him moaned loudly and was rewarded instantly for his efforts. Simon’s pupils widened and he started bobbing his head slowly bringing more of Price’s cock into his mouth. He made it nearly halfway to the base before softly gagging and pulling away a bit to go back to laving his tongue around the head.

Simon hadn’t done this nearly as much as he wanted to and he regrets not being able to take Price all the way down his throat the way he wants to, to savour the stretch, knowing all his senses would be surrounded by Price. Maybe he could convince Price to let him practice? Judging from the noises above him, he doesn’t think there will be much protest.

Pulling off he let a string of saliva connect his lips to the head of Price’s cock for a few seconds before it broke off, not missing how Price twitched at the sight. He brought his lips back to the base of Price’s cock, licking around it and pressing kisses to it. Simon couldn’t help how the musky smell that lingered even after Price had showered affected him. He’d always loved how Price smelt, cigars, sweat and aftershave, but here? It was a completely different experience.

“Simon, you feel so good, love. Not gonna last long with you down there.” Price warned.

Simon hummed before wrapping his lips back around the head of Price’s cock, eliciting a choked-out moan from the man above him. He tongued at his slit, wanting to get more of Price’s taste in his mouth.

He spent a few minutes just using his mouth to pleasure Price before he brought his hand to the base to jerk off the rest of what he regrettably couldn't get in his mouth. His other hand was rubbing and squeezing anywhere he could reach from this position. He slowly trailed his hand up towards Price’s chest, pinching at his nipples and squeezing his chest, thanking his towering frame for being able to reach.

He felt Price twitch in his mouth every time he scratched, pulled, pinched or squeezed his body.

He’s so lost in the sensations that when Price gasps and says, “Simon,” all ragged and breathy he realises that Price is about to come in his mouth and is trying to warn him off.

That just won��t do. He just moans and pushes as far down as he can without gagging and sucks harder, suddenly desperate to have his mouth full of what Price really tastes like.

“Simon,” Price gasps again from above him. “I can’t—fuck! Shit! Stop, love, I’m gonna—”

Then Simon feels Price’s hips twitch, can feel him pulsing in his mouth before its filled with the salty-bitter taste of Price’s orgasm. He moans and swallows as much as he can, but some still escapes around the sides of his lips. He keeps sucking and bobbing his head until Price is pulling him away by his curls, panting above him.

Price pushes off the counter and drops to the floor in front of Simon startling him slightly before using the grip he has in Simon’s hair to tug him forward and kiss him. Simon’s lungs burn as Price steals his breath away, groaning as he tastes himself on Simon, licking the stray drops from his mouth.

He pulls back resting his forehead against Simon’s. “So, fucking good,” he pants out. “Gonna take care of you now, love, gonna make you feel good too. That what you want?”

Simon nods his head furiously, knocking their foreheads together. He moves to bring Price into a deep kiss again, his hands running over every inch of his body.

Not having touched himself at all yet he felt Price reach down towards his trousers, unbuckle them and snake his hand into his underwear. He didn’t think to warn Price, but he felt him gasp against his lips, pulling away, a look of shock across his face.

“Are you fucking pierced?”

Simon couldn't help but let out a laugh at that, “Yeah, I got them a couple years after Roba, wanted my body to feel like my own again,” Simon paused to gauge Price’s reaction who was looking at him in disbelief. “They a problem? I can take them out?” he added timidly.

“You’re kidding right? Fuck, as if you could get any more perfect. Can I touch them? Do they feel good?” Simon blushed at Price’s words.

“Yeah, feels really good.”

“Hmmm can’t wait to find out how good they’re gonna feel inside me.” He whispered into Simon’s ear making him gasp and moan at the thought of Price on his back, legs around his waist, or straddling him, or bent over. Fuck, anyway he could have him, really.

Price tightened his hand back around Simon’s cock, stroking upwards before pulling his hand away, spitting on it and bringing it back around Simon, twisting his hand when he reaches the tip.

Price moves to pay attention to the five piercings across the underside of Simon’s cock. Twisting the barbell that was threaded through each one, from his frenulum to the Jacobs ladder leading all the way down. Price kept going from stroking his entire length to paying special attention to the piercings and oh, fuck, that feels really fucking good.

“Faster, please!” Simon cries out, he didn’t realise how close he already was just from sucking Price off.

Price pulls Simons cock out of his pants and spits on it directly making the man under him keen.

“God look at you. Need to feel you inside me, Simon.” He pants into Simon’s mouth.

They’re not quiet kissing anymore, just breathing into each other’s mouths, making each other dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Price pulls back to lick and nip at Simons neck, knowing that his balaclava will cover up any marks he puts there, he doesn’t have to hesitate. Biting and sucking wherever he pleases, relishing in each broken sound it draws out of the man.

Simon’s hips stuttered and he fucks his cock into Prices fist. Moaning unabashedly at how good it feels. He’s never this vocal but Price’s fist and his presence is enough to make him feel like he’s on cloud nine, he always felt like he could let go around the man with no negative consequences.

Simon kept fucking his cock into the tight and slick fist around him, running his hands all over Price’s body, feeling the hair on his chest, the solid weight of his muscle beneath. He couldn’t believe he was able to touch him so freely. The thought made him even more frantic.

“Price, fuck! John, please, please, don’t stop. I’m so close John, please. God!” He gasped out.

“You gonna make a mess all over me, Simon? Yeah? Go on, love. Let go. Let me feel you.”

Simon, like the loyal soldier he is, couldn’t deny his captain anything and with a thrust of his hips and a twist from Price’s wrist he’s gone.

Crying out John’s name, curses and “Please, don’t stop! Feels so good!” He rides the wave of his pleasure for what feels like hours before he shivers and slumps forward onto Price’s shoulder. Panting and sweating like he ran a marathon before he looked down and groaned at the sight.

Price’s fist was covered, still pumping him gently making Simon jolt with overstimulation. He grabs Price’s wrist to stop him, gently coaxing him off. Price smirked at him and brought his hand up to lick at his fingers, holding Simons shocked expression as he did so.

Price barely got a taste before he was being shoved backwards and kissed within an inch of his life. Simon pulled back and loomed over him, his dark gaze hungry despite just finishing.

“Wanna take this to an actual bed?” he murmured into Price’s neck.

“Oh? I thought you’d get it out of your system, and you’d be done.” Price smirked knowing now how much Simon meant those words he said to him earlier.

“We’re just getting started.” Price shivered at that, eagerly anticipating what comes next.

“Well then, lead the way.”

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john price #q writes #Captain john price #captain price #ghostprice #priceghost #priceghostwek2024 #ghostpriceweek2024 #nerves waaaa

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hihomeghere · 1 day ago

Note

megan, sweet sunshine, i have a soft request for you with our darling strong man. 🥺

can i please request #12, #13, #54, #55, & #61 with charles? i need some tooth-rotting fluff with this man in my life. it’s what makes my heart happy. 🤍

thank you dearly! i am so beyond excited to see what you come up with here!

Charles Smith / Reader

Jay, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!! Hope you had a geat thanksgiving, smooches <3

Word count : 1k, a lil guy Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” Warnings/tags : Readers gender is unspecified, reader has hair long enough to tuck behind ear, Charles is shirtless teehee, Charles Smith x reader, mention of guns, reader has repressed feelings whoops, Charles is a sweetheart, let me know if I forgot any. Divider by @saradika

The sunlight creepy through the sliver in the tent flaps, rousing you from your sleep. You groaned, turning your head to bury your face in your pillow. Only to be met by a solid wall of body heat. You blinked your eyes open, squinting slightly against the harsh glare of the sun. A dark hand raised to block the sun from your eyes. You couldn't help the smile that spreads across your face as your eyes landed on Charles. Both of you stared at each other for a moment or two before he broke the silence. His deep baritone, rumbling through his chest.

“You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” He hummed. That was something you simultaneously loved and hated about Charles. He always spoke his mind, he didn’t beat around the bush or try to save feelings. You appreciated his honesty in a world so overrun with deceit, especially in your kind of business.

It was refreshing, but at the same time, you had no idea how to combat it. So when you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment, all you could do was bury your face in his bare chest. He laughed, soft and sweet as he wrapped his arms around you.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked as he ran his hands up and down your spine.

“Sleeping with you was the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.” You replied, his honesty was infectious. It made you want to speak your mind more often. Which after years and years of lying to survive, was a dangerous thought. He chuckled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

What the two of you had was new. Only having confessed your feelings three weeks ago. Although it felt like a lifetime. It was easy with Charles, like breathing. Nothing had ever been this easy. You pulled back, meeting his near obsidian eyes. You pressed your lips to his, and it was like coming home. Like this is how it was meant to be. Like you were one person, torn apart at the beginning of time, destined to find each other. Destined to be one, once more. He engulfed you, pressing you back against the bedroll as he moved on top of you. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked up at him.

“You cold sweetheart?” He mumbled against your lips, “Here, take my blanket.” He said pulling the blanket over his shoulders as he covered the both of you. A sly grin spread across his lips.

“You are something else.” You chuckled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He hummed in agreement, laying almost his full body weight on you. You let out a soft sigh, running your fingers up and down his warm back. Your ears perked up as you heard him mumble something into your neck. “Hm?” You asked softly.

“I like watching you sleep.” He mumbled, a bit clearer this time.

“The hell are you talking about?” You laughed, turning your head at an awkward position to look down at him.

“You look so much softer,” He said, propping himself up on his arm, “so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep.” He didn’t meet your eyes as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wish you looked like that all the time.”

You knew what he meant. You wished the same thing. Wished that you were safe, that you didn’t have to constantly be on guard. Ready for the next attack, your fingers itching for your pistol or shotgun, just in case. A world where you had a real bed, in a real house, not some flimsy tent. A world where Charles and you could have something together, a family.

“So you want me to be unconscious all the time?” You teased weakly, trying to make light of the very heavy meaning to his words. If it was anyone else, they probably would have laughed along and dropped the subject.

But Charles wasn’t anyone else.

“I want you to be safe.” He clarified, even though he didn’t need to. Your heart stuttered in your chest. You looked up at him, finding his piercing gaze already trained on you. And it was like time had stopped. Like some higher being had frozen the world outside of the little tent the two of you shared. You swore that even the birds stopped their chorus as you stared into his eyes. Searching for some type of deception, something to prove to yourself that this was too good to be true.

But you couldn’t find anything.

Instead his hand moved to gently wipe a tear from your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying.

“Sorry.” You chuckled wetly, shaking your head.

“It’s alright.” He cooed softly, almost like he was comforting a small child. ”You don’t… you don’t have to be this ‘tough outlaw’ with me.” He said with a small smile, “You can just be you, just y/n.” He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. Your throat felt tight as you tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his breath puffing against your cheek. His scent, a deep spice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The heat that seemed to radiate off him like a fire, like he was blaze within.

“I love you.” You whispered, and for the first time in your life you actually meant it. He chuckled softly, a smile spreading across his lips.

“I love you too.” He hummed, his words carrying so much weight with so little effort. He spoke like he was merely saying hello to a passerby, like he meant it.

“Charles-“ You started, the rest of the words left unsaid, hanging in the air. That you didn’t want to have to be so damn tough all the time, that you wanted security. That you wanted a home, that you wanted Charles. That you wanted him forever.

“I know.” He mumbled, and you believed him. “I said I’d take care of you didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You agreed breathlessly, “you did.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #Charles smith x reader #rdr2 x reader #hihomeghere #mini prompt #arthur morgan #Charles smith #charles smith head cannon

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pretend-theres-a-name-here · 20 hours ago

Text

Hide Your Heart pt. 1

New Steddie fic of mine, it’s Steve inner monologue centric because it’s about his parents (bad parent au)

Part 1 |

CW: bad parents I guess, there is physical abuse in a later chapter but I’ll put a warning then

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If you told 16 year old Steve Harrington that he was 21, best friends and platonic soulmates with a lesbian, and boyfriend of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson he would’ve laughed in your face. A meaner, crueler twist of the sound coming from his mouth now, pressed to the front door of his parents house.

“I have to get the door open.” He giggled against said boyfriend's lips.

Eddie just pulled away with a dramatic sigh, “If you insist.” He settled for grabbing Steve’s hand instead, twisting the ring that sat on his finger.

It was Eddie’s ring. Silver with black, swirling lines carved through the metal. He’d gotten down on one knee 6 months ago, yanked off one of the many rings that decorated his hand, and confessed his ‘hopelessly undying love’ for Steve. He had all of three seconds to process before he was fighting the stinging in his eyes and nodding like a crazy person. It wasn’t even a marriage proposal, they weren’t dating yet but nobody had done anything so heartfelt just for him. He hadn’t taken the ring off since. Steve couldn’t believe it had already been 6 months, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy for so long.

“Pizza and a movie?” Steve asked, tossing his keys to the entryway table. He could hang them on the hook later.

“You spoil me, Stevie. Really.” Eddie sighed dreamily.

“Well what do you suggest, then?” He shot back, no real malice behind the eye roll.

Eddie used their linked hands to pull them together, he didn’t need to, Steve would go willingly every time. There was a hand on his waist, cold metal raising goosebumps across his skin, and lips on his temple.

“Go sit, babe. I’ll get dinner.” Eddie peeled himself away from Steve, pushing him towards the couch and heading to the kitchen.

So Steve fell back to the couch, legs thrown over the armrest and using the other as a pillow. It was quite a small couch, his mother had never taken functionality into account when she redecorated. She wasn’t the one who had to live here, after all. As long as the neighbors knew they had fancy, expensive, useless furniture who cared about comfort. If his mom was here she’d smack his leg and tell him to sit like a man, she used to do it with a teasing smile but now she wasn’t even around to scold him with a frown. He wished she was here to ridicule him, was that fucked up? That he would rather endure shitty behavior than not have her around at all? His dad could stay gone though, never in his life had he heard one nice word come from his father’s mouth.

“Pizza will be here in 20.” Eddie called, waltzing into the living room like he lived there. He did, most days, one perk of his parents being gone all the time was getting to have whoever he wanted over whenever he wanted.

“Did you get breadsticks?” Steve sat up slightly so Eddie could flop down on the couch with him.

It was such a domestic question it hurt. They’d been doing this, crashing on his uncomfortable couch with a box of pizza and watching whatever random selection of movies they found at Family Video that week, long before they’d started dating. Sure he liked doing anything at all with Eddie, going to the lake or bumping feet under their booth at the diner were fun, but this was routine. This was them choosing to spend a Friday night doing something so completely mundane together rather than not seeing each other.

“Do I ever forget them?” Eddie asked, smiling. Yeah, Steve could die a happy man if this was the rest of his life.

They picked a movie, it was Eddie’s turn to pick this time and to no surprise he brought A Nightmare On Elm’s Street. They settled into the couch, the only good part about the small love seat was that it meant being almost completely pressed together. That didn’t mean Steve wouldn’t still pretend to be scared, despite having seen this movie enough times to quote it, and huddle even closer. He jumped at all the jump scares and hid his face in Eddie’s shoulder and tried not to smile at the fact that he was finally on the receiving end of the infamous yawn and stretch move, tried not to grin when Eddie’s arm settled over his shoulders but he was sure the man felt it.

When the movie ended they were lying sideways across the couch, legs tangled over the armrest, Steve found himself sliding the pick on Eddie’s necklace up and down the chain absentmindedly. He felt a hand on his back and another moving through his hair. He could’ve fallen asleep right there, slipped into a dreamless coma and woken up in the exact same position, smile never dropping. He almost did, listening to the steady beating of Eddie’s heart and quiet breathing above his ear. Almost.

He knew the sound of the front door slamming open like the back of his hand. He heard it every Wednesday afternoon when Dustin came barreling through his house after Hellfire, Eddie in tow. He heard it when he stumbled into the house after swinging at demodogs all night and dragging himself to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Of course it was impossible to tell those times apart, impossible to know who was about to traipse into the house at that moment.

But Steve also knew the sound of his father’s Oxfords hitting the tile floor of the entrance.

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uh oh. Whatever will happen?? Side note, writing pet names feels so embarrassing but I gotta power through.

Fun fact: I was listening to frat mouse while I wrote this (specifically down the hall and dirty word)

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve has bad parents #Hide your heart

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arthurhillmastermind · 4 hours ago

Text

George Clarke replied to your story.

2,172 words. Green circle. Red Circle. what’s the difference?

It all started a few weeks ago when George had posted a random Instagram Story asking fans to add him to their close friends lists so he could rank them for a YouTube video—“best, funniest, cringiest, whatever,” he’d promised with that ridiculous smile. Your group chat had of course collectively lost their minds.

“Oh my God, we have to do this,” someone had declared, already tagging him in a story.

You’d rolled your eyes at first. Sure, George was funny, creative, and admittedly attractive, but you weren’t about to feed his ego by crafting some elaborate story just for his amusement. Still, in the chaos of everyone else freaking out, you’d ended up adding him anyway. Not to make the cut for his video—you didn’t post anything remotely funny or interesting enough—but just to shut the groupchat up. And honestly, you forgot to remove him after.

Then came the thirst trap.

It wasn’t even planned. You’d been bored, playing around with some poses, when your friends dared you to post something from the many photos you’d sent them, a simple selfie where the light hits your face and hair in the perfect way, just to mess with people. It had been a joke, like everything else on your close friends, and you’d captioned it, “This one’s for just you ;)” to really sell the bit.

No one actually expected him to see it.

But George Clarke, the man with an unbelievably high screen time, saw everything. The notification came in mere minutes after you posted it. GeorgeClarkeey replied to your story

“Me?” one word. That was all it took.

“Girls” You typed very quickly

Cue the group chat imploding.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” your friend types back know the message “Girls” meant something had happened.

“George replied to my story”

“HE WHAT?”

“He’s going to think it’s serious.”

“Can we talk about how he responded in record time???”

“He’s going to make this a thing. I feel it in my soul.”

The replies came in at record speed. Sure enough, George wasn’t done yet.

Another message popped up while you were still processing the first: “Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. What the hell was going on? George Clarke had a talent for this shit, and now you were directly in the middle of it. Of course it wasn’t specifically for him. It was a joke, a dumb joke fueled by group chat dares and late-night boredom. But now George Clarke was in your DMs, actually engaging, and you had no idea how to navigate this.

You sat down on your bed , unlocking your phone to stare at his messages through your notifications like they might explode if you opened them. What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

“Me?”

“Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

It wasn’t for him. Not really. But at the same time, it wasn’t not for him, and there was no universe in which you could explain that without sounding ridiculous.

Your phone buzzed again.

“Take your time, I’ll just sit here wondering 😏.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just scroll past like a normal person? Better yet, why did you still have him on your close friends list in the first place?

The group chat, of course, was zero help.

“Just say it was for him. What’s the harm?”

“Tell him it’s a metaphor. Keep him guessing.”

“Confess your undying love and ask him to follow while you’re at it.”

You sighed, finally flopping onto your bed and opening the messages.

“What if it was?” you typed, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach. What had you just done? Before you could spiral too deeply into regret over your reply, another notification popped up on your screen.

GeorgeClarkey started following you.

You froze. What the actual fuck was going on? Was this some elaborate joke for his video? Was he about to screenshot your profile and blast you to his friends and his followers as part of his next roast video?

Panic set in almost immediately. You scrambled to your profile, fingers flying as you opened your highlights. What did I even have on there? Your close friends was one thing, but your highlights were public.

The first highlight was fine. A sunset. Very normal. The second was a random dog you’d seen on a walk. Also fine. The third? Oh God, the third. A blurry photo of your face captioned, “Why am I like this?”

You cringed, hitting the delete button, but before you could delete anything else, another notification lit up your phone.

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story:

“Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Your group chat exploded before you could even blink.

“HE FOLLOWED YOU?!”

“Shut up. He did not.”

“Bestie, you’re famous now.”

“Oh my God he did! i checked his profile! Did he post anything? Has he said anything else?”

You ignored them, heart pounding as you stared at the notification. This couldn’t be real. George Clarke, internet golden boy who had every teenage girl in a chokehold, was actually engaging with you.

What the hell were you going to do?

You stared at George’s message, your mind racing: “Ok but…jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Before you could fully process it, your fingers moved almost instinctively, opening the group chat. You switched to voice notes because typing just wasn’t fast enough to convey the absolute thoughts in your head.

“Guys,” you hissed into the mic, pacing your room. “What the actual fuck is going on? George Clarke just messaged me again. AGAIN. And he said—wait, no, let me read this. He said, ‘Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?’”

You paused, pacing more furiously as all your friends started typing back.

“I don’t know what to say!” you continued in the next voice note, your voice slightly higher now. “Like, do I admit it? Do I deny it? Do I block him and change my name? HELP ME.”

The replies came in almost instantly:

“Post the screenshot right now.”

“Oh my God, you’re in a rom-com.”

“Say it was about him and see what happens. Do it for the plot.”

“Voice note us back with the drama or don’t bother replying at all.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you hit record again.

“Okay, fine. I’ll reply. But if this ends with me being clowned in one of his videos, you’re all accomplices.”

With one final deep breath, you typed out:

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. What’s it to you?”

Your thumb hovered for a second, but then you hit send, immediately regretting it as your phone buzzed with another notification.

“Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

You groaned, sending yet another voice note to the group chat.

“I AM GOING TO SCREAM. He just said it’s ‘something to him.’ WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?”

Your friends weren’t helping, their replies now a chaotic mix of screaming voice notes and unhinged texts.

“He’s into you, bestie.”

“We’re living for this. Keep us updated.”

“I’m adding popcorn to my grocery list.”

Whatever George was playing at, it was… kind of fun.

You stared at his message: “Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

Your heart thudded as you typed out a response, fingers moving on autopilot: “How come?”

For a second, you debated deleting it. Was that too straightforward? Too bold? But before you could overthink it, the message was already sent.

The group chat was on fire.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY???”

“Tell me you asked him why. PLEASE.”

“I’m pacing my room like it’s my drama, what is happening???”

You sent a quick voice note: “I asked him how come. Like, if he’s going to be cryptic, I’m making him work for it. I can’t just let him drop a winky face and get away with it.”

Your phone buzzed before the group could reply. Another message from George.

“Because now I’m curious. Was it really for me?”

You blinked at your screen. Curious? Curious?! Why did he have to phrase it like that? Like this wasn’t a throwaway Instagram post but some grand mystery he needed to solve.

You hit record on another voice note.

“GUYS. He said he’s curious. What the hell does that mean?!” you whispered furiously. “I’m spiraling. Do I double down? Do I back out? Help.”

The replies were just as unhinged as before.

“Double down. Always double down.”

“Tell him it’s his fault for making you curious too.”

“Can we just talk about how into this he clearly is? Like, bestie, he’s invested.”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you typed your next message.

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But now I’m curious—what if it was?”

Your thumb hovered for a moment before you hit send, already bracing for whatever chaos George Clarke was about to unleash next.

The notification popped up almost immediately:

GeorgeClarkey: “Well, if it wasn’t, how come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?”

Your jaw dropped. Oh, he was good. Too good. George Clarke wasn’t just playing along—he was winning.

You immediately switched to the group chat, hitting record on a voice note.

“Guys. He’s onto me. He said—and I quote—‘How come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?’” You paused, your voice rising in pitch. “WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT?”

The group chat blew up in record time.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

“Oh my God, this man is flirting.”

“Deflect. Blame it on the algorithm. Lie if you have to.”

“No, no, you need to hit him back with something. Don’t let him win!”

You sent another voice note, pacing your room as you spoke.

“I don’t even know why he’s still on my close friends! It’s not like I planned this—he asked to be added for that stupid video, and I just forgot to take him off. But if I tell him that, he’s going to think I’m some kind of idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list!”

One of your friends sent a voice note back, barely able to contain their laughter.

“Bestie, you are an idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list. But now you’ve got him interested, so lean in. Own it. Say something mysterious.”

You sighed, staring at George’s message for a long moment before typing:

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Your heart was racing as you hit send, half-expecting him to call your bluff immediately. Instead, the little typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”

You practically screamed, sending another voice note to the group chat.

“Guys. GUYS. He’s not just flirting. He’s doubling down. What do I do now?!”

The replies came back rapid-fire:

“Marry him.”

“This is officially fanfiction territory.”

“No, seriously, keep him on the hook. This is your moment.”

You didn’t George’s last message—“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”—because honestly, you needed a minute to think. Or maybe several. So instead of spiraling over how to respond, you stuck to your plan.

Ignoring the little red dot on his message thread, you switched to Instagram stories and posted something casual to your story: a cozy shot of your coffee on the table, framed by the warm tones of a London café from last weekend. The kind of post you always shared on quiet afternoons. You added the café’s location tag for good measure, captioning it simply: Need this.

The group chat was, of course, waiting.

“Update: just posted,” you said in a voice note, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s a café pic. Totally chill, very me. If he reacts to this, I’ll… I don’t know, scream.”

You barely had time to put your phone down before it buzzed with a new notification:

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story.

Your heart jumped as you opened it.

“Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?”

You sat there, staring at the message like it was in a foreign language. George wasn’t just reacting—he was flirting. Again.

“GUYS,” you hissed into a new voice note, pacing your room. “He replied. And get this—he said, ‘Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?’ Like, is this man serious?!”

The chat erupted in chaos.

“Shut up, he did NOT.”

“He’s basically asking for a date. I’m calling it.”

“You better reply, right now.”

But you weren’t ready to give in that easily. Typing back too quickly would make it seem like you were waiting for him (which you definitely weren’t). So instead, you left his message on read, letting him sit with it while you debated your next move.

Another voice note: “I’m ignoring him for now. Let’s see if he doubles down.”

And honestly, you weren’t sure what thrilled you more: the fact that George Clarke had replied, or the fact that he was now waiting on you.

———————————————————————-

a/n my first george fic! there will be a part two! the formatting hasn’t worked the way it should have but i’ll work on it!

would like to thank George Clarke for seeing my close friends which then let to @pretendyoucantseeme who gave me the idea and @authortelevision for supporting the delusions. love you both😂

if you wanna be tagged in part 2 please let me know!

#george clarkey #george clarke #georgeclarkey #george clarke fics #george clarkey x reader #george clarke fluff #fic writing #arthur hill #chris dixon #chrismd #italianbach

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goldenboywrites · 22 hours ago

Text

When he was younger, he thought he wasn’t a being made to be loved. It was a notion drilled into him since before he could remember. He had heard the voice all of his life, his uncle’s whispers that Quin would only ever have him, that no one would ever look beyond what had been done to him, and that no one would understand him the way his uncle did. Quin had never thought he would make it to this point, telling another person what had happened to him. With his nefarious plans, his uncle had somehow forced his hand. There were now too many questions regarding the two of them for the truth to lay dormant. While cutting himself open and laying his truth bare did, in a way, feel like he was killing himself, he also felt a huge weight lift off of his shoulders at telling it and telling it to someone who would hold his secrets close to his heart. Quin had always feared this moment but realized it was a release. It was nothing to fear.

He felt the air shift as Cesare tiptoed toward him, and he prepared himself for the inevitable touch that came with the prince’s closeness. Quin felt relief as the arms enclosed him. He listened as Cesare spoke, and while he knew his words were genuine and honest, Cesare wasn’t thinking about the future of his nation. He was thinking like a regular man, not as a king. “Eventually,” Quin spoke softly, leaning into Cesare’s touch as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, “You will be king of Adros, Cesare, and while you can understand what happened to me and you have accepted it but if it ever gets out your people will not. I will be a disgrace on your rule, a stain, and I don’t want that for you.” Quin sighed, tilting his head back to look up at Cesare. It was moments like this where he wished comfort and touch came as easily to him as it did to Cesare. “I will not be selfish and gamble with your future.”

Quin went to push himself away, but Cesare’s arms around him tightened. The prince huffed his disapproval but relented on any actual separation of space between them. “Of course, I want this. I want us. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and all I’ve ever thought of. You have filled every thought in my mind since I met you, and I spent years fighting it and cursing you, but it’s only ever been you. It could only ever be you for me, but I-” Quin closed his eyes with an annoyed groan. He leaned into Cesare’s chest, tucking his head beneath the prince’s chin. “I feel guilt moving forward with you, knowing what my past may cost you. I don’t want you to end up resenting me.” He felt Cesare shift and knew a rebuttal was coming. Quin’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned back, reaching up with his hand and sealing his palm over his mouth. “No, don’t. You can’t promise you won’t resent me, and I don’t want to hear it. You aren’t thinking like a king, Cesare. You’re thinking with your heart and probably your penis but not with your brain.”

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is,” Quin confessed after a moment, wrapping his arms around Cesare’s waist. “I know what feels right. This feels right, but I can’t help but have a lingering fear that it will fall apart like everything else I touch.” He smoothed his hand along the prince’s back, silent for a few minutes as he organized his thoughts. “If I-” He cut himself off, his lips flattening into a thin line. He didn’t want something to fight for that wasn’t solely Maximus’ life when he went up against his uncle because he knew that could end with his death. Quin was still focused on getting Maximus out of his war alive, but Cesare changed the game; he gave Quin something to live for, and it ruined everything. "I don't think we should decide or move forward with anything until my uncle is dealt with. Too much is still in the air, and we don't know how it will play out."

His feet hit the floor at the sound of the crash but the prince of Adros did not step one more toe further than that. What Quin was telling him, explaining and maybe talking out with himself in a way could not be interrupted. It was a rare moment when he was so candid and while this truly was not a truth Cesare wanted to hear, he needed to. Because hearing it all from Beau was one thing but to see the ramifications of it hit so wholly on Quin, there was no other proof he'd ever needed than his word but any doubt or question that had been brought up about the man before him was dashed. Because as he'd explained pieces and parts started to fall into place for the prince. Even his last visit to the castle, there was suggestion that Quintus was unwell but no one had ever clarified what sort of unwell. Just that he had always been a constant state of it. Even Max had said it a time or two.

The bitter taste of iron snapped him out of the momentum of Quin's confession and he'd realized he'd been biting down on his lip nearly the entire time. It wasn't any wonder, being that still while being that sort of information was terrible to stomach. And then he'd instantly felt ashamed for feeling as though he had a worse time than the man explaining his truth. The ache in his chest started to grow and grow. Seeing him so bare, so raw was never something Cesare thought he'd see in all his life. Quintus had always been a pillar of sly, cunning that he found to be something of a wonder and a pleasure. It was why after only a little while knowing him that the prince knew he'd one day ask for his hand. Even Max had known for years that was going to be the way of it. Cesare ate out of his hands and would have done anything but something struck him in a way he hadn't expected. Not you. And it had occurred to him then that Quin had expected him to save him. To see him then. The contents of his stomach started to gurgle at the thought he really took a moment to himself for that. Because maybe he had known all along. Maybe there had been tells and he'd ignored them because the rest of their court had.

Cesare swallowed hard and quietly moved around from where he'd stood. Quin's words were processed as they came. And he knew from that moment on that there would always be two halves to Quin. There would be a Quin that was light and bright, one that enjoyed sparring with his brother for fun and telling Cesare and Xander ridiculous plots to get them going for an afternoon of whatever he'd had planned. The prince drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Because the other part of Quin would always exist elsewhere. And that's what he would call it. For those dirty, grimy things that Quin was certain would remain for him. And Cesare could love him in both. He knew he could because hadn't he been already? Quin said he hadn't noticed but wasn't he always with Quin whenever it was possible? Excusing his guards in favor of his own protection when he was near?

He was careful to not step on the food or meade on the floor as he made his way closer. The fur on Quin's back heaved and he didn't stutter, Cesare laid a firm hand upon him and brought his other around his front to clutch him to his own body. His face pressed into the mess of Quin's hair and he hugged him so tightly. And they stayed like that for quite a few moments before anything was said. Quin had to know that just because he knew about what had happened with his uncle, it hadn't changed things. It wouldn't.

"I owe you nothing." He said plainly, planting a soft kiss to soft spot just under the other's ear as he'd shifted and moved Quin to look at him. This was the first time he'd ever truly seen fear in this man's face and it did something to the prince that was indescribable. And in that moment he'd known, by whatever means necessary, he'd bring that man to his knees. "Just as you owe me nothing." Damn him for taking something so precious away from him. For ruining his outlook on anything he'd ever have in his life. Cesare gently cupped Quin's face and his thumbs moved so slowly to wipe the bit of moisture from his cheeks. "But I cannot be whole if you are not with me, Quintus." He tried to smile but it felt more watery than anything else. His eyes fell between them for a moment and a few tears managed to squeeze their way out. He hadn't expected to feel this as deeply as he had but he should have anticipated it, knowing Quin, it was always something unexpected.

"I've waited longer than I would have liked to when it comes to asking you." He paused, swallowing hard and he looked back up at him, eyes still bright with a few unshed tears. "And I hadn't planned on tieing our engagement in with something like this but Quin." He drew in a deep breath shakily and sighed just the same. "I meant it. And I do mean it. Nothing can change my mind on this." His fingers scooped back to cup the back of his head and he felt himself starting to tremble inwardly from being so honest. "Only if you do not wish to marry me would I agree to that but this changes nothing." He thought a moment and found himself unable to stop from pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I love you, Quintus. Not the things that were done to you. Though ... " He paused, finding himself a little flustered at it all. "Though that is a part of you and I will find ways to live with and love it too." As he pulled down to look at him again, he felt some of that unease starting to slide into the back of his mind. "If you do not wish Max to know then he doesn't need to." That wasn't his place to interject. Though he thought maybe Quin would tell him in his own time. "My loyalty is to Vivec and your brother as friends and allies but, to you, I am always loyal first no matter what."

#looking out for you

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