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elodieunderglass · 1 year

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the first chapter of Moby Dick rewritten in tiresome modern idiom

CHAPTER 1. Loomings.

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - it's none of your business how many - being mostly broke, and bored with the land part of the world, I thought I would sail around a little and look at the watery part of the world. I'm probably the most mentally healthy person you know. Whenever I feel my face getting grim; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself accidentally reading the ads in the window of funeral homes, and following funeral processions through traffic; and especially when I'm hangry, and only my extremely strong moral principles stop me from deliberately going out in public and methodically slapping people's earbuds out - then I know it's high time to get to sea, ASAP. This is my substitute for getting in fights. I'm too mentally healthy to kill myself; I quietly and considerately put myself on a ship and sail myself away instead. There is nothing surprising in this. Everyone feels exactly the same way, and if they don't, they're lying.

You think I'm lying? Exhibit A: a city. Go to your local coastal city. Everyone is looking at the water. They drive over from other neighborhoods just to come to the water. They make a day of it. They're not doing anything, they're just staring at the ocean. Why? Is it because they all work office jobs? No! Here come more of them! They cram themselves up to the edge of the water and stare at it. WHAT DO THEY WANT? WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT. Perhaps the ships themselves all packed together, each one with several compasses on it, creates some kind of critical mass - all of the small compass-magnets on all the ships in the harbor combining into one really big magnetic field - and the people get sucked into the field and trapped there. That's science.

Exhibit 2: the countryside with lakes in it. Every path you follow in the countryside brings you to some water, such as a stream. There is magic in it. If you take your standard fool with ADHD dissociating in the middle of a supermarket and put them outside and give them a shove, they'll automatically lead you to water (if there is any nearby) (try it). Another good experiment to try is to get lost in the great American desert in a caravan supplied with a metaphysical professor! Try it in the great American desert at home!

Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are a match made in heaven. Married forever. That's science.

Here's an artist who wants to paint you the dreamiest, most enchanting landscape. What does he put in it? Trees, meadow, cows, a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney, obviously. He will probably put a path in it and make lots of triangular mountains in rows and have them be different shades of blue (naturally.) But there's gotta be a stream in it. Go visit the prairies in June, and wade for forty miles through knee-deep through tiger lilies. What's missing from this picture? Water!

If Niagara Falls was made of sand instead of water, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why would a guy given a handful of cash have trouble deciding whether to buy a coat (which he needed) or go to the beach? Why are all the best, healthiest, sexiest and most mentally healthy people obsessed with the sea? (You get me.) When you were first on a boat, did you not succumb to VIBES? Consider ancient Persia. Consider ancient Greece. They understood about vibes, and also gods.

SURELY ALL OF THIS IS NOT WITHOUT MEANING.

And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all! You get me! You understand it now.

Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I get weird, don't you dare imply that I buy a ticket and get on a boat. I have never had money in my life. How dare you. Anyway I don't go as a passenger - that's bougie, and something boring people do. Passengers never have a good time. And although my C.V. is incredible - I go to sea SO MUCH, you guys, I have lots of experience - I don't go as a boss, or a cook. That sounds like far too much work. Hard work. Disgusting, respectable, bougie, and far too responsible. I can literally only look after myself. Do not ask me to look after ships or shit. In fact, I have only a vague idea of what a ship is. There's so many different kinds of ships - don't get me started and DO NOT GET INVOLVED. Also, I'm allergic to glory.

It's kind of attractive to go as a cook. I mean, I'm allergic to glory and there's some glory attached to the position of the ship's cook, but, like, you're not management-track and so it's still credible. But I don't really want to cook (say) roast chicken. I really fucking love to eat roast chicken. I'm one of the best at doing it actually. I really appreciate when people go out of their way to butter, season, baste and roast a chicken for me. Picture a roast chicken and I am Looking Respectfully at it. Maybe something more, maybe I'm worshipping it. Don't make this weird. If you want to get weird about my relationship with roasted chicken, why aren't you getting weird about the ancient Egyptians? They ate roasted hippos (look it up) and the pyramids were basically pizza ovens. So it's pretty hypocritical to think that I'm being weird about roasted chicken when I've never made mummies out of chickens or built a religious pizza oven dedicated to honoring them: check and mate, haters.

Anyway - I like to go to sea as a manual laborer. A simple sailor. Salt of the earth… er… sea. Yeah, true: as a job it sucks. They make you jump around, order you around, treat you like shit. They expect you to jump around the boat like a grasshopper. And yes, at first, this sucks. It's degrading, especially if you come from a middle-class family. Worse, it's awful if you've already had some kind of professional job before signing on to be the dirt on the boss's boots - like, if you went to college and worked as a teacher and actually got kids to pay attention to you, really feeling this connection to work/teaching/identity or some shit, and now you are just literally the scum on this captain's boots, in the lowest possible job in the world. It hurts! It hurts your dignity. But the hurt, and also the dignity, both wear off in time.

So what if some old bastard sea captain orders me - ME! - to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, compared to the shit in the Bible, compared to the shit in the news, compared to the shit everyone else has to take. Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. We're all just serfs under capitalism, right, so why not just be honest about it: I prefer the honesty. Anyway, however the old sea captains may order me about - slapping and punching of course - I have the satisfaction of knowing that it's the same experience everyone else on Earth has, but more honest. Everyone else in the world is being served the exact same way. Either in a physical or a metaphysical way - sometimes people get the shit beaten out of them in person, sometimes online, sometimes emotionally, it happens to you in EVERY JOB, you sign on to get pushed around and slapped in the teeth: so the point is that when you're a sailor, it's a clean and honest slap. All the workers of the world share the same universal slap to the face that gets passed round, one slap passed all 'round the chain, like paying it forward, but it's a slap; and we should all accept this Universal Slap as the price of living, and then offer each other healing back massages, brother to brother, and slap each other and then kissed the places we slapped, and be happy.

I could examine that but I'm not going to.

Anyway: I always go to sea as a sailor. I've said that already. You're welcome. BUT THE POINT IS, they pay you. If you're a passenger, they don't pay you, at least, not that I've ever heard of [citation needed] (do they pay passengers?? Is there a job I can get where I can be a passenger and get paid?? Look this up.) Yeah so passengers have to pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. (That's Adam and Eve. You get it.) But BEING PAID. GETTING PAID IS THE BEST. NOTHING COMPARES TO GETTING PAID. EVERYONE LOVES THAT SHIT. Which is surprising, since we also apparently believe that money is the root of all evil, and isn't there something in the bible about "no rich people can get into heaven," right? And yet it's universal, literally everyone loves payday. Ah! How cheerfully we send ourselves to hell.

Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor (I've said this already) because it's FRESH AIR AND EXERCISE. Okay so think about ships. Normally, bosses stand on the "bridge" thing, and because we're sailing a boat, the nose is going into the wind and the butt part of the boat is at the back. That's how wind works. But if you think about it, winds usually go in one direction more than other directions (unless the men have been eating beans and farting: it's Pythagoras, look it up) SO if you're a boss standing on the boss-deck, the wind is blowing FROM the sailors TOWARDS you, and YOU ARE ACTUALLY BREATHING THE AIR THAT SAILORS ALREADY BREATHED. The boss THINKS he breathes it first, but he doesn't. He gets the air at the BACK of the boat and sailors get the air at the FRONT. So it's better to be at the front of the boat (sailor) for health reasons. This is a metaphor for life and work, etc.

But I have smelled the sea lots of times as a paid sailor and WHY I should decide to go on a whaling expedition - ok so you know how there's an invisible police officer of the Fates who has me under constant surveillance, who secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way? YOU get me. You know him. "The poor FBI agent tasked with reading my search engine history" YOU GET ME. Anyway, "Ishmael, why, after having a perfectly well-reasoned, and very smart of you, part-time job as a spontaneous random sailor, did you decide to escalate that to joining a WHALING EXPEDITION, which is worse in every way?" Well, ask my fucking secret FBI agent, he can answer better than anyone else. Including me. You get me. Also, obviously, this was predestined, part of the Universe's Grand Programme for its talent show, which was all scheduled way before our time. The concept of sending me on the whaling voyage comes in as a kind of interlude or solo between the main performances of the Universe's great talent show. I bet it was advertised llike,

"PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF THE UNITED STATES EMBROILED IN ONGOING LEGAL DISPUTE.

Whaling voyage by some guy called Ishmael.

BLOODY BATTLE IN AFGHANISTAN."

Like a commercial break in between the big acts. A filler episode. Lightens the load for everyone else. Though I can't explain why the stage managers - the Fates - chose such a shitty role for me, a WHALING VOYAGE of all things, when it feels like others were given magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces - it seems a little unreasonable at first. Why doth Ishmael get shat upon, etc. But then I think about all the circumstances, the plot points and motivations that were cunningly presented to me under various disguises - FBI agents, bouts of random hanger, gay awakenings, you get me - and you can see that actually, I was set up. And worse, between them all, these Fates and Circumstances conspired to make me believe it was all my own choice and good judgment. Is Free Will an illusion? Are my decisions bad? We will NEVER know because I, Ishmael, am just a little guy that the Universe plays head games with.

One of the ways the Universe tricked me into starring in this performance and then mocking me for it was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself (whaling expeditions usually contain whales.) Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then of course, if you have a whale, you have the wild and distant seas where the whale rolls around with his body-the-size-of-an-island; the dangers and nameless perils of the whale; whales are also found in interesting places I haven't seen; this all tipped me over the edge. Maybe normal people could've resisted, but I am tormented with an everlasting itch for obscurity. I hate everyone else's oceans. I want the forbidden seas.

You know The Horrors? Of course you do. You might be surprised that I, the most mentally healthy person you've ever met, a person who is self-aware enough to go to sea when they're at their fucking limits, a guy who likes fresh air and manual labor and normal things, is familiar with The Horrors. Well, you'd be surprised. I know what's good, I'm an extrovert. But I'm still quick to perceive The Horrors. And how I deal with the horrors is a very extroverted thing: I'm social with them, if they'll let me. It's smart to be on good terms with The Horrors. You should always be on good terms with your permanent neighbors. That's how extroverts deal with The Horrors, and I recommend it.

I think that's enough explanation for why I welcomed the whaling voyage. The great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild figments of imagination that pushed me into doing it, the whales came marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah. They marched into my innermost soul in endless processions and occupied it, you see, I was quite helpless under this occupation - I consented to the haunting and the whales marched in to haunt me - and amidst them all was one grand shrouded white phantom, like a snowy mountain in the air.

You get it.

You know how it is, with whales.

(read the actual first chapter of Moby Dick here: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm)

#mody bick

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softsturn · 5 months

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the beach - m.s

⩩ pairing: matt x fem!reader

⩩ summary: matt is caught jerking off to his best friend (inspired by @heartstreet !! full creds to them for this idea)

⩩ warnings: masturbation, handjob, p-in-v, half assed writing at the end.

⩩ a/n: sorry i haven’t posted much, its been so hard to think of ideas. i wanted to make a part two of what i last posted but i literally don’t know how to continue it😭 thank you for all the likes and follows!! pls leave me requests :)

Describing the bond between you and Matt exceeds the simplicity a mere friendship. Growing up, you lived only a few houses away from his, you shared the same schools, and practically every experience was a joint venture. It wasn't just common knowledge; it was an undeniable truth that wherever you went, a blue-eyed boy with brown hair was sure to follow, mirroring your every step like a lost puppy. The invisible tie binding you two seemed unbreakable, preventing you from straying far apart.

Now, at Cape Cod, a destination woven into the fabric of your cherished summer memories, you eagerly await Matt and his family’s arrival. Setting up foldable chairs and towels on the sandy shores, you can hardly contain your anticipation, eager to continue the tradition of shared moments under the sun.

As if on cue, his family strolled towards the beach, carrying an assortment of towels, bags, chairs, and a cooler. Your face lit up with a vibrant smile upon spotting the three identical boys approaching with palpable excitement. They placed their belongings on the sand, and you greeted them eagerly.

Matt's eyes widened noticeably, practically popping out of his sockets as he unabashedly drank in the sight of you. While you maintained your usual level of beauty, his gaze lingered on your figure. Stepping out of your comfort zone, you had chosen a two-piece bikini opposed to a one piece like you normally wore, showcasing newfound confidence in your evolving body. The swimsuit hugged you in all the right places, baring your torso and clinging snugly to your curves. Matt found himself caught in a momentary, lustful gaze, slightly zoning out as Nick and Chris enthusiastically hyped you up in the background.

"You look so good girl!" exclaimed Nick, with Chris joining in laughter, while you, feeling a bit shy, crossed your arms over your stomach.

Coming back to reality from his fleeting thoughts, Matt nodded and offered you a small, genuine smile. "You look..." he hesitated, carefully choosing his words to avoid any discomfort for you. "Pretty," he mumbled sheepishly, prompting a soft blush to grace your face. Matt's compliments held a unique significance, seeming to carry more weight than others, his opinion reigning supreme in your mind.

"Thank you," you replied with a shy giggle, while Nick and Chris exchanged amused glances, furrowing their brows at the subtle dynamics unfolding between the two of you. The unspoken connection, the palpable undercurrent of something more than friendship, was evident to everyone around. Jokes from your parents about an impending marriage and teasing from Matt's brothers were constant reminders of the unspoken truth – you and Matt shared a love that transcended platonic feelings, even if the explicit words hadn't been uttered.

After a few hours under the warm sun, the faint emergence of sunburn and light freckles adorned your face, telling tales of days spent soaking up the heat. Meanwhile, Matt wrestled with his thoughts, a delicate balance between loyalty to your friendship and the desire that threatened to breach inappropriate territories. He harbored a profound fear of jeopardizing the trust you shared or causing any discomfort, acutely aware that losing you was a risk he couldn't fathom.

As you stood, engrossed in gathering your belongings and bending over slightly, Matt couldn't suppress the way his gaze involuntarily traced the curves of your figure, particularly fixating on your ass. His mind danced with forbidden scenarios, imagining actions he both longed for and felt conflicted about. Sensing a warmth spreading through him, he nervously looked away, trying to prevent any telltale signs of his internal struggle.

You straightened up, holding your possessions with a toothy grin, completely oblivious to the subtle turmoil in Matt's mind. "I'll see you back at the house," you said softly. Matt offered a slight nod and joined his brothers in packing up their belongings. As you made your way to your car, your parents loading up the trunk, you settled into the back seat, succumbing slowly to sleep, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you.

Waking up with a groan, you found your parents' car parked by the side of the road in front of the triplets' house, just a few doors down from your own. The plan was to spend the night at their place, a routine that had become usual given your inclination to seek comfort in their home over your own. Extracting yourself from the car, you grabbed your overnight bag, bidding farewells to your parents as you watched them drive away.

Your bathing suit clung persistently to your body, your hair still damp, and the weariness in your limbs yearning for the promise of relaxation. Shuffling into Matt's home without bothering to knock, the unspoken familiarity of years spent together allowed you the privilege of simply letting yourself in. Passing through the kitchen, Matt's parents greeted you with warm smiles as you entered the living room.

There, Matt, Nick, and Chris were sprawled on the couch, engrossed in a movie that you were sure they had seen at least a thousand times. When Matt's eyes met yours, a soft expression played on his face, evident in the effort to maintain eye contact with your face rather than letting his gaze wander.

"Hey," he murmured, and you returned the greeting with a gentle smile, playfully ruffling his hair as you stood over him. "Hey, I'm gonna go shower. I'll join you guys if you're still out here when I'm done." With that, you ventured down the hall, heading toward the guest bedroom.

In the midst of a hot shower, as you washed away the residue of salty water and sand, Matt and his brothers grew disinterested in the movie, dispersing to their separate bedrooms. Collapsing onto his bed with a weary sigh, exhaustion permeated Matt's body. Turning to his phone, he absentmindedly scrolled through various social media apps. Refreshing his Instagram feed, he stumbled upon a recent post you had shared before stepping into the shower.

The post featured a series of photos taken by Nick during your beach outing. One image captured you from the side, accentuating your ass and curves, while another showcased the contours of your cleavage and perky boobs from the front. Although the intention behind the pictures was innocent, Matt's mind became inundated with impure thoughts. Consumed by a sense of guilt, he recognized the inappropriateness of his desires, grappling with conflicting emotions. You were his best friend, and he was acutely aware that such lascivious thoughts were unwarranted. It was more than mere lust; he harbored genuine love for you and a desire to be a person deserving of your affection.

As Matt stared at his screen, a warmth enveloped his body, and he found himself unable to suppress the physical reaction, a boner forming in his pants. He felt conflicted, but it wasn’t like you knew what he was thinking, or doing. Succumbing to the intensity of his desire, he pulled his pants down enough to free himself, his cock springing out of his boxers. He took his cock into his right hand, phone in his left hand, and he began to stroke himself, allowing his imagination to run wild with scenarios that had occupied his dreams. The room echoed with subtle grunts and whimpers as he finally started to release the pent-up feelings that had plagued him throughout the day.

You emerged from the invigorating shower, enveloped in a towel, the sensation of cleanliness and renewal coursing through you. Exiting the bathroom, you ventured into the guest bedroom designated for your night's rest, shutting the door behind you. As you delved into your bag, extracting essentials like panties, shorts, and a tank top, the soft fabrics embraced you once you shed the towel. Nighttime rituals of hair brushing, skincare, and teeth cleaning completed, you settled into the guest bedroom, a sanctuary that had become almost like your own.

The tranquility was fleeting, interrupted by a shiver that prompted a quest for warmth. Rummaging through your bag, you discovered the absence of a hoodie – an oversight that led you down the hall to Matt's bedroom. Assuming he'd still be awake, you envisioned a simple request to borrow one of his hoodies. Little did you anticipate the unexpected scene awaiting you.

Without bothering to knock, a habit formed over years of friendship, you barged into Matt's room, focused on your hoodie mission. "I need to borrow a hoodie; it's freezing—" your words trailed off as your gaze absorbed the shocking sight. Matt, in his bed, his hand pumping up and down his cock, his phone displaying pictures of you. A gasp escaped him as your presence registered, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of surprise and guilt. "Y/N..." he uttered, his phone slipping from his hand onto the bed, his hand movements abruptly halted in the realization of the awkward situation.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry; I didn't think—I should've knocked. I'll just go get one from Nick," you mumbled nervously, ready to retreat. The air hung heavy with the unspoken tension, both of you grappling with the potential ramifications on your friendship. Before you could exit, Matt called to you, conflicted between wanting you to stay and the desire to erase this awkward moment.

"Don't go," he uttered, wincing at his own words, attempting to clarify that he wasn't making advances or asking for anything. You stood there, caught in a surreal tableau, uncertain about how to navigate this unexpected revelation. Blinking in an attempt to regain composure, you voiced a question laden with curiosity and awkwardness.

"Do you... do this often?" your brows furrowed, your gaze drifting toward his needy cock. Matt sighed, grappling with shame, attempting to rein in his emotions. "Jerk off? Or jerk off to you..." he replied, injecting a hint of humor to alleviate the palpable tension.

"Jerk off to me," you clarified, offering a sheepish smile, grateful for his attempt to inject some levity. Matt, in a vulnerable admission, stumbled through an explanation, striving to avoid sounding like a creep. The guilt weighed heavily on him, sensing that he had betrayed the sanctity of your friendship.

"This is the first time—I'm sorry. You just looked so pretty all day, and I couldn't... I don't know," he rambled, his remorse evident. Expecting you to recoil, Matt braced for the consequences of his impure thoughts. Yet, to his surprise, you stepped closer, the bed dipping as you sat on the edge near his legs. Your eyes danced everywhere but on his throbbing cock.

"It's okay; I'm not mad," you reassured, the tension easing with your understanding words. In that moment, you appreciated the side of Matt that could inject humor even into the most awkward situations, and despite the strangeness of the circumstance, a reassuring smile graced your lips.

"You're not?" he asked, confusion etching his face as his gaze reached the end of the bed where you were. The bewilderment stemmed from the expectation of your anger; he believed he deserved your fury. You shook your head, dispelling any doubts that lingered in his mind. "I'm not mad," you affirmed, inhaling deeply before contemplating the weight of your next words. The undeniable truth of their mutual feelings lay bare, an unignorable reality that both had been evading.

"Do you want me to help you?" you inquired, addressing the underlying tension. Matt hesitated, shaking his head in a refusal. Your offer, though tempting, made him reluctant, not wanting you to feel obliged, and questioning his own worthiness of such an intimate gesture. “Y/N… you don’t have to.”

Sighing, you crawled to sit on his knees, his cock twitching right before you, aching for release. It wasn't about obligation; it was about love. You wanted to be the one to bring him pleasure. "I know, I want to," you reassured, meeting his gaze as he deliberated. "Please," he whimpered, desperation evident on his face. Taking it as a signal, you palmed him, your hand trembling slightly as you sought confirmation in his eyes, ensuring every move was met with consent.

As you encountered nothing but longing in his gaze, your hand tentatively began to move, gliding up and down his length. The unspoken revelation that you were not very experienced was apparent to him, and a twinge of guilt crept in as he allowed you to pleasure him. Determined not to make this solely about his satisfaction, he seized the moment, grasping your wrist and redirecting your hand away from his arousal, prompting you to lean forward.

In an impulsive move, he pressed his lips forcefully against yours, his tongue seeking entry, savoring the taste of your chapstick. The kiss bore neither aggression nor softness; instead, it carried the weight of years filled with tension, prolonged gazes, and lingering touches, finally unfurling in this shared moment. Pulling back slightly, he noticed your lips chasing after his, seeking more contact with his lips.

"I want to make you feel good too," he murmured against your lips, his words flushing your face with heat, a wetness growing between your legs. The dynamics shifted, and now it was you yearning for him. His hands found your hips, drawing you closer until you straddled his waist, your clothed pussy pressing against his cock. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pajama shorts and panties, seeking consent as he looked up at you.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asked, and in response, you nodded, lifting yourself to allow him to slide them down your legs before resuming the straddled position, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

You took a sharp breath, nerves tingling as you ventured into unfamiliar territory with Matt. As he ran a finger through your wet folds, he licked his lips, captivated by the sight of your pretty pussy. In that moment, Matt would have done anything and everything you asked, he was completely at your mercy. Firmly holding your hips, he allowed your wet cunt to hover over his cock. While his desires tempted him to force you down and make you take it, his deep care for you held him back, especially given the significance of this being your first time.

"Go slow, okay? It's going to hurt a little, but I'm right here," he said. Nodding, you began the descent, wincing as his tip slipped into your enterance. "Oh my god, Matt," you moaned, your words interrupted as Matt leaned up, pressing his lips to yours to stifle your sweet sounds, mindful of his brothers sleeping down the hall.

Gradually, you took more of him in, whimpering at the initial stinging sensation as his cock stretched your tight walls. Eventually, you lowered yourself completely onto him, pausing to adjust to the sensation of him buried deep inside you. "Such a good girl, taking me so well," he cooed.

“Feels so good,” you murmured, the words escaping on a breath as you began to move your hips against him, keeping a steady rhythm. He gripped your hips firmly, and you were sure there would be red marks left behind. His kisses trailed down your neck, lips brushing over your collarbones and shoulders, marking you with purposeful hickeys that finally declared you as his, even though you had always belonged to him.

Slowly, he lifted your tank top over your head, tossing it aside in the room's shadows. "So fucking pretty," he mumbled, his gaze lingering on you through half-lidded eyes. His mouth descended, lavishing much-needed attention on your boobs, kissing and licking your sensitive nipples with devotion. In his eyes, your body was a masterpiece, and he aimed to ensure you knew just how perfect you were. Every gesture was a testament to his worship, eliciting small moans of pleasure as you succumbed to the sensations he bestowed upon you.

"Faster, please," he choked out, a desperate need cracking his voice as he trailed kisses down the valley of your breasts. Swiftly obeying, you quickened the pace, moaning as you rocked back and forth on his cock. Yet, the soreness lingering from your day at the beach made it challenging. Matt noticed, his hands helping to move your hips, orchestrating a rhythm that heightened the pleasure. He began to thrust into you, hips meeting yours, intensifying the sensation.

Throwing your head back, eyes rolling, pleasure consumed you, a knot tightening in your stomach. One of his hands left your hip, moving downward, his thumb expertly circling your swollen clit. Overwhelmed, words escaped you, your mind consumed by him. "Fuck, Matt," you managed to whimper in your love-drunk state, a proud smirk gracing his lips as he witnessed you lost in pleasure, knowing he was the only one to evoke such a response.

"Cum for me, princess," he urged in a whiny, broken voice, his own release imminent. His words triggered your climax, a stream of mumbled curses and whines escaping you as pleasure saturated every inch of your being. Surrendering to the intensity, you abandoned your movements, letting him guide and sway you through the waves of orgasmic ecstasy. His release followed suit, white streams of cum shooting into you, accompanied by his whimpering and grunting.

As the movements ceased, he lay beneath you, both of you attempting to catch your breath. Gingerly lifting yourself off him, a wince accompanied the sensitivity as his cock withdrew from your cunt. Rolling over, you nestled next to him, curling into his side, a lazy hand draped over his waist. His hand found its way to your head, tenderly stroking your hair as you rested against his chest, syncing your breathing with his.

"Get some rest; I'm taking you on a date tomorrow," he grinned mischievously, planting light kisses on your forehead. Raising your head, curiosity piqued, you questioned, "A date?" He nodded, gently pushing your head back to his chest, his fingers continuing to stroke your hair in a soothing rhythm.

"A date. So I can ask you to be my girlfriend," he chuckled, of course Matt wanted to do things right despite having just fucked you dumb. You chuckled in response, appreciating Matt's intent. "Okay, I can't wait to say yes," you declared, both of you closing your eyes, eager for the embrace of sleep and the beginning of this new chapter in your relationship.

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #fluff #smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo oneshot

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rafebaby · 3 months

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🎀 Blurb #3 Enemy!Rafe being soft when he's drunk 🎀

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, sexually tinted comments, and not proof read (cuz i just was too excited to finally post it.

Two years prior, you and your mother returned to the Outer Banks, settling into your mother's childhood home after the passing of your grandfather.To maintain the old family home, a leftover from richer times, you pitched in to support your mother by working at a local catering service on the islands, obviously a service exclusively frequented by the affluent Kooks. Though you always steered clear of the Kook-Pogue divide, the islanders dubbed you a Kook and a Pogue interchangeably, a distinction you brushed off with indifference. With acquaintances on both ends, you figured it was easier to take a neutral standpoint. However, from the outset, you recognized that steering clear of certain individuals was advisable, with Rafe Cameron topping that list.

Despite your reluctance, you often found yourself working for the Cameron's, obliging you to be in his surroundings and at his service. On the clock, you maintained a facade of pleasantness, always mindful of the substantial paycheck awaiting you at the end. However, it was impossible to ignore the conspicuous lack of respect the Cameron boy harbored for those he considered beneath him. The subtle gestures, the curt interactions – all hinted at a disdain that echoed louder than any spoken words.

Tonight wasn't a night of catering gigs or navigating the delicate dance of professionalism; it was a simple Saturday evening, the beach alive with the mingling scents of saltwater and bonfires. After a few hours at the beach party, craving a moment to yourself, you take a stroll along the shore. Finding a quiet spot away from the crowd, you sit down in the sand facing the sea. For a minute, you close your eyes to take in the rhythm of the waves and synchronise your breathing to it.

"Well, well, well... look what washed ashore."

Startled, your body tenses because of the sudden slurred male voice coming from behind you, swiftly turning to face the unexpected presence.

" Shit, you scared me," you brought out as you noticed it was Rafe Cameron.

"That's what you get from living among those Pogues." He remarks in a mocking manner. "Messes with your brain. Think you might be getting paranoid"

You sigh while maintaining a deadpan expression. As you return your gaze back to the water ahead of you, you retort: "Yeah, could be that or, i don't know, could be the fact that an agressive Kook addict decided to follow me to a secluded spot on the beach at nighttime." You pause a second, "Just leave me alone, Rafe."

You realize the risky nature of this response. Like you said, he's an aggressive addict, and current clearly and heavily under the influence of alcohol. But much to your surprise, there's no immediate, impulsive reaction. Instead, you can feel the sand shift underneath you, as Rafe seemingly edges closer. Leaning over, he taunts in your ear,

"Shouldn't you be a bit nicer to your employer?"

The lingering scent of alcohol wafts from Rafe, a subtle reminder of his recent indulgence.

He rests a hand on your shoulder, and goes on: "I like you most when you're quietly serving me."

You turn to him in shock, left with nothing but disgust. With a swift motion, you shake off his hand and, though not without struggle, manage to stand up abruptly.

"You're sick." You spit out at him.

Tears of anger welling up in your eyes, causing a hint of unexpected sympathy and slight regret to shoot through his chest. Emotions he thought he had lost a long time ago, resurfacing as you shows obvious hurt in front of him, because of him. For a few seconds, he finds himself unable to react, but desperately tries to catch up with you when he realizes you are walking back to the crowded part of the beach.

"(y/n)!" He shouts desperately, but your focus remains undisturbed. "(y/n)! Hold on, just... wait." In quick pursuit, his lengthy strides match your pace. Once within reach, he seizes your arms, forcibly halting your progression and turning you towards him.

You throw a rapid and noticeably anxious glare at your arm, then shoot it at him. "Let go of me, Rafe!"

Never did he expect to despise someone fearing him.

"Only if you promise not to run away," he pleads, trying to soften his expression, though it feels unfamiliar, hoping you catch the subtle change. "Please? O-okay?," he stutters, his vulnerability evident in his uneasy voice.

He notices your shoulders drop slightly, a sign of you willing to let down your guard. However, you're still reluctant to respond. Your eyes, big, bright with moonlight and expectantly awaiting him to say something.

"I didn't mean to upset you, i-it's just that I am real shit at, uh... real shit with emotions and stuff,"

Still nothing but you, but your gaze turning progressively more confused.

"I wasn't enjoying this party, cause all these people are just so, so f*ckng stupid and I don't know, I just wanted to get away, but I didn't, and then I saw you walking away and then my instinct followed you out."

"To be mean to me? To ruin my night and hurt me?" You couldn't stop a tear dropping down. "Is that what you do for fun?"

Rafe fights against his urge to be defiant, but he's sure you felt the squeeze he gave your arms as he tensed up for a second. However, it's tenderness he chooses.

"Not with you." He admits, and takes a step closer to you. His words leaving you to stunned to speak or move in defense. "With you, I just, I just don't know how to act. Y-you just make me stupid, (y/n)." You widen your eyes in disbelief at what you think he is confessing, yet can't deny how pretty he looks while doing it.

"Please, say something." He begs, while he brings his hand up, to slowly bring it to your face , while your eyes do the talking for you, blinking out of nervousness a few times, but you don't stop him from cupping your cheek.

"I'm just confused." You articulate.

"I know." He says softly.

"Are you saying you like me?" The question comes out faster than you could think.

Rafe lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. Not expecting this upfront, simple question to be thrown at him.

"Well, yeah, i-if that's how you wanna put it."

"Why?" You ask

"Why?"

"Why me?"

He thinks for a moment, but doesn't need long.

"Cause you have those beautiful eyes that always look so suspicious, always carefully observing any one around you." He caresses your cheek with his thumb, " I can always feel them looking at me, and it just makes me uncomfortable but happy at the same time. And I love seeing you walk around my house and love seeing you read your books when you're taking a break. Just makes me calm, and,"

Before he can continue, you, being the impulsive one this time, mend your lips with his. And Rafe is adorably quick to follow once hes over the shock of what is actually happening, grabbing your face with both hands. The kiss is taken further as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Lingering traces of alcohol make him taste even better. In this moment, he has lost himself completely, desperate for only you.

___________

Writer's note: omg this literally took me sooo long but i hope hope hope i can please your enemy!rafe cravings with this one. Also, I got a few asks, and I did see them, and I will respond to them when i find the time 😚 i love getting them and i love you all xxx

#drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe blurb #rafe cameron imagine #obx x reader #rafe imagine

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sapphire-writes · 9 months

Text

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 6 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: A girls night with Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena is infiltrated by the Targaryen boys.

word count: 4.7k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, substance use (reader is smoking and drinking), p in v, slight exhibitionism, kissing, titty sucking, riding, neck kissing, ANGST

note: hope you enjoy my loves!! pls don't hate me

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected

“Looking good Luke!” Rhaena calls from the shore.

You can spot Luke’s small frame aboard Seasmoke, and see him frantically wave as he continues out into the harbor. His brown curls blow wildly in the breeze. It’s a windy day, perfect for testing Seasmoke’s sails.

He’s been doing well so far- well as far as you can tell. Though you’ve spent nearly every day aboard the sailboat you still know very little about sailing. Luke had tried to explain it to you but became frustrated rather quickly.

Rhaena takes a picture with her phone, “For Jace,” she informs you.

“How’s his trip going?” you ask, knowing Rhaena talks to Jace more than Baela.

“He says it’s been cool so far,” Rhaena says with a shrug, “He doesn’t think he’ll be back for the gala though.”

“I thought he wanted to go to that?” you ask.

“He did, but he’ll definitely be back for the regatta,” Rhaena promises, “He won’t miss that, he knows how important it is to Luke.”

You smile, shading your eyes with your hand as you watch Luke on the water.

“He sounds like a good brother,” you comment.

“He is,” Rhaena says, “I know Baela has probably told you some shit about them, but they’re not all bad. It’s nice having brothers.”

“I think she just misses your mom,” you tell her.

Rhaena smiles sadly.

“All the more reason she should talk to Dad,” she tells you, “He misses her the most.”

Baela and Helaena are currently swimming, diving under water only to emerge moments later gasping with laughter.

“She’ll come around,” Rhaena says, more to herself than to you.

You sit next to her, letting the warm sand press between your toes.

As Baela and Helaena exit the water they run over to you, falling dramatically to the ground.

“We have the best idea,” Helaena says, grinning impishly, “My mom’s gone for the night. I propose an EGOSP.”

Rhaena gasps, clapping her hands together and you look around, confused.

“What’s an EGOSP?” you ask and Helaena narrows her eyes.

“What is an EGOSP?” she asks, horrified, “An Epic Girls Only Slumber Party of course.”

“Iconic,” Baela adds.

“Usually infiltrated by the inferior sex,” Rhaena adds.

You giggle, digging your feet deeper into the sand.

“Well, we have to let Egg hang,” Helaena muses, “He’s my plug.”

Baela groans.

“Relax, I’ll kick his ass if he misbehaves,” Helaena assures.

“What about Aemond?” you ask, and Baela shares a smirk with her twin.

“Do you want Aemond to crash?” Helaena asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Well…I mean, I just-”

“Chillax,” she assures you, “I’m just pulling your leg. I’ll tell him to hang around.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Of course I do,” she teases, “Besides he likes you, I can tell.”

Warmth pools in your chest and floods up to your cheeks at her words. Baela pokes you in the side, her fingers cold from the ocean.

“My bestie, getting a little summer romance,” she teases.

“Stop it,” you beg, flushing more with embarrassment.

Baela, of course, has never been one to listen to a command and keeps teasing you until eventually you chase her back towards the water’s edge. You spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach, watching Luke sail and bathing in the sun.

You make your way back to Driftmark later in the day to change and pack an overnight bag. Helaena and Rhaena made it their mission to pick up dinner at the Wolf Den and convince Sara to join in the EGOSP shenanigans.

You had quickly changed into a red two-piece bathing suit, one you brought specifically for the way it accentuated your ass while also making your boobs look phenomenal. You’d thrown on a cover-up and flip-flops before waiting for Baela at the foot of the stairs.

Rhaenys walks in from the living room, clad in a periwinkle colored floor length dress, her reading glasses propped on top of her head.

“Hello darling,” she greets you with a small polite smile.

“Hey,” you tell her, returning her smile.

“Shit!” you hear Baela call from upstairs, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor, “I’m okay!”

You can hear her footsteps and watch her appear, shoving things into her bag, silver curls spilling over her face.

“Your father is coming over for dinner,” Rhaenys tells Baela as she hurries down the stairs.

“Won’t be here!” Baela says, grabbing a bag, “You ready?” she asks, noticing you’ve finished packing your things before her.

“Baela!” Rhaenys says, sighing, her voice tired.

“What?” Baela says, feigning innocence, “Look he should’ve told me earlier! We’re going to Helaena’s.”

“You can be back in time for supper,” Rhaenys insists.

“Sleeping over,” Baela says with a wince, “Girls' night. Making memories, you know?”

“Baela your father wants to see you-”

“He can Facetime me then!”

Baela is out the door before Rhaenys can say another word. She left so fast even you were left behind. Rhaenys sighs, looking towards the floor and you give her an apologetic smile. You can’t imagine how hard this has to be for her. You’ve seen pictures of Laena. Baela could be her twin.

The Targaryen-Hightower house is vibrating with music when you arrive, as though it should be a house party. But when you enter it’s just Helaena and Rhaena, jamming to the music, singing along.

“Where’s Sara?” Baela asks as Helaena wraps her in a hug.

“She’s covering for Cregan,” Helaena says, moving to embrace you.

“Boooo,” Baela says, as Rhaena pulls out a paper bag.

“But look what we got,” she says, pulling out a bottle of tequila.

You spend the beginning of the evening taking shots and eating the food Rhaena and Hel had picked up, before transitioning to the hot tub. Slightly buzzed, you can’t help but crane your neck, looking for the noticeably absent Targaryen brothers.

“They’re coming,” Helaena says, sparking up a joint, “Egg had to make another run.”

“I wasn’t even looking,” you argue.

“Cut the shit,” Helaena says, inhaling the sweet smoke, passing the joint to Rhaena.

You take turns as the sky grows darker and the automatic lights come on in the hot tub, pool, and yard. It truly is magnificent, and you can look out at the sea from where you sit, spotting the lights of Dragonstone and Driftmark.

The sliding glass door opens as if on cue and Aegon and Aemond enter the backyard.

“Wassup ladies,” Aegon calls, stripping off his shirt and immediately easing into the hot water.

Your eyes are on Aemond, and you straighten your back, shamelessly angling your chest out of the water.

What? A girl’s gotta do, what a girl’s gotta do.

Aemond’s eye flickers toward you and he nods politely at the others. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt with one hand pulling it effortlessly over his head. You try your best not to ogle at his defined abdomen and chest, but you can’t help it. Can’t help but follow the little trail of silver hair that disappears below his waistline, directly centered by the v of his hips.

And that stupid chain he wears with the silver coin, that dangles in your face while he-

Aemond slips into the hot tub across from you, leaving his arms stretched across the sides. The jacuzzi is huge, it could probably fit twelve people if they wanted it to. Aemond catches your eye and you hold his gaze.

He looks down briefly, so fast you almost miss it, but it was definitely an appreciation for your suit. Your mouth waters looking at him. You’re not sure what kind of spell he has you under, you’ve never wanted someone so much before.

“We should play a game,” Helaena says, passing the second joint of the night to Aemond.

You raise an eyebrow as Aemond takes a drag. You don’t know why, but you hadn’t pictured him as someone who dabbles in recreational drug use. He notices your expression and raises an eyebrow right back at you. It’s almost playful. You fight a smile as the joint continues to make its rounds.

“Truth or dare,” Aegon says, “Bae, you first.”

“Truth,” Baela says, through a cough, “I’m not stupid.”

“Boring,” Aegon teases, “Alright, last person you had sex with.”

Baela thinks for a moment, but you know the answer and start to snicker.

“Ali Martell,” Baela says, smiling at the memory, “And it was fucking great.”

She fails to mention how she broke poor Ali’s heart after leaving her on read a few weeks later. You smile at your best friend and she turns to her twin.

“Truth or dare?”

The game continues for a bit, back and forth between everyone. You’re made to hold tequila in a shot glass between your breasts for Aegon to take, Rhaena has to text her ex-boyfriend and Aemond tells all about the time he made Criston Cole cry during a tennis match.

It’s all good fun, everyone giggling and sharing secrets. Aegon ends up being dared to jump from the pool house roof into the pool, which he does so willingly. As he climbs out of the pool and back into the tub he turns to his brother.

“Truth or dare,” he says.

“Truth,” Aemond answers immediately.

“Again?” Aegon groans, “I’m giving you a tough one. It’s the witching hour now.”

Aemond shrugs, unfazed by his brother’s threat. It’s like Aegon can tell. Something changes in his bloodshot eyes like he’s turned into a predator going in for the kill.

“Tell us about Alys.”

The entire mood shifts. Aemond’s face hardens and he gives Aegon a warning glare.

“I’m not talking about that,” Aemond says cooly, trying to play off how tense he’s become.

You can see it in every muscle, as if he moves too quickly he’ll snap. Helaena is the one to move first, grabbing Aegon by the ear causing him to cry out.

“You’ve ruined the fun!” she tells him, as he swats his hand away.

“It’s a game, c’mon!” Aegon whines, but Helaena shoves him.

No one else speaks. You watch Aemond’s face, watch his cheeks flush with quiet rage.

Alys.

The game and conversation fizzled out after that. Aegon is first to leave, retreating back towards the house. Rhaena is next, claiming she’s hungry, and is followed by Helaena. Baela glances between you and Aemond, before giving you a wink and heading back inside.

“Take your time bestie!” Baela calls, closing the sliding door behind her.

You watch them in the kitchen for a while, before the three girls head upstairs, leaving the lower level in darkness. Aemond still hasn’t spoken.

He’s just watching you, his violet gaze observing you carefully as you stretch your hands toward the sky and arch your back. You can feel the tiredness in your bones, only accentuated by the heat from the jacuzzi.

The hot tub continues to produce numerous bubbles and you bring your hands just below the surface, giggling as you wiggle your fingers. Maybe it’s because you’re high, maybe it’s because the hot water feels so nice against your skin or maybe it's the way Aemond’s looking at you from across the hot tub; his head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a small smile, his violet eyes sparkling.

You address the elephant in the room since Aegon had spoken nearly an hour ago.

“Who is Alys?”

The corner of Aemond’s mouth falls slightly, just enough that you notice before he tears his gaze away from you.

“No one important,” he says, the lie evident in the way his jaw clenches, the way his nostrils flare.

“Mhmm,” you hum softly, still swirling your fingers over the surface, “I love the water.”

Aemond flicks his gaze back to your face, watching you smile as you let the water slip through your fingers. You watch your fingers for a moment, the path they make like flying fish. Or dolphins. The thought of dolphins for fingers makes you giggle and you meet Aemond’s violet eyes once more.

“I was in love with her,” he says the words slowly as though it pains him to do so.

The smile begins to slip from your face, melting like a popsicle on a hot day.

“You were in love?” you ask.

Aemond holds your gaze, the intensity making you tingle from the top of your head down to your toes.

“A long time ago,” he says.

Curiosity crawls up your throat, and forces you to speak.

“Who was she?”

“A professor,” Aemond says, and your eyes widen, “I didn’t start at Citadel University. I spent my freshman year at Harrenhal University. But transferred out.”

He’s quiet for a moment, mimicking your movements, letting his long fingers cut through the surf.

“You slept with your professor?” you ask, voice sounding very small.

“Mhmm,” he says, “And fell in love with her. Like an idiot.” He looks up at you for a moment before glancing away and clearing his throat, “Anyway the school found out. Asked her to leave. And I never heard from her again.”

“Oh Aemond,” you whisper.

“I was a stupid kid,” he continues, “And I let it distract me from my studies. It made sense. The sex. That’s all it was. That’s all it ever is.”

“I don’t think so,” you argue, and he looks up again, “Not always. There are people who-”

“Who what?” Aemond interrupts, “Look at my mother and father, look at Daemon and Rhaenyra.”

You wince at the implications.

“What’s love good for, anyhow?” Aemond says, leaning back and looking over his shoulder out towards the sea, “Nothing.”

You watch him for a moment, admiring the sheen of sweat that coats his torso; he’s nearly glowing in the lights of the hot tub and pool. You want to keep prying, keep pulling apart bits and pieces of who he is. What Alys meant to him. But you decide to explore the safer route.

“Were you in love with Floris?” you ask, dipping lower into the hot tub until your neck and head are the only parts uncovered.

Aemond glances at you, his melancholy expression fading to one of amusement.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” you tell him with a shrug.

“Come here,” he says, motioning you forward with two fingers.

You float towards him as though he has a string connected to your ribs, pulling you towards him. You stop when you’re directly in front of him, and he pushes away from the wall. Aemond brings his hands underwater, gripping you by the thighs and pulling you to straddle him as he sits. You wrap your arms around his neck, grinding down against the hardness between his legs.

Your heart flutters with anticipation as he strokes your thighs, moving up to caress the skin of your waist. His fingers tease the strings of your bathing suit bottoms, slipping underneath them.

“Floris and I had a similar arrangement,” he tells you.

You nod, eyes roaming over his face. He’s so beautiful, you don’t know where to look. Aemond notices your staring. It’s the weed, you know, it must be the weed making you think this way, feel these feelings.

“Are you worried I loved her?” he murmurs, and you roll your hips against him.

“She’s very pretty,” you tell him, your voice more breathless than you wish it was.

“So are you,” he tells you, “You’re a lot of things Floris isn’t.”

You cock your head to the side.

“What?” he questions.

“Is that a genuine compliment from Aemond Targaryen?” you ask, bringing your hand to your chest, “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“I’ve complimented you plenty,” he argues.

“You’re getting soft, Targaryen,” you continue to tease, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“You are not,” he insists.

“I am.”

“Are not.”

“Oh, yes I am!” you sing song.

“Shut up,” he insists, though there’s that smile again, tugging at the corner of his perfect mouth.

“Why don’t you shut me up?” you challenge, not sure why the threat poured so effortlessly from your lips.

Aemond smirks for real this time, looking almost predatory as his eye trails down your throat to your breasts then back up to your face.

“I think we both know that’s possible,” Aemond tells you, fingers ghosting the front of your bathing suit bottoms, “Our fun the other night get you all excited?”

Your breath catches in your throat as he drags a finger across your clothed center, pressing firmly against your clit.

“I think it got you excited,” you murmur.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, the smirk growing across his face.

“Mhmm,” you say, catching your lower lip between your teeth, “I think you were jealous.”

There’s a shimmer of something in Aemond’s eye. Something possessive. His grip on your thigh tightens.

“I told you, I don’t share,” he says with a shrug, “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“I did,” you tell him.

Aemond leans forward, placing a kiss on your neck, dragging his lips up to your ear.

“Everyone is just inside,” he murmurs, “But you want me to fuck you right now, don’t you?”

Your eyes flutter shut, hands fisting the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t you?” he repeats, lightly nipping your earlobe.

“Yes,” you breathe, “Please-”

“No need to beg tonight, baby,” he assures you, moving your bottoms to the side, “C’mere.”

You lift your hips as he frees himself from his swim trunks and you waste no time sinking down on top of him. You shudder against him as you take him completely and he rubs soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs.

You gingerly lift up, rolling your hips against him, circling his cock, and causing some water to splash over the edge. You glance at the house; most of the windows are dark except for some small lights that cast shadows around the kitchen. You desperately hope everyone is in bed as a wanton moan slips through your lips.

“You look fucking gorgeous in this,” Aemond says, bringing his hand to stroke the strap of your bathing suit.

You smile, throwing your head back at your success. It’s true, it’s a miracle suit. Your breasts, barely covered by the red material, pressed together making your cleavage oh-so inviting.

“I wanted to kill Aegon,” Aemond groans, leaning forward and pressing his nose against your cleavage, “Fucking kill him.” You know he’s referring to the dare where Aegon took the shot from between your boobs.

He turns his head, kissing the side of your exposed breast before turning to do the same to the other. His hand snakes around the back of your suit, pulling the material from your body and letting it float away from you.

Aemond brings his mouth to your nipple, suckling at your wet breast, kneading the other with his hand. Sparks of pleasure dance down past your navel with every tug he affords your hard nipples.

“Yeah?” you ask, more of a whine than a question as you keep grinding your hips against him, desperate for friction against your aching clit.

Every roll of your hips has the head of his cock mercilessly rubbing against your sweet spot, pushing you closer and closer toward the edge. Your entire body feels like a live wire, and his hands caressing you only adds fuel to the flames. It’s like every sensation is heightened, every flick of his tongue, his lips.

“Mhmm,” he moans, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure causing you to cry out.

The sound echoes in the quiet night and Aemond pops off your breast, capturing your lips in a sensual kiss.

“You’re all mine,” Aemond says against your mouth, lifting his hips to meet your thrusts, “Keeping you all to myself.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, as he brings his hand between your legs, nimble fingers rubbing quick circles around your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs as you begin to shake, falling apart against him.

“Sh-shit,” you say, trembling against him.

Aemond continues rocking his hips up into your tightening pussy, dragging out your orgasm and propelling you towards another one. His jaw is slacked, pupil dilated with lust as he watches you shake on top of him.

“I can’t, holy shit, I’m-” You bite your lip, eyes screwing shut in sheer ecstasy.

“Fucking hell,” Aemond says, calloused hands gripping your hips, “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

You’re a trembling mess, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as he bounces you on his cock. You're moaning obscenely as a second orgasm washes over you, a sharp whine leaving your lips at the intensity of it.

"Shhh," Aemond murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your neck, "I got you, I got you."

His thrusts turn lazy, before you feel his hot release, as he heavily exhales against your shoulder. You stroke his hair, nuzzling your face against him as he continues peppering kisses to any piece of exposed flesh he can reach.

You stay like that for a while before peeling yourself from him and grabbing your suit top. Aemond hands you a towel and you quietly make your way back into the house.

Aemond walks you to Helaena’s room, pausing outside her door.

“Goodnight,” you call, softly, placing your door on the handle.

You feel his fingers brush against your wrist, wrapping around it and gently tugging you away from the door. You let out a small squeal of surprise as he pulls you flush against him, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss.

It’s gentle; nice and slow as he parts your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss. A sharp pang of desire throbs between your legs, and butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Oh shit.

Aemond’s hand finds the back of your neck, his other locking on your hip as he backs you against the door. Your back slams up against it; it’s just rough enough to steal your breath as he continues to kiss you.

It’s just the drugs.

He pulls away all too soon, leaving you pouting and leaning forward for more. Aemond smiles at that, stroking your jawline with his thumb.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, still stroking your face, before reluctantly letting his hand drop.

“Goodnight,” you whisper again, letting your hands fall as well.

Aemond pulls away completely, heading down the hall toward his room.

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding once he’s safely inside. You open the door to Helaena’s room, tip-toeing over Baela who lies sprawled on the floor on top of an air mattress.

“Yo,” Helaena says softly from her bed, a bag of hot Cheetos nestled under her elbow.

“Hey,” you whisper back, hopping onto her bed and stealing a Cheeto.

“What were you doing?” Helaena asks, her brow raised in curiosity.

“Nothing,” you tell her, fighting a smile.

You spend some time snaking and giggling with Helaena before she drifts off to sleep. It’s harder for you to find sleep, your body feels like a live wire; electricity coursing through your veins. You know what this means, even though you don’t want it to be true. But the nerves in your stomach don’t lie, the way your heart flutters against your ribs at the thought of him.

You are in way over your head.

“Wakey wakey!” Baela says, poking your face, “Lazy asses! Let’s go!”

You groan, turning away from her. Helaena rubs her eyes.

“It’s early,” Helaena whines as Baela tosses her a sweatshirt.

“We have to get to Hotpies early or else all the tables will fill up,” Baela argues.

Helaena looks at you.

“Wanna ask Aem if he wants to join?” she asks, smirking slightly as she says it.

There it is, that feeling in your stomach again. Nervous butterflies. You eagerly nod, throwing on a sweatshirt and hopping out of bed. Baela shakes her head at you.

“Girl-” she begins.

“Shut up,” you tell her, cheeks flushing.

You quickly head out of Helaena’s room and down the hall, forcing yourself to walk normally. You take a deep breath outside his door before knocking. It’s ajar, swinging open as you do so. You peer inside the room. It’s airy, the windows open letting in the morning light. His bed is already made and Aemond nowhere to be found.

Aegon opens his door across the hall at that moment, yawning. As he opens his eyes he cries out, pressing a hand against his heart on his bare chest.

“Scared the shit out of me!” he accuses, running his hand through his hair, “Aem’s probably on a run.”

“Wanna grab Hotpies with us?” you offer.

“Sure,” Aegon says, moving across the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You hear some noise downstairs and walk down the spiral staircase, hoping it's Aemond back from his run. You smile as you enter the kitchen, spotting him leaning against the counter, a glass of water in his hand. He’s wearing black running shorts, paired with an equally dark tank top; his silver chain is visible before disappearing below the neckline.

“Hey,” you say, coming up next to him, “We’re grabbing breakfast, would you like to join?”

Aemond glances at you sideways, taking a small sip from his glass.

“I’m good,” he says, voice cold.

The smile on your face falls slightly in disappointment. He doesn’t look at you again, just continues drinking his water, taking his phone out of his pocket. He’s got one airpod in and you can hear him change the song.

You stand there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do. Why the sudden change in demeanor? You thought for a moment last night that you and Aemond were finally starting to get along.

Aemond finishes his water, moving by you and placing his glass in the sink. Your eyes follow him. He’s going to continue ignoring you, you can tell as he begins to leave the kitchen.

“Did I do something?” you ask, causing him to pause, turning to you slightly.

“No,” he says, matter of factly, the pout of his mouth dipping into a frown.

You stare at him, not buying it one bit.

“I just thought-”

“Thought what?” he asks.

You continue to stare. The smile has completely dropped from your face at this time, and the butterflies in your stomach suddenly feel like they’re made of lead. You can feel your throat tightening, and will yourself not to cry. That’s the last thing you need, to fucking cry in front of Aemond Targaryen.

“It’s just…last night,” you tell him, feeling foolish, “I thought maybe we were getting on.”

Aemond clicks his tongue before pressing it against the inside of his cheek.

“We get on fine,” he says, pursing his lips, “We fuck, and it’s fine.”

Your stomach feels heavy, and the tears prickle behind your eyes causing you to blink rapidly to stop them from falling down your cheeks.

“I thought we were…”

“What?” he snaps, “Thought we were what?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Look, just because I got high with you and told you some pathetic sob story from uni, doesn’t make us friends. Doesn’t make you my girlfriend. You’re a convenient fuck. That’s all,” he says, clipping the words for finality.

You feel like you’re going to throw up. It’s like the room is spinning like the world has suddenly changed axes and you’re about to fall off.

“Fine,” you force the word out from behind clenched teeth.

You turn around as the tears begin to come, hurriedly moving to leave the kitchen.

“Forget that shit I told you,” Aemond calls, causing you to stop.

You take a deep breath, quickly wiping your cheeks, barely glancing back at him.

“Already forgotten,” you assure him, leaving the room.

Baela, Rhaena, Helaena, and Aegon are hurrying down the stairs as you round the corner, forcing a smile on your face.

“Aem coming?” Hel asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“No,” you tell her.

“Oh,” she says, frowning as you loop your arm through Baela’s hurrying out of the house.

“Let’s go, I’m starving!” you tell them, forcing your voice to sound cheerful.

Aegon and Rhaena follow you, but Helaena hangs back for a moment. You turn your head, watching her frown in the direction of the kitchen.

“C’mon Hel!” you call. Just drop it.

She shuts the door behind her, and you all pile into her car. You take one final look at the house, watching Aemond’s shadow pass by the large glass windows. His tall frame pauses as he watches the car pull away down the driveway.

Rhaena reaches across and connects her phone to the speaker and suddenly SZA is blasting through the speakers. You force a smile as Baela glances at you, and force a laugh when Aegon makes a crude joke.

One thing is certain.

You’re done with Aemond Targaryen.

note: BESTIES ILYSM

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sea-sands · 2 years

Photo

#stone harbor #new jersey #america #beach #sand #ocean #fog #footprints #people #or lack thereof #photography #2020 #may 26 #may #2020 mood #take me here now #i made this

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cheriiyaya · 4 months

Text

Inside, this place is warm

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ well, someone has to take care of dazai when he gets caught in the rain...

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Contents: Dazai x gn!reader, reader is a civilian and dazai is in the pm, softttttt, very fluffy, slight hurt/comfort, ~1.5k words

☾⋆⁺₊⋆A/N: oml this was longer than i expected...credits to @cafekitsune for the dividers >u< AND THANK U GUYS FOR 100 FOLLOWERS AHH

"Bella'! C'mooon!" Dazai called at you as he stood ankle-deep in the water, a childish grin plastered on his face. You sighed and drew his coat tighter over your shoulders as the salt-streaked wind whirled strands of hair into your flushed face.

"Osamu, you're gonna catch a cold, and it's gonna rain soon." You watched as the brunette pouted and walked over to you, water soaking the hem of his pant legs and the bandages over his ankles. Dazai grabbed one of your hands in both of his, placing it by his chest and looking at you with wide, adorable eyes.

"Pleaaase, bella'?" He grinned and kissed your knuckles, trying to sweet-talk you into the cold water of the Tokyo bay with him.

"Osamu-"

"Please?

"Dazai." He quickly shut up after that, releasing your hand and sulking away.

"My darling hates me now..." He pouted and sighed dramatically, which made you giggle at his theatrics. Dazai had snuck you out of your classes that day and ran you through the busy streets of Yokohama down to a small beach near the harbor, saying he wanted to "see your pretty face after so long" (You had told him it only had been a day, and dazai went on a rant about how many hours, minutes, and seconds that was away from you).

"I don't hate you, you'll just get sick if you keep this up." Rain began to trickle from grey clouds and it ran down the side of your cheek. Dazai leaned over and brushed the raindrops out of your face.

"Oh, but I don't think it'll be so bad if it meant you'd take care of me..." He teased, pulling you up to your feet and you yelped in surprise. Now on your feet, Dazai bent down and started untying your shoelaces, humming softly. "It'll be fun! Just for a bit, please?" You sighed at his unrelenting pleading, mussing your fingers through his wavy hair.

"Alright, but only for a bit!" You giggled, kicking your shoes to the side and dazai pulled you into the water. You shivered as the cold water licked at your ankles, wind plastering your hair to your drizzle-dampened face. You felt the wet sand dip and shift under your weight as you moved around and the water rippled from your and dazai's movement and the occasional drop of rain-rain that'd no doubt pick up soon from the looks of it.

you turned your torso around, looking at the endless distance that was the bay and then at dazai. with his cheeks flushed from the wind and his hair messier than usual he looked almost boyish to you and it settled something in your stomach seeing him so carefree like this. The rain picked up in intensity and began to soak the both of yours clothes. "Osamu, don't you think we should go?" You eyed his bandages, watching them soak and preparing a mental note to help him replace them later. Dazai sighed and looked at you, a coltish smile plastered on his face and he shrugged.

"mh, probably."

"Do you want your coat back?"

"And let my darling get soaked to the bones? Love, I'm not that cruel of a person!" He pulled you out the water and tightened his coat around you. grabbing onto your hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours. The rain was beating down on the both of you at this point, yet dazai didn't seem to mind getting wet; watching you laugh and blush at his teasing jokes warmed him enough.

The two of you stumbled through the streets as the rain picked up, heading to your house as your parents were gone for a week, and even if they weren't you were not about to allow dazai to go back to his shipping container all wet from the rain. As you reached your house your fumbled your cold fingers with the keys and pushed it into the lock, jammed it and turned it twice before it opened. You tentatively walked into the quiet, dark house and flicked on the lights, pulling dazai with you inside. You shrugged off his coat and flung it over a chaise, kicking off your shoes and dazai followed in suit. You tugged at his hand and smiled at him, brushing wet strands of hair out of his face.

"C'mon, lets get you dried off, m'kay?" You pulled him into the bathroom and patted the counter for him to sit on. You left for a moment a grabbed a hoodie that you thought might fit him and walked back in to see him slouched on the counter, kicking his feet and staring at the ceiling idly. With a small smile you threw the hoodie at him and he yelped suddenly.

"Bella'!" He whined, narrowing brown eyes at you and crossing his arms dramatically.

"Put it on, I'll get a towel and some fresh bandages." You left the bathroom again, rumaging around the house for bandages and towels. When you returned, dazai was now wearing the hoodie you brought him and it drew a smile from your face. "I was wearing your coat, now you're wearing my hoodie." Dazai perked up and grinned.

"It's yours? Bella', can I keep it?" You let out a soft, airy laugh and started to dry off his hair. Dazai simply hummed, bandaged fingers crawling up to tickle you at your waist as he buried his head into your stomach. You yelped and squirmed, dropping the towel and attempting to pry off his hands in between giggles.

"'S-samu!!" Dazai peeked up at you, a slight blush covering his cheeks at the sound of your giggles.

"You sound sooo cute when you laugh!" He poked your cheek, drawing you closer to him. You clicked your tongue and tugged his head away from your stomach, flicking his forehead and lightly scolding him to stop.

"If you'll stop, then you can have as many kisses you want." You teased, crouching down to pick up the towel and you placed it beside him on the counter. Looking at his arms, you tugged at your lip with your teeth. You knew how much Dazai hated people seeing under his bandages, and you weren't sure if he'd let you.

"...Osamu?"

"M'yeah?" You gently held up his arm, pushing up his sleeve to reveal wet bandages.

"Could I...?" You looked up at him, watching as he stared at you, then at his bandages for a moment.

Then, he relented with a slow, deliberate nod.

Your shoulders slumped as you let out a breath, carefully unwrapping the damp bandages off his arms, then the ones around his eye. It felt strange; seeing him without his bandages showed a completely different boy than you were used to seeing. You tried not to stare at the scars that covered his arms, fumbling with the clean bandage roll. You began to wrap his fingers, then his hands and you went up to his arm, fingers brushing against the pale, scarred skin that hadn't seen sunlight in years until you came.

Through all this, dazai watched you, brushing hair that had fallen into your eyes behind your ears. After a few painstaking moments, you finished wrapping his arms and eye and after making sure the bandages were in place, stepped back to watch the dark haired boy perched on the counter of your crammed bathroom. Reaching out and placing your hand on his jaw, you stroked behind his ear. dazai nuzzled his head against your hand, pretty eyes fluttering at you. You felt the vibration from his humming against the sensitive part of his jaw and he tilted his face, gently encircling your wrist and pressing open-mouthed kisses to your palm. You smiled softly, kissing his forehead and pulling him off the counter.

"There, you're all clean and dry." You brushed his bangs out of his eyes, pulling him out of the washroom and into the living room. You sat him down on the couch, leaning against him and allowing him to idly fidget with your hair. dazai peppered your head with kisses and you grasped onto his hand with your. The both of you simply sat there, comforting the other with your presence as the rain berated the ground outside.

"Darling?"

"Yes, osamu?" You felt him nuzzle his face into your neck.

"...Don't leave." What a sweet, yet foolish request. If you were to leave then a part of you would wander in search of him, in search for the piece of your heart that'd always belong to him and him alone. To dazai, you were everything; if love was a tragic ballad then he'd gladly star in it as the hopeless fool if it meant you were the one he was a fool for.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!

©Cheriiyaya 2023

#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝕽𝖊𝖉'𝖘 𝕽𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #osamu dazai x you #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bsd x you #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x y/n #osamu dazai x y/n

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fatallyfalling · 5 months

Text

Bitter Water 0.00 ~ ♆

“ Let the Reaping of the 67th annual Hunger Games begin, “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, etc.

{{ word count }} 2.6 k

{{ prompt }} Panem is cruel - bloodthirsty even. Every year twenty-four children must fight to the death as a sick form of entertainment. Today is the 67th annual reaping in the seaside District 4 - may the odds be ever in your favor.

{{ a/n }} Warning there’s a lot of exposition for what i think life in District 4 would be like though it may not sound 100% accurate to the canon ideation! I did way too much research on District 4’s presumed location and the general pacific northwest seafaring system for accuracy. This chapter is a lot of scene setting to reference later on top of the reaping occurring - please enjoy !

The Pacific-Northwestern region of Panem was home to District 4. Otherwise known as the “Fishing District”.

Most of its citizens are concentrated directly on or near the salty coast of the sea, working the many sailboats or on the bustling ports that harbored them. Children of the district learn to help from an early age, shucking oysters and various mussels or helping their mothers weave and repair nets for the local fishermen. Everyone smelled of the sea - fresh air, sea salt, and a damp pine, with sand clinging to their shoes and linen clothes.

Though a majority of the year brought overcast skies and rainy weather, the better parts of mid-July through late August were filled with warm, sticky sunshine and cloudless skies. Come autumn and winter, cold snaps and heavier rain storms were regular visitors, with many homes donning rain barrels to collect the excess liquid to be boiled down for drinking or bathing. The northernmost edge of the District sometimes saw snow, bringing ice fishing and skating to measured popularity amongst locals.

The port towns were anything but sleepy. Community in a constant hustle and bustle while watching out for one another in tandem with the intense seafaring labor. Days spent on the beach were filled with tugboat horns, captain's orders, and elated shrieks of children wading in the spray of the ocean. There was always a game of who could find the best cliff to dive from, or conch shell to hear the distant whispers of waves inside and whatnot. A group of older kids developed a make-believe currency of sand dollar bits to trade wooden beads, small clusters of natural quartz, seashells, rope bracelets, and more to entertain the younglings on an outcropping speckled in tide pools on the rocky shore.

More often than not, a walk down the boardwalk as dusk neared brought warm golden lights flooding from old taverns with deep, joyous shanties of the past and banter amongst hardworking sailors merging with joyous whoops and hollers of young women and barmaids. Everyone knew one another like family, and the seaside town practically breathed on its own with the rolling push and pull of the tide.

However, the Fishing District was silent today.

Waves crashed on the beach as boats creaked in their ports. Scarred wooden tavern signs wailed in the eerie breeze on salt-rusted chains. The absence of sound in the sand swept cobble streets was almost unsettling. There’s only one day a year that invokes such an abrupt halt in District 4’s beating heart.

The annual Reaping of one female and male Tribute set to compete in a fight to the death against twenty two other children from the districts all for the Capital’s sick reminder of what rebellion once cost the “great nation” of Panem.

The Hunger Games.

You knew the odds were never in anyone's 'favor'.

“It’s fine. Everything - everything is going to be fine…”

The repeated mantra is barely a whisper under your breath as you make a futile attempt the smooth the front of your lightweight, sage colored ensemble. There was a tremor in your fingertips. The idea of getting cleaned up like this just to attend your own prospective funeral made your stomach twist painfully. Tucking a few stray hairs behind your ears and a deep sigh through your nose, you take one last look in the foggy mirror on your dresser before making your way out to the main room of your home.

Although the Fourth District was deemed wealthy among the remaining 12, your seaside cottage was quaint - and quite a ways from the beach, in all honesty. The home was small, if not cozy. The outside wooden panels were worn with smears of grey from age due to the weather, paired with a tin slabbed roof that allowed every raindrop to be heard throughout the house when it rained. The inside wasn't much better. Little furniture adorned the household and appeared washed out in the summer light. Ivory walls were marked with the mayhem of childhood and clumsy hands. The large main room held a mantle and hearth with a makeshift stove built in and a rickety dark stained wood table with four chairs connecting to a barebones bathroom and two bedrooms. There were fixtures and switches for lights but no electricity. Candles were placed where lightbulbs would be for nights when the hearth wasn't keeping the house warm.

"Come on, we've got to get moving, or we'll be late."

You groaned as the younglings, twin boys with hair like your father's, sat on the oval roving rug you had finished braiding two springs prior. "You were supposed to get them washed up." You quip towards the older man seated at the worn-out table. His only reply is a gruff rumble as you scoff, stooping to rub soot off the boy's cheeks with your thumbs. They burst into giggles, and you can't help the tight-lipped smile that crosses your lips.

You tried to be patient with your father. There had been too much loss in recent years, but it wasn't an excuse to neglect his boys. You had enough trouble picking up the slack as it was, from taking extra hours on the shipyard and staying up late mending sails like your mother used to. She passed away some years ago. There had been complications delivering the twins, and there wasn't anything the midwife you'd called could have done. It left your father resigned to himself, taking up more time at the nearby tavern than on the shipyard hauling crates due for the Capital. A foolish miscalculation and one too many drinks ended up costing him his dominant hand and forearm in a freak accident at the port.

To say you had fallen on hard times would be an understatement. It was more akin to plummeting down one of the tall cliffsides bordering the port and smacking face-first into the water like concrete.

Eventually, you managed to wrangle the little rascals into their shoes and straighten the collars of their matching olive-green tunics. Hoisting one onto your back with a huff, you tried to calm the drumming of your racing heart. Your father stood with another grunt and shrugged on a deep brown leather coat to cover what was left of his arm. Allowing the other half of the youngling pair to weave their fingers through his, your father offered a firm nod in your direction, and the four of you set out toward town.

Looking back on that moment, you regret not taking in that quaint little cottage one last time.

The trek to town was about a mile or two. The beat down from the summer sun brought sweat to your brow and the nape of your neck, forcing you to set down the toddler on your back halfway. "I know it's hot, but we have to keep going," You cooed when the pair began complaining about the lengthy trip. This would be the first Reaping they might remember, not to mention the first they weren't in diapers for. You'd done your best to keep them healthy, sometimes at the expense of yourself, but it was worth all the risk in the world.

With a little more commentary from the twins, the tall brick clock tower above the judicial complex at the center of town came into view above the pine trees, and you let out a shuddering breath that made your chest squeeze. "Almost there," You muttered. Averting your gaze to the dirt path under your feet. The sun was almost at its peak when you converged with the lines of other citizens. Many reeked of sweat and body order, having traveled through most of yesterday and this morning to get to the Reaping on time.

You didn't allow your fear to show more than a tightness in your jaw as you gripped your siblings tight in an almost bone-crushing hug. You refused to say goodbye as it felt like admitting defeat before the duel with death had even begun. After a few long moments, you heard the automated voices of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms and government-ordered guns slung across their chests, and you had to let go. "I'll come back in just a few minutes," You promised, though your voice felt meek and caught in your throat. Ruffling their hair and sparking a fit of spritely laughter, you lifted your gaze to the hardened eyes of your father. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

Another brief, tight-lipped smile, and you forced yourself to turn away and join the other prospective tributes for check-in. Families were forced to remain in a balcony above the judicial complex due to such a large population and past "complications" from reaped children's family members. Anxiety and anticipation brought a tension thick enough to be cut by a knife through the courtyard of people. Wetting your lips following a thick swallow, you tried not to focus too much on the looming Peacekeepers overseeing the procession. When it was your turn to check in, you didn't stutter when asked for your name but scrunched your nose as they pricked your finger, squeezing to pool the blood before pressing it into the paper list and scanning with a device that flashed green. "Next!" The peacekeeper barked, shooing you away with a wave of their hand. Your gaze danced around the all too familiar formation of children as you fell in line with the older Tributes.

You were led in groups through a few back hallways before being brought into a widely open auditorium. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall with long Red capital banners hung on the dividing stone pillars. Clenching your trembling hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palms, you tried again to steady your racing heart as it pounded against your ribcage.

Things were going to be fine.

Another thick swallow forced its way down your throat, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. The anxious habit often left your bottom lip puffy, if not bleeding from the repetitive action, but you couldn't help it. Shuffling into place to stand in rows and columns with the other prospective Tributes, you had to will yourself not to look anywhere but ahead. You couldn't break till this was all over. It was a long process to get everyone inside. But once the large wooden doors behind you slammed shut with a contagious shudder shifting through the crowd, you knew this was it.

The deafening cry of an unfocused microphone wails through the room, causing your nose to scrunch and your head to lean into your shoulder in discomfort. A stocky, overdressed Capital escort appears on the short stage made of stone to match the rest of the auditorium. They release a small gasp at the noise and allow a brief dismissal before tapping the microphone twice, the poor device exerting two loud "thumps" for good measure. Clearing their throat with a phlegmy cough, the escort begins a crawl of lines that were evidently rehearsed and regurgitated the same way every year to every district.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!"

The escort's tone is elated, making you feel sick at the pride they seem to take in their position. Your jaw set in place as they continued their spiel.

"Before we begin, I'd like to share this wonderful message from our dear President and our beloved Capital!" They exclaim while gesturing to a letter they seem to pull from thin air. A small "shink" whispers through the mic as the letter is opened. The escort pulls a sheet of parchment out, discarding the envelope in a dramatic toss behind themselves and another phlegmy cough before reading the page.

"Dear Prospective Tributes,"

"It is an honor as the President of Panem to welcome you all to the annual Reaping for this year's Hunger Games. As you all have learned from birth. War, destruction, and rebellion have brought great shame to our nation. A shame that runs so deep that our Districts must be reminded of the consequences and retribution that rebellion costs. War brings death. War brings dead children, dead mothers, dead sisters, and dead brothers. To raise war against your Capital, which has provided you all you've ever needed, is treacherous. To bring war against your home is treason. These Games preserve our past. And these Games protect our future."

Signed, President Coriolanus Snow."

There isn't a single round of applause that rolls through the crowd once the escort finishes reciting the letter. The letter has been identical at every Reaping you've attended since you were twelve. The silence in the auditorium is loud enough to hear a pin drop. Your palms grow warm as blood slowly seeps from where your nails dig in, but you don't bother to take notice.

"Well then, if all is said and done, we shall now move on to selecting our two wonderful tributes who will hold the greatest honor of representing District 4 in the 67th annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies shall go first." The escort exclaims once more, accompanying animated waves of their gloved hands towards the pristine crystal fishbowls on either side of the stage. Both bowls are brimming with slips of paper. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears now.

Everything is going to be fine.

The escort all but skips their way to the crystal mouth of death on the right side of the stage. Your heart feels like it might as well burst out of your chest and splatter against the backs of those in front of you. Your eyes are glued ahead as the escort makes a show of sifting their gloved fingers through the name slips for what feels like an eternity. At last, a slip is chosen in a dramatic swipe up into the air to be displayed to the crowd.

The anticipation is suffocating.

The escort comes back to center stage, coughing into the microphone again as they peel away the black seal of the name.

As the chosen name booms through the auditorium, it's as if you're suddenly underwater. But you can't be underwater because you're standing still, and nothing's wet.

The name booms through the open room again.

This time, you're shocked out of your thoughts at the recognition.

It's your name.

You have been chosen as the female Tribute for the 67th annual Hunger Games.

You barely register the prod of a gun at your back or the jab to your side to force you out of line towards the stage.

This really was going to be your funeral, and you couldn't stop it.

A wail rips apart the blanket of silence as one of the twin younglings cries out for you. On instinct, your head whips towards the cry, but your temple connects with the butt of a gun, and you're knocked to the concrete below. Somehow, a sound akin to a growl emits itself from your throat on your hands and knees as you force yourself to stand back up. Your head throbs with white hot pain from the contact point, but a bitter, spiteful decision solidifies itself in your mind as you're led towards the jaws of certain death on that stage.

You will not die.

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy

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scribble-dribble-writes · 9 months

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Plastic hearts - (6)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

Rocker_girl123 on A03 suggested a Ken POV and I was thinking the same hahaha. The man's really just in his feels

---

Ken’s whole life had changed and although he was forgiven and Barbie acknowledged his feelings, he still harbored the shame of his actions. That in his need to prove his worth, he had hurt the only person he had ever loved.

It still hurt, making peace with the fact that Barbie would never see him the way he had always wanted to be seen as and now life in Barbie land didn’t make any more sense either. He had seen what the real world was about and although now he hated what patriarchy portrayed itself to be, he still did long for the realness of things around him.

‘Beach’ as it turns out was just a strip of sand textured plastic, so was the waves and everything here. He couldn’t sink his feet into the ground or smell the ocean air anymore. That when he was distracted with the discovery of what men were doing in the real world, he had forgotten to take a pause, to breathe and reflect how he was letting his insecurities run rampant.

As he sat by the plastic shore, watching the Barbies and Ken’s play their daily game of volleyball, he huffed a laugh. Stereotypical Barbie always seemed to have a deeper understanding with how the world was supposed to work. He still had a lot of work to do, to not associate his worth with the things he wanted. But with all that said, he still craved the love he desired. He let her go but now he was alone.

“Aren’t you going to walk around the shoreline with your surfboard?”, Allan asked him.

In all these turn of events, Ken began to value true friendships and for so long he had never brought to attention that Allan never received the friendship he was made for. It was so frivolous and yet world shattering, that although he thought he knew what he wanted he had missed all the important things that were right in front of him, he had been so blind.

“Not really.”, he smiled, feeling grateful that in this world that was callous, he had one friend.

“I know what would get you out your gloomy mood.”, Allan took a seat next to him.

“What is that?”, he asked, wishing for an remedy to make him feel better. To feel free again.

“Those cookies from the bakery.”, Allan chimed before snapping his fingers as though he had remembered something.

“The bakery has been closed for a while though.”, he stated and that broke Ken out of his sadness.

He knew it, he had been missing something in all this. Even now he was so caught up in his feelings that he had let you slip by. If any outlet in Barbie land was closed that only meant one thing. The Barbie meant for that particular set had vanished from here.

“How long has it been shut down for?”, he asked to which Allan shrugged.

“Since the day you left to the real world.”, Allan answered.

That was months ago. Ken began to worry. How had no one noticed you had been missing this whole time?

He dusted his hands and got up, his thoughts now only about you and your disappearance. He let Allan know that he was going to take a walk and headed to the bakery.

His hands were tucked within the pockets of his ‘Kenough’ hoodie but he could only pause as he saw the dilapidated building that once held the warmth of your presence and made the streets smell of your wondrous treats. But now it was boarded up, almost as if with time it was going to fade away.

As he caught sight of the windows by which he would wait, he remembered how this was the only place that remotely felt like how a home should feel like. When he had no where else to go, he would come here, to pay you a visit. As he dug deeper, he came to realize that you were the only Barbie who had treated him with a kindness he had never felt before.

But a thought flashed across his face, a memory he had of you last. The hurt with which you took your box of chocolates away as he said he wasn’t yours to like.

Stupid. Ignorant. He didn’t handle you with the same care you had shown him. He sighed, with one small adventure in his mundane purposeless life, it had turned everything up side down.

Now he had lost you too.

“Yikes, aren’t you the one that destroyed Barbie land for a while?”, he heard someone approach him.

Weird Barbie stood next to him. And somehow that question only hurt him more. But instead of making excuses, he owned up to it.

“The one and only. Although now I see the damage I did and I’m ... sorry.”, he told her and for a second she looked at him differently. Because he wasn’t able to go back to being an oblivious Ken any longer.

There was a threat that plagued the real world, one that could hurt anyone if they were innocently led to believe to give voice to their insecurities.

“You’re different now, beach boy.”, she laughed but as he took in her statement, it made more sense.

Maybe he was.

“Do you know why the bakery’s shut down?”, he asked her.

“Actually, I’m here to ask for your help.”, she whispered.

Asking her sanitation crew to begin a sweep around the bakery set, she pulled him to the corner.

“We’re in deep trouble. She came to me with a broken heart and I told her it would be better if she told you and if she didn’t she could take the roller blades.”, she explained to him quickly.

But all he could take from that was you had a your heart broken because of him.

Why couldn’t he do anything right?

When you made him feel loved, he had only caused you pain.

“But she took the wrong pair.”, she sounded frantic.

“She took the doomsday skates when I wanted her to take the normal one.”, she had a slight tremor in her fingers.

Letting the other Barbies and Kens know would lead to wide spread panic. But for the first time, Ken felt his spirit stir, not to slink back in worry but to take an initiative. To find a solution, a proper one.

“What help do you need?”, he asked.

“I need you to bring her back and the roller blades. If the glitter begins to wane, that means our world here is beginning to disappear too, taking along with it the imagination of all the girls of the real world.”, she explained and it gripped him, to see this world disappear meant he would be lost with it too.

“That doesn’t sound good.”, he stated giving more thought to the possible damage.

“Since you know how that world already is, you’re my only shot at fixing this. Sending any other Ken would mean they will come back changed in the worst way.”, she put forth her statement which he knew too.

He couldn’t let another episode of Kendom take place and neither could he sit back to watch another one of his fellow brothers be affected by the bitterness he had once been.

He needed to repay for the hurt he had caused, for the trust he had broken and maybe by restoring peace in Barbie land, it might restore some within him too.

“Tell me how to find her?”, he asked her with a sense of resolve he had never felt before.

---

Tags:

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#barbie movie 2023 #barbie movie #barbie #ken barbie #ken carson #ken x reader #ken x you #ken x y/n #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling

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violetsiren90 · 10 months

Text

What the Moon Saw

Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader

Genre: One-shot; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; young love; summer nights, angst/fluff/smut

Summary: Having been with each other through thick and thin, you and your childhood friend, Yoongi, realize that nobody knows how to say goodbye.

Listen to: "Nobody Knows How to Say Goodbye" by The Lumineers

Drabbles: Stolen Tides; Beacons Ashore

Content Warnings: 18+ (minors dni); allusions to domestic abuse; divorce of parents; cigarette smoking; infidelity (not between main couple); kissing; hickeys; making out; hand jobs; oral sex (female receiving); loss of virginity (female); moments of body insecurity; unprotected sex; cumming inside; cockwarming; characters are ADULTS at the time of their sexual encounter; LOTS of emotions

Author's note: I moved. Like, a block away from the beach, and the views and the vibes have me ALL up in my feels. I wrote this in two nights and then sat on it. I wasn't sure if I was going to post it or just keep it in my heart because parts of it are so personal to me. BUT, here it is. I want to give inspiration credit to @orchidyoonkook , because I will never ever be able to write young love or Yoongi without being influenced by the beauty that is Under the Willow Tree. 💕 If anyone chooses to read this little love story of mine, I hope it brings you something wholesome!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

You inhaled deeply, taking the salty air into your lungs as you gazed out over the cliff side and across the rippling blue that stretched on and on until it met the soft pink glow of the horizon. Your eyes tracked the tide lapping at the smooth sands. You slipped off your heels to meet the cool pavement, but you could feel it already - the soft golden grains molding to meet your steps. These shores hadn't borne your footprints in over a decade, but here you were, drawn back again by the hypnotic crash of the sea and the lonely call of the gulls. It felt as though you had never left. You leaned over the railing of the rickety staircase that wove its way down the cliff side into the sand and scree. Your gaze trailed down the steps, one by one, until you saw it, jutting out halfway down: the lip of a ledge in the rock face. Your breath caught in your chest. Old, familiar feelings of a time gone by washed over you. The years rolled back like clouds from the sun in the western sky.

You were nineteen.

You shivered, drawing your knees up and hugging them to you as sat on the thick woolen blanket you had laid over the cool stone of the ledge. Even on a summer night like this, you should have worn something more practical. But you had worn your cotton sundress with the cherries. He had once told you that you looked like the main character in that dress, and it had been your favorite ever since.

You watched the moon dance on the dark water and thought about all it had seen. It had been watching the little alcove from the beginning. It had seen you the summer after your first year of middle school, wrapped in a blanket with book between your hands, as you took refuge from the emotional turmoil that shook your house nearly every night leading up to your parents' divorce. It had seen the boy one night, wandering the beach with a cigarette and busted lip, trying to smoke away the tears in his eyes. It had seen the boy climb the stairs, only to discover his favorite hiding place was already harboring another runaway. It had seen you look at him - skinny limbs in a jacket and ripped jeans not lanky on his small frame, tussled dark hair, round face, little bleeding pouted lips, dark sharp eyes wide with surprise - and consider that he was likely the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. It had seen him offer you a cigarette which you refused. It had seen him ask you for a light, which you didn't have. And then it had seen you become friends. Best friends. It had watched you become all that the other truly had in the small, beautiful, painful world of a child. And now it would watch him amble up the beach one last time to find you there.

Yoongi. He had been so upset when you told him that you were leaving for college, but he had tried his best not to show it. He was always like that, keeping things deep inside. You had to wait and watch and listen and coax them out. You could always find the right time to do it, when he felt safe to let you. Most nights, though, it was you pouring out every little thing in your heart. Yoongi loved it when you did that. He would listen with the softest little smile and warm eyes, creasing in the corners, as he watched your hands move with as much animation as your voice when you spoke. His nearly-silent breathy laugh would come like a breeze off the sea and waft around you, lifting your spirits and cleansing your soul. His rare, full smile spreading in breathtaking beauty over his face, pulling his upper lip away from his gums. There were the good times, and the bad ones. On hard nights you would hold each other in silence, letting the beat of the other's heart and the steady undulation of the tide carry you through to the dawn.

You remembered the first time you had awakened in his arms after such a night. The light had just started to stream over the tops of the cliffs, painting the water in rose gold. You had shivered, feeling the dampness of the cool salty air in your hair. And then you had looked up and seen him there, holding you, still fast asleep. His face was angelic, little pink lips just parted, chest rising and falling with the swell of his breath, and you swore you could endure anything life threw at you if the first thing you saw each day were his dark lashes resting gently on the apples of his cheeks. Yoongi had finally stirred and blinked down at you, just gazing silently - the little warm smile in his eyes rather than on his lips. In that moment, something had changed. In the weeks that followed, you thought you had never felt so many things at once.

You felt giddy. You felt a little sick. You felt like you could fly.

You were in love.

You were in love and you had very nearly worked up the courage to do something about it when you saw it - that horrid little purple bruise right below his ear. You had asked him if his father had done it and he had been confused at first. But when you brushed your fingers so softly over the mark, his eyes had widened and he had recoiled, pulling up the collar of his jacket to obscure it from your view. He had insisted that he was fine and not to worry. But worry you did, all the way up to the day you realized what the little bruise really was. Then your worry morphed into something different. You felt sick again, but this time it felt like a burden. You had chided yourself for being so stupid. He was beautiful and sixteen, of course he was involved with girls - girls that weren't you. Your heart broke. You pieced it back together with the succor of his friendship, and, soon, you started seeing other boys too. But you never let them give you purple bruises. You didn't want them from their lips.

As the seasons went by, you remained tethered to one another. Regardless of friends or suitors who would come and go, you knew each other in a way that no one else could. A way that didn't require words. Laughter bubbled up without effort or restraint. Fights ended in tears and forehead kisses and never lasted more than a few moments. Never past parting. Until one day a few weeks ago when he had told you that a boy you were going with was seeing another girl. Yoongi had never liked your boyfriend, and so you had reacted badly, gotten defensive and let yourself be angry with him for telling you. You had snapped at him to mind his own business. When he had insisted that you were his business you had said no you weren't, not in that way. He had gone quiet. So quiet. And then he had left. And he hadn't come the next night. Or the night after that.

You were so angry and anxious, and you told yourself you wouldn't wait for him another night, so you stayed home for the rest of the week. Then, on the third night away, you had tucked yourself into bed only to imagine Yoongi waiting for you, alone in the darkness. You had whipped off your covers and gone to find him in your pajamas. When he had seen you he had jumped up, throwing his cigarette aside, and crushed you in his arms. He had hugged you from the other side of the railing, not even waiting for you to climb over, then lifted you to stand before him on the ledge where he had enveloped you in his arms again. You had tried to apologize, but he wouldn't let you. And then you told him what you had been dreading to tell him all summer: you were leaving. He hadn't reacted. He had just held you in silence. But there was something different in him now, something that had his eyes trained immovably on the horizon. Something that wouldn't let him look at you. Something that distracted him from all you had to say as his thumbs brushed softly over your arms. He had looked at you so strangely before you had parted that night.

Now you were meeting one last time before you would watch the little coastal town and all its hurts disappear in your rearview mirror. You needed a second chance and this scholarship might be your only shot. Your reverie broke as you noticed a figure shuffling down the waterline in the bright light of the waxing gibbous. The figure sprung nimbly, with practiced steps, up the stairs, and lightly vaulted the rail, landing with a soft thud, catlike, a few feet from where you sat. He stepped forward, standing over you as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He was wearing tight khakis, white tennis shoes, and a plain white tee under his green military jacket. With a smoke tucked behind his ear and that little smirk on his lips, you thought he might be cooler than Steve McQueen.

"Got a light?" he asked coolly, shoving the pack of Marlboros back in his pocket. You rolled your eyes.

"Of course not, Yoongi. And why on earth do you always ask me that when you've got one anyway?"

Yoongi smiled to himself as he brought a lighter to the little yellow-tipped cylinder between his lips. It was a secret kind of smile, the kind that made you want to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth. But tonight wasn't for fighting, even the bickering kind. He eased himself down beside you with his signature careful grace. You sat in silence, gaze trained out over the water. While you were looking elsewhere, he relaxed, and you tracked his movements in your peripheral vision. You would do this sometimes, especially when he was particularly guarded. He had always been bad at eye contact, but if you gave him a little space he would let down his walls, and you could read him like a book. Just now, he had let his gaze settle on you. Smoke hissed through his lips, his mouth hanging open just a little in that way it did when he was lost to his thoughts. His eyes roved over you in a way that made you mouth go dry. You swallowed. He suddenly shifted his gaze, coughing a bit.

"I like this dress," he offered, like an apology.

"I know," you murmured with a smile.

"Yeah?" he questioned, brow furrowing, as he took another drag. He was quiet for a beat before pressing out another question. "Paul headed out east too?"

"I broke up with him," came your answer, but without a smile this time.

"Yeah?"

"Oh come on, Yoongi," you bit out, "You knew that was going to happen. That's why you told me!"

His jaw ticked ever so slightly.

"You know that's not true. He was cheating on you. I couldn't let you be in the dark about it - get hurt by another one of these assholes who don't deserve your time in the first place."

You sighed, frustration rising unbidden again as Yoongi casually hurtled the unspoken walls you had erected to make things easier.

"What I deserve is my business. I don't go chastising you for letting random bitches suck on your neck and god knows what else so that you don't feel lonely."

The remark had been soft but laced with venom, and you had regretted breaching your own resolve against negativity the moment the words had spilled from your lips.

"Random..." He stared at you intently, surprise and confusion mingling with another indiscernible expression in his eyes as they traced over your features. You were trying to think of a way, any way, to salvage the conversation when he huffed out a laugh.

"You did know what it was!"

"What?"

"That hickey you asked about sophomore year."

Your stomach flipped.

"How do you even remember that?" You blustered in incredulity.

"How do you?"

He was staring at you knowingly with those achingly beautiful dark eyes that always saw you. It was one of the things you loved most about him. But right now it was terrifying. Right now you wanted to escape, only, there was nowhere to go. So for a moment, just a moment, you didn't hide anymore.

"Because," you swallowed, trailing your eyes back up to his, your voice shaking a bit as you whispered, "I remember everything."

A beat. Two. You didn't make a disarming jest, or a hurried qualification. You didn't even blink. In a flash as quick and heavy as a summer storm, years of yearning filled your eyes like intangible tears, holding his face in your gaze before casting it back out over the sea. Yoongi had froze where he sat, eyes trained immovably on you before he suddenly stood, tossing his cigarette and cursing as he took a step toward the edge, weaving his fingers through his hair.

"What?" you asked, almost defensively.

He didn't turn around, but you could hear the emotion in his voice, his head bowed as he wrestled with the words.

"Nah, that's not fair. You're leaving...You're leaving and you're gonna make it even...even harder right now?"

Turns out you weren't the only one who had been building walls with invisible bricks. You jumped to your feet.

"Oh, so this is my fault? You've been telling me my whole life to get out! You convinced me to apply to the Ivy Leagues! You spent the last weeks pushing me away! I don't understand what you want from me, Yoongi!"

He turned toward you, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes on the ground.

"A clean break," he said lowly, "Not from you...for you. I just wanted you to run, no guilt no pain, and not look back."

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you shook your head.

"That's not how it works though. I was always going to look back. Whenever I was frightened or lost or uncertain. Whenever I woke up in the morning or closed my eyes to sleep, or laughed, or...or felt so much joy I didn't know what to do with it. I was always going to look back, Yoongi," You took a deep breath, "I was going to look for you."

Hot tears slipped down your cheeks as you grabbed his arm and pressed your wet face into his shoulder. You could feel his body shake with little sobs.

"Don't," he croaked out, "don't look for me."

"Sorry," you huffed a tearful laugh into the fabric of his sleeve, "I don't think my heart will listen to you. Pretty rough deal when it's yours after all."

You had tried to say it like a joke. It had come out like a promise.

Yoongi stilled. Everything stilled. For a moment, it was as if even the sea and the sky and the moon held their breath. He let his hands fall from where they covered his face. As he lifted his head and turned, you dropped his arm, thinking for one horrible moment that he meant to push you away. But he didn't. He reached for you, and gently, firmly - like every move he ever made, like every word he ever spoke - slipped his hand around the nape of your neck and pressed his mouth against yours.

You gasped softly against his lips.

Sweet, methodical, insistent. He slipped his tongue against your bottom lip and you tilted your head to slot your mouth against his, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushed languorously against your own. He tasted like mint and cigarettes and him. You could do this all day. A little dagger pierced your heart at the thought that you only had tonight. You stumbled back, tugging him down beside you onto the blanket. You pushed him to his back and slipped onto his lap, leaning down to reconnect your lips with his. He chuckled into your mouth, his cheeks still wet with tears.

"Slow down," he hummed.

"No," you murmured in simple defiance, kissing along his jaw before dipping to press your mouth to the soft flesh of his neck.

You licked softly, experimentally, along the side of his throat, and his fingers tightened against your waist. He tasted like salty skin and the alcohol of that cheap musky cologne he wore and Yoongi. You leaned back, supporting yourself with hands on either side of his head as you looked down at him.

"Can I?" you asked with a shy smile

"Hm?" he hummed, large, lithe hands massaging your waist.

"Leave a mark?"

His eyes squeezed into little crescent moons, and his mouth pulled up into a full smile he couldn't repress. He chuckled again, reaching up to brush his palm over your cheek, and nodded, tilting his head to the side to expose the creamy skin of his neck. Your heart hammered in your chest as you leaned down and placed an open-mouthed kiss to his throat before sucking until you had pulled a low, deep groan from him. You pushed up again, surprised at the sound, new and lovely, to find him flushed - his blown pupils darkening his eyes, and a little wet patch of smooth skin growing rosy against his throat. You felt a thrill rush through you, making you tremble. You leaned down and marked him again and again, pulling sweet moans from his lips until his neck and collarbones were littered with the proof of your mouth. You lifted your face to kiss him again, but after pressing his lips to yours twice, he pulled back.

"One more," he whispered, taking your hand from his face and guiding it down to the slight firm swell of the top of his left pec.

His eyes played over your face as you felt it softly against your fingertips - his heart. In a valiant fight for your composure, you pressed your eyes shut and buried your face in his chest. He ran a hand over the back of your head soothingly. You raised your face to meet his gaze again, choking out a little sob at the depth of its gentle affection. You slipped your fingers to the collar of his cotton tee and stretched it down and to the side, revealing his bare chest. With reverence you pressed your mouth to his skin, fulfilling his request.

No sooner had you raised your eyes to his again than he was pulling you against his lips and rolling you to your back. His weight sank into you as your mouths moved together and you thought, maybe, under his warmth was the only place you ever wanted to be. Your body responded to him seemingly of its own accord, your legs weaving around the backs of his thighs as a thrumming ache intensified at your core. As he moved to kiss your neck you found your hips rolling up, seeking relief for the sticky ache at their center, and you were met with a firm knot in his groin that pressed just where you were neediest. Your high-pitched whine was a sharp contrast to his low growl into your shoulder. It was intoxicating - his sensation, his sound, and you undulated against him over and over to slake your want on his growing hardness and hear his breath come quick against your ear. He began to rock against you in return, and soon you were whimpering into his neck, beads of sweat cooling on your forehead against the night air as each rut of his hips became overwhelming and not enough.

"Yoongi, please," you begged in a breathy moan, lightly squeezing the back of his neck and turning your damp forehead against his soft cheek.

He pushed up to look at you, brushing away the little hairs clinging to your brow. He looked as needy as you, but a little uncertain.

"What is it?" he asked. You knew he knew. You leaned up and kissed him chastely before letting your head fall back against the blanket.

"I want you," you murmured, suddenly barely able to look at him as the words formed on your lips.

Yoongi dipped to press another kiss to your mouth before sitting up and back on your thighs, and gently tugging you up with him. You noticed the bulge straining against the front of his khakis, and he winced slightly as he wiggled to adjust against your legs. He took your hands in his, that little smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips, tongue darting out lick at them as he considered you thoughtfully. Impatient, you pushed his jacket off his shoulder, which he fully shed and cast aside, and ran your hands over his cotton-clad chest. His muscle jumped when you grazed down over his stomach, which you thought must be as soft and lovely as the rest of him.

"Are you sure you want this to happen right now, with me?" he asked tenderly. You looked up at him, your brow pinched in question. "Your first time?"

You scoffed, your face heating as you looked away, brushing bits of sand from the blanket.

"How do you know if it's my first time?"

His little smile spread into a grin.

"Because I know," he offered, a bit smugly.

You toyed with the hem of his shirt.

"I'm sure," you murmured. And then you looked up at him. "Have you ever..."

"Yeah," he responded, almost like he was sorry, as he glanced down and took your hands in his again. He bit the bottom corner of his lip. "I don't have a condom."

You felt your heart pounding as the concept of him taking you where you sat became increasingly real.

"So pull out," you offered nonchalantly, hoping you sounded far more experienced than he knew you were.

He nodded. You snaked a hand between you to dance your fingers over the strain against the crotch of his pants. His hand flew to encircle your wrist and still your movements. He took a deep breath.

"It might hurt you at first. Maybe the whole time," he said, his thumb brushing in a pendulum motion over your arm. You nodded.

"I know. I don't care."

He smiled again, regarding you for a long moment.

"Okay," he said, nodding and licking his lips before taking your jaw delicately between the rounded pads of his fingers. "But you have to promise me one thing."

"Hm?"

"You still have to leave in the morning."

You heaved a sigh. Oh, Yoongi. You thought you might cry again, so you nodded, pulling him down over you once more.

"Promise me," he murmured against your lips.

"I promise," you breathed.

You kissed slowly, greedily, learning each other's mouths and mapping each other's faces and necks. At some point he dipped below your collarbone to drag his lips along the tops of your breasts. Your hand flew into his hair and he looked up at you, dark eyes seeking permission. You nodded, bottom lip clamped between your teeth as he tugged down the stretchy bodice of your sundress to reveal a simple beige bra that clasped in the front.

"It's not sexy," you remarked apologetically.

He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes, and dipped to kiss the tops of your breasts as his fingers found the clasp.

"Shhh, it's just the wrapping," he whispered as he snapped the garment open, letting your breasts fall into view as they pushed aside the fabric cups that had confined them.

He cursed under his breath as he brought both hands to your tits and kneaded them gently, sliding your pert nipples in the spaces between his fingers. You mewled, arching your back to press your chest up into his grasp. Before you could truly revel in the feeling of his hands plying your supple flesh, they were gone, but your whine of protest was cut short by a sharp keen as his mouth replaced his fingers. He suckled and nipped at one bud and then the other, and each time he released one with a pop, you were certain you had been rendered temporarily unconscious. Soon he was sitting up and smirking down at the panting, writhing mess of you beneath him. You saw him grimace again as he adjusted his stance, and you reached for his zipper, only to find your hand caught in his.

"No yet," he chided lightly, a twinkle in his eye, "I have to make you cum."

You drew your arm back and cast it over the top of your face, suddenly shy at his remark.

"To get you ready for me," he explained again in a murmur as he pushed your dress up to your rib cage.

He traced his hands lightly over your naked waist and you shivered. He moved to his knees, pushing your legs to either side of him. He hooked his fingers into the top of your pink cotton panties, when you suddenly felt yourself sitting up, your dress falling back over your midriff. You were a sight - wild hair and your tits half out, still panting for breath while worry painted your features. Yoongi pulled his hands away and sat back, confusion in his widened eyes.

"I don't shave," you rushed out, "I know some girls do, but I've never tried. And...I don't know, I'm kind of a mess down there right now..."

Yoongi's face softened and he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours.

"I don't care," he whispered. You huffed out another sigh.

"But...but what if you...don't like it?"

"I know I will."

"How?"

He bumped your nose with his, swallowing again as his hand found yours.

"Because I love you."

He only let the words hang in the air for a millisecond before he was crashing his lips into yours again, passionately, as if it was the only way he could convey his conviction.

He loved you. You could have died. But he was pressing one of the kisses you would always remember into your lips like an oath, so you didn't. And then you let him bare your skin and lay you down and tell you that you were beautiful. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you felt your heart believe him. How were you to leave in the morning when his soft, warm words felt like the sun?

He ran his hands over your sides and thighs, dipping to trail slow, deliberate kisses down from your navel until his chin brushed the soft, curly hairs of your mound. Your breath caught in your chest as the cool air hit fresh slick dampening your sex. He leaned back again, regarding you with warm eyes, and took your hand in his, placing it over your lower lips.

"Do you touch yourself?"

You stammered. He had asked you as simply as if he were inquiring about your favorite flavor of ice cream. With effort you admitted that you did. He stroked over your hand.

"Show me how. What makes you feel good."

You nodded slowly, feeling yourself tremble a little as you moved to stroke your middle finger in beckoning motions over your swollen clit. The motion that should have been almost automatic and familiar felt new and lewd under his gaze. As you dipped to gather more arousal from your entrance you watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat and his hands tighten where they gripped your thighs.

"You're soaked," he murmured as he stooped to press a kiss to your belly. Then he did something that would be seared into your brain for all eternity: he scooped up your hand and brought it to his lips, sucking your sticky middle finger into his mouth. You gushed at the sensation of his lips and tongue, wide eyes locked on his as he slowly let your finger slip free.

"You want to know how you taste?" He asked, not waiting for an answer before humming, "So fucking good."

"Yeah?" you asked breathlessly, propped up on your forearms to watch as he laid down between your legs.

"Mhm. Sweet. Like honey."

He kissed into your pubic hair, slipping one of his long fingers to trace over your clit the way you had showed him. You gasped as you watched him work you up, something inside your growing taut like a bowstring. And then a kind of pleasure you had never imagined, the kind that made you want to melt and scream, rushed through your trembling body as a single finger pressed slowly past your entrance while his mouth found your clit. You found your hips bucking to meet his thrusts as he pressed in a second finger. You felt a slight sting at the stretch, but the exquisite pressure of this knobby knuckles caressing your walls overwhelmed any pain, and when he pressed the pads of his fingers to massage a spongy patch of muscle, you cried out, gripping his dark locks.

"Yoongi!" you moaned as he repeated the motion, and when he took your clit between his lips to suck you came.

You came hard and in waves, rolling your hips into him until you were clamping your thighs shut at the raw sensitivity of overstimulation. Yoongi sat up to rub his hands over your shaking thighs and heaving belly before leaning back down to kiss you and return your spirit through his lips from the astral plane.

"You did so good," he cooed, "Came so easy for me."

"That's good?" you asked between pants. He chuckled into your neck.

"Mhm."

"It felt good, Yoongi, really good." He dropped a kiss to your shoulder, and then mumbled into your skin.

"You still want to go all the way?"

"Yes," you whispered, pulling his shirt up his back and running your hands over his bare skin.

Yoongi sat up and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to lay with his jacket. He was slender and milky, as you had expected, but his shoulders were surprisingly broad, and his upper chest firm. The soft swell of his belly was dusted with a trail of delicate dark hairs leading down from his navel. You reached instinctively for the button of his pants, and this time he let you. Trailing the zipper down, he helped you shed his tight pants and boxers, sighing in relief as he freed his erection. You bit your lip as your hand trailed over the velvety skin of his shaft. Even this part of him was beautiful, you thought - not overly long but thick and proud with a pretty vein and a smooth tip glistening with precum. You had been so consumed with drinking him in that you only now noticed the little needy whimpers falling from his lips as you stroked him. You squeezed a little firmer, pumping him with more confidence.

"Like that?" you asked, unable to look away from the sweet sight of his face as his eyebrows knitted and his head tilted back.

"Yeah, just...no, no, I won't last," he groaned, his hand stilling yours.

When he met your concerned gaze he reached up to stroke your cheek.

"Feels too good," he murmured reassuringly, then he guided you back down on the blanket, balling up his jacket and slipping it under your head.

He lowered himself carefully over you, skin to skin, as he kissed you again and again, his right hand toying with your breast and trailing lower to caress your clit. You could feel the heat rising in you again, and an aching want inside growing deeper and hungrier with every shock of pleasure. When he trailed his fingers through your folds to find you thoroughly wet he leaned to the side, gliding his length between your lips, his smooth tip brushing over your bud. You cursed, fingers digging into his back and he huffed a little laugh, eyes sparkling down at you.

"Dirty girl," he chuckled, before kissing the tip of your nose. "Are you ready?"

You felt a squeeze of trepidation in your chest, but you pushed it away.

"Yes," you assured him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

For a long moment, he just stared down at you, the same look in his eyes as the morning you had first awakened in his arms, but so intent - as if he was trying to commit every feature of your face, in this moment, to memory. Finally breaking his gaze, he glanced down between your bodies, aligning himself with your entrance. His eyes flicked back up to you as he slowly, slowly breached your core. When he had pressed in past his tip you felt the searing stretch he had warned you of. You closed your eyes, drawing in a sharp breath.

"You okay?" came is worried voice, "Want to stop?" You shook your head.

"No, just do it," you panted through the pain, "I want it to be you."

You pulled him down to press your mouth to his. Every kiss between you seemed to say something. This one said that you trusted him in a way you would never trust another.

He was so gentle. Pressing in slowly, giving you time to stretch around the thickness of him, kissing you sweetly through your whimpers, until he was fully sheathed inside you. Tears filled your eyes and trickled down your cheeks. You were so full of him.

"Why are you crying?" he cooed, touching his forehead to yours.

Your hands clutched his back as you raised watery eyes to his.

"Because I'm yours, Yoongi. Yours first and no one else's." He buried his face in your neck.

"Take me, Yoongi," you whispered desperately into his ear, "Take me like I'm yours."

You felt him let out a tiny sob against your skin and then he started to move. He kept a slow pace at first, carefully gliding against your tight walls, unaccustomed to his presence. You could feel him jerk and twitch as he moved, and thought he must be restraining himself. You found the worst of your pain had passed, and all you wanted in the world was to make him cum.

"Don't hold back," you hummed as you rolled your hips to meet his thrusts.

He didn't need you to tell him twice, instantly setting a quicker, sharper pace that had his balls slapping your ass and his pelvic bone pressing to your clit with each forward snap.

"You're so fucking tight," he mumbled, a dazed look beginning to overtake his features, "You feel so good, baby. So good." You wove your hands into his hair, pulling him down to kiss him as you breathed in every curse, whimper, and moan. And then he was looking down at you with dark, wild eyes.

"I'm gonna cum, sweetheart, where do you want me to cum?"

You didn't have to think.

"Inside," you answered breathlessly.

"But I'm not..."

"Please, cum inside me, Yoongi. Please," you whimpered, tempted to wrap your legs around his waist - your desire for him transcending every fear of consequence. But you wanted to give him the choice.

He raised himself up on his elbows, his thrusts coming impossibly harder and more erratic, and then he came. You watched him in exaltation as he threw his head back and cried out, emptying himself inside you. So beautiful, you thought, with his hair clinging to his brow, his chest heaving and flushed, and his face drawn in the throes of his release. You did wrap your legs around him then, and he collapsed, his head falling to your breasts as he gasped for breath. You tangled your fingers into his hair, caressing his head. You were swollen and sore and messy, and yet the thought of him abandoning you was unbearable. And the moon saw it all.

It saw you stay each other's as long as possible. It watched you both try to hide your tears as you pulled on your clothes. It watched you fight desperately, and fail, to put your heart in words. It watched him silence you, and hold you, because you didn't have to say it. He knew. It watched you fall asleep in his arms one last time.

You opened your eyes. The gulls were crying and the pale morning sunlight was spilling over the tops of the cliffs. The sea was soft and plashing and cerulean. It was the most beautiful of the ninety-three mornings of summer. But you didn't notice - all you saw were dark lashes on the apples of soft cheeks. You watched his breath rise and fall as the sun tipped over the horizon in the east, the dew trickling down your face as salty as the sea.

When Yoongi's eyes fluttered open they met your red ones, and he pressed is forehead to yours only for a moment before pulling you up to stand.

"Get outta here," he whispered shakily, hands still clutching your arms and brow still tilted into your own.

"Come with me," you choked tracing your hands over his chest.

"I can't leave her with him."

"I know." Your fingers traced over his heart and the little bruise you knew rested under the cotton fabric.

Yoongi wept.

"Go," he whispered, squeezing your arms. You nodded weakly.

"Go, goddamn it, go!" he cried, as you shook with sobs, then he crushed his mouth against yours.

Time didn't stop, you'd have any - so you stole every second you could.

And then you kept your promise.

You shivered as a zephyr sprang off the water to whip around you, disrupting your thoughts. You tugged at your blazer. It had been a long time since you wore a sundress with cherries.

It was time to let them go, the little girl huddled in a blanket and the boy with the bleeding lip. They had held your hands for so long. They deserved to be free. It was time to let them go, so you did.

With a deep sigh you cast one last wistful glance back over the great blue expanse as the sun sank into the sea.

The moon was just a silver slip in the sky that night, but it saw. It saw before you did, as you turned to go, the breath catching in your chest when a low, soft voice behind you asked,

"Got a light?"

-Fin-

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