#you have no idea how hard it was to keep quiet about this

[notquitecanon]

Virtual Breadcrumbs || Poly!141 x hacker!reader

Summary: A kinda prologue to Search History, While you're having your menty b back on base, a little bit from the boys' perspective. Specifically Simon. Alexa, play Mastermind by Taylor Swift.  

All a continuation of this idea

CW: NSFW MDNI 18+ female pronouns , porn, porn, lots of porn allusion, the boys are all handsy with each other, Simon's lowkey manipulating the situation, again irl this is harassment, stalking warning to be safe? mentions of oral and vaginal sex, really just me being nasty from Simon's point of view

It took a long time to gain access to Simon’s inner circle. Simon Riley had a habit of being intense, all or nothing, especially for those he’s decided to care about. His captain and his sergeants were in that inner circle, and he cared deeply, implicitly, about them. Health, safety, happiness, and something Simon was especially attuned to was keeping them sated. A man of action and acts of service. 

Simon was neither a poet nor a psychologist, so he didn’t spend much time or energy putting definitive terms and conditions on whatever relationship the 141 shared. He cared and he was cared for, it was intimate on all levels, and that’s all that mattered to him. 

A bond forged in bombs, bloodshed, and loyalty above all else.  Four soldiers at the top of their game, literally battle-hardened (double entendre completely intended). He was content with his little circle. 

However, he couldn’t fault the boys for missing something a little softer. Something a little sweeter, something a little more pliant. Hell, Simon wouldn’t mind burying his nose in a neck that didn’t smell like sweat, blood, and gunpowder.  

That’s where you came in. Simon’s sharp eyes didn’t miss anything. 

He saw how Price’s signature little smile rested on you whenever your explanations turned a little rambling, the look of pride in his eyes when you cracked a hard encryption- he’d called in a favor from Laswell to recruit you after all. How the Captain didn’t scold you when your work outfits were outside the civilian regulations (which was often), not that Price minded the view when you’d drop something and bend over to pick it up in your pretty skirts and heels. 

He saw how Gaz would lean over your shoulder, just a hair too close to be friendly, and watch in a little bit of awe as you worked, how the two of you spoke in code (literally) to each other. He would watch Gaz get a little hot in the face with your flirty little quips over comms, voice a little tight as he returned them. How the sergeant would bring you little pastries or coffees on days they were on base, how prided he seemed when your face lit up, and when you’d unexpectedly touch him- grab his hand or bicep with your pretty painted nails? Simon would notice how Kyle would excuse himself to go do something else, sometimes dragging Soap off with him.

And Johnny. He tried not to show it, the Scot was as loyal as they came. A dog, Simon called him often, a mutt when he was being obnoxious. Simon’d noticed Johnny literally sniffing around you, his head following the lingering scent of perfume and shampoo when you passed. He was touchy with you, passing it off as being friendly, hugging you just a bit too tight to feel the squish of your body against his- a kind of softness Simon, Price, and Gaz just couldn’t replicate. It was a sport for him, to get you to blush or stutter. 

And, fucking hell, the banter. Your voice, slightly crackly through their headsets, leading and chiding them through missions. Something about the distance or facelessness of it made you bold and teasing. Soap would egg you on over comms, sending you both down teasing explicit rabbit holes, until Price would remind both of you that the brass had access to these audio files, and you’d get shy and go quiet, but not for long.  Gaz was fairly smooth with it, not often getting out of hand until you clicked off and he’d adjust his pants and collar mid-op. Something about Price’s authority kept you a bit tamer on him, but sometimes you would slip, and the way you got all shy and apologetic, Price’s chest would puff up a bit, beard twitching with a smirk as he’d ’scold’ you. 

Simon’s men wanted you, bad. But none of them were going to be the first to admit it, none of them wanting to be the first to want more. Their loyalty to each other was their greatest value, but it was holding them back this time. But Simon had a plan, all he had to do was plant the seed. 

__

The 141 had holed up in a grungy safehouse to rest and recoup before moving on to the next portion of this assignment. ‘House’ was a bit generous- there was no central heating and it was little more than a kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, the living room was basically just the foyer with a pull-out couch that took up the entire floorspace when pulled out.  The mission hadn’t gone to shit, but it was proving tedious, and stretching into a longer commitment than they’d planned for. Price was miffed about the time commitment, but it wasn’t anything new, it happened all the time. 

Waiting for transpo from Nik and information that you were working on. Even Simon felt the sting of disappointment when you’d told them you’d need them to quit calling, that the data Price requested from you was proving to be a challenge that needed undivided attention. They were bored. Price and Gaz had slipped off somewhere so the Captain could work out some of his irritation, which in turn got Soap huffy and touchy. 

Which was why the Scot was sitting, spine curled into Simon’s side, laid across the sofa still in full gear, long legs over the side while Simon simply sat up straight ( "s’too fuckin’ cold f’ this shite", he’d muttered after they’d found the wood for the old fashioned wood stove was both wet and molding, "Body heat it is, fucks sake." ), military-issue tablet using the secure network you and Gaz had set up. Too tired to do much of anything, too mission-wired to truly relax, restless and a little homesick.

Simon wasn’t surprised that it only took two rounds of solitaire before the Scot switched to the browser and started to look through the homepage of a porn website he didn’t recognize. They both knew this strategy, get yourself off a few times and your brain releases enough ‘good’ chemicals that you might be able to get some sleep. Johnny did seem uncharacteristically indecisive, getting quickly squirmy and irritated, as he continuously clicked ’next page’ waiting for something to catch his eyes.

A sniper always sees a good shot when it lines itself up, time to plant the seed. 

"Give it ‘ere." Simon gruffed, plucking the tablet out of Johnny’s hands, only smirking at the coarse language Johnny offered in return, though he didn’t attempt to get the tablet back. Waiting curiously and not so patiently for whatever Simon was going to produce, what a good dog.  The lieutenant took a couple minutes to find the right seed to plant, using key phrases that produced the results he was looking for. 

He let Soap peruse his yieldings. The actresses had some things in common, familiar hair and eye colors, familiar because they shared them with you. And the actors doing such filthy things to them? Well, that was the seed (double entendre not intended) Simon was planting, the bone he was throwing to Johnny, all the actors were Scottish.  The sniper knew his shot landed when Soap muttered under his breath, taking the tablet back, hips shifting a bit subconsciously as he scrolled, watching the thumbnails give little snippet previews, "Steamin’ Jesus, Lt…" 

"Seen you sniffin’ around our analyst. Pretty bird." Simon shrugged but his eyes were just as fixed on all the thumbnails, girls that looked vaguely like you in all sorts of positions getting rammed on Johnny’s- sorry, the actor’s cock. He saw the look of (Catholic) guilt on the sergeant’s face, swirling with lust and a pretty flush under his stubble, so Simon swooped in with another seed, motioning to a thumbnail where an actress with the same hair as you was moaning, "Bet our bird'd look better, bet she’d sound better." 

The guilt was gone, the seed planted and flourishing in the Scot’s brain, Johnny’s lips growing into a wicked grin as he settled on a video, not bothering with headphones or squirreling away in the bathroom.  One video turned to three, the two men taking turns chiding and teasing the other, and when his sergeant finally burst, it was your name he called out. 

Yes, his plan was going to work beautifully. 

___

For a quick two-minute search with the sole purpose of quickly getting Soap off, Simon hadn’t been displeased with his results. Neither had Johnny if the spring in his step and uptick in screen time was any indication. The actresses shared features with you, but he was positive there was a closer match out there. And since he couldn’t exactly ask you, their lass in the chair as Soap called you, he turned to their other tech guru and the next part of his plan. Kyle. 

He was a bit more straight-laced than either Simon or Johnny, he’d be harder to convince. Simon didn’t know if he had it in him to debate the morality of purposely seeking out a porn star that was as close as physically possible to you… Or how that might affect the relationship amongst the 141… Ghost wasn’t known for being the moral backbone of the task force, and this wasn’t an issue that could exactly be bullied to be won.  

So, when first met with some resistance even if Garrick’s face was flushed and he was shifting in his seat, ("Simon, that’s… I don’t know what but it’s not right. What if she finds out-") he delegated some orders to Johnny. 

Simon didn’t know what the Sergeants got up to- that’s a lie, he had a pretty good idea, and he expected a repeat performance later- but when they came back, Kyle’s eyes were still a little glazed and his shoes were on the wrong feet. 

"Well?" Simon raised an eyebrow looking up from the rifle he was meticulously cleaning. Johnny was smirking smugly, belt still undone, nudging the other sergeant to remind him to answer their lieutenant. Gaz was nodding wordlessly for a moment, running a hand over his hair, slumping back in front of his military-issue computer, and opening a private browser. 

"Yeah… Yeah, mate, I’m on it." Kyle was practically still panting from whatever Johnny had done to/for him. Simon smirked, going back to his rifle, until after a moment when Kyle’s voice was more level, he added his requirement, "If I find her-" 

He paused, cheeks heating a bit as he reworded himself a bit, "A look-a-like, I mean, I get to taste her first." 

Simon could work with that. 2 down, 1 to go. 

____

Lastly, John Price. Saved him for last for a reason, but he was also the easiest. Simon waited until the assignment was on the up and up again. Summit fever to push through and go home had its claws in all of them. He knew it was a good time because, after the last firefight and subsequent march through the woods to a safe zone, all the boys were too tired to fool with each other... much. Price was sitting against a tree, that ridiculous hat of his resting on his propped-up knee, face illuminated by his cigar and the light of his phone.

Wordlessly, Simon crouched beside the captain and held his hand out expectantly for the phone. Price blew his smoke with a quirked brow but was curious to what the sniper had in mind, placing the device in the waiting gloved hand. 

"What’re you up to, Simon?"  Price inquired suspiciously, lowering his eyes to the light of the screen as it was handed back to him. His blue eyes, older looking than the captain really was, widened for a second before darkening in the low light of the forest, "So this is what the Sergeants’ve been on about, uncanny…" 

Price watched the very short prelude, a woman who looked so much like you, wearing something a little racier than you’d wear to the office but as blood rushed elsewhere, Price found the realism didn’t matter much when if he squinted… it was you stripping off a cardigan and letting some sort of authority figure pop the buttons of your blouse before shoving you under a desk with your pretty painted lips wrapping around his- sorry, the actor’s throbbing cock… 

Seeing the way John’s expression shifted, Simon smirked under his mask, raising back to his full height and returning to where he’d stashed his gear. His plan was almost complete, they were in the final stretch.

___

Simon was watching over Johnny’s shoulder, his hips occasionally rutting through his clothes into the scot’s back, a video that the sniper had chosen. Soap thought it was really funny that it happened to be from your doppelganger's Halloween playlist, but now was just as entranced watching the tall domineering figure clad in all black and mask absolutely ruin you her. The bed was a perk of finally making it to an actual base, with officer’s barracks, waiting for the official expo back to you home.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon groaned, biting Johnny’s shoulder through his mask and the sergeant’s t-shirt, as gloved hands twisted into hair just like yours. It was hard not to insert himself into the fantasy. A knock on the door made him growl, pulling him away from the delicious video and friction that Soap’s weight against him was providing. With more force than really necessary, Simon whipped the door open, only relaxing a little bit when Price was standing there with Gaz, both of them with their strategizing faces on. So, he wasn’t the only one making plans lately.

“See the new video that got posted?” Gaz questioned, looking down to unlock his tablet undoubtedly sharing it over to Johnny’s laptop still playing on Ghost’s bed. Both Lieutenant and Sergeant shook their head no. Johnny clicked on the share notification, releasing a breath that puffed his cheeks and raised his eyebrows as he read the title alone, the video still loading in the base’s less than ideal wifi (the 141’s latest habit undoubtedly eating up most of the bandwidth). 

It was your doppelganger’s stage name accompanied by the words Barrack’s Bunny Gets Gang Banged! 

“Fuckin’ Hell.” Simon repeated, words almost snarling his jeans chafing him as his cock twitched in his still buttoned jeans. 

“We’re having a dinner at mine.” John decided cooly, seemingly unrelated, leaning in the doorframe. His demeanor was its usual casual confidence, but his eyes were dark with the kind of want that spelled disaster for anything that stood between him and his goal. The seeds Simon had planted were growing like invasive weeds, wild and quick, “She’s invited.” 

“How’re we playin’ this?” Simon questioned relinquishing the reins to his captain, he was just as much of a soldier as the rest of them, he took orders well, watching as Gaz joined Johnny at the foot of the bed, both Sergeants watching the video together, hands already starting to wander, gear being unbuckled and unsnapped. Price smirked at the sight, adjusting himself through his camo cargos. 

“Cooly. Don’t wanna spook th’ sweet thing.” He smiled, mostly to himself making himself comfortable on the tiny futon that had been cramped in Simon’s room as an ‘officer’s luxury’. The captain dwarfed it, and patted the limited space beside him for his lieutenant to join him, “We’ll have ‘er eating out of our hands. And then we’ll have her.”

Price said this with the same easy decisiveness as he’d have busting a terrorist cell, but the curl of his lip, how his legs spread to accommodate the growing erection in pants noted the difference for Simon, his captain nodding towards the Sergeant’s watching the video, their breaths already getting heavy. Kyle’s hands fisting the bed's blankets like he might slip away and Johnny’s hips were already rocking a bit. Price’s smirk grew, eyes flicking to Simon before looking back forward, “You’ve been busy, Simon. Never miss anything, do you?” 

It was a mix of praise and teasing that, from his Captain, made Simon’s affirmative grunt a bit lower, something twisting in his gut, like a pet that wanted to be stroked more. Price chuckled deeply, nodding, “Bet that thick head’a yours hasn’t considered why you noticed alluv our infatuations with our little analyst, ‘ave you?” 

Simon didn’t respond, watching how Johnny’s eyes lit up much in the same way they did when he was presented a puzzle (bomb) that caught his interest, how he moved Kyle’s hands aside and rewinded the video, once, twice, three times at something your lookalike did that scratched his brain just right. Mutt, Simon thought, waiting for Price to continue, knowing that the captain couldn’t resist teasing him just a bit. He’d expected as much, maybe a vulgar comment or two. He was not expecting a truth bomb that turned him both introspective and horny. 

“Only reason you noticed how much we liked ‘er, cause you’re always watching her. You watch her just as much as y'watch any of us, wonder what that might mean?” Price shrugged, one hand working at his belt buckle before motioning for Gaz to turn the volume. The Captain actually laughed at the look in Simon’s eyes that most would miss before nodding back to the video and the Sergeants, “Now, watch the show."

Fucking hell. 

__

Maybe it was that little bite of introspection or the flight home where they fleshed out every last detail of their plan to get you, the real you. (“Gaz and Johnny’ll do the leg work, play up the charm, and Ghost and I’ll work the opposite angle, strong and silent.”). Maybe it was how eagerly excited Soap was or how Ghost spent his extra time scrolling through your Instagram. Maybe it was the two brief interactions with you upon returning to base- how pretty your eyes were looking up at him through your lashes, how good you smelled, the movement of your skirt as Johnny spun you around, how you got jittery under his slightest touch in the briefing room… 

By the time he found himself on Price’s couch, he was impatient. Knee bouncing, checking his watch, making Gaz track your location. When you’d been sitting out in your car for more than fifteen minutes, he all but growled, snapping at Soap, “Go get ‘er.” 

And when Soap guided you inside, pulling one of those bright smiles out of you with his own jokes, and Gaz was helping you out of your coat like unwrapping a present, your cheeks already flushed all pretty from the Sergeants’ tag team flirting routine… He didn’t think he could wait for Price to put the steaks on the grill, he needed something to sink his teeth into, sooner rather than later. He was sure if he bit the curve of your neck, it’d be a lot like biting into a ripe peach… supple and sweet. Just like you. 

Oh, his plan had worked, the seeds were planted and growing and overtaking every other thought in his mind other than making sure him and his boys were sated at dinner tonight, and you were on the menu. 

____

To quote Sir Mix-A-Lot, "Little Does she know I'm a nasty DAWG."

Y’all are getting this because my writing app deleted what I had done on Search History pt 2. Reminder- the reader is loosely based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds. The physical description is pretty vague, but lots of skirts and heels and makeup are mentioned, and I might have gotten carried away and implied

Once again: thanks to any and all tags and comments, i collect them and they will be buried in my pyramid when I die. seriously, they inspire me to keep going and I screen shot them to show to my friends :))))

Also so sorry if you got tagged twice im bad at taglists!!

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[eyelessfaces]

ahead, ahead

poe dameron x reader

summary: “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

or; your fear of the future forces you to reject the man you love.

warnings: rejecting poe but we're not actually truly rejecting him (who, in their right mind would reject this man), talks of the war, of being scared of the future, extremely brief mentions of an injury, death and grief

tags: gn!reader, idiots in love, angst, fluff, celebration, kissing, idk man I hate tagging this stuff you'll see

word count: 2.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

lmao hey I'm back ig if this fic doesn't hit ten thousand notes in 48hrs I'm dipping again

The night is fairly quiet, save for the occasional crackle over the comms. You and Poe are tucked away in an observation post, overlooking a seemingly endless empty desert; it feels like you've been here for hours, time blending now that the only light around is the shining stars and the small dots of your devices. 

Poe lightly clears his throat, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You can't go away from any conversation right now, so,” 

You shouldn’t even be surprised that he can not keep his mouth shut for longer than three minutes. “Why won't you let me take you out on a date?”

You sigh. “Poe, not now.” 

You can feel his eyes burning holes through you, knowing exactly what gaze he’s using on you, knowing his big, warm, pleading brown eyes will have the exact effect he intends to cast over you if you happen to turn to him.

You keep watching ahead, trying your best to ignore his too obvious firm gaze over you in your peripheral vision, feigning focus on trying to notice anything unusual in the broad land of sand ahead of you. He makes it really hard.

“What? Perfect situation to talk about this” he says, his gaze on you unwavering. “For me” he shrugs with a teasing smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that your silence will make him drop it. But he’s Poe Dameron. 

“Tell me. Tell me why. I genuinely want to know your reasons.” he says, leaning back into his seat. “Hurt my feelings if you have to. I just wanna know”

You can feel the pressure starting to pull down on you. You know he won’t let it go, but you also don’t want to hurt your friend while you’re stuck with him for what could be hours.

“So what, because no one ever says no to you you can’t take someone rejecting you?” you scoff, turning to him before you check the comms again though you know there’s nothing new. 

He laughs, a choked, startled laugh. “We both know it’s not that. You kissed me”

You sigh, tension coiling tight and your heart leaping in your chest as you set the comms down again, at this point begging the maker for something to happen, maybe even for a First Order ambush just to get you out of this conversation. “Maybe I was just pitying you.” you mutter under your breath, busying yourself out of it by picking the underside of your nails.

“Oh, you were shitting your pants at the idea of losing me. That's why you kissed me. You were so scared I might be dead you ran to kiss me when you found out I wasn't.” 

Your eyes close wearily. He’s on point. 

“And you almost could have chipped my teeth with how hard our mouths clashed, so,” he trails off. “Come on. Why won’t you tell me? I really just wanna know. I can handle it.” he murmurs, more softly this time. Your head shakes as you tut impatiently. His gentle tone doesn’t make it less painful to be in this situation. “I promise you won’t hurt my feelings, you already kinda did anyway, so I guess I’m not really–” Poe stops when you suddenly grab his arm and hold a finger up, your eyes widening as you freeze.

“Listen”

Poe halts and goes silent, alert to any sound around, any faint wind breeze, any footstep, anything. 

“...I’m not hearing anything” he declares after a while, eyebrows furrowed.

You recline into your seat, releasing your grip on him. “Exactly. How peaceful”

He lets out a soft, bitter chuckle and looks away, into the waves of sand, pretending to get his focus back onto the task at hand. 

He finally, as you wished, lets the tight space be silent again, but after a while, you come to admit that the heavy silence is arguably more agonizing than having Poe run his mouth about something you don’t really want to talk about.

“You'll always care about the Resistance more than you could care about me.”

“What?” Poe scoffs and glances back over you, eyebrows raised. You give him a small shrug. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

Your gaze darts to him before you look back out the window at your side. “It’s not even a bad thing, it’s who you are, and that’s why people follow you, that’s why I follow you, but–”

He stares at you, his gaze burning through you again, caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. “But what? What makes you think that?” 

You can hear the startled hurt in his tone, the clear bewilderment, the clear need and urge in him to argue.

“You're a busy man. You're always on the run–” 

“So are you” he cuts you off.

“That's what I mean. We’re both so busy with this– this endless fight. We barely have time to sleep, let alone,” you gesture vaguely between the both of you, catching the pleading gaze you were desperately trying to avoid earlier, hoping he will get what you mean without you having to say it out loud, without having to stab him right through the heart once again.

“So what?” he insists, his tone firmer. “We both know that. That’s part of the deal. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work”

You shake your head, sensing it will only keep going down from there. “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

The thick silence painfully grips at your throat, and just when it feels Poe might start to speak again, the comms crackle with a signal, alerting a presence on the grounds. 

You stand up and gather the stuff you need, the mission you let aside needing your full focus again, and as you take your blaster out of your holster, you can still feel Poe’s lingering gaze over you, your chest tightening in a sense of guilt you’ve never felt before.

—

It’s spontaneous and unconstrained when you fall into Poe’s embrace, but you do, and it’s like nothing ever happened in that observation post a few weeks ago. Your hands fist tightly into the fabric of his flight suit while you're still careful not to press yourself too close against his wounded arm. The general hubbub of celebration is rumbling on the ground of Ajan Kloss, thrumming through the air, and you can only feel relief as Poe’s hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace. For a brief moment, you just stay here, mingling with each other, breathing him in like you didn't completely push him away the last time you faced him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you pull back slightly, looking you up and down, eyes raking through as he searches for any sign of injury.

“Are you?” you ask back, eyeing his arm wrapped in a cloth and held against his chest by a sling. 

He shrugs, grimacing as he quickly waves it off, trying to downplay it. “That's fine. Nothing I've never seen before. I got things to celebrate before I start whining about this” he grins. 

He smiles wider when he sees your smile, your cheeks warming up as his gaze lingers over you, taking in every detail of your face. You have barely been able to catch each other for longer than two minutes outside of missions these past few weeks, so knowing he will now be able to see you for maybe three minutes longer now that the galaxy isn’t at stake anymore brings another layer to the wider sense of relief of this war being over. “I’m glad you made it out alright” he says quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise. 

“Couldn’t have done it without such an amazing leader” you tease, and he lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head, but your own laughter fades as he gets cornered by his fellow squadron pilots, pulling him away from you.

You smile when you see his eyes crinkle as they cheer with him, and you give him another smile and nod when he mouths you a quick apology as they drag him away.

—

You stare off into the distance, a small smile tugging at your lips when from afar, you notice Finn being swirled around by Rose, all smiles. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling to this, all of this. It’s supposedly all over, but you also have no idea what to expect for tomorrow, and the next day, and all the ones after that, and the idea is terrifying. 

You put your glass down beside you on the crate that serves you as a bench, turning when you feel a presence approaching.

“Hey” Poe smiles, sitting by your side on the wide crate.

“Hey,” you reply, a hint of tiredness in your voice though his presence lifts you up a little.

“Overwhelmed?” 

You scoff, giving him a half nod, barely a tilt of the head. “Yeah, you could say that”

He gives you a nod of comprehension, staring off at the loud, joyful celebration in the distance. 

Puffs of dirt are flowing off the ground from being beaten by dancing feet, the particles visible from the strings and poles of lanterns set up for the occasion, revealing the figures of people overflowing with energy though that layer will peel off and reveal the true exhaustion stemming from the battle soon enough.

The night is warm, making sweat cling to skins, making tears of all kinds short-lived, visual proofs of joy and grief drying and disappearing quickly.

Poe’s gaze turns back to you, his hand settling over yours. “You should join us. You shouldn’t be staying by yourself at a time like this” he prompts, lightly nudging your side, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will, eventually” you nod, glancing at a couple linking foreheads, swaying side by side. “Just having a moment,” you chuckle softly, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“Ouh, okay” he teases, begrudgingly removing his hand. “Mind if I have this moment with you?”

“Sure,” you scoff, silently offering to share your glass with Poe, disposing of it again when he silently declines.

“So, what now?” he questions, a renewed brightness filling his voice. “What are your plans now that this war’s over?” he asks, eyes roaming along your figure.

You take a deep breath, clearing yourself of a discomfort you barely realized had been smothering your chest. “I don’t know. That’s what’s terrifying” you admit. He hums in agreement, nodding. “But maybe I’m gonna apologize to a certain pilot I pushed away first” you grin, glancing at him, meeting his eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles. “I wanted to apologize earlier. Before they snatched you away to worship you for your feats” you tease.

He scoffs. “Sorry. Busy man as you said”

“Yeah” you exhale, taking a sip of your drink. You lick the liquid off your lips, before looking back at Poe. “I was too harsh on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you” 

He gives you a single nod and a forgiving smile. “I know. We don’t have to talk about that”

You shrug softly, averting your gaze from him again. All those people cheering and laughing and kissing could have been you and Poe instead of that slightly awkward tension between you, in a parallel reality where you hadn’t pushed your pride to the first plan, leaving your feelings behind. 

You glance at him, at the way his brown eyes catch the warm glow of the lanterns. “I wanted to kiss you again” you admit, in a faint murmur. “When we came back winning.”

Your gaze falls to your lap, your fingers drumming against your glass as you feel the weight of Poe’s gaze over you, attentive to your every word. “But I didn’t want you to think I was playing with your feelings and being cruel again, just the way I was in the observation post”

Poe’s gaze softens, his hand closing as he tries to keep himself from reaching for you again. He nods in understanding, unsure how to go on from this admission. 

“It’s not about cruelty,” he mutters, still looking at you. “It hurt because I knew you were scared. And I didn’t know how to make you not be.”

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage, your eyes briefly closing at his words. You nod, having to admit he is probably right. Scared of losing any more people you love, for the cause that has already taken so much from you.

Scared of losing him when your feelings already weighed enough on you.

“Hey,” he calls, tearing you out of your knot of blooming thoughts, nudging your knee with his own. “That’s why we’re here tonight. Because we made it” he nods. “We're all supposed to be less scared now, to enjoy the celebration and to properly take time to process our griefs.”

A faint smile grows over his face when you rest your head against his shoulder. You try to ignore the tears threatening your eyes.

“So things are supposed to be quieter now, right?” you question quietly, feeling his arm wrap around your back.

He hums in reflection. “There’s still a lot to do but, yeah, supposedly”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always”

You let out a small, vulnerable sigh. “I never thought this day would actually happen. It was just a distant vision” you confess. “And now that it’s here I don’t know what to do”

He slightly tilts his head, glancing at you without dislodging your head from his shoulder. “You’ve never fantasized about what your life would be like after the war?”

You stay quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Not really. Not seriously. Mostly because it didn’t really feel like this day would come, and now everyone knows what they want for themselves and I feel completely lost”

He nods. “You don't have to figure it all out now. The Resistance still has lots to sort out” he affirms, his thumb idly caressing your arm. “But you can think about it differently. You have every option now. You can start again” You pull your head away from his shoulder, considering this point of view as you grab your drink to finish it. You hum softly, rubbing your eyes when you let go of your drink, trying to chase the lingering doubts away.

“Come on, we should join the others” he clutches your shoulder before standing up. “And you need a refill”

You nod, looking back at your empty glass, propping yourself onto your feet. “Poe, wait” he turns back to you, an expectant curiosity painted over his face, watching as you step closer to him. 

“If you asked me out again,” you say, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “I’d say yes. It’d be part of my new life”

His grin widens as he fully turns to you. “Oh yeah?” he asks, an eyebrow raised and a teasing edge to his voice. 

His eyes roam over your face, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you nod. “Yeah”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his hand brushes yours before he holds it again, this time more deliberately and more confidently. “You should have. Kissed me” he murmurs as your gaze darts to your linked hands then back to him, unable to repress the smile growing onto your face.

“I know,” you chuckle, watching him let his fingers intertwine with yours when you don’t pull away, his touch firm, grounding you with a peacefulness you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages. “But who says it's too late?”

“If I was that petty, I would” he grins, a teasing glint in his eyes, but the warmth in them conveys the playfulness of his words. 

You lean in to kiss him before either of you can overthink it, your free hand instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck like he can somehow still slip away from you, your fingers burying in his mass of hair damp from the heavy atmosphere.

His hand slides out of yours to cup your face and the kiss lingers, warm and unhurried, neither of you caring about the laughter and music of the celebration in the background. When you finally pull back, your foreheads touch, and you see the playful grin on his face that makes your chest ache with fondness. “Took you long enough” he teases.

“You’re so desperate” you shoot back, your tone lacking any real bite, significantly softened by the smile that refuses to leave your face. 

“You were hard to get.”

“Alright, okay” you scoff, your hand sliding to rest against his torso, adjusting the collar of his shirt on the way. 

The teasing slowly fades from his face, his hand reaching up to cover yours over the rise and fall of his torso, gently closing around your fingers

“I’ll make time for you.” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Between work, flying, building everything we’ve lost and our lives again… I’ll make time for us. I promise”

You find yourself nodding, swallowing his every word, blindly trusting him; because if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that Poe Dameron never makes empty promises.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, and for the first time in what feels forever, moving forward doesn’t seem as terrifying.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

star wars taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

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@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25

[grapehyasynth]

maus what if i was curious to know what drabble you cook up based on the song 'impossible' by shontelle?? 💜

MY BELOVED MAUS!

oh boy did this get ANGSTY! my original idea was canon-compliant, since the playlist is meant to align with canon, but then this bubbled up. sorry to my boys </3

Wille wakes up to a splitting headache and a missed call from Simon. He’s not sure which one is the stronger force in keeping him immobilized in his bed for another half an hour. 

They haven’t talked since the breakup, even though it was mutual and mostly amicable. It just hurts too much. Not like it doesn’t hurt, not talking to him. Everything hurts. 

He puts off calling Simon back. He pushes back the thick curtains, washes his face, brushes the stale alcohol breath off his teeth and tongue. He debates not returning the call at all. People still accidentally butt-dial, don’t they? 

It’s only when he catches himself nibbling at his thumbnail, a habit he’s (mostly) kicked, that he drops onto the chaise longue, drawing his knees up to his chest so he can tug his sweatshirt over his legs. 

“Hej?” he ventures, when the call connects. “What’s up?” 

An indignant little huff of a laugh shivers in his ear. He’s spent the months since their breakup absorbing Simon’s voice through videos and mp3 files, but hearing it just for him is better, worse, everything. “Wille, I get that the situation is shitty, but this is your only warning. Next time I’m blocking you, on all the platforms. I know that sounds harsh, but I just can’t -- I need to not--” 

“Platforms?” On a sudden, vertiginous, half-remembered hunch, Wille puts the call on speakerphone and flips through to see which other apps are still open on his phone. Instagram - open to his direct messages with Simon. Shit. Apparently, at 2AM last night, Wille had sent could you maybe act a little less thrilled to be done with me? or give me half the grammy jfc. thanks so much puss och kram. “Shit. Simon--” 

“My manager wanted to cancel my appearances today. And you know how much she does not believe in days off.” 

“It wasn’t -- I didn’t mean to--” He’s not going to tell Simon it was a joke. Not even the most generous interpretation of text tone would let that message read as a joke. 

He’d been drunk, thoroughly blasted from a friend’s birthday party. He’d gotten back to the royal residence well past midnight, and in an effort to escape the silence of the dark, massive, lonely hallways, he’d wound up on his stomach in his bed, still wearing a suit, watching a seemingly endless parade of Simon’s live performances to promote his new album. The new album that exudes fuck you, that proclaims boy bye, that flaunts Simon’s singlehood and freedom. And the whole world knows Wille was Simon’s last boyfriend. So not only does he have to live without Simon, he has to see him thriving, and he has to read all the strangers on the internet, especially Simon’s superfans, speculating about why they broke up, about how shitty Wille must have been as a boyfriend to make Simon this desperate to move on, about how he never deserved Simon and Simon was probably never happy with him. Wille knows it’s not true - they’d fucking loved each other, neither of them wanted to break up, but it got too hard, the demands of their respective careers and duties threatening to ruin what they had. But alone in this castle, drunk and morose, he’d started to wonder. Hence, the DM. 

“It wasn’t about you,” he offers Simon eventually, dully. “Not really, not like it seemed. It just... fuck, Simon, I know your songs aren’t all autobiographical but it hurts.” 

Simon’s quiet too long, a tense silence Wille remembers, when Simon is nearly vibrating with emotion but trying to breathe his way through it. “You’re right, they’re not all autobiographical. And these songs were written ages ago, before we were together - I didn’t even write all of them myself - they’re not about you, not the - not the ones people think, anyway. And of course I know that it hurts, Wille, god, I - do you think I want to sing about a shitty ex and perform like I’m having the time of my life when I’m so heartbroken I can barely get out of bed?” 

Wille doesn’t know what to say. If they were in person, this is when he would go to Simon, hold him as he cried. 

Wasn’t the breakup supposed to prevent them both from falling apart? 

Simon sniffles. “I’ll try to make it more clear, in my interviews. I’ve tried to steer them away from you but I’ll do better. Is that what you want, Wille? Would that help?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t - I don’t know what I want, Simon,” he admits brokenly. “I just want you.” 

“Wille--” 

“I just want you.”

[paulyenvol6]

Bound by Flame (Chapter 17)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, angst

Wordcount: ~2.41k

Masterlist of this story

Daemon was just walking back from the dragon pit when he heard heard a noise from behind.

He had had a good time flying above King's Landing on Caraxes to finally give him some attention again but now he was starving and wished for the quietness of his chambers. But then someone called his name and the prince turned around.

"Brother," he said when he saw Viserys walking towards him.

"Daemon. Good to see you. Do you have a minute?"

He mentally rolled his eyes but nodded graciously and the brothers started to stroll side by side back to the red keep.

"What is it?" Daemon began and the king was clearly uncomfortable bringing the topic forward as he nervously chewed on his lower lip.

"Well. I was speaking with daughter earlier. And although she said she didn't want me to talk to you about it I felt the need to discuss it with you as well."

Daemon arched his eyebrow having a strong idea what this was about but he listened to what his brother had to say.

"I'm simply wondering if you might be a little too hard on Maera. You know, in the way you talk to her or order her around or… treat her."

"Is that it?" he scoffed. "Is that what you wanted to bring forward?"

Viserys sighed.

"Daemon. I'm just a little worried. I saw the bruises on her neck and I can't help but feel concerned about her well-being. I just don't want you to hurt her or something."

Daemon entangled his hands behind his back and a smirk played around his lips.

"I don't think you need to be concerned about this, dear brother. I know what she needs and what she wants. I'm her husband."

Viserys looked like he was thinking for a moment and then grabbed his brother's shoulder.

"I know. And I believe you. All I wanted is to reassure myself that she's fine."

"She is. Everything I do to her is for her own well-being."

Daemon sounded a lot colder now which made the king eventually change the subject. He simply didn't want to cause another fight so he dropped the topic. And then the brothers already arrived at the keep and their ways parted again. Daemon decided to go to his chambers to see if Maera had already returned but he didn't even get to the gate.

"Daemon!" a voice shouted and when he turned around his niece ran towards him with a wide smile on her face. Her joy immediately transferred to him and he chuckled when Maera jumped in his arms.

"It was so amazing at the market, Daemon," she said against his hair.

He kissed her head and then held her away a little.

"That's good to hear. Did you buy anything?"

The girl nodded and reached into the pocket of her dress.

"Lavendar oil. And a necklace."

"Let me see it."

Maera showed him both items which he examined closely and then he took the piece of jewelery in his hand.

"Turn around."

She smiled at him and turned her body until her back faced him. Daemon gently removed her hair so he had access to her neck and then gently ran his thumb over her soft skin. His hands reached around to put the necklace on and Maera slightly flinched when the cold metal touched her skin. Then all there was left to do was close the clasp and Daemon grabbed her waist once he was done.

"My pretty girl. Let me see you."

He turned his niece's body around and bit his lip proudly when he watched the pendant on her marked skin. She was his and though he had known that for years now everyone could. Everyone who laid their eyes on Maera would immediately realize what had happened to her pretty neck. He really couldn't wait to show her off at the small gathering tonight in the throne room.

"Let's get you inside now. You need to eat something."

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that day Daemon guided his niece down into the hall just like he had done the other night. Maera wore a purple gown now that looked lovely on her pale skin and made her silver hair shine brightly. He was smug about how well her bruises showed thanks to the low neckline and he couldn't wait to make all these pathetic lords see them.

Maera to his right seemed content and at peace as the smile on her face didn't vanish for a second while her husband led her into the throne room. That was when he slightly leaned down to her to speak into her ear while making sure that she had her eyes on the people in front of them.

"Do you see them, little doll? Do you see all those lords lusting after you?"

He lightly ran his hand over the back of her neck.

"I want them to see you like this. Covered in my marks. They will know that it was me who did it and they will know that they will never have you. Because you're mine until your very last breath."

He noticed how she shivered slightly and he smirked at how responsive his little niece was to his voice and words.

"You're not so innocent, mhm? Perhaps these lords think that the king's young and pure daughter wouldn't let a man claim and sully her like that. Well… now they will learn the truth. They will learn what a greedy little slut you are at night… that you enjoy the pain and that you love nothing more than when I degrade and humiliate you."

Her breathing fastened and Maera's hand came down to grab his arm.

"Daemon…," she hummed clearly having problems to stand properly.

"Tsk tsk," he made sounding amused. "Can't behave for one evening."

With these words he pulled her with him to their seats next to the king. The short walk gave Maera enough time to collect herself again and when the couple stood before Viserys she was able to form a smile.

"Good evening, father."

The king still looked a little suspicious but seeing his daughter's sparkling eyes as well as the genuine smile on her face made his face relax and he nodded.

"Good evening. How was your day, daughter?"

Maera touched the pendant of her new necklace that she had put on and lifted it slightly to show it to him.

"It was beautiful. I bought a necklace on the market. And septa Julvra took me to see a theatre play on the town square."

"That sounds good, my dear."

Soon Maera and her uncle sat down next to him and Daemon filled their cups with wine.

"I hate wine," she whispered to him with a frown.

"It's fine, I'll drink it if you don't like it."

"I know that I don't like it."

Daemon chuckled and soothinly placed his hand on her thigh.

"Give it a try. It's dornish wine."

Soon the music was playing louder and the first people made their way to the dance floor so the rogue prince looked at her questioningly, knowing that his wife had a great love for music.

"Do you want to dance?"

But Maera thoughtfully tilted her head. "No, I'm not in the mood, I think."

He arched his eyebrow. "Really?"

She moved closer to her husband and gave him a smile.

"I wanna be with you."

"Well, if we go dancing you'll be with me as well. I'm not gonna let you dance with anyone who's not me tonight."

She took his hand and interwined their fingers.

"I know. But I wanna sit here with you. With no one interrupting us."

That made Daemon smile and he kissed her forehead.

"Then we're gonna stay here."

They sat like this for a while merely enjoying each other's presence and now and then expressing their thoughts when Maera noticed her brother entering the throne room. She was a bit nervous as they hadn't talked a lot after Aegon had shown his displeasure about her marriage the day before so she anxiously toyed with her rings when the crown prince walked across the room heading to the king. Once he stood in front of his father Aegon bowed.

"Father. Good evening."

Viserys smiled but Maera sensed that his mouth was tense. Then he turned to his sister and she could see something like a childish stubbornness in his eyes.

"Maera," he hissed but then his gaze wandered down to where Daemon had taken his wife's hand to fiddle with her rings in her place.

He gulped loudly. "Uncle."

Maera gave him a reassuring smile. "Good evening brother."

Aegon replied with a nod and for the first time she felt like it was an honest and respectful gesture. Perhaps her brother had finally accepted that this union was what made her happy, she thought. Of course he hadn't expressed his opinion but the simple bow with his head had given her hope. Aegon walked to his seat to the left of Viserys and sank down on his chair. Maera exhaled loudly feeling a weight drop off her heart and she felt her uncle squeeze her hand lightly.

"It's alright, love."

The rest of the night went on calmly and when Daemon and Maera made their way back to their chamber she was so tired and sleepy that she was happy about her uncle's arm around her waist.

"We'll be back in our chambers soon, sweetling," Daemon said quietly against her ear.

She nodded and when she finally found herself in the midst of their room Maera quite literally fell on the bed which made the rogue prince chuckle.

"Why are you so tired, love?"

"I don't know…," she mumbled and turned her head to the side.

Daemon sighed amused and observed her and then took off his clothes to join her in bed.

"Don't you wanna take off your gown?" he asked once he had climbed on the bed and Maera nodded.

The girl slowly sat up and with the help of her husband she unlaced the dress and then slipped out of it. She now only wore her white undergarments but she was definitely too tired to change into something else so Maera just crawled back onto the bed and with a loving smile Daemon covered her with the blanket.

"I love you, my sweet girl," he whispered and for a second he believed that she had already fallen asleep but then she lifted the corners of her mouth and pressed herself closer to Daemon's body now lying next to her.

"I love you too."

~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

His thrusts were deep and forceful, so deep that they made her eyes roll back every time he slammed back in. Maera didn't hold back with her moans and whines and it was exactly what Daemon wanted. She sounded so angelic and delicate when she uncontrollably whimpered his name or pleaded him to do something without actually knowing what she wanted herself.

She had her legs spread open for him to let him do whatever he wanted and Daemon really took advantage of it. While his cock pounded into her cunt he toyed with her little nub and now and then delivered a soft slap to it as well. Not because she had misbehaved and he was punishing her for it to be precise. He did it for his mere pleasure if he was honest to himself. He loved it too dearly how her muscles and face tensed when his hand came down to her cunt and he always made sure that it wasn't very hard. Because he didn't want to hurt her after all.

"Oh fuck…," she whimpered in his arms and her fingernails buried in his flesh left a sharp sting.

He growled out and rubbed her pearl in circles just that way he knew she liked it. But then suddenly there was a knock on the door and Maera gasped in surprise. She slapped her hand in front of her mouth and stared up to her husband with wide eyes but he just chuckled quietly.

"Not right now."

"Mommy? Daddy?"

Daemon rolled his eyes and smugly grinned down to Maera who looked so terrified it was almost funny.

"No, no, no, no. We have to – Let's get dressed, he can't see us like this."

Maera gently tried to push him off her by pressing her hands against his naked chest but in response he smirked, grabbed her wrists and pinned them down over her head. Then he leaned down to kiss her mouth.

"Daemon… no... Baelon is right there, he will catch us," she mumbled against his mouth and shifted her head to escape his lips. The rogue prince chuckled again but then cleared his throat.

"Baelon? Mommy and daddy need a little longer. We'll come to you afterwards."

There was a moment of silence and Maera's uncle used it to pull out of her a little only to thrust back in with so much intensity that her eyes rolled back.

"D-Daemon… Please wait."

He looked amused but actually stopped to await their son's answer.

"But I can't sleep."

"We will be there soon, son. Until then go to Vysah. But please don't wake her up, she needs her sleep."

Their second born child Vysah was a wild and lively girl that spent the days running around and chasing the other children rather than being able to sit still like her brother. That was why Daemon and Maera always wanted to make sure that she was resting at night and not frolicking around with her brother or her cats, which she had a special affection for.

Maera would've wanted to add something to it as well but she was scared that her words would be turned into a whimper once she opened her mouth and so she kept quiet while the couple waited for an answer.

"Fine…," they heard him mumble. "I'll go to her. But please come soon."

"We will, Baelon."

And then they heard him walk away and Maera exhaled loudly. She had been frightened and her heart still beat loudly in her chest. Now Daemon loosened his grip on her wrists but didn't waste any further time and started to fuck her again.

"You need to relax a little more," he whispered against her ear while his hand traveled down to her core again.

"Shut up," she breathed and her husband smirked.

"You're gonna come for me now?"

~~~~~~~~~~

The End

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@smashee0789 @classicsimpforaaronwarner @hangmanscoming @ninihrtss @coffeebooksrain18 @aleemendoza2425-blog @chiminies-noona

[gaygentbrontosaurus]

what Haikyuu characters would be as roommates

(everyones in uni and an adult tho I am not living with any high school boys ever)

Hinata Shouyou

Nice, that being said doesn’t have any common sense or boundaries, doesn’t know where his stuff is, so he keeps using yours, LOUD and kinda smelly

Kageyama Tobio

Has no idea how to be a human or do ANY chores, can be trained to be a good roommate (takes time tho)

Tsukishima Kei

Could be the best roommate ever (quiet, clean) or the worst (passive aggressive), depending on who he rooms with, always asks before bringing people over, piss him off tho and he will throw a rager with Bokuto

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Probably one of the best on this list, cooks, cleans, always asks before bringing people over, husband material

Ennoshita Chikara

Also a strong choice, father in the making, can be kinda intimidating at first

Nishinoya Yuu

Hahahahaha just no

Tanaka Ryunosuke

Weirdly? A great roommate. Compassionate and understanding, respects your boundaries, ready to sweet talk you into parting with his friends, but rarely throws any parties at home

Sugawara Koushi

Seems like a good roommate but actually isn't one. He is really polite, but you think its all fake and he silently gets judgemental about the way you do chores. Also you feel like he knows all your secrets.

Azumane Asahi

Has no opinion or won’t voice any, so you will be always concerned if hes actually fine with the rules you set

Sawamura Daichi

Father - so great roommate, could fix a door or make dinner

Yahaba Shigeru

Hot take; hot but nasty, one of those pretty boys that wipe their hands into the couch after eating (looks are everything, living spaces? Def not), takeout boxes in the sink, kyoutani is always over and you can hear whatever they’re doing

Kyoutani Kentarou

Won't see him, always at yahabas, surprisingly clean and quiet at home

Iwaizumi Hajime

Good roommate, but you will probably never feel the need to talk? Like maybe 5 words per month and its about when the trash will be collected

imagine meeting oikawa one day when you know literally nothing about iwa

Oikawa Tooru

See yahaba, but more vocal and NEVER cleans the shower even tho his stuff takes up 80% of the shelves in the bathroom

Matsukawa Issei & Hanamaki Takahiro

Why have one bad roommate when you can have two?? They share a room, have the weirdest bed set up and sometimes sleep on one bed bcs you literally can’t get to the second one, but at least they’re fun

Terushima Yuuji

Always talks about hookups but actually has any and you know it cause you’re roommates, tolerably messy, just a guy

Aone Takenobu

Good roommate, clean and proper, but you are scared of starting conversations with him

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Has an Oikawa poster on the bathroom mirror and sometimes talks to him, so many plants in common spaces its starting to annoy you

Tendou Satori

Still pretends his hair is natural, even tho you are roommates and you know how long it takes him to style it. Acceptably messy, but everything is acceptable when he brings homemade sweets.

Shirabu Kenjirou

Uses a ruler to cut his hair so he is definitely insane. Lives like a man (no furniture, no bedsheets). Peaked in highschool - did you know he went to shiratorizawa?

Daisho Suguru

Surprisingly a very good roommate, everyone hates him tho and you don't know why.

Miya Atsumu

Just no. Straight man (derogatory)

Miya Osamu

Nice roomie, but Atsumu is always around which is not so nice. Still husband material.

Suna Rintarou

Bad roommate. Ok on most days, but impossible to argue with. When the dish soap runs out he will use hand soap bcs soap is soap right?

Haiba Lev

An adult that needs an adultier adult to live with. Cannot operate a dishwasher or a washing machine, good thing that his sister or yaku are over so often.

Kozume Kenma

Do you even have a roommate? The only time you see each other is at 2 am when you both want to shower.

Yamamoto Taketora

Like tanaka, but more awkward. At first tries a bit to hard to be your friend.

Kuroo Tetsurou

Good roommate, cleans, cooks, considerate of you but nosy af and will use the knowledge to pester you.

Yaku Morisuke

Mom material, seems like a good roommate, but will aggressively mother you.

Akaashi Keiji

An amazing roommate until he's not. When he’s mad or stressed he will make sure no one has a good time and you're sometimes afraid to leave the room when you know he has a deadline.

Bokuto Koutarou

Loud both awake and asleep (turns, snores, talks in his sleep). Tries VERY hard to be your best friend.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

You will go insane with his cleanliness standards.

Yachi Hitoka

Great roomie.

Shimizu Kiyoko

Good roommate but will always be better than you and give you gay panic.

Ukai Keishin

Heavy smoker so better get used to the cigarette smell.

Takeda Ittetsu

The only person on this list YOU can intimidate. Too busy to be home.

after discussing pros and cons of living with everyone we decided to do our top 3 and bottom 3 roommates

My friend that i did this with:

top:

3. Lev - seems fun and his sister can come over anytime ;)

2. Tanaka - I need someone to force me out of the house lmao

1. Iwa-chan - living with him would literally solve all my problems and i already own a pull up bar come to me iwa-chan

bottom:

3. Suna - literally my brother vibes and not sharing a wall with him drastically improved the quality of my life

2. Tsukki - if I was a haikyuu character I would be tsukki and I could never live with myself

1. Suga - i will not be judged on the way i vacuum the living room carpet he can keep his opinions to himself

Me:

top:

3. Takeda - i like things my way and he will do as i ask, also he is never home

2. Kuroo - he's H O T, even tho he pesters me hes still h o t while doing it

1. Ushijima - hes weird im weird i feel like we gonna vibe. bonus points that my plants will never die anymore

bottom:

3. Atsumu - loud, dirty, god complex

2. Hinata - he will use my favourite bowls and i will not have the courage to tell him to stop because it feels so minor but actually is not

1. Akaashi - just no, my mom actually acts like that and its stresses the fuck out of me, I’m not gonna live with my mom 2.0

what's your top/bottom three and why?

[amazinglystay]

Rainy Days and Ramen

Han jisung x Y/N

·:¨⛦𓆩♡𓆪⛦¨:

Summary:

Yn and Jisung spend a cozy, rainy day together making ramen, watching silly movies, and teasing each other, all while enjoying the quiet comfort of each other's company.

T/w: it’s Summary fluff that’s it A/n: This came from the poll!

·:¨⛦𓆩♡𓆪⛦¨:

The rain poured outside in rhythmic waves, hitting the window like a soft drumbeat. Yn sat curled up on her couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring out at the gray, rainy afternoon. She had planned to run errands today, but the weather had other ideas.

Her phone buzzed.

Confused, Yn shuffled to the door and peeked through the peephole. Sure enough, there he was, standing in a soaking wet hoodie, holding a plastic bag and grinning like an idiot. She yanked the door open.

“Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “It’s pouring out there!”

“Hi to you too,” Jisung said, brushing past her into the apartment. He dropped the bag onto the counter and began peeling off his wet hoodie. “I brought food.”

Yn sighed, shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t have to come all the way here just for that.”

“Of course, I did,” he said, shaking his damp hair like a dog. “Rainy days are boring, and you’re the only person I’d want to be bored with.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “So, what’s in the bag, hero?”

“Instant ramen,” he declared, holding up the packets like they were treasures.

“You walked through a storm for ramen?” she asked, incredulous.

“Not just ramen,” he said, pulling out two cans of soda. “And snacks. And my charming company.”

Yn laughed, grabbing a towel to toss over his head. “Your charm’s debatable, but I guess I’m stuck with you now.”

The two of them stood in the kitchen, working side by side to prepare the ramen. Well, Yn was working. Jisung was dramatically pretending to be a celebrity chef.

“Today, we’ll be making a delicacy,” he said, sprinkling the seasoning packet into the boiling water with an exaggerated flourish. “A fusion of salt, spice, and MSG truly the food of the gods.”

Yn flicked some water at him. “Focus before you burn something.”

“Excuse me, I am an artiste,” he said, wagging the wooden spoon at her. “You can’t rush greatness.”

“Greatness is about to boil over,” Yn pointed out, gesturing to the pot.

Jisung yelped and quickly turned down the heat, muttering something about how it was all part of the plan. Yn shook her head, biting back a laugh.

With two steaming bowls of ramen in hand, they settled onto the couch and queued up a movie. Jisung insisted on something ridiculous, a low-budget sci-fi flick he claimed was “so bad it’s good.”

Halfway through, he was doing terrible impressions of the characters, complete with dramatic gestures and fake accents. Yn was laughing so hard she nearly spilled her ramen.

“Stop!” she said, clutching her stomach. “You’re going to make me choke.”

“But I’m the hero!” Jisung cried in a terrible British accent, pretending to duel an invisible monster. “I must save the galaxy!”

“More like destroy the living room,” Yn muttered, still giggling.

He flopped back onto the couch, grinning at her. “Admit it you’d be bored without me.”

“I’d be at peace without you,” she teased.

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, “you still let me in every time.”

Yn rolled her eyes but didn’t move away.

By the time the second movie started, the rain outside had softened to a gentle drizzle. Jisung was stretched out on the couch, his head resting on Yn’s shoulder as he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone.

“You’re quiet,” Yn said, glancing down at him.

“Hmm?” He looked up, his face unusually soft. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated for a moment before smirking. “How lucky you are to have me in your life.”

Yn laughed, gently shoving him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, “you still keep me around.”

Yn felt her cheeks heat up but didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned her head against his, letting the comfortable silence settle between them.

The rain continued to fall, and for once, there was no chaos just two friends, ramen bowls forgotten, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company.

·:¨⛦𓆩♡𓆪⛦¨:

A/N: I hope u liked it! Please let me know any of ur recommendations on what to write right now it’s just anything I can think of so don’t hesitate to request! Make sure to eat sleep and drink loads 👌

✨🌸Masterlist Here!🌸✨

[tardisscans]

Hino Yusuke's Live (12/30/24)

I've been extremely sick so I haven't subbed anything, but I wanted to at least give a quick rundown of what Hino said in his last live!

Hino is really really excited for the Terebi-kun special.

The number of fans from China has increased a lot!

Initially there were more female fans but Hino thinks it's 50/50 now.

Hide arrives at 12:57 and Hino gets excited and asks if he's watching.

Hino starts rambling about how he feels lonely without Hide even though they've been together for a year.

He also states that he doesn't know how many days he won't be able to see him again after they finish Gavv, so the feeling is similar as to when he was with his idol group.

Both laughed at the "Sukipi Doshi" scene (すきぴ同志; translated by some as "lovebirds", "lovers" or "crush". I'll keep it as "sukipi" to simplify things lol)

Hino goes and describes the whole scene of Ep16 where Shouma and Hanto "sacrifice" for each other, but says he couldn't help himself and laughed when Shouma remembered Sachika's words about the "sukipi"s.

For Hanto, Shouma is really special, and for Hino, Hide is special too.

He talks about Hide having an unrequited love for Hino, and how clingy and embarrassing is lmao.

Hide actually comments a " ?? ".

"It's a bit troublesome to be so loved"

Hino says to not ask for spoilers, he's afraid of people getting angry at him lol.

Miyabecchi has been more cheerful lately!

He thought she was very serious and quiet at first but she's actually pretty lively! Hino also praises how talented she is and that she was chosen as Sachika for a reason :)

"Oi, Hide, don't just comment. Say something interesting."

Hino's favorite hero is Den-O and he watched every episode of it.

He also liked Kabuto and Kiva.

His parents told him he had the Den-O belt but he only remembers playing with Kuuga's belt lol.

19:03, Honoka (Shiita) seems to be watching the live too! :)

(Proceeds to complain about how hard is to make a live)

Hide asks if Hino has something he wanted to do before the end of the year but wasn't able to.

Hino says he wasn't able to go on a date with Hide.

He explains it's because they see each other all the time on set, but they go out to eat together, or go to each other house's too.

He kinda likes the idea to go travelling to different places for the FLT.

He also wants to get a driving license.

Hino likes the idea of picking someone up and having a "driving date" but I think people kept thinking he meant Hide?? (He was talking about him just seconds ago) so when he read "a date with your "sukipi doshi" he just talked about how much he wants one until he realized what the fans meant and said "Ah, sorry. Yes. It's Hide. My sukipi is Hide." lmao

"I swear it's not only a work relationship!" Hino keeps telling us how they are also good friends irl and outside of work.

He changes the subject and reveals Hide has him pinned to the top of Line, and how "weird" it is but also really cute.

In a more serious note, he finds Hide's pureness cute.

Comment: "What do you like about Hide?"

Hino: "He's like a dog. And his face."

He explains he replies really fast when he gets the notification, so he doesn't really have a need to pin anyone.

Comment: "Does Hino-kun have Hide pinned to the top too?"

Hino: "Hino-kun only has managers pinned!"

He does have a Gavv Staff group pinned though.

"Anyways, let's say Hide has an unrequited love."

(Unsure of what he means, but I think Hide comments that Hino actually does have him pinned to the top too???)

He also says that when he was in high school, he had a soccer event and went on a 2-3 day trip, and when he came back, his parents had already adopted a dog, so he had to get use to it lol.

Comment: "Hino-kun, are you a dog person or a cat person?"

He explains he was afraid of animals since little (to the point of moving sidewalks if someone was walking their dog), but after staying at a friend's house (who had cats) he became a cat person.

People asked him about meeting someone (Unsure of who they are- I'm really bad with names, sorry.) but Hino says they're really nice and friendly.

He changes to Hide again lol.

Hino mentions how he likes pickles but Hide doesn't eat them, so he always eats them for him.

At first he asked Hide to just give him what he didn't want, but nowadays Hide just finishes his bento and gives him the rest. (Because he's a child)

27:00, Ruito (Jeep) is here too!

"Ruito-kun is too cute!" - Hino.

He says Ruito is really cute while working (on stage) and he even thought he was a girl, but in private he's extremely funny, "He's just an ordinary boy".

Ruito is his favorite among the cast and says he has been seeing him lately (...Is that foreshadowing?...)

"I'll give you my pickles next time" - Ruito.

(Hino complains but accepts it anyways lol)

Gavv it's like an all-boy's school. (He feels sorry for Honoka and Miyabe)

He says he can't drink with Hide cause he's underage, but he can with Shoji and he's been hanging out with him lately and they went to karaoke! He address him between formal-casual, and even though he's a senpai and older, he feels like a friend instead of an older brother.

"Do you like Shoji-senpai?" (Laage9/Vram)

Hino says even though he joined midway, (he doesn't know if it's bcs he worked on toku before), Shoji blended perfectly fine.

Hino was determined to not go to his hometown for new year (I'm guessing to prepare for his role as Hanto.)

He says to look forward to who is he gonna spend his time with in New Year? And I think someone on the comments said it was Hide, but Hino says it's not, that it's okay for Hide to be separated from him in holiday season lol.

He then states that once in a while you just need to have some time to realize how important someone is to you, and to let Hide think about how having time with Hino is a precious thing.

"It's not Shoji either!"

Actually, back to the Hide, Hino hopes Hide can take him to Okinawa.

Hino talks about how he hated his own voice but that a producer told him he had a distinct sound and it was his strength.

Please do not treat him as a Hide's middleman!

He explained that it's as if it were Valentine's Day and they called him to meet at some place and he arrives, sees them fidgeting with chocolates in their hands, and his heart starts racing, and then they just tell him "Can you please give these to Hide?"

He talked with Director Sugihara about wanting to change his name, but Sugihara was like "It's you life, do what you want." (lol), but after chatting a bit, he suggested to check out Takebe P's other works (Producer of Gavv).

He says he tried LupPat and Zero-One (But Takebe didn't work on them, so I'm not entirely sure why he mentioned them. Prolly bcs of Sugihara working on Zero-One or Komura...)

At the end, he just thanked the producer, director, Hide, toku fans, and children, and said how grateful he feels to work on such a popular work, and that he will work very hard!

He then clicks on something and keeps getting distracted with the filters for like 10 minutes lol.

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 6

Prev | Next

W/C: 12.6k

Content Warnings: *Explicit, minors DNI. smoking, pet names, smut, unprotected piv, daddy kink lowkey, smoking, f & m orgasm, fluff, aftercare, parental estrangement, emotional strain, phone sex (?) non edited

Summary: After seeking refuge at Joel’s house to escape family tensions, you begin rebuilding your life while navigating complex emotions and relationships. A new job brings stability, and connections within the household grow deeper, with moments of closeness becoming increasingly intense. As you work to find your footing, the bonds around you shift in unexpected ways, setting the stage for personal growth and new challenges.

————————•

“Rollercoaster”

You close your bedroom door behind you, hoping in vain that it will block out the sounds drifting from upstairs. It doesn’t. The muffled moans and low thumps make your stomach twist, and you press your palms flat against the door, willing it to stop. Why now? You bite your lip, a flare of anger and embarrassment rushing through you. It’s bad enough your dad brought Linda here so suddenly—now you have to endure this?

Your eyes dart to your phone on the bedside table. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab it, scrolling through your contacts until you see Joel’s name. You hover there for a moment, heart pounding in your chest. Is this a bad idea? Maybe. But you need a distraction—any distraction—from what’s happening above you.

With a shaky breath, you tap the call button. The dial tone rings in your ear once, twice, three times. You’re about to hang up when you hear the low rasp of Joel’s voice.

“Hey,” he answers, his tone softer than you expected. “Everything okay?”

You close your eyes, letting the sound of his voice ground you. “Not really,” you admit, keeping your voice low. You sink onto your bed, curling your free hand into the comforter. “My dad… and Linda…” You swallow hard, not sure how much you want to reveal.

There’s a pause on the other end, then Joel exhales. “Yeah?” he prompts gently, sounding concerned.

Your cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “They’re… you know… doing it—above my room. I can hear everything.” You scrunch your eyes shut, wishing you could erase that last sentence from existence. “I just… can’t deal with this right now.”

Joel lets out a sigh that crackles over the line. “That’s gotta be rough,” he says, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the low static of the call and faint noises from upstairs that you’re doing your best to ignore.

Finally, you clear your throat, your heart thumping in your ears. “Joel,” you say, your voice wavering with a mixture of nerves and longing. “I—can we just… talk? Or—”

“Or?” His voice dips, taking on a note of hesitation and something else—interest?

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you gather your courage. “I just… need a distraction,” you admit, your pulse racing faster. “Anything to keep my mind off of what’s happening.”

Joel is quiet for a beat. When he speaks again, there’s a softness in his tone, laced with concern and maybe a spark of the tension you both felt before. “Okay,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me what you need.”

A tiny tremor of relief courses through you. “I want to focus on us for a bit,” you whisper, turning onto your side so you’re facing away from your closed door. You breathe in, centering yourself on the comforting thought of Joel rather than the humiliating noises overhead.

Joel shifts on his end of the line; you can hear it in the subtle rustle of fabric. “I’m listening,” he says, and there’s a quiet intimacy in those words that sends a flush through your cheeks.

You close your eyes and let your free hand drift to your stomach, resting just beneath your shirt. “You remember the last time we were together?” you begin softly, recalling the heated moment in his house when lines blurred. “When you… pinned me against the door?”

Joel inhales sharply. “Yeah,” he murmurs. His voice dips to a husky undertone. “I remember.”

The images of that night flicker in your mind—his firm grip, the fire in his gaze. The way the world shrank to just the two of you. It’s enough to drown out the sounds above—enough to remind you there’s something else waiting, something that feels like an escape from your current reality.

You keep talking, your voice low and measured, weaving little memories of his touch, how his breath felt against your skin. With each word, you imagine you’re back there, heat building between you instead of the awkward tension in your own house. Joel doesn’t interrupt; he listens intently, his steady breathing in your ear.

Eventually, he hums, a quiet, encouraging noise. “Feels good thinking about it?” he asks gently.

“Yes,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “I just… I wish you were here.”

He lets out a slow exhale. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both fall silent, just the sound of each other’s breaths traveling across the line. In that hush, you can almost feel him next to you—the warmth of his body, the way his presence steadies your thoughts.

Joel clears his throat. “I’m right here on the phone, though,” he says in a voice that’s low and intimate, “if you want to keep talking. If it helps.”

You let your eyes close, sinking further into the moment, letting Joel’s quiet reassurance fill the space in your mind. It might not solve everything—your dad, Linda, the complexities that still hang over you—but for right now, it’s enough to have Joel’s presence, even through a phone line.

Your grip on the phone tightens. “Stay with me,” you whisper, the plea laced with all the vulnerability you’ve been feeling for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he answers softly, and in that promise lies a shred of comfort that finally drowns out the unwelcome sounds from above. You focus solely on his voice, letting the tension ease as you slip deeper into the conversation that’s more than a distraction—it’s a reminder of the connection you share, a place that feels like it’s just yours and his, if only for these moments.

You lie back on your bed, phone pressed to your ear, Joel's low voice still filling your mind. Every syllable seems to heighten the warmth building inside you, and as you shift your hips slightly, you can't ignore the need pulsing through you. With a quiet inhale, you ease your hand downward, letting your fingertips rest lightly over the front of your underwear.

You close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of Joel's breath on the other end of the line. The rush of blood in your ears nearly drowns out your dad and Linda upstairs—a small, welcome reprieve.

Joel's tone drops, concern threading through it when he hears your soft exhale. "You alright?" he asks gently, though there's an undercurrent of awareness there, too.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back against the pillow, letting out another shaky breath. "I'm fine," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation,

"just... keep talking."

He seems to catch the hint in your tone.

His next words come out low, husky.

You barely process what he's saying— some reassurance, something about being with you-because every syllable feels like a slow thrum under your skin.

Your hand moves a fraction, pressing lightly. A quiver runs through you, and a soft, involuntary sound escapes your throat. Embarrassment flickers for a second, but Joel's voice anchors you, warm and calm even as his breath catches.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, almost inaudible.

Heat flushes through you, and you swallow hard. "I don't know," you whisper. "I just... need something. Need you."

Joel lets out a quiet, unsteady exhale.

"I'm here," he says simply.

Those two words send a shiver down your spine, and you let your eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation of your own touch and the steady cadence of Joel's voice. In the hazy quiet, with the world narrowed to just this moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of wanting him-letting it crowd out everything else.

Your breath hitches, the sound of it catching in your throat audible even over the phone. You press your hand more firmly against yourself, heart thudding at the thought that Joel can hear every shift of your breathing.

He goes quiet for a beat, as though he’s listening intently for your every reaction. His own breathing sounds uneven, and you imagine he’s trying to keep himself composed on the other end of the line. The thought sends another wave of heat rolling through you.

“You still with me?” he asks, his voice low and tinged with that undercurrent of need you’ve grown so familiar with.

“Mhm,” you manage, your voice faint. You swallow, forcing yourself to speak more clearly. “Yeah. Just… feels good.”

A soft exhale comes through the speaker—like relief mixed with desire. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone gentle but charged. “Then let it, darlin’.”

You bite your lip, your eyes sliding shut as your body reacts to his words. Even though he’s only there by voice, it’s enough to steady the anxious hum in your chest, enough to remind you that you’re not alone in this moment. For a few precious minutes, it drowns out everything else: the noises upstairs, the tension at home, the nagging complications that wait beyond this phone call.

Joel’s voice wraps around you again, low and comforting, guiding you further into the warmth of this connection. His breathing staggers once in a while, a subtle sign that he’s right there with you—wanting you just as badly, missing you just as deeply.

And in the background of your mind, you remind yourself that for now, that’s all you need: his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the promise of something better waiting when you finally see each other again.

Joel's breathing shifts on the other end of the line, becoming more ragged by the second. You can hear it-how he's losing that tight control you know he tries to hold onto. It's almost a mirror of your own state: that heady mix of anticipation and need.

"Joel...?" you venture softly, voice trembling with the knowledge of what might be happening there. He inhales sharply, and you can practically feel the tension crackling through the phone.

"I'm here," he rasps, his breath hitching on the last word. There's a moment of silence, punctuated by nothing but the distant hum of the connection and the sound of him exhaling in quiet, uneven spurts. He doesn't say what he's doing, but you sense it-the rhythmic pace of it, the telltale hitch in his voice.

Your own heart pounds, and you press your hand more firmly against yourself.

Even separated by distance, there's an odd intimacy in sharing this charged moment. The background noise of your house fades to static, and all that matters is the low timbre of Joel's voice, the rasp of breath as he gives in to the same pull you feel.

"You feel good, darlin'?" he manages to ask, his words laced with both concern and raw desire.

"Mhm," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth coiling in your belly. "You?"

Joel's response is a rough sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

"Wish I could see you," he breathes, and you imagine him leaning back, eyes closed, wanting this moment every bit as intensely as you do.

A flush spreads through you. "Me too," you admit. There's a pause as you catch your breath. "Tell me... tell me something," you plead, not entirely sure what you need but desperate to keep him talking, to feel him close.

He exhales shakily. "I'm thinking about that night... when I had you against the door." His voice drops into a husky whisper. "How you felt under my hands, how you tasted..."

Your breath stutters at the memory, the vivid recollection overtaking any coherent thought. Your fingers flex in response, pressing just enough to send a spark of pleasure zipping up your spine. Joel's voice falters too, a quiet hitch that tells you he's right there with you.

Neither of you speaks for a moment-just the shared, labored breathing over the phone line, the muffled hush of two people seeking comfort in each other.

At some point, you hear him mutter your name under his breath, soft but urgent, and it sends a delicious jolt through you.

It's intense-almost too intense, knowing he's on the other end, wanting this as badly as you do. You curl onto your side, phone balanced against your ear as your heart pounds. The world outside your door might be messy and complicated, but here and now, it's just you and Joel and the connection that keeps growing despite every obstacle.

Your lips part, and you whisper his name. His ragged exhale is answer enough. In this moment, you focus on each ragged breath, each brush of fabric, each sound that testifies to a need both of you can't deny. It's not perfect-nothing about your situation is -but for now, it's a lifeline neither of you wants to let go of.

Joel’s breathing hitches again, and you can almost hear him wrestling with the urge to stay in control. There’s a pause, then the faint sound of him grabbing his keys or something metallic in the background.

“Darlin’,” he says low into the phone, voice still rough from the moment you’ve been sharing, “I can’t do this like we are. I need to see you. I need to come get you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. You shift on the bed, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. The tension coursing through your body has you wanting to say yes immediately, but the memory of your dad and Linda upstairs makes you hesitate.

“Joel,” you whisper, unsure if he can sense your uncertainty. “They’re here… I don’t know if I can just walk out.”

He exhales, frustrated. “I’ll park down the street if I have to. But I’m not waiting around, baby. I want you with me tonight. Let me pick you up.”

Even through the phone, you can feel the warmth of his determination, and it nearly wipes out every other worry. Slowly, you exhale, your mind whirling with the risk of sneaking away now, of the complications that might follow if anyone notices.

But then Joel’s voice drops, all sincerity and urgency: “I just want you. No more phone. No more distance.”

Your breath comes out in a shaky rush. Deep down, you know exactly what you want, too. “Okay,” you whisper, the single word filled with every bit of unspoken longing.

He’s immediately in motion, you can hear the jingle of keys, the creak of a door opening. “I’m on my way,” he promises softly, before a click ends the call.

You drop your phone to your side and lie there in the darkness for a few beats, heart pounding, thoughts tumbling. Regardless of what waits for you tomorrow—family tension, questions you can’t answer—for tonight, you can’t deny how much you need the escape Joel’s offering. And, you remind yourself, he needs it too.

With a nervous flutter, you sit up, fishing for your shoes, grabbing a hoodie. Every sound from upstairs sets you on edge, but your resolve is clear: if Joel is willing to take the chance, so are you.

Within minutes, you’re slipping out of your bedroom, careful to stay quiet as you make your way outside. The air is cool and still, stars scattered above. You walk a short distance, heart thudding in your chest, scanning the street until you catch sight of Joel’s truck rolling slowly up the block.

The passenger door opens with a soft click, and there he is—anxious, intense eyes on you, one hand on the steering wheel. You climb in, nerves and excitement tangling in your stomach.

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls away, the tension in the cab thick with anticipation. His free hand finds yours, giving a brief, reassuring squeeze. Everything else—your dad, Linda, the complicated mess of it all—fades into the background. Right now, it’s just Joel, the hum of the engine, and the promise in his voice when he says, “Let’s go,” low and certain.

You breathe out, finally letting yourself feel that surge of relief and desire. Whatever comes next, at least you won’t be alone in it tonight. And judging by the way Joel glances over at you, his gaze heated and intent, neither of you plans on holding back.

Joel’s hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly as he spots the light on inside his house. “Sarah’s home,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, glancing over at you with an apologetic look.

He drives past the house without slowing, and you notice his jaw tense. It’s clear he’s not prepared for questions—or for Sarah to see you together like this. After a few minutes, Joel turns onto a side street and pulls into a dimly lit, vacant parking lot. He parks and cuts the engine, the silence inside the truck suddenly feeling heavier.

He turns toward you, eyes full of equal parts desire and frustration. “Didn’t expect her back so soon,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Guess we can’t go inside.” There’s regret in his voice, but the undercurrent of need between you both hasn’t faded at all.

You shift in your seat, the adrenaline from sneaking out still running high. “It’s okay,” you say quietly, forcing a small smile even though your nerves are jangling. “I wasn’t exactly looking forward to running into her, either.” The thought of explaining anything to Sarah tonight makes your stomach twist.

Joel’s lips press into a thin line; he seems torn, like he’s trying to figure out the next move. Finally, he exhales, leaning back against the headrest. “We could…talk here,” he offers, but his voice betrays him—there’s more than just talking on his mind.

The truck’s cab is dark except for the faint glow from a distant streetlamp. You can sense Joel’s focus on you, though, the same tension that crackled between you earlier still palpable. You realize he’s giving you the choice: to stay, to go, to figure out some middle ground.

You meet his gaze, your heartbeat still unsteady. “I don’t mind staying for a bit,” you murmur. It’s an understatement of everything you’re feeling, but you don’t know how else to say you need him just as much.

Joel nods, sliding his hand off the steering wheel and resting it near yours on the seat. The quiet hum of nearby traffic underscores the moment, and you both sit there, weighing your next steps, trying to figure out how to navigate this meeting that neither of you wants to end.

Outside, the night carries on, but in the confines of the truck, it’s like time has slowed. He studies your face, and you can tell he’s battling the same swirl of thoughts you are: the risk of being caught, the complicated feelings, and the undeniable pull that brought you both here.

“Come here,” he finally says, voice soft but insistent. He lifts his arm, making space for you to slide closer if you want. It’s a simple invitation—one that speaks volumes. You hesitate only a second before you move toward him, closing the gap in the quiet, empty lot.

For now, you both ignore the outside world, taking refuge in these fleeting minutes, where it’s just the two of you—no questions, no judgment, and no prying eyes. It won’t solve everything, but it’s enough to feel his warmth, to hear his low voice comforting you in the dark. And for the moment, that’s all either of you needs.

You shift in the passenger seat, feeling your pulse quicken, then make a decisive move: swinging your leg over Joel’s lap and settling yourself there, knees braced against the edges of his seat. He inhales sharply, the soft leather squeaking under your weight.

“D-darlin’?” Joel stammers, his voice a mixture of surprise and rough-edged desire. He automatically brings his hands up, hovering near your waist as though unsure if he should rest them there.

You just look down at him, a playful grin curving your lips. The tension in the truck cab is thick enough to taste, the cool night air streaming faintly through a cracked window doing nothing to quell the heat building between you.

Your eyes lock on Joel’s. For a moment, neither of you moves, your heart pounding in your ears. Then, slowly, he settles his hands at your sides, steadying you.

“You all right?” he asks, swallowing hard, his eyes flicking between yours as though he wants to be absolutely certain.

A soft laugh escapes you. “I’m good,” you whisper, leaning in just enough that he can feel your breath. “Don’t you want me here?”

Joel’s fingers tighten slightly at your waist. “More than I can say,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

A rush of warmth flutters through you at that, and for a moment, the complications and fears fade into the background. Right now, in this vacant parking lot, it’s just you and Joel—no one else.

You slide your hands up, resting them on his shoulders as you lean in closer. His jaw sets for a moment, gaze darting across your face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lets go of whatever lingering reservations he’s had and pulls you closer still, eyes fixed on yours.

Neither of you knows how long you’ll have before reality intrudes again. But for now, pressed together in the darkness, it feels like enough just to let the moment unfold.

You shift slightly on his lap, and a surge of electricity rushes through you as you feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and Joel's eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact. The air in the truck seems to tighten around you both, charged with heat and unspoken need.

His hands slide up to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you in place. When he finally opens his eyes, there's a look there-part longing, part disbelief. As if he can't quite believe this is happening, but can't bring himself to stop it, either.

You let your palms rest on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Everything about this moment feels magnified: the soft hum of the engine cooling, the faint buzz of a streetlamp in the empty lot, the press of Joel's body under yours.

He inhales, and you see his resolve waver. "This okay?" he asks, voice rougher than usual. You can sense he's giving you a chance to slow down, to reconsider.

But you don't. You lean in, brushing your nose against his, letting your own breath mingle with his. "I want this," you whisper-soft, but certain.

Joel answers with the lightest pressure of his hands guiding you closer, until your foreheads touch. The tension that's been mounting since you climbed into the truck now feels almost unbearable.

But it's not a bad kind of tension; it's the ache of longing, the thrill of surrender.

You shift again, a deliberate test of boundaries, and he gives a quiet groan

-somewhere between pleasure and warning. You catch his gaze, your body humming with anticipation.

In the hush of that parking lot, you both hover at the edge of something that feels impossible to ignore. And for a moment, the world narrows to just this, just the warmth of his lap beneath you, and the quiet promise of what might come next.

Joel's patience breaks in an instant. He grabs you firmly, and before you can catch your breath, he's pushing you down onto the seat, the worn upholstery pressing against your back as he pins you beneath him. His breath is ragged; yours matches, coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hunger that sends a fresh rush of heat through you. His eyes lock on yours, pupils blown wide, and for a moment, the only sound is the uneven rasp of both your breaths in the close confines of the truck.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body-held back until this very moment.

Your heart thuds, and you can't help but let a soft gasp escape when his hand settles against your hip, fingertips digging in just enough to hold you in place. He looms over you, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he's deciding just how far to take this.

When he finally leans down, you catch the faintest hint of cologne mixed with the night air. His stubble grazes your jaw as he whispers again, "You okay?" despite the thin thread of restraint that's barely holding him together.

"I'm good," you manage, voice trembling with anticipation. You slide your hand over his shoulder, anchoring yourself to him, silently giving permission.

That's all it takes. Joel's lips descend on yours, the kiss urgent and consuming.

The pressure of his body, the rough warmth of his hands roaming, erases any lingering thought of caution or fear.

In that moment, there's only him-the heady heat between you, the darkness of the parking lot, and the headlong rush toward whatever comes next.

He nips at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a series of love bites in his wake.

He moves down your body, pushing your shirt up as he kisses and nips at the exposed skin of your stomach and chest.

He lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor of the truck before returning his attention to your now-bare torso. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your sides and cupping your breasts in his large palms. “So damn perfect…”

Joel leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth as he begins to tease and toy with the sensitive bud. His tongue circles around it, flicking and teasing, before he gently nips at it with his teeth. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist as he continues to lavish attention on your chest.

He grins against your skin, enjoying the sound of your gasp as he switches his attention to your other nipple. He gives it the same treatment, his tongue swirling around the hardened bud before he begins to suck on it. His hands move lower, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants as he continues.

Joel's breaths are shallow as he eases your pants down, inch by inch. His lips haven't left your skin, and each new patch of bare flesh makes his heart pound harder. You arch against the seat, a soft moan escaping when his mouth lingers over your nipple, tongue flicking in slow, deliberate strokes. Every sound you make only seems to spur him on.

His fingers finally manage to free you from the last barrier separating you, and he lifts his head. The warm press of his body shifts, and he pauses to look at you-truly look at you. Half-naked, your pulse racing, you feel the heat of his gaze sweep from your flushed cheeks down to where his hands rest on your hips.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, and the hunger in his eyes makes your stomach flip. The slow rise and fall of his breathing matches the heavy thud of your heart. It's all you can do to stay focused on his face, on the intense need reflected there.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs at last, his voice husky. He slides one hand along your side, anchoring you beneath him, letting you feel the warmth of his palm.

You swallow hard, skin tingling where his fingers roam. "Joel..." you whisper, unsure what you're asking for, only knowing you need more.

He dips down to kiss you again, gentler now-a slow, lingering press of lips that contrasts the urgency coursing through both of you. "I've got you," he murmurs, and despite the heated rush of desire, there's a tenderness threaded through every word.

You shiver at the promise in his voice, bracing a hand on his shoulder as he settles back over you. The truck's interior seems too small to hold this moment, every breath and heartbeat magnified. Though this might be reckless, complicated, and a thousand kinds of dangerous, right now all that matters is how right it feels to have him here, looking at you like you're all he wants in the world.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours as he gently but firmly pins your wrists above your head. He holds you there, his grip firm but not tight, his gaze burning with intensity.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive.

He lowers his head, trailing a path of kisses and bites down your neck and collarbone once more, his free hand tracing a teasing path along your inner thigh.

Joel’s lips trail from your collarbone up to the curve of your neck, each small nip and kiss sending sparks of anticipation through your body. You arch into him, a soft sound escaping your throat, but he just smiles against your skin—a silent acknowledgment of how close you are to begging for more.

His hand drifts upward, fingertips grazing your inner thigh with a featherlight touch. Every slight movement teases you to the brink—close enough to stir a rush of heat, yet never quite landing where you crave it most. The tension coils tighter in your stomach, and you feel yourself pushing against him, wordlessly urging him to go further.

Joel lifts his head for a moment, dark eyes meeting yours. There’s a playful curve to his lips; he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, as though he’s savoring every second of your mounting need. He presses another slow kiss below your ear, and you can’t help the breathy whimper that slips free.

“Joel…” His name comes out in a plea, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He responds with a quiet hum, then resumes his path across your skin, each touch deliberate, measured. It’s as if he wants to map every inch of you before finally giving in. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you feel his own pulse racing under your fingertips.

His mouth makes its way back to yours; the kiss starts gentle, but tension lingers beneath it—electric, insistent. When he finally pulls back, he breathes your name, and there’s something in his eyes, equal parts hunger and tenderness, that makes your whole body tremble.

“Patience,” Joel whispers, though his own voice sounds anything but patient. The hand at your thigh inches closer, making you gasp as he keeps you hovering on the edge. Every kiss, every breath, feels like a promise of what’s to come—slow, unhurried, and far too enticing to resist.

Joel keeps his touch featherlight, each pass of his fingers a deliberate tease that leaves you trembling with anticipation. Your breath hitches, and you arch into him, chasing that frustratingly elusive pressure he’s holding just out of reach.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. The smirk on his lips only deepens when you whimper in response, your body all but pleading for more. “You want me so badly, don’t you?”

A needy sound escapes your throat as your eyes meet his. The smug, playful curve of his mouth tells you he’s enjoying every second of your helplessness. He grazes his knuckles along the edge of your underwear, drawing out another shiver that runs the length of your spine.

“God, you’re so damn needy,” he goes on, almost amused by your reactions. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart…”

Your cheeks burn at his words, but you can’t deny they send another pulse of heat right where he’s hovering. He’s right—you can’t remember the last time you felt this on edge, this desperate for someone else's touch. Every nerve in your body feels attuned to his movements, and every time he shifts closer, it's like a spark of electricity arcs between you.

You lift your hips in a silent plea, but Joel only chuckles under his breath, keeping the contact tantalizingly light.

His free hand moves to brace against the seat, caging you beneath him. The dark promise in his gaze makes your heart hammer. You can tell he's savoring this-savoring you-and the knowledge only stokes the ache building in your core.

"Easy," he murmurs, voice low as he leans in to brush a teasing kiss to your lips. "I'm not done having my fun just yet."

His patience might be wearing thin— your pulse thrums wildly, sensing the undercurrent of urgency in him-but he still wants to take his time, to draw out every gasp and moan you have to offer.

And despite the frustration twisting in your stomach, you find yourself clinging to every second of it, letting the tension coil tighter until you're right at the brink.

Above you, Joel's gaze bores into yours, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a knowing smile. Even though he's in control, you can see he's far from unaffected. His breathing is harsh, his eyes half-lidded with want. The need between you crackles in the enclosed cab, drowning out any lingering thoughts of where you are-or what waits outside this moment.

All that matters is his next move, the promise of satisfaction hanging just out of reach. And it's clear Joel intends to make you wait until the last possible second to give you exactly what you're craving.

“Daddy, please”

Joel’s smirk falters for half a second the moment the word “daddy” slips from your lips. Something shifts in his gaze, heat flaring behind his eyes as your plea reverberates in the charged space between you. It’s clear that single word hits him like a spark to dry tinder, testing the very edge of his restraint.

His breath catches, and his hands tighten at your hips in a sudden spasm of want. For a moment, he just stares at you—lips parted, brow furrowed in a turmoil of desire and warring emotions—like he’s deciding whether to give in or keep drawing this out.

Finally, he exhales a slow, ragged breath. “Careful, darlin’,” he rumbles, though his voice shakes with the effort of holding back. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You cling to his shoulders, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. Every muscle in his body seems coiled, tense with the effort of not losing control right then and there. But you see the flicker in his eyes—that razor-thin edge where playful teasing is about to break into something far more urgent.

He leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You really want me to lose it?” he asks, voice low and thick. The question sends a tremor through you, and you nod without hesitation, every nerve in your body taut with anticipation.

Joel’s control finally frays. His next kiss is fiercer, hungrier, like he’s answering your dare head-on. The gentleness he showed a moment before is still there, but it’s now threaded with raw intensity. As he presses you further into the seat, you feel the full force of his need—and know that calling him "daddy" was the last nudge he needed to unravel.

Even in this moment of heady passion, there's a current of tenderness in the way he holds you, a silent promise that he won't push you beyond what you want. But from the look in his eyes, you can tell he plans to give you exactly what you're asking for-and then some.

Outside, the world remains quiet, the vacant lot enveloping you both in darkness. In here, the tension you share burns bright as a live wire, impossible to ignore, impossible to resist any longer.

He quickly sheds his clothes, his hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and urgency. He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and desperate.*

He runs a hand over your thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He takes off your underwear and positions himself at your entrance. He leans down, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss as he slowly, teasingly pushes into you. He groans against your mouth, the feeling of being inside you almost overwhelming him.

“Are you sure about this darlin?” joel asks again

You groan in annoyance.

“God you talk too much…just fuck me already, Miller!!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he snaps his hips forward, driving himself deep inside you in one swift motion. He sets a relentless pace, his body slamming into yours with an almost brutal force. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he takes you hard and fast.

He groans, the sound a mix of pleasure and disbelief. He hadn’t expected to get this close so quickly, but the feeling of you clenching around him is almost too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his thrusts growing more erratic as he struggles to hold back his release. “Fuck I think I’m gonna cum ..darlin…”

And all you’re thinking is really?

He knows he needs to slow down, to focus on your pleasure instead of his own. He adjusts his position, angling his hips so that each thrust hits your sweet spot, determined to bring you to your peak before he loses control.

“Come on, sweetheart” he growls, his voice strained with effort. “I want to feel you come around me…”

you finally feel yourself getting closer to the edge, you bring one of your hands down to rub yourself as Joel continues working his hips

He feels himself getting closer and closer, the sight of you rubbing yourself combined with the feeling of you clenching around him driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck…I can’t hold on much longer,” he grits out, his thrusts growing erratic as he fights to maintain control. “I’m so close, baby…”

And there you go, coming hard from just his words of restraint and vulnerability. Your body begins to tremble.

He pulls out of you at the last second, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release. He grips the edge of the seat tightly, his knuckles white as he watches you come undone beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. He lets out a low, guttural moan as he spills onto your stomach, his hot seed splattering against your skin.

He slumps forward, bracing himself against the seat above you as he tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving with exertion.

He chuckles breathlessly, his voice hoarse from the intensity of their encounter.

“That…was incredible,” he pants, still struggling to catch his breath. “You’re incredible…”

Joel clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he grabs his discarded shirt from the floor of the truck. He leans over, gently wiping your stomach with it, his touch far more tender now than it was a few moments ago. You can tell he’s trying not to meet your eyes, still caught in a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire.

“I’m real sorry about the mess, darlin’…” he mutters, the last word trailing off awkwardly. He swallows, glancing at you briefly before looking away again. “I just… figured it was better than in…”

He can’t quite finish the sentence, so he busies himself with blotting the last traces from your skin. There’s a faint warmth in his cheeks—part sheepish, part relieved—and you can’t help but find it strangely endearing given everything that’s just happened.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, heart still pounding as you watch him. Despite the flushed look on his face, there’s a gentleness in how carefully he’s cleaning you up, like he’s determined to take care of every little detail.

“It’s okay,” you finally say, reaching out to touch his arm. You offer him a small, reassuring smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Really.”

Joel glances at you, something soft and grateful flickering in his eyes. He exhales slowly, nodding as he crumples the shirt in his hands. “Guess I got carried away.” A faint, self-conscious grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”

A quiet moment settles between you, the air thick with the aftermath—both of the desire and the vulnerability that follows. Outside, the parking lot is dark and silent, the world momentarily distant. You reach for him, fingertips grazing his hand, and he laces his fingers gently with yours.

“Stay like this for a minute?” you murmur, voice hushed. The rush of the moment may have passed, but you’re not ready to let go of the closeness just yet.

Joel nods, his thumb brushing a light circle over your knuckles. He tugs you toward him, letting you nestle against his chest. Even in the cramped space of the truck, it feels safe. Comfortable. For a brief spell, neither of you speaks—content to breathe each other in, aware that reality will intrude soon enough, but not willing to face it just yet.

-

Joel’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he takes another slow corner, the streetlamps casting fleeting shadows across his face. Neither of you has spoken much since you pulled yourselves together, but you can feel the tension lingering—an aftershock of what just happened and the weight of what’s waiting back at your house.

He glances over when you whisper, “So this is it?” His expression softens, a mix of concern and something else flickering in his eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, clearing his throat as he rolls the windows down a crack, letting in a cool night breeze. “I know it’s hard… going back.”

You can’t bring yourself to reply right away. Instead, you stare out the windshield at the empty road stretching ahead, the hum of the tires against asphalt somehow comforting. It feels like you’re both in a holding pattern—neither here nor there.

After a moment, Joel exhales. “We don’t have to head there just yet,” he says, voice quiet, almost tentative. “I could keep drivin’ ’til we figure out what you wanna do.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you wrap your arms around yourself, remembering the warmth of his chest just moments ago. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, swallowing around the ache rising in your chest. “I can’t stay at that house. Not after—after everything.”

Joel nods, his hand flexing on the steering wheel. “I get it,” he says softly. He slows the truck at a stop sign, looking your way. You can see the conflict on his face—part of him wanting to take you somewhere safe, part of him worried about making decisions for both of you.

He takes a breath, forces a small nod, and eases his foot off the brake. The truck lurches forward gently, heading down an unfamiliar street. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, and though his voice wavers, there’s enough determination there to make you believe he’ll try.

The dim glow of the dashboard lights plays across his bare shoulders. Somehow, seeing him like this—shirtless, caught between confidence and uncertainty—makes your heart twist. It’s as though the two of you have crossed a line tonight that you can’t uncross, and neither of you knows exactly where to go from here.

“You can stay at my place,” Joel offers, almost hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t know how Sarah might—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a firm line. It’s obvious he’s thinking about all the complications waiting in both of your lives, but especially about Sarah. He doesn’t want to force you back into your dad’s house, though. “Just… an option,” he finishes, voice quieter.

You reach out and place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension still coiled in his muscles. “Thank you,” you say, your tone earnest despite the weight of everything unsaid. “I’m not sure I can face him tonight.”

Joel’s eyes flick to you, and for a split second, you catch a flicker of relief in his gaze. “Then we’ll steer clear,” he murmurs, turning the wheel with one hand and letting the other rest lightly over yours. “At least ’til we… figure out what comes next.”

The truck hums on, street after street rolling by, and neither of you speaks for a while. But his touch on your hand—gentle, reassuring—tells you enough: you don’t have to step foot into that house tonight if you’re not ready, and Joel’s not going to make you face it alone. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually, you lean your head back, letting the tension ease from your body, even if only for the moment. “Thank you,” you repeat, your voice a soft echo in the dark cab of the truck. Joel just nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze as he keeps on driving, aimlessly, into the quiet of the night.

Joel parks the truck in his driveway, letting the engine idle for a moment before finally switching it off. In the hush that follows, you exhale a shaky breath, heart still pounding from the night’s events. The air around you feels heavy with everything unspoken—your decision not to go home, the uncertain path ahead.

Without a word, Joel slips out of the driver’s seat. In a few swift steps, he’s at your door, opening it gently. A faint chill in the night air rushes into the cab, but the warmth in his gaze makes you feel less exposed than you’d expect.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand braced on the frame of the open door. Even without a shirt on, he somehow manages to look both protective and vulnerable. The porch light casts a soft glow, illuminating the faint worry lines etched across his brow.

You nod, mustering a small smile. “Yeah,” you manage, though your voice quivers slightly.

Joel steps back, giving you space to climb out. As you do, your legs feel shaky, and he notices, sliding his arm around you with quiet concern. You can’t help leaning into him, the familiar warmth of his body a small comfort against the swirl of emotion in your chest.

A soft, relieved exhale leaves his lips when he feels you steady yourself. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing as he leads you up the driveway. Neither of you speaks as you head toward his front door, the silence surprisingly comforting—like you’re both letting the weight of this new reality settle without rushing it.

Once inside, the house is dim, quiet. Joel takes a beat to hang his keys on a hook near the door. You stand in the entryway, heart thrumming, unsure what to do with yourself. It hits you that you’re in his space now, a place that’s become a refuge but also filled with its own complications. Sarah might be sleeping, but the thought of her still tugs at the back of your mind.

“We can talk,” Joel says gently, turning to face you. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a certain earnestness there, as if he’s aware of all the unasked questions and is just waiting for you to bring them up. “Or… if you just wanna rest, that’s okay too.”

A knot forms in your throat at the kindness in his offer. Stepping closer, you let your fingers brush over his forearm in silent thanks. For now, it’s enough to be here in the quiet, together, without the looming dread of returning to the house you’ve been avoiding.

You nod, a faint sheen of exhaustion creeping over you. “Rest… yeah,” you say quietly. There will be time to figure things out—later. When your head is clearer, when you’re ready to confront the reality beyond these walls.

Joel dips his head in acknowledgment, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead. It’s a small moment of gentleness that melts some of the tension from your shoulders. Then, wordlessly, he guides you further inside, leaving the night and all its uncertainties just beyond the door.

Joel leads you to the guest room, guiding you gently by the hand. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows on the walls, and you’re suddenly aware of how exhausted you feel. But the second he steps aside to let you enter, the reality of why you’re here—what you’re running from—crashes down on you all over again.

You stop short in the doorway, tears pricking your eyes. Shaking your head, you try to speak, but your voice refuses to cooperate. Instead, the tears spill over, and you can’t hold back a quiet sob. You feel foolish, overwhelmed, and somehow still painfully grateful that Joel is here.

“Hey,” he murmurs, concern lacing every syllable. He comes closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

You turn to face him, tears streaking your cheeks. “I—I just…” you start, but you can’t finish. Everything—your dad, Linda, the guilt, the uncertainty—presses in on you like a weight you can’t carry.

Joel’s arms wrap around you, drawing you into a steady, reassuring hug. His palm glides up and down your back in soothing circles. “It’s alright,” he repeats, his voice gentle and low. “Take your time.”

For a moment, you stand there, trembling in his hold, letting the tears come. The events of the night have left you raw and fragile, and it feels like you’re still on the edge of shattering. But Joel’s presence, the warmth of his body, grounds you just enough to keep you from falling apart completely.

Eventually, you manage a shaky breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. Joel steps back a fraction, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of everything unsaid. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

He gently touches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly. “Don’t apologize for feelin’ it.”

His words loosen the knot in your throat just a bit. You nod, trying to steady your breathing, and Joel stays close, not crowding you but letting you know he’s right there if you need him.

Sniffling, you glance around the room, the bed neatly made, the walls decorated with simple, comforting touches. In that instant, you’re struck by how much you want—no, need—a moment of real rest, away from prying eyes and suffocating situations.

“Thank you,” you manage, voice unsteady. “For letting me stay… for everything.”

Joel studies you, a flicker of sadness crossing his features, but he just nods. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

You muster a small, watery smile, nodding as he steps out and gently closes the door behind him. The room falls quiet, your breathing the only sound. And for once, despite all the chaos still waiting beyond these walls, you feel a tiny spark of relief: you’re not alone tonight.

•

You settle into the guest bed, your body finally succumbing to a wave of fatigue you can’t hold back any longer. The pillow feels cool against your cheek, and the lingering warmth from Joel’s embrace calms the tension in your shoulders just enough for you to let go. Your eyes drift shut, and almost before you realize it, the weight of the day’s emotions fades into the background. Sleep overtakes you in an instant, heavy and dreamless, granting you a moment’s escape from everything waiting outside that quiet room.

•

You take a few groggy steps into the hallway, still half-asleep and barely registering where you are—until you see Joel at the stove, spatula in hand, the smell of eggs hitting you before your vision fully sharpens. Your eyes dart around, and that’s when you spot Sarah, sitting at the kitchen table with her phone in hand. She slowly looks up, gaze flicking from your bare legs to your flushed face.

You freeze mid-step, suddenly aware you’re wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and underwear. A jolt of embarrassment snaps you out of your morning daze. Sarah locks eyes with you, then pointedly looks away, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated show of exasperation.

Joel, sensing the tension, turns his head slightly and notices you standing there, looking like a deer in headlights. “Uh—mornin’,” he says, his voice low but careful. He doesn’t stare, instead focusing quickly back on the stove, though the tips of his ears redden.

Sarah sighs dramatically. “Good morning,” she mutters, her tone making it clear she’s not thrilled to see you in such casual attire. She picks up her coffee mug and takes a slow sip, as though she’s forcing herself to stay calm.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Of course she’d be here. This is still her home, after all. You swallow hard, nodding at them both. “Morning,” you manage, trying not to squeak. “I—sorry.”

You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for your appearance, for being there at all, or just for existing in this awkward moment. Sarah rolls her eyes again, tapping a finger on the table. Joel clears his throat, refocusing on the eggs in the pan.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says gently, not meeting your eyes. It’s an out, and you take it with relief, darting away before either of them can say anything else.

As you vanish around the corner, you hear a faint, tense silence settle in the kitchen. Your cheeks burn, and part of you wants to sneak out a window to avoid any more confrontation. But after a moment, you remind yourself: You needed a place to stay. You’re allowed to be here. Even if Sarah’s reaction stings, it’s better than going back to your own house right now.

You close the bathroom door behind you, pressing your back to the cool wood, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your nerves. With one hand, you fumble for the lock. The embarrassment still throbs in your stomach—but for the moment, you have a small corner of privacy where you can breathe before facing them again.

Sarah sets her coffee mug on the table with a little more force than necessary, causing the liquid to slosh near the brim. “Why is she here, Dad?” she asks, her tone sharp and annoyed, eyes cutting over to him.

Joel looks up from the stove, spatula in hand, and exhales slowly. “She needed a place to stay, Sarah. It’s complicated.” His voice is calm, but you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, trying not to provoke her further.

Sarah folds her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Complicated. Right.” She glances again at the hallway you disappeared into, then back at Joel. “And you thought you’d just bring her here without telling me?”

Joel sets the spatula down, his brow knitting in frustration. “I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” he explains, voice low. “And I didn’t think you’d mind—”

“Obviously, I mind,” Sarah snaps, cutting him off. She rubs her temples, sighing heavily. “I just don’t get why she’s here. With everything that’s happened…is this even a good idea?”

Joel rubs a hand over the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I know it’s a lot,” he says, a note of regret in his tone. “But she’s going through hell at her place. I couldn’t turn her away, not last night.”

Sarah opens her mouth as if to retort, but then her expression falters—just for a moment. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the flash of concern she’s trying to hide. “Well,” she mutters finally, crossing her arms again, “maybe give me a heads-up next time?”

Joel nods, relief tempering the lines of tension on his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I will.”

The air in the kitchen still feels charged, tension lingering despite the surface calm. Sarah picks up her coffee mug again, tapping her fingers restlessly against the handle. She shoots Joel one last pointed look before turning her attention back to her phone, the conversation seemingly at a standstill.

Joel clears his throat and returns to the stove, refocusing on the eggs. But his shoulders are hunched, and you can sense the weight of Sarah’s disapproval pressing on him—even if she doesn’t say another word.

•

You exit the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind you and still feeling a bit unsettled from the awkward exchange in the hallway. Suddenly, Sarah appears, heading down the corridor in your direction. She doesn’t even slow her pace; instead, she cuts you a sideways glance as she passes.

“Maybe you should just move in here while you’re at it,” she mutters, half under her breath, but still loud enough for you to catch every word. The sarcasm drips from her voice, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s at her bedroom door.

You stand there for a moment, your cheeks heating from embarrassment and a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. Before you can think of a response—an apology, a retort, anything—Sarah slips into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

For a second, you just stand in the hallway, staring at the now-closed door. Part of you wants to hurry back into the guest room and avoid any more tense encounters. Another part of you knows you can’t keep hiding forever, no matter how uncomfortable things may be.

Finally, you exhale and take a tentative step toward the kitchen. Joel might not be able to shield you from Sarah’s ire, but at least you won’t have to face the morning’s awkwardness alone. And deep down, you try to remind yourself that you have as much right to be here as anyone—whether Sarah sees it that way or not.

Joel’s quiet voice breaks through the thoughts swirling in your head. You glance up to find him watching you from the doorway to the kitchen, a soft, reassuring look on his face.

“Don’t worry about her, sweetheart,” he says, his tone gentle, as if sensing the turmoil Sarah’s remark left behind.

You shift on your feet, nerves prickling under your skin. A wave of gratitude washes over you at his attempt to comfort you, but part of you still bristles at the tension lingering in the house.

Joel steps closer, one hand resting lightly on the small of your back. “She’ll come around,” he continues softly. “She’s just… not too thrilled with the situation. Doesn’t mean you need to feel bad.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding more to yourself than to him. “Thanks,” you manage, trying to offer a small smile.

He gives a reassuring squeeze, guiding you gently toward the kitchen. “Come have some breakfast,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “Let her cool off, okay?”

Your eyes flick down the hall where Sarah disappeared. You know it won’t be that easy, but Joel’s presence soothes at least some of the anxiety knotted in your chest. With a tentative nod, you follow him, hoping that a quiet morning meal might dull the edges of everyone’s frustration.

•

Joel’s phone buzzes, the number on the screen making his stomach twist with unease. He glances at you, then presses it to his ear. You catch fragments of his side of the conversation—pleasant enough at first, a forced casualness in Joel’s voice.

“Hey, man,” Joel says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Uh, how’ve you been holding up?” He shoots you a quick, uneasy glance, as though trying to gauge how you’re doing.

There’s a pause, long enough that you can imagine your dad’s sharp exhalation on the other end. Then Joel presses his lips together, nodding like he’s hearing some clipped reply.

“I get it,” Joel says, careful. “Sounds like… well, it sounds like things have been rough.”

He’s trying to small-talk, to buy time, but your dad isn’t having it. You hear a sharper tone spill through the receiver—though you can’t make out the exact words—and Joel’s face tightens.

“Joel, I need her. Where is she?” comes your dad’s voice, loud enough for you to catch every syllable. The question crackles through the line, loaded with anger and urgency.

Joel’s gaze flicks to you. You can see him weighing his options in the small, tense silence, torn between what’s right and what’s safe.

After a breath, Joel forces a calm he might not feel. “She’s, uh… she’s taking some time, alright?” he says, keeping his tone as even as he can. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

You watch him grip his phone tighter, the tension radiating from him in waves. The truth remains suspended, unsaid: She’s here, she doesn’t want to come home.

“Listen,” he continues, lower now. “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.”

A bark of frustration from your dad echoes through the earpiece. Joel’s jaw clenches. He glances at you again, brow furrowed, before giving a small shake of his head—as if to warn you not to panic.

“No, she’s not in trouble, she’s just—” Joel says, then stops, letting your dad’s words pound through the speaker. “I understand you’re worried, but look, I’m telling you, she’s okay. That’s all I can say right now.”

His voice almost trembles with effort, fighting to remain composed. Finally, he gives a tight nod to himself and ends the call with a short, “I’ll let her know you called.”

Silence descends in the kitchen, heavy and electric. You can practically feel Joel’s pulse hammering as he sets the phone down on the counter. He exhales a ragged breath and looks at you—eyes full of concern.

“He’s… not too happy,” he says quietly, stating the obvious. “Says he needs you. But I’m guessin’ you’re still not ready to face him?”

You swallow, heart pounding. “No,” you whisper, the word catching in your throat. “Not yet.”

Joel nods, running a hand down his face. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice grim but resolved. “We’ll figure out what to do. Together.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you glance down to see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. Joel gives you a questioning look, but you shake your head, pressing your lips together before answering. Part of you hopes it might be some sort of apology or an offer to talk things through. But the second you put the phone to your ear, that hope dissolves.

“Hey, kid,” your dad begins, his voice more casual than you expect. “Listen, I need a favor. Linda and I are going out tonight—there’s this fancy spot she’s been dying to try. Could you spot me some money? I’m tapped out right now.”

You’re stunned, eyes going wide. You glance at Joel, who’s hovering nearby, clearly picking up on your reaction. “You… want me to give you money?” you repeat, unable to keep the disbelief out of your voice.

Your dad sighs, sounding almost impatient. “Yeah, I mean, I’ll pay you back. Eventually. It’s just a couple hundred. You know how pricey those places can be…”

A hot wave of anger surges up your spine. Joel notices the way your posture stiffens, and he moves a bit closer, concerned. “You left,” you say, voice trembling. “You completely checked out, came back with Linda like it was no big deal, and now you’re calling me for cash?”

“Kid, calm down,” your dad mumbles, like he’s talking you down from a tantrum. “Don’t make a scene. This is just a favor between family.”

That word—family—tips you over the edge. “Family?” you repeat, bitterness coating every syllable. Your free hand curls into a fist at your side. “You barely acted like family when Mom died. You walked out when I needed you, and now you’re strolling back like nothing happened. And you want money for a date with her?”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically sense the annoyance in his exhale. “That’s not fair,” he counters, voice rising. “It’s complicated, and I’m trying here—”

“You’re trying?” you snap, tears of anger burning in your eyes. “Where were you all those nights I was alone, cleaning the house, trying to deal with Mom’s stuff, and then dealing with your absence on top of it? You left me with all that. And now you want my money?”

Your dad lets out a frustrated breath. “Look, we can talk about that another time, okay? I just need—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice shaking with rage. “You don’t get to call and ask for a handout like everything’s fine. Because guess what? It’s not fine. You’re barely a dad anymore. You lost that right the minute you walked out and came back with Linda, acting like our lives are just a pit stop on your way to something better.”

“Kid—”

“Stop calling me that!” you practically shout into the phone, your chest heaving. “Don’t act like we’re in some normal situation. If you want money, go ask Linda. Or pick up more shifts. Or maybe think about someone besides yourself for once.”

He goes silent again, and you can almost feel his anger bristling through the phone. After a long, tense beat, his voice drops, turning cold. “Fine,” he mutters, sounding every bit as spiteful as you feel. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Yeah,” you snap, tears threatening to spill. “You do that.”

You stab the “end call” button, your hand trembling from the surge of adrenaline and emotion. The kitchen is quiet except for your ragged breathing. Joel moves closer, gently prying the phone from your hand and setting it on the counter.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft. He can tell you’re on the edge of breaking down. “You alright?”

Your chest aches, and you swipe at an angry tear that slips free. “No,” you admit, voice quavering. “But I’m not giving him a dime.”

Joel nods, his expression a mix of sympathy and frustration on your behalf. Slowly, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough so you feel the reassuring pressure of his presence.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Joel says quietly. “Not after what he’s done.”

You nod, silent tears coursing down your cheeks. For now, you let yourself lean into Joel’s hold, heart hammering, anger still pulsing in your veins. It’s messy and it hurts, but deep down, you can’t help feeling a small jolt of relief: at least you finally said what you’ve been carrying for far too long.

A surge of white-hot anger floods you as you watch your phone skitter across the floor. The clatter echoes in the tense silence, Joel’s startled voice calling after you, but you’re too far gone—too furious to focus on anything but the pounding in your head. You barrel through the front door, letting it slam behind you with a jarring thud.

Outside, the early morning light feels too bright, the air too still. Your hands tremble as you fumble in your pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You shove one between your lips, flicking the lighter once, twice, until the small flame ignites. Smoke sears your lungs on the first inhale, sharp and acrid, but it’s exactly what you need in this moment—a jarring counterpoint to the storm raging in your head.

Joel’s footsteps sound behind you, hesitant on the porch, but you don’t turn around. You keep your back to him, gaze fixed on the street beyond, trying to steady your shaking hands. The cigarette crackles softly as you take another drag, the tightness in your chest easing just enough to breathe through the anger.

You can sense Joel hovering nearby, his concern palpable. He doesn’t say anything, though, seeming unsure if pushing you to talk might only worsen the outburst. Instead, he lingers, ready to step in if you need him, but careful not to invade the small space you’ve carved out for yourself.

You pull another lungful of smoke, letting it mingle with the tension still coiled in your gut. At least out here, you can pace, breathe, feel—even if it’s just the biting taste of nicotine on your tongue. Anything to hold off the sting of your dad’s voice in your head and the shattered pieces of your phone call echoing over and over.

For a few moments, you let yourself be angry—really, truly, furious. You deserve that much. And as the cigarette burns down, the tightness in your chest recedes a fraction, leaving just a dull ache of disappointment and betrayal behind.

Eventually, the stub glows close to your fingertips. You toss it aside, grinding it under your shoe in one jerky motion. When you finally turn around, Joel is there, his concern etched into his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but his silent presence is something—maybe all you can handle right now.

You blow out a final smoky breath, swallowing the surge of emotion that still threatens to choke you. Inside, the phone lies abandoned where it landed. Outside, Joel waits. And the rest of the world spins on, indifferent to the fury roiling within you.

“He’s such an ass, how were you guys even friends”

Joel watches you quietly as you flick the last bit of ash from your cigarette, the anger still radiating off you in waves. At your words, he exhales slowly, shoulders sagging under the weight of his own conflicted feelings.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low and strained. “Back then, he wasn’t… like this.” He leans against the porch railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “He changed. Or maybe I never really knew him the way I thought I did.”

You take a shaky breath, running a hand over your face. The morning sun feels too bright on your skin, too at odds with the swirl of bitterness in your chest. “I hate him,” you say, quieter this time, eyes fixed on some distant point in the street. “And I hate that I hate him.”

Joel nods, understanding flickering in his gaze. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel,” he murmurs. “It’s his job to make things right. Or it should be.”

You shift, the cigarette between your fingers still smoldering. “I just… can’t believe he’d expect me to give him money. For her. After everything.” Your voice cracks with the remnants of anger and hurt.

Joel steps closer, gently prying the cigarette from your hand before grinding it out on the porch floor. “He’ll have to deal with his own mistakes,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

You swallow hard, tears burning at the back of your eyes. I wish it felt that simple, you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you lean against Joel, letting him slip an arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t offer solutions or empty platitudes—just a steady presence that grounds you in the here and now.

As the two of you stand on the porch, the morning air still cool against your skin, you try to let the rage bleed away into a more distant ache. It’s hard to know what comes next, but for the moment, Joel’s warmth at your side is enough.

Joel tilts your chin up, his fingers warm against your skin. The world seems to slow as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s cautious—almost tentative—like he’s checking to see if this is okay, if this is what you need right now.

Your anger and frustration soften, at least for the moment, beneath the tenderness of his touch. You close your eyes, exhaling slowly against his mouth, letting yourself sink into the solace he’s offering. The porch and the whole world beyond it fade into a distant backdrop.

When he finally pulls back, the faint morning light catches in his eyes, and you see a hint of concern there. He’s looking at you as though trying to gauge just how close you are to falling apart again.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, voice hushed but earnest.

You take a shaky breath, still tasting the memory of his lips on yours. “I don’t know,” you admit honestly, leaning into him just a little. “But that helped.”

A tiny smile plays on Joel’s features, a softness that makes your chest ache with gratitude—and something else you can’t quite name yet. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you in the quiet morning stillness, as if promising he won’t let you face this alone.

“Come on,” he says gently, voice carrying a note of resolve. “Let’s get inside. We’ll figure out the rest after we’ve had a moment to breathe.”

Nodding, you allow him to guide you back toward the house, your heart still raw with anger and hurt, but beating a little steadier now—buoyed, if only slightly, by the small kindness of his kiss.

“Let’s figure it out now, I’m tired of saying I’ll figure it out later”

Joel pauses at your words, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, the morning air feels heavier with the realization that you’re done putting things off. He meets your gaze, his own full of concern and a flicker of uncertainty.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice low. “Let’s figure it out now.”

You swallow, steadying yourself as you lean back against the porch railing. The memories of last night, of your dad’s call and the tension with Sarah, all churn in your mind. “I can’t keep living in limbo,” you murmur, wiping your palms nervously on your thighs. “I’m so sick of avoiding him, of wondering where I’m supposed to be.”

Joel nods slowly, shifting his weight. “I get that,” he says. “But what do you want to do?” There’s no judgment in his tone—just an honest question.

Your eyes flick toward the front door, where Sarah is somewhere inside, likely still on edge. You think of your dad, his demands, his absence, and how much it hurt you. “I…can’t go back,” you begin, inhaling a shaky breath. “Not right now. But I can’t stay here forever, either.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “I get that,” he repeats softly. “You could stay until you get on your feet, but I know Sarah’s not exactly thrilled.” He blows out a sigh. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck hiding.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the conflicting pressure of wanting to stand your ground and wanting to avoid another fight. “Then I need to make some decisions,” you say, your voice quivering with pent-up frustration. “A job, a place to stay—something that’s mine, not his.” And not something that drives a wedge between you and Joel, you silently add.

Joel steps closer, gaze earnest. “I can help,” he offers, then quickly amends, “But only if you want me to. We can look around for a place—maybe something cheap, a sublet, or an apartment. Find you some part-time work if you need it.”

You close your eyes, relief and worry warring in your chest. “That—yeah,” you manage, feeling a slight rush of gratitude. “I…I’d like that. At least then I’d have a plan.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a hesitant, comforting gesture. “We start today,” he says, and his voice carries a quiet determination. “We won’t put it off anymore.”

Your shoulders ease a fraction at his words, some of the anxiety loosening in your chest. It won’t be easy—none of this has been easy. But with a plan, and Joel’s unwavering support, you can stop merely surviving and finally start living on your own terms.

-

The next week passes in a blur of tentative steps toward building a new routine. You manage to land a part-time job as a secretary at a small office nearby—three days a week, enough to give you a sense of stability without feeling overwhelmed. Joel often drives you to work, the quiet moments in the truck becoming small pockets of comfort amidst the whirlwind of change.

You’ve been staying in Joel’s guest room, slowly making the space feel more like your own. The tension with Sarah has lessened, and while things aren’t completely back to normal between the two of you, she’s been making an effort. Sometimes she’ll knock on your door and ask if you want to play games, and more often than not, you agree. Those moments are small, but they’re a reminder of the bond you once shared—and maybe still can.

Your dad, however, hasn’t reached out since your heated call. The silence from him leaves a strange ache in your chest, a mix of relief and hurt. You’ve stopped checking your phone obsessively, trying to focus instead on the small victories: waking up in a safe space, earning your own paycheck, rebuilding pieces of yourself one day at a time.

One evening, after a long day at work, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Joel. Sarah’s upstairs, likely immersed in whatever show or game has caught her attention. Joel pours you a cup of tea, sliding it across the table before settling into the chair across from you.

“You’re doin’ good, darlin’,” he says softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth. “Proud of you.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you feel the sting of tears threatening to rise. “Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “I still feel like I’m figuring things out.”

Joel leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “You’re supposed to,” he says with a small smile. “Nobody’s got it all figured out. But you’re takin’ the steps. That’s what matters.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. The ache of your dad’s absence still lingers, but here, with Joel’s steady presence and the beginnings of a new life taking shape, it feels just a little easier to bear.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the house filling the spaces between you. It’s not perfect, but for now, it’s enough.

[princessofgotham777]

Dating Jason Todd (Part Eleven)

fanfic type: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort (ongoing)

If you liked the Titans show but wish they handled Jason’s story line differently you might like this fic!

Hey so this is in fact my first time writing fanfiction (idk what my life has come to). Sorry if it’s cringy but also I would eat this up cause I LOVE some good angsty comfort fanfiction. I won’t write smut. I don’t think I’m gonna do requests but if you have any ideas feel free to let me know. Also of course I don’t own any DC characters this is purely fanfiction. Thank you and I hope you enjoy. (I hope you like run-on sentences💀) (if you don’t like it don’t be rude just move on dude😃🧍‍♀️)

So story line, this doesn’t really take place in any specific universe but I’m gonna be pulling concepts from Titans, Arkham Knight, The Batman, Under the Red Hood, and whatever lore I remember from the CW shows cause I grew up watching those, then just my imagination of course. Reader is referred to as she/her btw.

Warnings: talking about death, suicide, depression, torture (it’s not graphic I hate gore it’s just sad), talking about intimacy (not graphic), struggling with eating, topics of grief, violence, panic attacks, PTSD, talking about struggles of being over sexualized

Part Eleven: I miss you; you

You hurried past everyone and went upstairs.

“Where was she?” Thea asks.

Dick talks in a hushed tone and says, “she was sleeping in the grass by Jason’s grave. She said she was going to Chicago alone but I got her to let me come with so I can keep an eye on her.” Everyone is speechless except for Thea.

“Right so that’s insane,” she says as she walked past Dick and heads upstairs to Jason’s room.

“Y/N?” Thea says. She walks in on you packing a bag. You’ve already changed into skinny jeans, a tank top, and Jason’s leather jacket.

“Yeah?” You ask her. She walks up to you.

“Hey listen I know you’re hurting but you can’t push us away, you can’t push me away,” she says.

“I’m not pushing you away, I just can’t be in Gotham right now,” you say.

“So you asked Dick to go with you?” She says.

“I know it looks weird trust me…but if you went with me you’d make me feel better, I don’t want to feel better. Jason’s dead and he’s never coming back and I just want to be miserable in peace and Dick will let me do that,” you say. “Also if joker or another psycho pops up Dick will protect me,” you add. Thea stays quiet for a minute. “I know it doesn’t make sense,” you say.

“No…it does. I get the whole wanting to be miserable after someone you loves dies because I know that it is miserable and painful. When you need me I’ll be there okay?” She says.

“Okay,” you say.

“And I know this is shitty of me to say but as your best friend I just have to say don’t do anything…stupid,” she says.

“I would never…” you start to say but Thea cuts you off.

“I know…I just had to say it,” she says.

“I won’t, I promise,” you say. You know she means she doesn’t want you to lean on Dick too much, it is a shitty thing to say but you know she is valid for saying it. You’re a big believer in the hard truth so you appreciate Thea’s honesty.

You put your pink Chicago hat on and head downstairs to wait for Dick. While you’re waiting for him Rachel finds you.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi Rachel,” you say. She looks as though she wants to say something but is staying quiet. “Hey I just want you to know, these past few days I know I’ve been distant from you and it’s not that you’ve done something wrong or anything, it’s just…seeing you and talking with you reminds me of when I was a Titan and it reminds me of Jason.”

“Oh…” she says. “I was wondering but obviously I didn’t wanna push, I just haven’t talked with you much, like you said, and I just wanted to check in. I’m worried about you especially since now you’re heading to Chicago with Dick of all people,” she says.

“Why’s it weird I’m going with Dick?” You ask her trying to figure out how much she knows. To your knowledge only Jason, Bruce, and Thea know about your past with Dick.

“When I first met you guys, I asked you if anything ever happened between you and Dick and you said no, I guess you forgot I had a thing for knowing when people are lying,” she says. Your eyes go wide, Rachel knew the whole time. Every awkard look between you and Dick, every time you pulled him aside or was unusually bitter or gentle towards him; she knew about it all.

“You never said anything?” You say.

“I figured you two kept it a secret for a reason, then you told me you were falling for Jason and that was a shock but not a lie so I just left it alone. Dick doesn’t know that I know by the way,” she says.

“Does Gar or Kori know?” You ask.

“I don’t think Gar does, Kori has her suspicions, I know Donna knows though,” she says.

“Oh,” you say. “Do you still have the ability to notice lies?” You ask her.

“No unfortunately,” she says. “Why?” Before you can answer you see Dick walking towards you two.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Yep,” you say.

“I’ll bring the car around,” he says. “See you soon Rachel,”

“Bye,” Rachel says to him. “Wait so why ask about the lying thing?”

“No reason,” you say. “Just wondering.” You hug her goodbye and go get in the passenger seat of Dick’s silver Porsche. You didn’t want to tell Rachel the real reason is because you wanted to know for sure if subconsciously you felt anything for Dick. As Dick drove through the dark streets of Gotham you began to cry silently. This went on for about twenty minutes and then you started coughing.

“You okay?” He asks absentmindedly. You involuntarily start crying loudly.

“Shit…I’m sorry…sorry,” you say wiping your tears.

“Hey it’s okay,” Dick says.

“It’s not, just keep driving this is why I asked you to come with me…so I can just cry in peace,” you say.

You and Dick get to the old safe house in Chicago a couple hours later. You crash there and the next morning he finds you lying on the couch just staring at the ceiling.

“Morning,” he says as he makes coffee.

“Rachel knows by the way,” you say.

“Knows what?” He says.

“About our past,” you say.

“Oh…I always kinda figured she did,” he says.

“You didn’t think to tell me?” you say sitting up.

“She never actually said anything to me,” he says.

“Oh and Donna knows too?” You say.

“Okay Donna I did tell,” he says.

“Course you fucking did,” you say.

“Hey you and Donna used to be close,” he says.

“Yeah well that was a long time ago,” you say.

“It wasn’t but you keep telling yourself that,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You say angrily.

“Nothing,” he says as he sips his coffee.

“What do you mean?” You repeat.

He sighs, “when you and Jason left Gar, Rachel, Kori and Donna were honestly pissed you stopped coming around as much,” he says.

“Do you think I wanted to leave, I helped you make that team,” you say.

“Then why did you…no one made you follow Jason like a lost dog,” he says. You freeze in shock of how harsh he was being.

You smirk and say, “you sound like your old self Dick.”

“Yeah well that tends to happen when I’m around you,” he says.

“I didn’t follow Jason, I left because of how they treated him, because of how you treated him,” you say.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“That’s not good enough,” you say. “Meet me in fifteen minutes, we’re going to that o little shop by the park.”

“Where you got your hat?” He asks.

“That’s the one,” you say.

You and Dick walk through the streets of Chicago. You can’t help but have flashbacks to the beginning of your time as a titan. It was in this city you finally discovered Jason was the second Robin. You and Rachel’s friendship started here. Your and Dick’s friendship ended here when your meaningless romance finally crashed and burned. These streets held so many moments from the past; the most painful ones though were the ones with Jason; because you know he’s never coming back.

Dick and you sit on a park bench that overlooks a duck pond. Behind you is the shop you got your pink Chicago hat from.

“This is where I found out Jason was Robin and where Rachel and I became friends,” you say. “It’s also where Jason bought me this hat,” you say. “The four of us were on the run from those crazy cult people and he thought it would help me hide.” Dick is quiet for a minute.

“I bought you the hat,” he say plainly.

“What?” You say.

“I was the one who bought you the hat, not Jason,” he says. Your speechless. “I know you hate me now but just remember once upon a time I cared about you, and you cared about me. Once upon a time we were friends,” he says. Tears begin escaping your eyes. You don’t even know what to say. “I know you hate me now but just know I think about you all the time. I think about before everything got so fucked up between us,” he says as a tear falls from his eye.

“I could never hate you Dick,” you say softly as you reach over to him. You look deep into his eyes searching for permission to touch his face. When he doesn’t brush your hand away you gently flick the tear from his skin. You snap out of it and rub your eyes. “Come on,” you say to him. You begin crossing the street and he follows you. You two walk back to the safe house in silence. More silence follows throughout the rest of the day. You two see eachother in the kitchen every couple of hours but don’t say anything. Sometimes one of you looks as though you’re going to say something but then they just turn away. Seeing him so broken is killing you. You thought bringing Dick with you would be a good idea, that he would simply allow you to be miserable. Your plan had clearly failed; all bringing Dick did was add to your list of reasons to cry. You lay on top of the covers in one of the bedrooms. You had changed to pjs which consisted of a pair of Jason’s sweatpants which were very oversized on you, and a light blue tank top. You were about to go try to find Dick when your phone rang. To your suprise it was Gar.

“Is everything okay?” You say answering the phone.

“Yeah I just…wanted to check up on you,” Gar says awkwardly.

“I’m as good as I can be and ps you’re a bad liar,” you say.

“What do you mean?” He says.

“Checking up on me? Gar why are you really calling?” You ask.

“I had a dream…about Jason,” he says.

“Oh?” You say.

“In the dream, he was just a regular guy, not Robin, and him and I were friends still and we were just at a record shop talking normally,” he says.

“That doesn’t sound bad?” You say confused.

“Exactly it just made me think what his life could’ve been like if he were never Robin, if he never worked with Batman and joined the titans,” Gar says.

“I’ve thought about that too,” you say.

“You have?” He says.

“Course, he always said being Robin was the best thing that ever happened to him,” you say.

“Until he met you,” Gar says. You smile for a moment but then a look of sadness returns to your face.

“Listen it’s pretty late I hate to hang up but just know you’re completely valid for wondering what could’ve happened,” you say.

“Don’t worry about it, thank you. I hope you can get some sleep,” he says.

“You too, bye Gar,” you say as you hang up.

You head into the kitchen and find Dick writing in a journal. He looks up at you for a moment then back down at his writing. You debate saying something but instead you walk past him to the stairs to the roof. It takes him a moment to register where you’re going but once he did he quickly goes after you.

In the stairwell he says, “please tell me your not gonna try to jump.”

“I’m not planning on it,” you say as you open the door to the roof. You and him stand there in your pajamas on the roof surrounded in the darkness of night. “I just needed some fresh air,” you say.

“You’ve got something against opening windows?” He says jokingly. You don’t laugh you simply look at him with sadness.

“What the hell happened to us,” you say.

Dick is quick to respond, “you and Jason clearly-“ he begins to say before you cut him off.

“No I mean what happened to you and i,” you say.

“Y/N,” Dick says.

“No just let me…just let me say this,” you say. “I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, you don’t need to apologize,” he says interrupting you.

“Dick for once in your life can you just let me talk without being interrupted please,” you say. “I’m sorry I treat you so horribly.” He looks visibly confused. “I know I snap at you and hold things against you and I know I expect too much of you and I’m sorry. You accepted me for who I am and saved my life. You allowed me into your world and…and,” you begin to cry. “I just miss our friendship. I never wanted you romantically. I know I said I did but that was only because that’s how I thought you saw me. I was just so used to guys only seeing my body and not my soul that that’s how I thought you saw me, and I didn’t want to lose you so I pretended to have feelings for you.” Dick looks utterly speechless. “I’m so sorry;” you cry.

“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I’m sorry I made you think that’s how I saw you. I only ever saw you as a friend. When you told me you had feelings I figured you also only saw me for my body. You never gave me a reason to think that but it wasn’t hard because of how people treat me,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be seen as a piece of flesh and I need you to know I never thought of you that way,” he says. You continue crying. “I’m sorry our issues got in the way of us being friends.”

“Would you ever consider trying to go back to how things were?” You asked him.

“That’s all I’ve wanted,” he says. He steps towards you and pulls you into a hug. You cry into his shoulder. You two go back inside and sit at the island in the kitchen. You grab two lemonades that are probably years old and slide one over to Dick.

“Okay so now that we’re good I have to ask something,” Dick says.

“Okay?” You say.

“It has to do with Jason, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about him,” he says.

“No it’s okay, I just want to have a normal conversation, no walking on eggshells necessary,” you say.

“Okay, so when you and Jason started dating I assume you told him stuff happened between you and I?” Dick says.

“Yeah,” you say.

“And? How’d he react?” Dick asks.

“Why do you wanna know?” You ask.

“I always wondered what Jason was like under his mask of jokes and recklessness,” Dick says.

“Jason wasn’t reckless.” You say. “Okay you gotta promise none of this stuff about Jason leaves this little roadtrip okay?” You say.

“I promise,” he says. “By the way I think it’s really sweet how you keep your and his relationship so close to your chest. You and him were always so protective over your bond and I never got to tell either of you that I admire that,” Dick says. You smile genuinely.

“Jason wasn’t reckless, anything he ever did like that he did either because he genuinely thought he was capable or because he was trying to prove himself to Bruce or to you or to the titans,” you say.

“Never to you?” He asks.

“Jason didn’t have to prove himself to me with reckless behavior, contrary to popular belief I am not attracted to chaos,” you say.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dick says with a laugh.

“When I told Jason about you and I, I told him the truth. That the feelings were misunderstood and not communicated well. I never told him anything personal about you but I did tell him about when you saved me; he respected our past because of that,” you say.

“I had no idea, he always acted so standoffish toward me,” Dick says.

“You were his hero and you made him feel weak, like he needed to prove himself. And when he couldn’t do that he snapped at you because he never felt enough for you or Bruce,” you say.

“I know I was too harsh, I was too harsh with you too when you guys were titans,” Dick says. “Do you ever miss it? Being a titan?” Dick asks.

“Gar asked me the same thing the other night,” you say. “Me and Jason talked about it before, rejoining titans. It sounded good till we remembered how everything ended for us at the tower. I didn’t tell Gar this but Jason wakes up…” you correct yourself “he used to wake up screaming…he’d have nightmares about falling off the tower.”

“I’ve had nightmares about him falling too, I just replay him slipping out of my grasp sometimes when I can’t sleep,” Dick says. “I guess Jason and I were more alike than anyone noticed.”

“I noticed, once I found out Jason was Robin I noticed how similar you and him were,” you say.

“Okay confession,” Dick says. “When you told me you had romantic feelings for me I was so fucking scared,” he says laughing.

“Really?” You ask.

“You don’t understand like I thought I was going to throw up out of fear,” he says laughing.

“Why?” You ask laughing.

“I was scared to lose you and I didn’t feel the same way so I convinced myself I did,” he says. “What made you confess your fake romantic feelings anyway?”

“It was something you said,” you say.

“Oh?” He says.

“It was when that creep was stalking me and you made a comment about my body, I was in such a fucked up headspace I assumed you only saw my body and not really me so because I also didn’t want to lose you I acted like I wanted more than friendship,” you say.

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No really I’m sorry, I know I already said this but you know I’ve had my fair share of being used for my body, and I’m so sorry I ever made you think that’s how I saw you,” he says.

“It wasn’t you it was just the circumstances, and I promise I never saw you like that either,” you say in a serious tone. You and Dick simply smiled at eachother just enjoying the moment. Things between you two felt right. Of course you were still miserable and full of sadness and rage because of the love of your life died in agony, but at least you revived a friendship.

“I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love again,” you say.

“Honestly that’s okay, don’t let any idiots tell you that you need to find someone else. If you do meet someone else great you deserve that but if you don’t that’s okay,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say. “There’s that no fucks given advice I so missed,” you say.

“Right, I missed giving you straightforward advice,” he says.

“I think I’m gonna head to sleep,” you say.

“Same honestly,” he says. You two get up but you freeze for a moment.

“Dick one more thing, at Arkham when we…when we found Jason’s…body. I’m sorry for snapping at you how I did,” you say.

“It’s alright, I can’t even imagine how you felt,” he pauses for a moment. “If you need someone to talk to, just remember I’m always here. No judgement, just like old times.”

“Thanks,” you say.

Hey, this part actually came out a decent length I feel like the others have been kinda short lately. I didn’t like the fact that Dick and Reader had a romance in the past and I also HATE the constant over sexualization of Nightwing so I figured I’d write some platonic angst and also touch on that cause it’s never talked about😭. Anyways if you want to see more parts please like and follow. Any positive feedback is always appreciated, it encourages me to keep writing and posting parts. I’m going to start developing the red hood plot line soon (I know Jason is supposed to be dead for a while but for the purposes of wanting to get to the point I’m probably just going to write he was dead for a few months). I hope you enjoyed the fic!

If you wanted to check out the other parts here’s a link to my Masterlist.

Masterlist

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hi Nausicaa))

So, it seems like a lot of people on this app, not just me, do think that James got hard wolf/werewolf vibes. So I had an idea. Medieval-ish times, a town inside the forest, where it’s a custom to offer a young beautiful maiden (and of course a virgin) as a wife to the forest beast (werewolf) to please him and for a guarantee that he will protect the village. While it’s an honor, a lot of girls are excited to be chosen because according to legends being the werewolf wife allows a worry-free life plus there are very exciting rumors about werewolf’s stamina (yup, the bedroom stamina).

Reader is the only one who doesn’t care about being chosen, she has no interest in this whatsoever, plus she thinks that the stamina rumors are ridiculous, and as a male he’ll only chase his own pleasure. However, of course she gets picked, personally, by James, because he overheard her saying that hirs a stupid tradition, etc. So they get married and the first night James proves her how true this rumors were true but he’s also very considerate because it’s her first time?

I hope you like it!❤

Warnings: mature content, light tender and rough smut, mature language, smut

________

The beast's bride

The village’s tradition has always been clear: one maiden, chosen to be the bride of the forest beast. The stories I grew up with told me of his power, his wildness, the way the town would offer up a girl to keep the peace. The rumors that followed him were as thick as the forest he roamed. They spoke of his endless stamina, his insatiable desires, his wild, animalistic nature. And the women? They whispered that to be chosen was the highest honor—the chance to be married to a creature of legend.

But I never bought into those stories.

I’ve heard it all before. The girls sigh over the rumors, the older women smirk knowingly about the things they never tell you. But none of it fazes me. I didn’t care about the so-called protection the beast offered the village, nor the supposed pleasures of being his wife. Those whispers? They seemed ridiculous to me. If he was a man at all, he was only driven by his own instincts, not by any idea of affection or connection. It was a story made to scare us, to keep us in line.

So imagine my surprise when, on the day the elders called for the selection, I—of all people—was chosen.

It wasn’t supposed to be me. Not Y/N, the girl who rolled her eyes at every mention of the werewolf, who scoffed at the idea of marriage being some form of fate, who had always felt her future was her own to decide. But there I was, standing before James, the werewolf himself, as the villagers murmured and stared.

The moment he laid eyes on me, I knew something was different. He had heard my words—the ones I had said in jest to my friends. "The rumors about his stamina are ridiculous. Just a way to make girls swoon," I had said, laughing it off. "As if a man’s pleasure should matter more than anything else."

It was no secret I didn’t believe in the so-called allure of the beast. And when James heard me, he made his decision: I was the one he wanted. Not because of some twisted destiny, but because he wanted to show me.

He wanted me to see that the rumors were not just tales told around fires, that there was truth in them. And that truth would be shown to me, personally.

The wedding was quick, as expected. No grand feast, no dancing. The ceremony was just the two of us, a quiet exchange of vows in front of the village elder, and then we were bound. I didn’t even have time to protest, to question the strange pull I felt towards him despite my resistance. It was all happening too fast. Before I knew it, James was my husband, and the villagers were watching, waiting to see what would unfold.

When we’re finally alone, I feel the weight of the night bear down on me. The tension in the air is thick, the room strangely silent, save for the sound of my heartbeat.

James stands by the window, looking out at the forest, his silhouette casting a shadow that seems almost… predatory. His eyes flick to me, and the intensity in his gaze is enough to make me shiver.

“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice low and controlled. It’s not an accusation, but more of an observation, one that makes the room feel even smaller, as if the space between us is electric.

I swallow, trying to gather my thoughts. "I don’t understand why you chose me," I confess, my voice shaky. "There are others who wanted this. Who believed in all the stories about you, about what you could do. But I…" I hesitate. "I never believed them."

A brief smile tugs at his lips. It’s almost knowing, as if he’s been waiting for me to say this. He walks toward me slowly, like he’s taking his time, considering every step.

"I overheard you," he admits, his voice calm. "You called it ridiculous, the idea that I could satisfy a woman the way the rumors say I do."

I’m caught off guard by his frankness, but I don’t back down. "I don’t believe in them. I think it’s just a story. A way to keep people in their place."

His gaze softens just slightly. "Maybe it’s a story. Or maybe it’s more than that." He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in a way I can’t explain. "But I want you to know, Y/N, that there is truth to the things they say. And tonight, I’ll show you that."

A shiver runs down my spine, though I’m not sure whether it’s from fear or something else—something more confusing.

He notices, and his hand reaches out, fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch is warmer than I expected, his hand steady, as if he’s trying to comfort me. "I know this is new for you," he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something I can’t quite place. "I won’t rush you, I won’t force anything. I know what I am, but I’ll be gentle. Because I know it’s your first time."

I freeze. His words hit me harder than anything. The werewolf, the beast everyone feared, is offering me kindness—patience. It feels so strange, so foreign to what I had expected. His touch is tender, his fingers brushing along my skin like he’s waiting for permission.

"I… I don’t know what to expect," I admit, feeling my vulnerability rise like a tide I can’t stop.

James looks at me, really looks at me, and then, without a word, he leans in. His lips meet mine—slowly, carefully, like he’s testing the waters. I don’t pull away. Instead, something shifts in me, something I can’t control. I respond to him, hesitant but curious, feeling the tension in his body that contrasts with his gentleness.

When he pulls away, his eyes search mine, his brow furrowed in understanding. "We can stop, if you want to. But I need you to understand—this is not about taking from you. It’s about showing you the truth. The truth about me, about the rumors you think are lies."

I nod, my breath coming quicker than I expect. There’s no more joking, no more sarcasm. This moment feels too real. And for the first time, I’m unsure of what I want.

He pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine. He’s not rushing, not demanding. His touch is patient, soothing, as he undresses me slowly, making sure I’m comfortable, making sure I’m ready. His lips press to my neck, soft and lingering, as his hands move with care.

My body responded instinctively, melting into him as I parted my lips, opening up to him.

His hands moved to frame my face, deepening the kiss, and I leaned into him, craving more. There was an urgency that surged within me as he pulled me closer. My hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, wishing to peel away the distance between us.

With deliberate finesse, he pulled away from my lips, leaving a trail of shivers across my skin. His gaze was intense, searching mine, as if trying to read every thought flitting through my mind. "You're stunning," he whispered, and I felt a blush creeping across my cheeks.

Before I could respond, he stepped back just enough to grasp the hem of my dress, his eyes locked onto mine—seeking permission. I nodded, a rush of anticipation coursing through me as he pulled the fabric gently over my head, letting it flutter to the floor, revealing my bare skin beneath the dim lantern light.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, his gaze appreciative and warm as he traced his fingertips along my arms, sending shivers dancing across my body. I fought the urge to cover myself, feeling vulnerable yet strangely empowered under his gaze.

With deliberate finesse, he undid the laces of his own clothing, shedding his layers until he stood before me, gloriously unguarded. The sight of his sculpted body made my breath hitch—he was everything the rumors depicted and more, an exquisite blend of strength and wildness.

Then, he closed the distance once more, capturing my lips in another searing kiss, but this time more demanding. His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve and contour as if memorizing how I felt beneath his touch. I melted into the kiss, gasping softly as he pressed me against the wall.

When his lips trailed down to my neck, I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped my lips. The sound surprised me, tinged with both pleasure and a hint of shame. “I didn’t mean…” I began, but he caught me off guard when he pulled back slightly to look into my eyes.

“Let me hear you, Y/N. Let me hear how much I make you feel,” he urged softly, coaxing me with his words.

There was something intoxicating about his invitation—an encouragement that stripped away my hesitation. I nodded, giving into the sensation coursing through me as he positioned himself at my entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a mixture of strength and gentleness.

I inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the moment. “Yes... please.”

With that, he entered me in a single smooth motion, both of us gasping at the sensation. It felt overwhelming yet blissful, as if all the tension in the world found its release in that moment.

“God, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. I could barely reply as he began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust filled me completely, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body, igniting an exquisite tension that coiled tightly within.

When the first wave of pleasure surged through me, a soft moan slipped past my lips, and I instinctively covered my mouth, a flicker of embarrassment washing over me. James paused for a moment, his eyes darkening with a predatory yet gentle glint.

“Don’t cover your mouth. Let me hear you,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. “Let me hear what I make you feel.”

I hesitated but then surrendered to the pleasure building within me. I uncovered my mouth, letting my moans flow freely. “James… please,” I gasped, craving more of him, wanting to share the pleasure he evoked in me.

With a teasing smirk, he quickened his pace, thrusting deeper into me, eliciting a chorus of moans that spilled from my lips, unrestrained now. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his thrusts growing more urgent and passionate, the sounds of our bodies meeting filling the room with an exhilarating rhythm.

“Faster,” I breathed, unable to contain the urgency rising within me. The intensity made my heart race, and to my delight, he obliged, his movements becoming more frantic and wild yet still holding that delicious control. With each thrust, I felt the delicious friction drawing me closer and closer to the edge.

The overwhelming sensations consumed me—the combination of his strength and the size of him filling me completely sent shivers down my spine. I gasped and moaned freely now, each sound echoing the ecstasy unfurling within me.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his breaths coming in ragged bursts, every thrust punctuated by the raw connection between us. He leaned down to capture my lips again, the kiss igniting even more flames of passion as we lost ourselves in the moment.

“Please, James,” I begged, feeling myself teetering on the brink of culmination. “I’m so close.”

“Let go for me, Y/N,” his voice was a low growl against my ear, urging me on. “I want to feel you come around me.”

As his rhythm quickened, I felt every nerve in my body pulse with the urgency of release. The overwhelming pleasure built like a tidal wave, crashing over me, and I cried out his name as another wave of ecstasy took hold.

“James!” I screamed, the intensity rattling my very core as I let go, my body tightening around him, squeezing him deliciously as I reached my peak.

“Y/N!” he shouted, and I felt him shudder and tense against me as he found his own release, filling me with warmth.

We clung to one another, breathless as the world faded around us, suspended in that moment of shared bliss. Slowly, he lowered himself over me, our bodies still intertwined, a protective embrace that held me close.

He gazed down at me, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Now, do you believe the rumors?” he asked, the teasing glint in his eyes inviting.

I chuckled softly, still basking in the afterglow of what we’d just shared. “Yes, now I believe,” I replied, watching the way his smirk broadened.

James looked down at me, his expression softening. “But I didn’t choose you just for the rumors,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a serious note. “I chose you because you are truly beautiful—inside and out.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, igniting a sweet warmth in my chest.

As we settled into the quiet aftermath, he pulled me close, my head tucked against his chest, where I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt safe and right, our bodies melding together as I drifted into a peaceful slumber, comforted by the closeness of the man who had just changed everything I thought I understood about the forest beast and myself.

[yukidragon]

🎶The upcoming cast members🎶

I'm pleased to finally publicly announce that I'm part of the team working on this fantastic project!

🎶The Phantom of Sunny Day Jack🎶

Coming soon~

[metalsonicscraps]

In exactly one week I get to post my Sonic Big Bang Fic and the wonderful art that goes with it >:3

I'm so excited!

(What is the Sonic Big Bang? Check it out here-> https://www.tumblr.com/sthbigbang)

[blkkizzat]

@ 𝙭𝙓𝘿𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙂𝙤𝙙69𝙓𝙭 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮...

AND GOD KNOWS I'M TRYIN', BUT THERE'S JUST NO USE IN DENYING... ❤︎︎︎︎ THE OTAKU IS MINE ❤︎︎

⏯︎︎ OTAKU!GOJO X BIMBO!READER SERIES

bunny, how on earth did you end up dating this huge otaku nerd? urgh, you actually like him and match his freak too? and he buys you what?! omg! what will your friends think?!

⏯︎︎ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘

𖦏 genre: college au

𖦏 ratings: 18+MDNI. unprotected, ecchi gojo, dubcon, cnc, bdsm, puppy play, public sex, creampies, spanking, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, edging, squirting, threesums, femdom, the ridiculous ass pervy pet names gojo gives you & reader is called 'bunny' in lieu of 'y/n'. each story will have warnings on its story page.

𖦏 pre register: comment to be tagged. i may not respond to everyone but rest assured if you comment you will be tagged!

𖦏 gamer's guide: all fics are listed in chronological order, but likely won't be written in chronological order. summaries subject to change slightly. they also will be written over time so please don't rush me for the next installment but feel free to ask me questions i love talking about this lil freak❤︎︎

⏯︎︎ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘:

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟏: ❝ DIGIMON—BUT MAKING U CUM IS MY REAL HOBBY! ❞

𖦏 your best friend gojo is a hopeless otaku virgin with zero rizz that's still obsessed with digimon—despite being a grown ass man. you're a slut who despite her best whoring efforts—can't cum. you'll take his v-card and he'll fix your broken pussy, deal? ⏯︎︎ plays: 13.3k

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟐: ❝ STICKS N' STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT CHAINS N' WHIPS EXCITE ME! ❞

𖦏 so now that you have a filthy rich boyfie who is completely obsessed with you and has moved you into his house, you're winning, right? or you will be at least— if can survive a trip to the sex dungeon. don't worry it's professionally sanitized after each use! ...what? that's not what you're worried about? oh... ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟑: ❝ AND ALL OF THAT WAS OKAY, CAUSE IT WAS IN A 3-WAY!❞

𖦏 the three of you: you, gojo and geto are like peas in a pod, especially since its summer! and if two of you start f*cking in that pod well its only natural that the third want to join in, right? besides, you both already want to f*ck him. just make sure your current boyfie doesn't get too jealous from how hard you are moaning on your other besties' joystick. your only his ecchi angel, remember? ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟒: ❝ IN THE BEDROOM I BE SCREAMIN', BUT OUTSIDE I KEEP IT QUIET—OR TRY TO AT LEAST!❞

𖦏 you can only keep your relationship underwraps from the rest of your friend group for so long. but you need to ease them into the idea first! although, when there's a yacht party for nanami's bday how is your uber clingy otaku boyfie supposed to keep his hands off of you when you're looking like the most perfect pervy princess in that itty bitty swimsuit? ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟓: ❝ YEAH, HE MY MAN, HE WAS NEVER YO TYPE! ❞

𖦏 school is back! thankfully you somehow manage to instill some kind of decency into your otaku boyfie over the summer so he can come across as normal enough to make his own friends. but did you do too good of a job? wait, he actually has a lil rizz now? you mean you aren't the only girl attracted to him anymore... hol'up! ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟔: ❝ MOVE IT UP, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, OH—SWITCH IT UP LIKE NINTENDO! ❞

𖦏 hey, when did you become freaker than your otaku boyfie? so he caught you touching yourself to his femdom p0rn when he came back early from a business trip? yikes! now he wants to try it out with you? don't worry you will do a great job training your new play puppy boyfie! ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

⏯︎︎ 𝐃𝐋𝐂:

𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝐧𝐧𝐧: ❝PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ❞

𖦏 your loser otaku boyfie wants to take you to an anime convention and enter a couple's cosplay contest. you agree on one condition, he has to participate in No Nut November. Fair trade right? What could go wrong? ⏯︎︎ plays: 5079

⏯︎︎ 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒:

𖦏 soundtrack: [ x ] 𖦏 moodboards: [ lvl 1 ] 𖦏 amazing art by amazing readers: [ x ] 𖦏 faq/thirsts: [ x ]

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 ��𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.︎︎

[coffeebanana]

some things i've been thinking about (this was supposed to be separate ideas but now i guess it's a rough fic outline in bullet points kasdbfksbjd):

marinette telling adrien the truth YEARS later, after everything's settled down and the butterfly's been recovered and their identities are revealed

maybe they live together. maybe he was getting ready to propose

after his initial shock, anger, time he needs to process, mostly he just wants to understand WHY she lied

when she tells him the she just couldn't bear to hurt him any more than she already had to by telling him his father died, and some part of adrien sees that as his own failing--surely if he'd been stronger, if he'd been the kind of person she thought could handle the truth, then she would have given it

maybe they go to couple's therapy. one of the exercises they're given is to practice honesty with each other and marinette goes... a little overboard

adrien thinks it's sweet, at first. until he realizes she's scared to leave a single second of her day unaccounted for. she's stressing out because she forgot to tell him something minor and he doesn't want him to think she just decided not to tell him something again

he realizes just how much she's been beating herself up about this all these years. just how much she's always loved him despite her mistakes

he remembers the ring he has stashed upstairs

and maybe it's not the time for proposals. but all he can think is that even at their worst, he still wants forever with her

of course, he's never been one for keeping his affections to himself. so he tells her.

it's not a question, it's not an offer. it's a fact: I want to spend the rest of my life with you. i want to marry you. she looks at him like he's crazy, so he pulls out his ultimatum. but i need you to forgive yourself first

all these years, marinette's been secretly awaiting her punishment. secretly awaiting having to pay for what she's done. forgiving herself was never on the table

do you forgive me, she asks in a quiet voice

i don't know, he says, and marinette's heart sinks until he adds, but i know i want to

and in the end, it's not so hard for him to get there. for him to forgive one decision she made under the worst possible circumstances. one mistake in the midst of all the ways she's made him feel safe and wanted and loved. all the times she's held his hand or helped wipe his tears, all the times she's let him do the same for her

when it comes time to exchange vows, for better or worse is already something they've agreed to

[nanaslutt]

when your boyfriend asks you to cheat on him with his best friend

ʚ ft. cuck!Geto Suguru, Gojo satoru x reader

ʚ cont: established relationship, fem reader, cucking, Geto is a perv, cumming untouched, oral, dirty talk, teasing, masturbation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, praise, pull-out method, dacraphillia

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

...."What?" You replied quietly, even though you heard his words loud and clear. "W-why would you want that?" You asked, noticing how much harder it became to keep eye contact. Geto had invited Gojo over to hang out, the three of you lounging around in the living area, hanging out, when you noticed Geto's demeanor change a bit.

He knew how much Gojo wanted you, it was obvious. Gojo would never say it first, but he thought you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Of course, Geto was his best friend and you were his girlfriend, so he would never act on any of his deep dark impulses, but that didn't stop him from making innuendos here and there, maybe touching your shoulder a little too long, looking at your body in a way he shouldn't when you turned around, unable to notice him checking you out. But Geto did, he noticed it all.

Instead of being pissed at his best friend, all the little touches and teases, the almost advances he made on his girl, made his pants tight. Usually, he could bare with it, hold out until his white-haired best friend went home before he picked you up and fucked you on the couch right where you and Gojo were just sitting, but today was different.

Geto's mouth was running dry watching Gojo's fingers rub the couch as he laid his arm out behind you, relaxed. He knew Gojo craved to be caressing your skin instead, that's what drove him so crazy. The way his best friend kept dropping his gaze to your lips, your breasts, all of it, it was driving him mad. So mad, that he had to excuse himself, and you, from Gojo's company, pulling you into his bedroom where he spilled his deep dark desires, unable to keep them inside any longer.

"Fuck I don't know, I don't know," Geto said, covering his mouth with his hand. He kept it there for a moment, looking around the room in thought before he dragged his hand down his face and reached out to grab yours. "All I know is that whenever I think about him fucking you in front of me, it makes me so fucking hard I can barely stand it." He said, looking frantic, impatient. 

You dropped your eyes to his crotch and noticed the very obvious, twitching bulge he was sporting in his sweats, he was serious. "If you don't wanna do it just forget it, it's fine really I just needed to say somethin-" "How long have you been feeling like this?" You asked, cutting him off. You kept your eyes on him, fighting the urge to look away bashfully. Geto stopped his rambling, his mouth falling slightly open as he just looked at you. You didn't say no.

"So long baby, so fucking long. Can't help but think about it every time he's around you." Geto said, a blush biting the tips of his ears. You felt a sudden rush of heat flood down between your thighs at his shamelessness. It was a lot to take in so suddenly. To be honest you had never thought of Gojo in that way before, so having Geto confess something like this was a bit of a shock. It wasn't that you thought Gojo was ugly, or even thought he would be back in the sack, it's just you truly hadn't thought about it. 

Why would you have? He was Geto's bestfriend. But apparently, Geto would like it if you did think about him that way. "How... how do you know you really want this?" You asked, keeping your voice low and quiet, cautious for Gojo to not overhear as he was just in the other room. Geto stepped closer to you, using both his large hands to grab your waist, pressing your pelvis against his. You could feel his boner poke you just above your cunt, making your eyebrows knit together.

"I've dreamt about it baby, dreamt about him fucking you. You have no idea how much I think about this." He whispered, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. His words made you blush as you looked between your bodies at his hard cock, that he was ever so slightly rubbing against you. "Dreams are different from reality Sugu... what if..." You paused, wanting to find the right words before you spoke.

"Say me and Gojo really did it in front of you." Just the mention of the hypothetical had Geto nodding at your words and pulling his lip between his teeth. "What if you were wrong and you don't actually want this? I don't want to hurt you Sugu." You said, grabbing his face with both of your palms. Geto smiled and leaned into the touch. "You know I won't let anything happen if I'm not okay with it. I promise you though baby, with 100% certainty, that I will like it, I need it." He responded, easing your worries.

"Do you... think you can do it though? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable just for my interesting kinks." Geto said, his words making you huff a laugh through your nose. "I haven't ever thought about... fucking Satoru, but he's pretty easy on the eyes." You joked, "It should be fine." Geto groaned at that, his head falling forward and landing on your shoulder.

"I love you so much you know that? 'S gonna be so fucking hard not to cream in my pants just watchin' you two kiss." He whispered against your neck, his words alone riling him up. "Baby..." You said softly, running your hands through his hair. "Will Satoru be okay with this?" You asked, making Geto raise his head to look at you, a telling smile already on his face. 

Once Geto collected himself enough to not walk like he was hiding a bomb in his pants, the two of you left the small room he pulled you into and back into the living room, where Gojo was sprawled on the couch, legs spread far apart, arms around the back of the cushions.

You swallowed hard, trying to remember what Geto told you to do. You could do it, for him, you could do it. Gojo turned his head toward the two of you when he saw your figures renter the room. "There you are~ Was starting to think you two were getting handsy somewhere." Gojo teased. You kept walking toward him, not faltering in your pace, not uttering a word back, not so much as breathing. Geto stopped a couple of feet from the couch, just watching you with bated breath for what was about to happen.

Gojo lazily looked up to meet your face when his view of the TV was obstructed by your body. "What are ya-" His words were cut short when you placed both hands on his shoulders and plopped yourself down onto his lap. Gojo's hands jerked in front of him and just hovered inches from your hips, which were now straddling his. His mouth opened to speak again but he was promptly cut off when you grabbed his soft cheeks in your hands and pressed his lips against yours.

The white-haired man made a noise of surprise against you, his body going rigid. Gojo's eyes were wide as his brain tried to catch up to what the hell was happening. His eyes found Geto's, just on the outside of his peripherals, and he was met with his best friend's large frame standing just as still as he was, eyes lower than usual, arms crossed, and of course, a huge fucking boner in his pants.

Gojo caught on quickly, a small huff of a laugh leaving his nose just before you pulled back, looking at him uncertainty, like you were waiting for him to react. "I think I know what's going on," Gojo said, smirking mischievously. Geto stayed quiet, opting to slowly sit down on the couch next to him that faced the large sofa, housing his best friend and his girlfriend, straddling his hips.

"This a test or somethin' or is this for real?" Gojo asked, astonished. The tips of his ears started to grow hot, as did the rest of his body. "Does it look like I'm joking?" Geto asked, his shaky hand grabbing ahold of his bulge, not rubbing it, just putting some pressure on himself, his other arm laying on the arm of the couch. "Fuck." Gojo huffed, a smile still on his face as he looked between the two of you.

"So what do you want from me? Want me to fuck her? Is that it?" Gojo asked, finally closing the distance between his hands and your hips, grabbing them steadily, making you press yourself fully down on his lap. You winced at the feeling of his bulge poking against you, his mannerisms were so different that Geto's, but having Geto here made you feel a lot more comfortable. And you trusted Gojo, of course. 

"Yeah," Geto replied, nodding. Gojo's smile grew before he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at you, cocking his head to the side. "You want that too? Want me to fuck you while your boyfriend watches?" Gojo was already in this. He really could adapt to any situation surprisingly quickly. You turned your head to look at Geto, but your gaze was quickly corrected when Satoru gripped the bottom half of your face and made you look back at him.

"I asked you, baby." He smiled, his words teasing and light, but his touch rough. Gojo looked down at your plush lips before his eyes fell back on yours, his head inching closer to your face. "Want me to fuck you? Make you cum all over my cock?" He whispered, his hot breath tickling your face, making you whine quietly at his words. When you nodded coyly your consent, Gojo laughed, releasing your chin.

"Maaaan~ She's so fucking cute, this is gonna be so fun." Gojo chipped, rolling his head before he placed it back in front of yours. "Let's give that cuck a show then," Gojo whispered, his words not being missed by Geto's ears, making his cock twitch. You whimpered when Gojo pressed his lips to yours, a hum from him vibrating throughout your lips as his hand fell back down on your hip once more.

Gojo maneuvered the two of you to be laying down against the length of the couch, one of Gojo's legs hanging off the side, his foot placed firmly on the ground as you chased his lips, your body staying firmly against his as you were now on top of him laying down. Geto licked his lips, adding a bit more pressure to his cock as he watched Gojo's hands caress your body, teasing the skin of your back underneath your shirt.

"Let's get this off, yeah?" He whispered against your lips, letting you sit up to remove your shirt. You nodded, your eyes finding Geto's for a moment which were content and full of lust, before they were back on Gojo. Gojo ran his hands up your exposed skin the higher and higher you dragged your shirt up your body until your black lacy bra was exposed to his hungry eyes, the shirt being tossed carelessly on the floor.

"Oh fuckkk." Gojo groaned as he continued to greedily rub his hands up and down your body while you placed your hands on his abdomen, your ass firmly on his crotch. "Knew your body was hot but you look even better like this." He praised, thrusting his hips up against yours, his ass leaving the couch cushions for a minute. You felt your face erupt in heat and looked away, squeezing your legs around Gojo's body to relieve some of the ache you felt between your thighs.

"What do you say, baby?" Geto's voice rang into your ears, making you look over at him while Gojo's eyes stayed on you. "He complimented you, what do you say?" He repeated, his hand now slowly rubbing over the bulge in his sweats, matching the tantalizing pace of Gojo's hips rubbing against yours. Your embarrassment only grew getting called out like that. Looking back down to Gojo, his eyes were open wide, eyebrows raised as he waited for you to speak.

"Thank you, Satoru." You replied, finding it hard to meet his eyes. Gojo grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss against your wrist. "No problem baby." He replied, before releasing your hand and turning his head to look at Geto. "She's so polite." He said, praising Geto for training you so well. Geto smiled in return, nodding knowingly. "She'll even thank you after she takes a load down her throat," Geto added, his cock twitching at the thought.

This made Gojo audibly groan, his head rolling back against the couch, messing up his pretty hair. "Fuck I wanna see that." He groaned, long and needy. "You wanna show me what Suguru is talking about baby?" Gojo smiled sweetly, rolling his hips in circles up against your cunt, making your eyes flutter. You nodded timidly, feeling your body get hit with another wave of arousal. Gojo's smile grew in size, his cute dimples poking his cheeks.

Geto watched with bated breath as you slid down his body, pressing your thighs together as you sat on your knees between his legs, working on his belt. "You gonna jerk off to this or what?" Came Gojo's voice, cutting through the arosual clouding Suguru's head. Suguru shook his head, opting to continue to just palm himself over his pants while he watched you pull Gojo's pants down. "Not yet, don't wanna cum till you start fucking her." He said, arousal heavy in his voice.

Gojo made a sound of approval, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue before he looked back down to you. "Oh! Didn't realize you got that far." Gojo giggled, watching how you held his crumpled pants midway down his thighs, staring at his long, pretty cock, with a pink flushed, dripping head. Gojo wiggled his hips, making his cock sway in front of you. "You like it?" He asked, cockily. 

"It's so big." You whispered, laying down on your belly between his thighs as you stared at it in awe. "You think so, baby? 'S it prettier than Suguru's cock?" He teased, glancing over at Geto who shook his head in annoyance. Gojo sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when you wrapped your hand around the head of his cock, rubbing his pre-cum against your palm. "They're both pretty." You complimented, smiling up at him.

Gojo bit his lip and pinched your cheek, watching how you slightly winced as you dragged your hand down his cock, rubbing his precum down his length. "Guess I'll find out if 'ur tellin' the truth when Suguru gets his cock out later." Gojo teased, sliding his hand back from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. You glanced over at Suguru to make sure he was still doing okay, and you were met with your boyfriend looking the most around you'd ever seen him, the sight relaxing your nerves in an instant.

"Suck his cock baby, show him how good that throat feels." Geto encouraged, gripping the outline of his cock through his sweats and stroking. You nodded and brought your attention back to the hard cock in front of you, throbbing against your hand. "Yeah, what he said." Gojo chimed in, making you want to roll your eyes. Such a Satoru thing to say at a moment like this.

You gave Gojo a few more strokes before you leaned in, your breasts resting on his upper thighs just below his cock as you stuck your tongue out. You flattened your tongue on the underside of his cock and tapped the head against it, continuing to stroke him off. Gojo groaned, watching your tongue wipe over the head of his cock, collecting the pre-cum there. 

His smile started to fade the longer you teased him, pure arousal taking over his body. His jaw fell open and his eyes fluttered in his head when you finally wrapped your lips around his cock, immediately finding a pace as you bobbed your head on him, taking more and more cock into your mouth with each thrust.

Gojo's fingers curled into your hair at the stimulation, his legs parting in tandem. "Oh fuckk." He groaned, his head rolling back against the cushion before he forced himself to look down at the show you were putting on for him. Your eyebrows furrowed when you took him into your throat, fighting back gags. "Ffffuck- tight fucking throat-" Gojo praised, his hips jerking against your face when your throat contracted around him. "Takin' it like a fucking champ." He added, nodding down at you.

If your mouth wasn't stuffed with cock, you would've smiled at his compliment. "Feels good huh?" Geto added, squeezing the base of his cock through his pants, trying to resist the urge to cum already without even touching his cock. Gojo nodded dumbly, his hand just following your movements with its place on the back of your head. "Uh-huh uh-huh, shit-" Gojo's abs clenched and his back arched forward when you took him completely into your throat and hummed, shaking your head back and forth.

"Ohmygod- fuck oh my god Suguru-" Gojo whined, his toes curling at the feeling of your warm throat. "Can't believe you waited so long to let me feel this, s-shes so fucking good- I'm gonna cum already-" Gojo whined, his body jerking and twitching against the couch. Geto nodded in agreement, his eyes locked on the spot where his cock and your mouth met. "Yeah, me neither." He responded, reaching his free hand up to rub a few fingers around his nipples, giving him some other stimulation that wasn't as intense as his cock.

Gojo's breathing was so choked and rapid, sounding like he just finished running a marathon, mixed with long groans and curses of your name. "Holy fuck baby, I'm really gonna cum-" He groaned, adding his other hand down to grab your head, placing both hands over your ears. "Can I fuck your throat? Just a little? Huh?" He begged, nodding at his own words. Gojo felt his balls tighten with the need for release, he wasn't going to last much longer.

You nodded around him, stilling your movements as you relinquished control. "Good fucking girl, show your boyfriend how good you take his best friend's load." His words went straight to Geto's cock, making him have to grip his base tighter. It was almost humiliating how much Geto was into this, his most craved fantasy was happening right in front of his eyes, and it was so arousing it was almost too much to handle. 

You relaxed your throat and let Gojo fuck his hips into your mouth, obscene squelching and moans echoing into the room as he did so. You were used to this kind of treatment. Geto was usually a little rougher, and his cock was thicker than Satory's, so taking Gojo's cock, despite the length, was fairly easy.

Gojo pursed his lips around his teeth and groaned obscenely, sounding like a porn star. "Ohhhh fuck 'm cumming baby, cumming- oh fuck-" Gojo's groans and whines got higher in pitch as he was pushed to the edge by your tight throat. Geto felt his whole body tingle from his head to his toes, his brain feeling fuzzy, body feeling warm. He was too enamored by the scene in front of him to notice the familiar sensation racking through his body.

Gojo held your head down on the base of his cock, lips flush to his abdomen as he groaned long and loud, body jerking and spasming, back arched, eyes rolling back in his head, all as he released his thick load down your throat. Geto choked on a moan as his body doubled over, his thighs snapping shut. His hand that was playing with his chest slammed down on the arm of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric of it for support as he came in his pants, a dark wet patch spreading on his sweats under his hand.

You fought back the gags that wanted to escape as you swallowed everything Satoru gave you, not wanting to waste a drop. Even after Gojo had stopped emptying his balls, he kept you down on him, letting his cock just rest in your warm throat, before he pulled you off a few moments later, allowing you to catch your breath. Gojo grabbed his cock and gripped it hard at the base, relishing in the aftershocks, his cock still hard and ready for more.

"T-thank you Satoru." You whispered, voice a little hoarse from taking his cock in your throat. "Fuuuuck you were right Suguru, she really does thank you for takin' cock down her throat." Gojo laughed, looking over at his best friend. Gojo's eyebrows shot up in surprise when he noticed Geto's fist over his mouth, legs crossed over one another, the wet patch evident on his pants. "Ohhohooo~" Gojo cooed, peeking your interest and making you look over at him as well.

"Came in your pants jus watching me fuck your girl's throat? That's kinda perverted Suguru." Gojo teased, caressing the back of your neck with his other hand. "Suguru..." You whispered, feeling yourself grow wetter between your thighs at the thought of Geto cumming in his pants. You cursed yourself for missing such a sight. 

Geto stayed silent, his chest rising and falling heavily as he caught his breath. "Hope you got some more in you because I'm about to fuck her now." Gojo teased, a malicious smile spreading across his face before he looked back to you, his expression softening. "How do you want it pretty? Want it from the back? You like to be manhandled? Hm?" You felt your face grow hot at his words. You looked over to Geto for help, Satoru watching your gaze.

"Want him to decide?" He added, his voice quieter. You kept your eyes on Suguru as you nodded, the corner of Suguru's smile peeking out from behind his fist. Your boyfriend uncrossed his legs and tilted his head against his hand. "You like it from the back, don't you baby?" Geto said, his smile warming you up all over again. You nodded in response, waiting for him to speak again. "Satoru." He said, looking at his best friend now.

"You can't cum inside her cunt, that's the only rule," Geto said firmly, making sure his words were heard loud and clear. Gojo pursed his lips together, pouting a bit. "Fiiiiiine. Do I have to use a condom?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Suguru only shrugged in response, leaning back against the couch as he began to pull his sweats down. "Up to her." He said, bringing Satoru's attention back to you.

"What's it gonna be sweetheart? You want me to wrap it up? Or you wanna feel my cock rubbin' inside you raw?" He asked, watching how you began to untie the string of your shorts. "I can't help but notice you made one option sound a little better than the other." You snorted, pulling your shorts down your legs, revealing your cute black panties that matched your bra.

Gojo giggled, grabbing your hips and placing your panty-clad clit on top of his bulge, making you rut your hips against him. "I might be a little biased." He said teasingly, his cock already dripping pre-cum again, smearing against the outside of your panties. "No condom it is then." You replied, making Gojo bring his hand into a fist and drag his arm down, saying a dramatic "Yesssss." To which you and Geto both shook your heads.

"Cmere then baby," Gojo said, his demeanor suddenly changing into a more serious one. He pulled you against him, your legs slotting together as your hands fell on his chest, your lips connecting with his. He moaned quietly into your mouth, rutting his hips against your tummy, getting it wet with his arousal. Geto licked his lips watching the two of you as he fully pulled his cock out of his sweats, dragging his hand down his length torturously slow, rubbing his first orgasm down his cock.

Geto felt a sudden shock to his guts when Gojo cracked his eyes open and looked at Geto through the corners of them teasingly, his eyes finding his before they dropped to his cock, then back up to his eyes. He kissed you more dramatically, opening his mouth more against yours so Geto could see your tongues tangling together sloppily, the spit being exchanged between them. Geto picked up the pace on his cock, feeling himself strain against his hand the longer they stared at each other.

Gojo looked back at you and separated from your lips, your expression fucked out and needy already just from a little kissing. "Let's get to the good stuff, yeah? Don't think your boyfriend can take much more." Gojo teased, making you look over to Geto, who was steadily dripping down his fingers, watching the two of you intently, how Gojo was holding you. "Looks like his cock is about to explode, right?" He whispered, making you nod and whimper in agreement. 

"You were right, it is pretty too. I see why you couldn't choose." Gojo added, making you whine. Gojo tapped your ass before he spoke again. "Alright, up so we can switch. Wanna see that ass up for me." He smiled, to which you nodded and scooted over, letting Satoru sit up so you could take his place, your body perched against the couch on all fours before you leaned the front half of your body down, leaving your ass up for Satoru's viewing pleasure.

Gojo rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, stroking his cock slowly. "Fuckk, that arch is crazy." He praised, feeling his mouth water. "You get to fuck this pussy every night?" Gojo asked, grabbing a handful of the fat of your ass and jiggling it. Geto smiled and felt himself throb again, fighting the urge to jerk himself off until he came. "Yeah, just wait till you see her pussy." Geto felt so proud showing you off like this, you were the perfect girl, and he was more than happy to share and show off just how perfect you were,

"Let's see that pussy then." He said, tucking his fingers under the band of your panties and slowly pulling them down. You wiggled your hips back against him as your ass was exposed, bit by bit. Your head was forced to the side from the position you were in, meaning you were forced to look at Geto. The perfect view of him watching you intently while stroking himself off made you throb around nothing, excited to watch him cum while you get fucked by someone else. 

"Oh Shit Suguru," Gojo whined, dragging your panties down to your knees. He brought both hands to your ass and pulled them apart, forcing the folds of your pussy to spread for him, strings of your wetness sticking to yourself. You could hear Gojo's breathing pick up just from watching you. You felt so needy feeling his thumbs spread you open so close to your cunt without touching you, you needed to feel something soon or you were going to lose your mind.

Just before you were about to beg, you felt your ass part further before you felt Gojo lick a fat stripe up the expanse of your cunt, making a moan rip from your lungs. A hand shot back and tangled in his soft hair, pressing his head against you. "Ffff-uck-" You whined, your eyes rolling back in your head. Your shins kicked up and your toes curled behind you as Gojo wasted no time in burring his face in your pussy and sticking his tongue into your tight hole, sucking up all the wetness there.

Geto was caught off guard just as much as you, his hand speeding up on himself as he watched Gojo shake his head back and forth against your pussy, his cock throbbing heavily between your legs, dripping pre-cum against the cushions as he ate you out like a man starved. You couldn't help but wiggle back on him when you felt his tongue lap out and lick at your clit, making you see stars behind your eyelids. 

You don't know why you were so surprised at how good he was with his tongue. He was the sloppiest eater you knew and could put away four large ice cream Sundays in 4 minutes, and god if it didn't translate into the bedroom. Gojo pulled back with a gasp, massaging your ass cheeks in his hands, the bottom half of his face already covered in wetness. "Holy shit you taste good baby. Almost got lost in there." He giggled. Your hand released from his hair and fell back down to the pillow under your head, both your arms wrapping around it to ground yourself.

"I could eat you out all fucking day, but I swear my dick feels like it's gonna burst. Need to be inside you right now. I can eat you out properly another time, 'm sure Suguru wouldn't mind that, would he?" Gojo asked cocikly, hitting the dart right on the mark. Geto didn't answer, just licked his lips and kept his eyes on yours, staring at your fucked out expression.

"Yeah, he won't mind," Gojo said, answering his own question. Gojo leaned up and scooted closer to you, pressing his cock between the crevice of your ass. "Don't think I'm gonna last long," Gojo said, tapping his cock against your ass. "But then... neither are you two, right?" The white-haired man smiled all knowingly. 

Gojo rubbed his cock against the underside of your cunt, his hot cock stimulating your swollen clit perfectly. "Don't think I forgot about her. She'll get some attention when I get inside you." Gojo whispered, rubbing his cock back and forth a few more times against your clit before he pulled back and lined himself up with your cunt. Suguru watched with bated breath as his best friend took a few deep breaths and bit his lip, his eyes locked on where the two of you were connected.

His jaw fell open with the two of yours when Gojo slowly pushed inside, feeling little resistance thanks to how wet you were. His fingers dug into the fat of your hip as his head fell back, a loud groan leaving his lips. "So tight, s-so tight fuck-," Gojo repeated as his cock was sucked in by your tight, warm walls, so much tighter than your throat, if it was even possible. 

"How's it feel baby?" Geto spoke, his voice hoarse and deep with his arousal. "N-need you to tell me how his cock feels inside you," Geto begged, stroking himself faster. Gojo choked on his own moans and breaths as he tried to calm himself down, stilling his hips flush against your ass as he tried not to blow his load prematurely. "Suguru, s-Suguru it's so deep. F-feel it in my tummy." You whined, placing your hand on your stomach.

Geto groaned and spread his legs, feeling his cock throb at your words. "Deeper than mine? Huh?" Geto didn't know if he wanted you to say yes or no, he just wanted you to talk to him, to tell him how it felt. You waited a moment before nodding, averting your eyes. The dark-haired man found his answer when he had to squeeze the base of his cock hard to prevent himself from cumming at that moment. 

Gojo half smiles through his arousal at your answer before he rolled his hips into yours, fucking his cock even deeper inside you if that was even possible. "You're twitching around me like crazy, you want me to move now?" Gojo asked, using his thumb to pull at your opening where his cock was currently inside. "Please, p-please move Satoru." You begged, doing your best to fuck your hips back against him in the position you were in.

Gojo smiled before he looked over at Geto, who looked about halfway to losing his mind from being so horny. "You like hearing your girlfriend beg for another man's cock?" He teased, getting into Geto's kink to rile him up more. Geto nodded, his other hand joining the mix to play with his balls. "Heh, I can't believe my best friend likes to get cucked, and I never knew till now." That was the last words Gojo said before he started driving his hips into yours like a madman.

Moan after moan spilled from your lips, tears welling up in your eyes from the intense pleasure. Gojo kept true to his word and started rubbing quick circles against your clit, the wetness being fucked out of you making the sensation stronger. Geto rolled his balls between his fingers and jerked himself off to match Gojo's pace, slowing down or pausing entirely when he felt like he was going to cum.

"S-suguru, suguru-" You cried, your words coming out desperate and choppy. Gojo pouted behind you, his cock fucking into you rougher. "Hey, that's not nice. You shouldn't cry another man's name when I'm fucking you." He pouted, angling his hips to drive his cock deeper inside you, pummeling your sweet with every thrust.

"He's right baby, I'm right here, I'm here, but you can say his name its okay. Want you to say his name." Geto encouraged, making a smile creep onto Gojo's face, his fingers rubbing back and forth faster along your clit. "Fuck- Satoru, t-toru its so deep, feels s- good." You whined, tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. 

Gojo felt his cock twitch, he cursed himself internally for being so weak for you. He just started fucking you and already just from a few thrusts and cries for your name, he already felt like cumming. "I know baby, can feel how deep you're taking me, feels so good for me too baby." He groaned, wincing when you squeezed your cunt around him, a loud moan coming out choked from his throat.

The loud 'plap' sounds echoing through the room only spurred him on more, making him fuck you harder, deeper, wanting to hear you cry louder. A ring of cum had started to form around the base of his dick and dripped down his balls from how wet you were. Gojo's fingers on your clit started to lose their rhythm, going slow, then fast, jerking all over the place. It was doing it for you, so you had no complaints, but you knew Gojo was close.

Gojo rolled his head back, his hip's rhythm getting sloppy as well. Geto watched his eyes flutter in his head. Gojo looked like he was panicking, trying to calm himself down. It was obvious he didn't want to stop yet, but your pussy was just too good. "I know." Geto chimed in, finding Gojo's eyes. "Her pussy is dangerous, makes you finish so fucking fast. 'Specially the first round." He nodded, his balls tightening with his release.

Gojo groaned at his words. "Yeah, she's s-squeezing me like a fucking vice, and it's so fucking warm, f-feel like my cock is melting." He cried, his words rushed and high-pitched. "G-god I'm gonna cum." He whimpered, his body fighting to stay upright. His hips slamming against your ass felt so good, only adding to the pleasure he was already giving you.

The men's conversation was blurring in your head, the only thing your brain was focused on was cumming on Satoru's cock. "You getting close baby? Gonna cum on Satoru?" Geto asked, his cock throbbing against his hand. You nodded at his words, your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, legs pressed firmly together as Gojo fucked you up to your orgasm. "R-right there." You whined, your back arching against him.

"Let go, baby, let go." With Geto's encouraging words, your orgasm crashed over you. Gojo clenched his teeth together when your pussy squeezed around him even tighter than before, pulling a wonton moan from his lips. He almost forgot Geto's rule only seconds before he came. Hurriedly, he pulled out his cock and started jerking himself off, making sure he continued rubbing his fingers over your clit, working you through your orgasm.

Geto came at the same time, white ropes of cum shooting out of his cock and dripping down his fingers, his legs spreading further as his body sank against the couch, his eyes never once leaving the sight in front of him. Your shins crossed over one another as your body was wracked with tremors. Your orgasm hit you so hard you were seeing stars.

Gojo groaned through his high as he jerked himself off over your ass, thinner ropes of cum decorating your ass and back. He came so much, maybe even more than the time he came down your throat. He had your cunt trying to milk him that entire time for that. "Ohhhhhh- ffuuuck." Gojo groaned, tapping the head of his cock against your ass as he started to come down, rubbing his cum on your skin.

You let your arch fall as you fell onto your side against the sheets, your body jerking every now and then. You pressed your thighs together firmly, keeping pressure on your sensitive, still throbbing clit. Geto wasted no time in tucking his spent cock back in his ruined boxers and pulled up his pants, walking over to the couch in front of him.

Gojo rested his hands on your ass and thighs, rubbing them soothingly. Geto crouched down by the edge of the cough and grabbed your face in his hands, making you peel your eyes open. You smiled the instant you saw his face. Geto leaned in and pressed a long, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling away and wiping the sweat and baby hairs from your face. "Good girl baby, I love you so much. Thank you, you did so well." 

You let his words relax your body further as you melted into the cushions, Gojo's warm hands caressing you and easing you even more. "Aww..." Gojo pouted, making Geto look over to him. "I'm feelin' kinda left out, can I get a kiss too?" Gojo teased, pointing to his pink, swollen lips. Geto made a noise of disgust before he directed his attention back to you, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

"Oh, so jerking off while watching me fuck your girlfriend is okay, but a kiss is too much? It's hard out here." Gojo pouted, only making Geto shake his head harder. "Thanks for doing this, and thanks for not coming inside her," Geto said, keeping his eyes on your relaxed face as he spoke. Gojo smiled softly, watching him caress you. "Yeah yeah, you pervert, anytime." He responded, ruffling the other man's hair. 

[aegonstradwife]

exposure therapy | aemond targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aemond were recently married. you're afraid of him, but aemond goes to great lengths to show you he's not that scary.

warnings: excessive use of ellipses, #1 wife lover aemond targaryen, brief mention of childhood trauma, smut. (fingering, face riding, oral.)

a. note:link to the original request.

As Aemond's new wife, it's surprising how little time you spend together. The servants whisper about it around every corner; how you skulk through the halls hoping to avoid him, how nearly every meal you take is apart from each other.

But there's a very good reason for this, one that you've never admitted to anyone.

You are terrified of him.

Even at night, you might share the same bed, but it's big enough that you can sleep soundly without ever once touching him. Although even that was difficult at first; those first few nights you dreaded climbing into bed with him and got nearly no sleep at all.

He is so much bigger, and much stronger, than you. He really could do anything he wanted to you and you would have no chance of fighting him off.

Eventually, however, Aemond's still body beside yours throughout the night, you realized he either wouldn't, or didn't want to, touch you. And finally you were able to get some sleep.

But now, though sleep comes much more easily and your nights are no longer fraught with peril at the thought of him forcing himself upon you, it still doesn't mean you have any desire to be around him.

And you thought he felt much the same. Until tonight.

Aemond is already comfortable on the settee by the window, reading, when you retire to your shared bedchamber for the night.

Hells bent as usual on ignoring him, you busy yourself with removing your shoes in front of the wardrobe.

"Come. Sit with me."

In the quiet of the room, Aemond's sudden, uncharacteristic, voice makes you jump, going very still. His tone is soft; now that you think on it, you've heard Aemond's voice very few times, either before or after you were married.

In your mind, the few times you had heard him speak, you remember him sounding like a complete barbarian. Not this lilting, almost melodic, softness....

Straightening, you nervously smooth the skirts of your dress down over your thighs. Aemond's silhouette is stark against the candles guttering on the windowsill.

You gulp, starting to tiptoe toward him, but stopping at the opposite arm of the settee. "Do I have to?" You ask quietly, and even that takes every ounce of courage in your weary body.

This is probably as close as you've ever been to him when not in bed together at night.

"I won’t bite." Aemond's lips are quirked in a half smirk. He closes the book in his hands and sets it aside, patting the space beside him. "I assure you, I won’t hurt you. Come. Sit."

Though he had indicated the middle cushion, you sweep your skirts under you and take a seat on the one beside it, furthest from Aemond.

Normally you would have loved sitting and reading by candlelight, the cool breeze from the open windows ruffling your hair.

But now you bite your lip, heart hammering hard against your ribcage like a frightened bird.

Aemond can feel the tension radiating off of you. Your shoulders tight as a bow string, the muscles in your jaw taut, hands folded in your lap fidgeting with a loose thread on your gown.

He simple looks at you for a very long moment. Your features are delicate, almost fragile, your frame small and dainty when compared to his. To Aemond, you look very much like a porcelain doll. He has no idea how someone could be so beautiful and yet so…. breakable.

You glance nervously at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

"What?" You ask, though you keep your voice low, not wanting to anger him.

"You're afraid of me," Aemond states bluntly. He leans against the back of the settee, studying you with one intense purple eye. "Why?"

You laugh aloud, unable to stop yourself. Now seems as good a time as any to tell him exactly what you've been thinking since your wedding day.

"Look at you. And look at me. You could do whatever you want to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you. Not to mention...." You shrug. "The stories about you aren't kind...."

Aemond raises an eyebrow at your laughter, that same small, wry smile never leaving his lips. He can't help but wonder if you're mocking him as he leans forward, gaze still locked with yours.

"And what do the stories say about me, little wife?" His voice is low, a dangerous, frightening edge to it.

For seemingly the first time, you look your husband in the eye. One piercing violet eye stares back, the other covered by his customary eyepatch. "They say you're a fearsome warrior, one of the strongest swordsmen alive. And they say.... they say you killed that boy. Rhaenyra's son...."

Aemond’s eye narrows. There is so much uncertainty in that gaze of yours, something about your innocent face makes Aemond feel.... bad. His jaw clenches and he leans back.

"Lucerys Velaryon. Yes, I did kill him. Though I didn't mean to.... I lost control."

"You didn't?" Your eyes narrow as well, suspicious of him. "Then.... what did you mean to do?"

Your husband lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. "I meant to scare him. I was.... angry. I wanted to teach him a lesson, to frighten and humiliate him. And I did not have such good control over Vhagar as I do now...."

At the mention of his dragon, you perk up - that's one thing you've always been curious about. The Targaryen dragons are so beautiful and powerful; you would love to ride one one day, if given the chance.

"So your dragon, she disobeyed you?"

Aemond is clearly taken aback by your interest in Vhagar. For a moment, it seemed you forgot you were supposed to be scared of him. He tries to hide the hint of surprise flickering across his face.

"Well, yes and no," Aemond says, diplomatic. "Vhagar is a very old and powerful dragon, and she is used to doing what she wants. Sometimes.... it's difficult for any Targaryen to control a dragon, even the strongest of riders."

You are positively fascinated, hearing about Vhagar, leaning in toward Aemond without realizing. "What is it like, riding her? Does it ever get cold, so high up?"

Aemond can smell your perfume as you lean toward him, a mix of jasmine and honey, faint yet sweet. He clears his throat.

"Riding Vhagar is like nothing else," he tells you. "And yes, it does get cold at times, but the feeling of the wind in your hair and the power of the dragon beneath you is.... indescribable."

"Do you think she'd let me ride her?" At this point, you're nearly nose to nose with Aemond, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Or do they only let Targaryens?"

Aemond freezes, gaze still locked with yours, your heads so close together that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips. He is surprised by your question and even more surprised by how badly he wants to fulfill the request.

"They only let Targaryens ride them, yes," he says, voice sounding much huskier than he intends. "But.... I'm sure Vhagar wouldn't mind letting someone else ride her.... if I were to accompany them."

"Would you?" You reach out, hand finding his thigh and giving a thankful squeeze. Realizing what you've done, how close you've become to him, you quickly snatch that hand back as though Aemond is on fire. "I'm so sorry...."

Aemond’s eye widens; for a heartbeat, your touch sent a shock through his entire body.

"It's alright." His voice is rough. “Don’t apologize....” He catches your wrist gently, before you can pull your hand away completely. "It was.... nice."

You tense, wrist caught in his strong embrace. "What are you doing?"

For a long moment, Aemond doesn't respond, simply staring at your slender wrist in his hand. Your skin is so smooth, so soft. He can feel your pulse beating against his palm, fast and fluttering like the wings of a small bird.

"Doing?" He finally asks, looking up at you with a sly smile. "Just.... holding your hand, that’s all."

"Holding my.... oh." All things considered, Aemond is handsome, you suppose. With his long silver hair, that chiseled jaw, the little moue of his lips. "You.... you really aren't all that scary, are you?"

Chuckling softly, Aemond's fingers gently stroke the skin of your wrist. Your words, spoken almost as a question, take him by surprise.

"I'm not trying to scare you," he says, his voice low and slightly amused. "And I don’t want to be scary, to you. Can I be honest with you, little wife?"

You nod, letting him continue to stroke that sensitive bit of skin around your wrist. He is very gentle, which has taken you by surprise.

"The truth is," he mutters, "I don't like it when you're scared of me. I don't like the way you look at me, as if you think I'm going to pounce on you and tear you apart at any moment. That's not what I want."

Slowly, still wary of him, you curl your fingers around his thumb and Aemond's breath hitches. Your hand is small compared to his; Aemond's fingers look massive beside yours.

"Everyone else seems so frightened of you. I thought.... I should be as well. I didn't know, that you hadn't meant to kill that boy. Have you told anyone else that?"

“No,” he says after a moment. “No one else knows. I haven't told anyone.”

He pauses, looking down at your hand in his. His other hand comes to trap your fingers inside of his palms, his thumbs tracing back and forth over your skin. “You’re the first I've shared this with.”

"You should tell others, that way no one will be scared of you."

Aemond lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze still fixed on your fingers intertwined with his own.

“I quite like others being afraid of me,” he admits. The smile on his face fades, just a bit, in the flickering candlelight. “But not you.”

"Not me?" You query, a sweet blush rising high on your cheeks. "Why not me?"

Aemond’s eye is drawn to that color blooming across your cheeks, the innocent flush sending a strange feeling coursing through him. He continues to stroke your wrist in a gentle, almost reverent, way.

"A wife should not be afraid of her husband," he says finally, his voice soft. "She should be worshipped by him....”

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings your wrist to his lips and places a gentle kiss there.

You lick your lips, nervous as all seven hells with the way things are going. Not only are you still afraid of Aemond - though growing less so by the moment - you have also never been close like this with anyone else before.

"And why.... why is it so important for other people to be afraid of you?"

Aemond’s lips linger over your skin, the faintest ghost of a smile there. He can feel the way your hand trembles slightly in his, the nervous flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. But he also notices how you don’t draw back, how you sit still and allow him to hold you.

“It's.... payback, almost,” he confesses. “For the torment I suffered as a child. It is better to be feared than loved - no one will ever again treat me the way they did when I was young.”

You are not aware of any torment in Aemond's childhood, though that isn't saying much. Of course the Targaryens keep much of what goes on between them a secret. Even now that you're married, you're hardly privy to all - or even most - of their secrets.

"Is that.... how this happened?" Shaking ever so slightly, you raise a hand to Aemond's face, fingers stroking the strap of his eyepatch.

As your slender fingers brushed against the edge of it, Aemond tenses, every muscle in his body going taut. No one has ever touched him there before, and it's an unfamiliar intimacy.

He closes his eye for a moment, trying to control his reaction, before speaking. “Yes,” he says, his voice thick with emotions he finds difficult to name. “That's how this happened.”

You feel for Aemond; having to grow up that way must have been torture.

Pulling your hand gently from his grasp, you bring both up to hook beneath the rough leather strap. "May I?"

His breathing hitches as your hands tug gently at the straps of his eyepatch. He knows your touch is innocent.... but no one has ever dared to remove it for him before. He nods once, his voice low.

“You may.”

With fierce concentration and a desire not to ruin his perfect hair, you slide the eyepatch up and off, gasping at the gorgeous sapphire glimmering where his eye should be.

"Gods, it's beautiful, Aemond." Letting the patch rest in your lap, you run your fingers lightly over the scar tissue below Aemond's eye. "Who did this to you?"

Aemond's breath hitches again, rougher this time, as he feels the tips of your slender fingers graze the scarred tissue around his eye, the touch stirring something deep within him. The feeling of your touch against the sensitive skin there is almost overwhelming.

He swallows hard, that old pain and anger bubbling up inside of him.

"My.... nephew," he finally says, his voice surprisingly even. "Lucerys Velaryon."

You inhale sharply; all you can think of is that if Aemond had really meant to kill the boy, he would have been well within his right to, after having been mutilated like this.

Grabbing for his hands, you hurry to say something. "Aemond, I-"

But your husband cuts you off. "There is one other reason it's important for others to be afraid of me."

"A-And what is that?" You ask, holding his hands close to your bosom.

"So that I can protect my wife, and my family." That sapphire is positively glowing in the light of the flickering candles. "The more afraid people are of me, the less likely they are to try and harm me, or you, or our family.... once we make one...."

His declaration takes all the air from your lungs, and you find it hard to breathe. "If I had known all of this, I.... I would never have been so frightened of you. I'm sorry, Aemond."

You cast around desperately for something else to say, some other way to apologize.

"Do not apologize."

His voice is gentle, yet firm. Your hands are still holding his against your breast, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through the layers of your gown, the rapid beat of your heart.

"You didn't know, it is not your fault for being afraid," he soothes you. "But.... now that you know.... may I ask you something else?"

You nod, eager now to answer Aemond's questions and to ask more of your own - you want to learn so much more about him.

Aemond's fingers tighten around yours, the feel of your soft skin against his own sending a strange heat through his veins. He draws you in a little closer, his face now so close to yours that he can feel the warmth of your breath, that same scent of sweet honey and jasmine in your hair.

"You.... have not shied away from my scar, or my missing eye," he says, his voice a low whisper. "You have touched them, caressed them even.... why?"

Why...? You find it odd he even has to ask.

"Because I think they make you beautiful. Is that wrong?"

Your thumbs find his wrists now, pressing in against his pulse points, which are fluttering erratically.

Aemond's breath catches in his throat, the feeling of your dainty thumbs resting against his wrists, feeling the rapid beating of his pulse, setting his skin on fire. Your words, declaring him beautiful, ring in his ears, stirring something deep within his chest.

"Be-Beautiful?" He repeats, his voice a terrible croak. No one.... no one has ever called him beautiful. The word sounds strange in his ears, as if they're not meant for someone like him.

You nod, and after only a momentary hesitation, you bring one hand up again to his scar. This time, brushing the side closest to his hairline, a few strands of long silver hair getting in the way.

"Beautiful, Aemond. You're beautiful. I mean.... I did always think that. Just.... was too afraid of you to tell you. Do you forgive me?"

Aemond's breath hitches once more as your fingers stroke his hair, your soft touch sending a shiver down his spine. No one, no one, has ever touched his scar with such tenderness, such care.

"I.... I forgive you," he whispers, voice raw. "And for what it's worth.... I'm sorry, that I.... that I made you afraid of me. I never wanted that, I swear."

"I know. It wasn't even your fault, really." You roll your eyes, relaxing against the back of the settee. "I was just.... assuming that what everyone else said was true. Which is a terrible thing, really. My parents raised me much better than that."

A particularly chilly gust of wind blows in through the window and you wrap your arms around yourself. "I have to admit, I thought if my shenanigans went on much longer, you'd be forced to.... well, force yourself on me...."

Aemond is silent, as if that thought, the notion of forcing himself on you, is something he refuses to even consider. He turns to look at you, the pale glow of his sapphire eye giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"I.... I would never force you to do anything, little wife, not ever," he says, his voice low and serious. "I believe the first time a man and wife.... are together.... it should be.... enjoyable.... for both of them."

Suddenly, all words are caught in your throat. The thought of your first time with Aemond still makes you nervous, even knowing that he would never want to do anything against your will.

"I thought.... a woman's first time was always painful?" That's what you've always been told. You have never done anything of the sort, but perhaps Aemond knows better.

At your words, Aemond's jaw tightens. His fingers clench into a fist, the thought of you in pain during your first time together sending a wave of anger through him.

"No. No, never. It shouldn't be painful, not unless you don't want it, too," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Your first time should be.... enjoyable. Pleasant. I would never take you simply for my own pleasure. I would make sure you...." he falters.

Flinching slightly away from him at the sight of his hand in a fist, you gasp softly. Have you said something wrong?

Still, you dare to ask, "You would make sure I what?"

In the candlelight, Aemond's eye flashes dangerously and that sapphire blazes.

He takes a very deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to open his hand again. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I.... I don't like the idea of hurting you, it.... makes me angry."

He looks down at you again.

"I would make sure that you.... felt pleasure as well. It wouldn't be about me. It's about both of us."

If you had known how protective Aemond was of you, you would have asked him about these things sooner. He is, after all, the only person you can think to ask. If you can't discuss bedroom matters with your husband, who can you discuss them with?

"How does it feel?" You ask him softly, scooting closer to him on the settee. "When you have sex, how does it feel?"

Aemond is taken somewhat off guard by the sudden question, his cheeks going pink at your unexpected candor, but he doesn't back down. He doesn't want to shy away from your questions, not when you're so close to him, peering at him through those wide, innocent eyes.

He takes another deep breath, shifting on the settee so he can face you fully.

"it.... it feels.... good," he begins, his voice a low rumble. "It feels.... full. Warm. Tight. But.... good. More than good, especially when you do it with someone you care about. It feels safe, like nothing can hurt you ever again."

The look on Aemond's face as he speaks is one you've never seen before - something vulnerable and almost childlike staring back at you. You wonder how you could ever have been afraid of him.

"And you? Who was your first time with?"

As your question hangs in the air between the two of you, Aemond goes stock-still. No one has ever asked him that before.

He hesitates for a moment, peering warily at you. "Why.... why do you want to know?" He asks finally, voice cautious.

Now you know you've definitely said something wrong. "I was just curious," you hurry to tell him. "It's wrong of me to pry, I'm sorry...."

Aemond sighs softly, shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he says, his voice a light simper now. He reaches out, taking your hand gently in his.

"It's okay, I just.... wasn't expecting you to ask that." He pauses, and you can see a flicker of something run across his face. "You.... you really want to know?"

"I do," you admit bashfully. "If you feel comfortable telling me?"

Aemond's hand grips yours a little tighter, your words sending a strange, tight feeling through hm. He hasn't thought about that night in a long time, and the memory is still painful enough to make him wince.

"All right," he says, letting out a slow breath. "I.... I'll tell you. Just.... just don't.... don't judge me, all right?"

"I won't judge," you assure him with a shake of your head.

Aemond looks down at your intertwined hands, his fingers tracing a light pattern against your palm. He closes his eye, gathering his thoughts, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a barely-there kiss to your knuckles.

"My.... my first time," he begins, and his voice is rough, "was with a whore, in a pleasure house, at the behest of my brother who frequented - and still frequents - them much more than I did."

"I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of," you admit, mulling the idea over. "Most men visit those types of places at some point in their lives.... don't they?"

Aemond pauses for a moment, his eye locking with yours. He looks almost surprised by your response, as if he hadn't thought you would be so blasé about the situation.

"Yes...." he says slowly, "they do. But.... it's not.... it's not the sort of thing a wife would expect to hear, about their husband's past exploits."

You chew your lip thoughtfully, running your fingers around and through the spaces between Aemond's. "I don't mind, as long as...."

You hesitate, wondering if you really want to say this now or leave it for another night. "What I mean to say, Aemond, is that.... now that we understand each other better.... perhaps you can show me what it's like? Sex? And, if you do, I expect there to be no more pleasure houses in your future, is that clear?"

Aemond's gaze darkens as your words register, his heart stuttering in his chest. His fingers twitch against yours, breath catching in his throat.

"You.... you want me to show you...?" He repeats weakly, his eye wide and disbelieving.

You close your fingers tightly around Aemond's now, leaning in toward your husband. "Mm. But as I said, you must promise - no more pleasure houses. After all, you did say you want to worship me, did you not?"

Aemond's head swims with your words, his heart hammering in his chest so hard it's difficult to catch his breath. The way you're looking at him, the sweetness in your voice, the scent of honey and jasmine in your hair.... all of it is almost too much to bear.

He swallows hard, and nods. "No more pleasure houses. I promise," he whispers, his voice hoarse and rough.

His oath sets you at ease, but there's one more thing you must tell him.

"I must admit, Aemond, I'm still scared...."

He looks about to interrupt, but you cut him off. "Oh, not of you. I'm.... terrified of the pain. I've never done well with pain, and I'm so scared it's going to hurt like hell."

Aemond's heart twists at the worry and fear in your voice, his fingers tightening over yours. He hates the thought of you being scared, hates his own inability to take that fear away from you.

"Why do you still think it's going to be painful?" He asks quietly.

Instead of making you feel trapped, his fingers around yours make you feel safe. Aemond is lethal; you can see it in his face, in the hard line of his body. But he wants to use all of that to protect you....

Though what could he possibly do to prevent his own body from hurting you, even though he might not mean to?

"That's all I've ever been told." You gulp. "A woman's first time is always painful. And.... There's always blood."

Aemond's jaw clenches in anger. He doesn't know who planted these false, hurtful notions in your head, but he wants to tear them limb from limb.

He reaches out to you, tilting your head gently up to meet his gaze. "No. No, no, no," he says, his voice low and intense. "It's not supposed to be painful, especially the first time. You've just.... you've been told wrong."

He pauses. "Sometimes there is blood, I won't lie to you about that. But there are ways to minimize the chance of that."

Aemond's fingers start to skirt back and forth under your chin. "How .... How can we stop there being so much blood? I want you to show me."

Heart now beating much faster, Aemond's stomach twists with a mixture of desire and trepidation. He swallows, hard, his eye dark and heavy-lidded as he gazes down at you.

He runs his fingers through your hair, the soft feel of it against his skin maddening. "I can show you," he murmurs, "but.... you have to trust me."

"Of course. I do now." You turn your face toward his hand, palm skimming your cheek as he touches your hair. "I know you'll take care of me."

He takes another deep breath to steady himself, his hand coming to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "Good," he whispers, "because I will, always. But there's something.... something I need to know first."

You shiver, Aemond's fingers reverent along your cheek and jaw. "What is it?"

Fingers now trailing down your neck, he pauses, hand coming to rest on your collarbone, your pulse beating fast and hard against his palm.

Aemond leans in close, his voice a rumble in your ear. "You.... you have never even been touched, have you?"

You are very aware of how hard your heart is beating, thumping underneath his fingers. "I haven't.... is that bad?"

Aemond breathes heavily, pulling back to look at you.

"No," he says emphatically, "it's not bad. It's.... it's just...." He trails off for a moment, struggling to find the words. "I need to know.... if you're still.... if you're still intact."

The question makes you blush furiously, looking down at your laps, side by side, so you don't have to look Aemond in the eye. "I.... yes.... isn't that where the blood comes from?"

You don't know much, but you do know that.

He places two fingers gently under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him again.

"Yes," he says, "that's where the blood comes from. But it can break in other ways. For instance, from fingers or.... other objects." His fingers trace along your cheek, obviously trying to soothe your growing discomfort at this conversation.

"But it.... it doesn't have to," he adds after a moment.

You chuckle, reluctantly meeting Aemond's gaze. "Can we try?"

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand now trailing back down your neck, slowly caressing. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

You nod fervently, gripping onto his wrist. "Positively. Now that I understand you better, I can think of no one else I'd like to teach me such things...."

He leans in, lips brushing your ear again, breath hot against your skin. "Then I will," he murmurs, his voice an uneven, ragged whisper, "I will show you. And I will take my time."

Long have you waited for someone to come along and share this experience with you. When you were initially betrothed to Aemond, you thought all hope was lost - he was so frightening and the thought of sharing a bed with him sent a shiver of panic through you.

But now.... Women have desires just as much as men do, surely... At least you know you do. And Aemond is offering to take care of them for you....

You steady yourself with a hand on Aemond's chest, nails digging into the soft cotton of his tunic. "Please.... I want it."

Aemond's stomach clenches, your soft, pleading voice sending a bolt of white hot desire through him.

"Patience," he murmurs, his sizeable palm laid against the back of your hand on his chest, "I'll take care of you, I promise. I just need you to relax for me, all right?"

"Mm, I'll try...." With another nod, you take a deep breath, shuddering at the feeling of Aemond's big hand covering yours entirely. "Maybe a drink would serve to relax me better...?"

This gives Aemond pause, and he pulls back slightly, his eye raking over your face, taking in the soft blush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted as you catch your breath.

He gives a single, slow nod. "Yes," he admits, "I think a drink might help."

Without another word, he moves to a small table on the other side of the room, pouring you each a generous glass of sweet wine.

As he does so, you finger the pendant at your throat, a gift from your late mother. The way Aemond looks at you; any woman would be lucky to have a husband who looks at her that way. Like you're precious, like he would do anything to protect you.

Once offered your glass, you take it and swallow a large mouthful, hoping to get drunk as quickly as possible, to make this whole ordeal more bearable.

Aemond watches you closely, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sees you gulp the wine so quickly. He knows you're trying to get drunk, trying to use the alcohol as a crutch to make this easier.

"There's no need to rush," he says quietly, taking a seat beside you again, his knee bumping yours. He lifts his own glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured drink.

Swallowing another substantial mouthful of wine, you furtively watch the way Aemond's lips purse around the rim of his glass.

You smooth the skirts of your dress down, taking a deep breath. "I just want to be as relaxed as possible for you, Aemond."

He continues to watch you, that striking violet eye taking in every tiny detail - the way your fingers grasp the fabric of your dress, the soft movement of your body underneath the silk.

He takes a deep breath, his eye watching you as he drains the last of the wine from the glass. "I know," he murmurs, his voice a husky rumble, "but there's no need to get completely drunk, my love."

"It can't hurt." You upend the first glass of wine, draining the last dregs, and hold your glass out toward him. "Another?"

Apparently highly amused, Aemond raises a brow, but refuses to pour you another.

"I think that's quite enough. There's no need to be quite so drunk tonight, I promise."

You pout, setting your glass aside, but starting to feel a pleasant warmth wash over you from the first glass all the same.

"How do we start?" You question, leaning in close to him. Aemond smells of chamomile and sweat and.... maybe just a hint of blood? It's the best thing you've ever smelled.

Aemond reaches for you suddenly, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you gently onto his lap so you can straddle him.

The next breath he takes rattles through him as you settle on top of him, his hands gripping your waist, heart beating fast. "We.... we start here," he whispers, his voice a rough murmur.

"Goodness," you breathe, hands curling over his shoulders to steady yourself. "And.... what do we do here?"

You're trying your best to be brave, and the wine is making it easier, but there is still that niggling worry at the back of your mind, chanting blood blood blood.

Aemond feels that slight tremble in your hands as you grab his shoulders, the way you hesitate and swallow nervously as you ask your question. He can practically hear your thoughts racing, paying attention to the fear and trepidation in your words.

He leans in close, hands slipping from your waist to bracket your ribs, pulling you flush against him, your body cradled easily in his lap. "We start like this," he murmurs, his fingers gently tilting your chin up to look at him. "Just like this."

Slowly, fingers gentle but firm on your chin, he's bringing you in for a kiss.

The sound that leaves your mouth at the first dry press of your lips together is embarrassing. You curse. "I'm sorry." You bite your lip hard, searching Aemond's one violet eye for forgiveness. "Can we try again?"

Aemond chuckles good-naturedly, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs tracing slow, gentle patterns over your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he whispers, leaning ever closer to you, his breath hot against your lips. "We can try as many times as you like, darling."

With a hand again around his wrist to steady yourself, you don't have far to go, what with Aemond's face so close to yours. You press your lips to his - soft yet firm. Your other hand slides up the outside of his thigh as you open your mouth under his, grateful for his willingness to teach you.

You hear Aemond's breath hitch again as he feels your hand moving up his leg, the touch of your slim, soft fingers against his body sending a shiver down his spine. He groans as you open your mouth, his tongue immediately seeking yours, tangling, tasting, claiming.

He grips your hair in one hand, angling your head back so he can deepen the kiss, his other hand back to gripping your hip, pulling you tighter against him.

You do the same, hands migrating down, loving the feeling of Aemond's slim, strong muscle under your fingers. As you kiss, you surreptitiously move the thin cloth of Aemond's tunic aside so you can touch him skin to skin over his sharp hipbones.

This earns you a keen inhale from your husband, who jerks away from you.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "Is this okay?"

His mouth has opened in a gasp against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

When they open again, he merely looks at you, taking in the soft, pink flush of your cheeks, the way your pupils are thoroughly dilated, your chest heaving. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes," he says ruggedly, his voice a scratchy gasp, "I'm sorry, it is. It's okay."

A flood of warmth washes over you, and you grin. You don't know why, but you want to kiss his neck.

Fingers digging hard into his hip, you lean in, nosing his long hair out of the way as your lips meet his neck, sucking and biting. Aemond tastes clean and faintly of rose water.

Aemond's head tips back immediately, giving your lips and teeth free reign over his neck, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the unfamiliar sensation. A soft, low moan escapes him as your mouth traces a path along the sensitive skin of his neck.

His body arches against yours. "My love," he gasps, his voice a ragged, breathless plea, "this is maddening."

"Need you to teach me," is your reply, pushing harder against him. "Don't go mad just yet."

He runs his hands down your sides, skimming over the soft, silky material of your dress, his body reacting powerfully to your closeness. "Gods, woman," he gasps, thumbs playing idly along the edge of your ribs, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"

You rest your cheek on Aemond's shoulder, nose brushing along the chiseled line of his jaw. "Positive," you sigh, arms now slung around him. "But I like the way you touch me. It's making me feel all hot and wet.... down there."

At this declaration, Aemond makes a noise you've never heard anyone make before. He nuzzles against your collarbone, pressing slow, hot kisses along the line of your chest just visible over the collar of your dress.

His mouth is starting to curve into a wicked smile. "Do you want me to touch you there, too?"

With a nod, you begin to pull the folds of your dress up over your thighs. "Please. The feeling down there, it's.... very insistent." And Aemond's fingers look perfectly long and warm and rough with calluses.

Aemond swallows hard as he watches the fabric of your dress retreat up over your thighs, the soft, bare skin of your legs suddenly exposed to him. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail - the soft, pale flesh, the way the candlelight casts shadows over the curves of your body.

As though trying not to startle you, Aemond runs his knuckles painstakingly slowly up the inside of your thigh. "When we were first betrothed, I knew I had gotten lucky."

That drunken haze still hovering around you, you let your legs slip further apart around him. "Lucky? How so?"

His hand moves further up, touch feather-light against her skin. "Lucky," he murmurs, "because I knew I'd be marrying the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms."

He lets his hand move higher still, fingers stopping just before they reach the edge of your smallclothes. He pauses, looking intently at you, the question plain on his face.

"I never knew you thought I was beautiful...." You lean more against him, feeling impossibly safe and comfortable in his embrace. "Please. You can."

Hips canting forward, you try to push his hand in toward you.

"The most beautiful," he replies. He can feel your hips moving subtly against his, feel his own desire rising with every move you make.

Those long fingers hook into the edge of your smallclothes, running the backs of his knuckles along the sensitive bit of skin he finds there.

Your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his gentle fingers finally scooping up under your dress making your stomach flip nervously. "Please." The word is uttered against Aemond's chin, where you've pressed your lips as you wait to feel his hand where you need it most.

As slowly as he an manage, he insinuates those fingers fully inside your smallclothes. He can feel the heat of your skin, the way you squirm in his lap as he moves closer to his destination, his own body reacting strongly to the anticipation.

He leans in, mouth finding yours in a heated, hungry kiss, his fingers finally, finally touching that wet, sensitive flesh between your thighs.

A sharp inhale accompanies the meeting of Aemond's hand to your sex. Everything down there feels so wet already, you suppose you should be embarrassed, but the wine is making it hard to feel so, which you're grateful for.

"Aemond...." Seeking his lips for another kiss, you mutter, "please don't stop."

One long finger sinks into your wet, hot flesh, his entire body shivering at the feeling of you beneath his hands. He lets out a ragged gasp as you kiss him, mouth moving fervently against yours, tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours.

With a low, gruff noise, he starts to move his finger inside of you, slow, gentle circles that make your muscles tighten and twitch against his hand. "I won't," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes squeezed shut, "I promise, I won't."

Aemond's finger has slid easily into you, all the way down to the knuckle. "Is it -?" You gasp, glancing down, tugging your skirts out of the way to see better. "It's inside? I thought it would be much more painful...."

You know it might not be the same with his manhood, which is surely a fair bit bigger than one of his fingers, but you're glad things have gone smoothly so far all the same.

Aemond's other hand presses itself solidly against that little bundle of nerves, the one you're familiar with, the one that makes you see stars, and you bite his lower lip a little too hard in response.

"Shit, sorry."

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your reaction, his lips curving into a smile against your mouth. "No need to apologize, sweet girl," he mutters. "There's a possibility it might hurt more than this when we go further, but I promise I'll be gentle."

He moves his finger in and out of you slowly, his other hand still pressing against you, the pad of his thumb circling that swollen bud, his touch gentle but firm. "How does this feel?"

A pang of fear shoots through you at his declaration that you will likely be in pain later on, but it's soothed by the way Aemond's fingers are gently coaxing themselves inside of you and over your clit.

"It feels perfect, Aemond. I never even knew it could feel this good." Not even when you'd touched yourself in bed at night.

Aemond's eye darkens as he hears your words, the sound of your voice, gutted and breathless, making his stomach clench. "This is just the beginning, sweet girl. There's so much more I can show you."

He slips another finger into you, feeling your body tighten and go taut around him, his own body still reacting powerfully to the sight and feel of you. He leans in to kiss you again, his mouth hungrily claiming yours.

With another finger inside, you start to squirm in his lap, and your hand slips, colliding with something hard inside of Aemond's trousers.

"Aemond," you gasp, "it.... it's hard."

Aemond lets out a strangled noise as your hand brushes against him, his body shuddering, his eye squeezing shut. "Ah, shit, sweetheart," he gasps, his breath ragged, "Don't do that."

He looks at you, his breath coming in quick, rough pants, his eye darkened to a deep, intense violet. "I'm going to be patient with you."

He says this like he's trying to convince himself of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp again, hands flying to your mouth. "I didn't mean to touch it...."

Gaze flickering to the windows, to the Targaryen flags flying from every turret, you stifle a smile. "But maybe.... maybe you don't have to be so patient...."

Aemond growls at your words, fingers slowing their ministrations over you. "How impatient would you have me be?"

You reach down to take his free hand - the one currently touching your clit in nice, soft circles - in yours, lacing your fingers as you lean into him. "Still gentle, just.... Maybe lead me? Show me how things like this should be done."

Aemond can practically feel his self-restraint slipping at your words, the feeling of your small, soft hand in his making his head spin. He takes a deep breath, trying desperately to maintain control, to keep up the facade of gentility.

He grips your chin with his free hand, lifting your face to meet his eye, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" He asks, the question almost pained.

"I am. I'm sure." You wrap your shoulders around him, burying your face against his neck. "Take me to bed and show me, please."

Aemond swallows hard, the feeling of your breath against him sending a shudder through him. Lifting you easily in his arms, he stands silently from the settee.

The loss of Aemond's fingers from inside of you makes you whine, clinging to his broad shoulders as he makes his way to the bed.

He lays you gently down, crawling over you, hand once again trailing up the soft expanse of your thigh.

"Aemond...."

A sweet noise rumbles through him as he positions himself on top of you, body pressing you down against the covers, hips slotting between your legs. His gaze as he looks down on you is fiery, eye raking over your body, hands gripping and kneading the supple flesh of your thighs.

"You drive me mad, do you know that?" He murmurs. He leans down to kiss your neck, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

With Aemond on top of you, you reach around to tug the back of his tunic up, skimming your fingers along the warm skin of his lower back.

"Why did you never.... tell me before?" You mutter quietly, nibbling at Aemond's earlobe.

Aemond allows himself a deep moan as you touch him, your fingers roaming over his skin, your mouth on his ear. He rolls his hips against you, the aching hardness of his body weighing you down.

"Gods, I don't know," he gasps, his hands roaming over the soft curves of your body. "Maybe I could tell you were afraid of me. Maybe I was a fool."

"I suppose we both were fools." You curl your tongue around Aemond's ear, teasing.

His hardness is pressing insistently against you through your clothes. Aemond leans his forehead to yours. "I'm going to take your dress off now. Is that alright?"

You've never been naked in front of anyone before, but Aemond is making you feel so safe that you nod hurriedly, sitting up. "Yes, please."

Aemond's eye darkens at your nod, his hands immediately going to the laces of your dress, working them loose until the fabric falls away from your body. He lets his gaze roam over your exposed skin, his fingers tracing the soft planes of your body, reverent and gentle.

"Seven Hells," he mutters, his voice a ragged whisper, "I've never seen anything so perfect."

The wine allows you to feel comfortable enough to stretch out over top of your discarded dress, staring up at him over the swell of your breasts. "Don't you want to touch your perfect wife, Aemond?"

"Of course I do," he mutters. He moves aside only slightly, letting his fingers scrape over one of your hardened nipples. "I want to touch every part of you."

You arch into his touch, his fingertips hard and callused against your sensitive nipple. "Aemond.... Would I be a complete whore if I asked for your fingers back inside of me?"

"No," he mutters easily, a hand running its way down your body, the other holding himself above you. "No, you wouldn't. But I want you to ask for it, my love. I want you to tell me exactly what you want."

Your breathing quickening, the air in the room thick and heavy, you spread your legs around him, unabashed. "i want you to touch me. To touch my stomach, my hips and thighs .... my cunt. Please."

Aemond makes a ragged noise at your request, his body shuddering as you open yourself to him. He trails his hand lower, his fingers grazing over your stomach, trailing over your hips and thighs, before coming to rest between your legs.

He lets that hand rest on your for a moment, feeling your wetness, his violet eye dark and full of lust. "Is this what you wanted, darling?"

"Yes," comes your voice, wrecked, entire body feeling overheated and overwhelmed already. "Gods, Aemond, I.... I'm sorry I didn't ask for this earlier."

You run your hands up Aemond's toned arms, tugging on the short sleeves of his tunic. "M-May I take this off?"

Feeling you tug at his tunic, Aemond nods, loving that ragged and pleading tone in your voice. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can see the raw, pleading look in your eyes, and he's never been more turned on in his life.

By way of a real answer, he reaches down and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rip it off over his head. He shakes his hair out majestically, making you giggle.

But after that giggle.... You can do nothing but lay beneath him and stare. His body is perfect, abs cut into his skin above the smooth, narrow line of his hips.

"Goodness ...." You whisper, fingertips prodding at his hardened stomach. "You're.... actually perfect."

"Perfect, really?" He replies, clearly perplexed. "I'd say I'm looking at perfection right now."

You whimper, Aemond's moist lips once more at your neck, his body pressed to yours. "How do you.... get your body to look that way? Maybe you can teach me that too, as well as how to ride a dragon."

Aemond laughs softly, his teeth scraping against you as he kisses down your neck. "It's actually quite simple," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body, arms caging you in against the bed. "Just a lot of sword practice and fighting."

He pauses, his lips trailing teasingly over the line of your jaw. "I'm going to teach you to ride more than just a dragon, my love."

"I could sword fight." Your voice doesn't sound like it ever has before. "Easy. Train me."

You gasp at his words, nails now digging into his back. "And what else are you going to teach me to ride, husband?"

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your response, his muscles coiling where your nails dig into his skin. He rolls his hips against you and makes you gasp.

"I can teach you how to ride me," he mutters, his voice a rough, ragged whisper. "Or maybe you'd like a ride on my face."

Your eyes go wide, and you press him away by the shoulder just so you can look him in the eye. "I.... I'm allowed to do that?"

You've never heard of this - using your mouth? Why have you never thought of it before?

"Of course you are," he murmurs, looking bemusedly down on you. "And I would be more than happy to let you."

His hot breath whispers over your skin as he leans to speak into your ear. "You've never heard of it before, have you?"

"I haven't." You tilt your head, fingers tender along Aemond's jaw. "How should I.... How do I do it?"

Aemond's eye closes at the feeling of your fingers, tender on his jaw, your touch ever gentle and caressing. He makes a very small noise and shudders over top of you. "It's easy, darling."

"I just lean back here...." With one swift movement, Aemond rolls and settles himself against the pillows. "You come up here...."

Gentle but insistent hands guide you, pulling you all the way up. "And swing a leg over me."

Still helped along by his strong hands, you throw one knee on the opposite side of Aemond's head, bracketing his ears with your thighs. "Like.... this?"

This position makes you feel as nervous as you have all night, even with the aid of the wine - Aemond can see all of you. Truly all of you, and you can't quite meet his eye because of it.

Aemond's hands tighten on your thighs, his breathing growing ragged. He can sense your nervousness, the way your muscles are tensing up, the way you're avoiding his eye.

He rubs his hands soothingly across your thighs, trying to relax you. "That's it, darling." His voice is soft, comforting. "You look gorgeous."

You bite your lip, carding one hand through Aemond's alluring silver hair. The other you place over his good eye, the hint of a smile on your face as you mutter, "Don't look...."

Aemond smirks, and yanks you suddenly, roughly forward by the backs of your thighs, so that your womanhood is directly above his smirking lips. "As you wish."

He places a single, open-mouthed kiss to your clit and the suction, the wetness, of it all is enough to make you squeal.

There's one poignant moment where Aemond's intensely hot, wet mouth rests over your womanhood. Then, with a jagged moan, he begins to lave over you, lips, tongue, and teeth working in tandem.

His callused palms cradle the backs of your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue works you over. And when that same tongue points itself deep inside of your core, you can no longer keep your hand over his eye, lest you want to smash your husband's head painfully into the sheets.

Instead, that hand flies to the headboard, holding on for dear life. "Gods, Aemond! I.... I've never felt anything like this, what.... what in the seven hells...."

Aemond redoubles his grip on your thighs, keeping you in place as he works you with his tongue, his mouth and teeth and lips bringing you to new heights of pleasure. He moans roughly, and the sound reverberates through you, making your mouth fall open.

"Just... relax, my love," he mutters against your folds, "I did say I would worship you, did I not?"

You nod, still petting a hand gently through Aemond's hair, coiling your fingers around the strands, feeling how soft it is. Your eyes, however, are trained on the gilded ceiling when you answer.

"Y-You did, but.... this.... I didn't even know this was a thing people did. Is this.... common?"

"No, sweet one," he mutters, his voice thick with desire and - somewhere - a hint of disdain, "it isn't common. Most men see their wives as something to be claimed, conquered. And I...."

"You see them as something to be worshipped," you answer, remembering his words from earlier.

Aemond lets out a low chuckle against you as you knot your fingers in his hair, his tongue continuing to lathe across you. He lifts his head for a moment, his lips and chin glistening, a smirk on his face. "Look at me."

You do, and are rewarded with his fingers climbing the insides of your thighs, splaying themselves over you. "You are the most exquisite creature I've ever laid eyes on."

The sight of his face, so slick with you, his eye dark, his sapphire glinting, his fingers roaming over your thighs, it all makes you shiver, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.

"And you," he continues, voice muffled against your folds, "you taste divine."

And without another word, he dives back in, his tongue delving into you once more, his hands gripping your thighs, bringing you lower, closer to him.

All of this - Aemond telling you how beautiful you are, his talented mouth on you, the haze of the wine moving through you - has you tumbling toward the edge quicker than you've ever done so by yourself.

"Aemond.... close!" You give a hard tug to Aemond's hair, warning him.

He closes his eyes as he focuses on nothing more than bringing you further to the edge, the heat of your body and the taste of you driving him wild, pushing him to give you more, more, more.

"Just.... let go," he mutters against you. "I want you to let go for me, my sweet."

You're trembling now, hips riding down against his face of their own accord. "Oh, gods...." You've never done this in front of anyone before. What will Aemond think of the way you climax? Will it be embarrassing? "Aemond...."

There's no longer any time to think it over, though, as one last swipe of his tongue sends you spiraling with a loud cry.

Aemond's heart is pounding hard, watching you cum, his eye wide and alight with desire as he watches your body shudder and shake above him, your cry of pleasure filling the room and, undoubtedly, the hallways around it.

He helps you ride out the wave of pleasure, his tongue slowly bringing you back down, peppering your thighs and hip bones with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Your eyes fluttering, your chest heaving, Aemond coaxes you through your first climax with him and then maneuvers you down to lay beside him. You feel so boneless, you sure you aren't much help in this endeavor.

"That was...." You don't even have the words to describe what just happened to you.

Aemond watches you closely as you lay beside him, breasts rising and falling heavily, your skin flushed and marked all over with his mouth, one hand trailing lightly over your stomach. The sight of you, well-loved and satisfied, makes his chest burn with desire.

He leans in close to you, curling his body around yours like a protective shield. His mouth trailing over your neck, his voice a quiet whisper. "That was beautiful. And we're only getting started."

You gaze at him out of half-lidded eyes, your body already feeling drained from just one round. "What...." You stifle a yawn behind your hand, trying to hide it. "What's next?"

Aemond laughs at the sight of you yawning, both hands now brushing over your body, his touch gentle. He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, hear the tiredness in your voice.

He leans down and presses a loving kiss to your forehead. "I don't think you're quite ready for more yet, my love. You look like you're barely awake."

Through your tiredness, you whine, "But you promised to show me. What it's like...." You're pressing sleepy kisses to Aemond's jaw, lips sweeping down over his neck.

Aemond's lashes flutter at your tiny kisses, his arms curling strong and protective around you. He makes an odd noise, and you realize you may have had an orgasm, but he never did.

"I can take care of it for you." Searching down below, hands clumsy and heavy with sleep, you feel Aemond grab for your wrist.

"And you will," he mutters, admonishing. "But tonight it's getting late, and you're tired. We have our whole lives together, we need not rush this."

Another yawn overtakes you, and you snuggle down into his warmth. "Tomorrow, then?" You mumble, arms slung lazily around him. "And dragon riding tomorrow, too...."

Aemond chuckles again at your insistence, hands gently rubbing themselves over your body, comforting you. He shifts back on the bed, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.

"Of course, my love," he murmurs, his voice a gentle, soothing rumble in your ear. "Tomorrow. And dragon riding, too. But for now, you need to sleep."

Aemond runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your back, just along your spine.

"I really am sorry, Aemond...." You're already half asleep, struggling to stay awake, to get the words out. "D'you really forgive me?"

Aemond sighs.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "It's all in the past now, my love. The only thing that matters is you and me, right here, right now. And dragon riding tomorrow, I promise...."