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everyonewooeverywhere · 3 months

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MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ fuckboy!mingi x party girl!reader (feat. best friends/roomates!woosan)

synopsis ✭ you like to party but that doesn’t mean you’re always down to fuck, so, when notorious fuck boy song mingi takes an interest in you, you’re certainly wary of him. but something about his insistence and willingness to go the extra mile is incredibly attractive. when they see you start to play into him, though, your best friends wooyoung and san do everything in their power to keep you away from him. so mingi has no choice but to fly under their radar.

content/genre ✭ smut MDNI 18+, fwb/situationship to ???, undefined relationship, secret relationship

word count ✭ 5.3k

warnings ✭ alcohol consumption (not during/before sex), protected sex, slight dirty talk, fingering, sex is pretty vanilla

✭✭✭✭

CHAPTER 1: SWEET TALKER

The scene was very familiar to you. A packed bar on a Friday night. A skimpy outfit that made you feel good. Loud music that shook through your body, lyrics drowned out by the heavy bass and mass of people. All of that on top of a drink in your hand paid for by a guy you knew full well you were not going home with. It was the recipe for a perfect night.

You certainly weren’t a stranger to a good party. And this one wasn’t any different from the others. The drink in your hand was free, paid for by the pretty stranger you were talking to. His name completely slipped your mind, but you didn’t really need to remember it because, moments after catching your eyes from across the bar, your friend slipped his arm over your shoulder.

When you looked up at him in mock surprise, he kissed your forehead. He turned to look at the guy you were talking to, one who was mildly surprised to find out you had a boyfriend.

Despite his surprise, though, he piped up anyway, “Can I help you? We were kinda talking here.”

Wooyoung shook his head and laughed, “I don’t really appreciate guys buying drinks for my girl and trying to hook up with her.”

“But–”

“We’ll be on our way actually,” Wooyoung cut off the nameless man, leading you away with his arm still around your shoulder.

It wasn’t until the two of you made it to the tall table where your friend San was standing that he dropped his arm from your shoulder.

Immediately, though, Wooyoung glared at you, “Was the drink worth it?”

“Honestly, not really,” you laughed, “His taste kinda sucked.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. You playfully nudged his arm with your elbow, “You’re just mad you can’t anyone to pay for your alcohol that isn’t San.”

“I only pay because he never stops whining,” he glared at your friend. “And it’s not like I’m gonna drink tonight either,” he said, taking a sip of the Coke in his hand.

“You don’t have to be the designated driver every weekend, San,” you told him, “Wooyoung knows how to drive, too.”

Wooyoung scoffed, “You bitch. You know how to drive. Why don’t you ever offer?”

“Because you are a gentleman, and you would never make me drive you home after a long night.”

“That’s some bullshit logic.”

You shrugged, “It works on San.”

“You know I don’t mind,” San chimed in, trying to break up this completely unnecessary argument.

You knew, but pushing Wooyoung’s buttons was always fun, especially when he was tipsy. Turning away from the table, scanning the bar. It was relatively early, only around ten, but the bar was packed with mostly students from your university. They hung around the bar and danced on the floor. It was a typical Friday night for a lot of students at your university. Since the bar was only half a mile from campus, you’d be hard-pressed to find a body in here who didn’t attend your school or know someone who did. Despite that, most of these people you had never seen before in your life.

Song Mingi was not one of those people.

Personally, you had only ever interacted with him in passing. Mostly with his friends. When they bought you a drink hoping you’d come back to their place. The majority of them had failed (in fact, only one of them had ever succeeded). But you knew his name at least, and you were pretty confident he knew yours.

He had never really tried. Probably because you had a reputation for rejections. Most guys, fortunately for your wallet, saw this as a challenge, and you were never gonna turn down free stuff.

From where he stood across the bar you could tell he was staring at you. Even with his stupid sunglasses on. He was staring at you with complete disregard for the fact that there was already a girl on his arm. You saw his eyebrows raise above the glasses as if he was greeting you without tipping off the girl with him. You rolled your eyes a looked back over at San who was sliding around the table to your side.

“He’s been watching you all night.”

“Really?” you titled your head, minorly intrigued. Maybe “minorly” was a lie because you could hardly ignore the butterflies in your stomach at knowing that fact.

“Y/n…”

You side-eyed him, “What?”

You knew “what.” Of course, you did. That much was obvious from the girl on his arm who he was pretending to pay attention to. Mingi went through girls like they were busy work. Checking them off like boxes and moving on to the next. As far as you know, he hadn’t had a girlfriend in your four years of attending the university, and you weren’t delusional enough to believe that the attention he was giving you was anything special.

As much as you despised a fuckboy, though, you would be a fool to deny that Song Mingi was the epitome of your type. Tall, dark hair, great style. Dressed in all black and adorned with carefully chosen silver jewelry. Sometimes you wondered why all the hottest guys you knew were the ones who were almost certainly never going to settle down. San would be the one to tell you to reassess your type, but listening to San was something you didn’t do very often (even though he was always right).

“I know you, and you do not want to mess around with him.”

“Correction, I don’t want to date him. I would very much like to mess around with him.”

San looked at you disapprovingly, “You and I both know that you don’t go home with guys because you know you’ll catch feelings for a one-night-stand. Tell me how the fuck you’re going to mess around with him and keep it purely casual.”

He was right, as per usual. You weren’t really the type to be able to separate romantic feelings from your sex life. God, you had surely tried, but each attempt had ended in disastrous heartbreak. And you had no reason to believe that this would be any different.

“One drink couldn’t hurt.” You were desperately trying to reason with him. Well, you were more trying to reason with yourself, but San was there to be of assistance.

“Ask him why the fuck he’s wearing sunglasses inside at night,” Wooyoung chimed in from behind you.

“Stop encouraging her.”

“Ok, dad,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes and took a sip of the Coke San had left on the table.

“It’s fine, Sannie, I’m not gonna fuck him. I’ll just talk to him, and maybe dance with him. That’s it. I’ll still come back here, and we’ll all go home together. Ok?”

Despite San’s major disapproval, you made your way back up to the bar. If he wanted you that bad, he’d come to you. You certainly weren’t going to make the first move here. If he wanted to get closer than just checking you out.

Inevitably, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was Wooyoung, and he was letting you know that Mingi was making his way toward the bar.

In order to avoid another mediocre drink, you started ordering a drink for yourself. When the bartender asked for your card at the end of your order, you started digging around in your clutch. Mingi knew your game. He knew full well, as he approached you, that that clutch held absolutely nothing of monetary value. And he was right of course, you had brought it for the sole purpose of holding your phone and a tube of lip gloss.

“Go ahead and make two of those,” Mingi reached over your shoulder and handed the bartender his card.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, faking your surprise, “Oh! Thank you.”

“Of course, anything for a pretty girl who goes to bars without a wallet” he smiled down at you. Leaning against the bartop.

Laughing, you shrugged, “I don’t need to why pretty boys are willing to pay for my drinks.”

“So you knew I would pay before you even got up here?”

“Please, I could practically feel you staring at me all night,” that was fully a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Couldn’t help myself. You look great it black,” He gestured to the minidress you wore. It was one of your favorites, so it felt good that he seemed to like it, too.

You grabbed at the jacket he was wearing, running your thumb over the fabric, “So do you.”

The bartender slid your drinks to you, and Mingi picked both of them up. His fingers brushed your own as he handed it to you.

The two of you chatted and flirted for the better part of an hour. The time honestly flew by. You looked over at your friends to see that some more people had gathered around their table. Great. That meant you had time. San chatting away with people meant he wasn’t ready to leave. And you wanted to dance with Mingi. So you for sure weren’t ready to leave. You looked out over the dance floor, it was still super lively. Just crowded enough for you to have fun.

When you set your empty glass down on the bar, Mingi grabbed your hand. He nodded toward the dance floor you were looking at so longingly, “You wanna dance?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, “sure.”

✭✭✭✭

Dancing with Mingi was incredible. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that he looked so fucking good under the low lights of the bar, but holy shit.

The rings on his hand dug into your waist where his hands were holding you against him. With your head leaned back against his chest, you could feel his breath on your neck. He groan slightly ever time you gripped his hair. It was such a subtle groan that you could only really feel it reverbrate of hiss body.

When he turned you around in his arms, you where quick to place yours over his shoulders, pushing your chest into his. He smirked down at you with both of his hands resting on the lowest part of your back, any lower and he fully would have been groping you.

You danced with him for an indecerable amount of time. You were sweating from the amount of bodies in the room, and you can tell Mingi is too from the sheen on his forehead.

Moving a hand from his shoulder you grabbed the sunglasses, his stupid fucking sunglasses, and lifted them up onto his head. Looking into his eyes for the first time, he winked at you. You laughed and rolled your eyes.

He pulled you closer to him, as if it were even possible. You tangled your hands in his hair as the two of you danced together. Communicating with nothing but body movements. Everything was hot, from the air in the room, to his hands on your back. You felt nothing but pure dopamine infused ecstasy.

Most of the time, the men who bought you drinks spent their time with you bragging about themselves and telling you how good you looked in whatever outfit you had opted for that night.

It was rare that you actually had fun with them. That was usually reserved for your friends.

Maybe it was the fact that you had already decided on not going home with him, though that decision was sounding more and more unappealing as the night went on, or maybe it was because you were dancing with a man who just knew how to have fun.

There were no thoughts in you head other than the utter giddiness you felt when his hands squeezed your waist or when his head dipped to your neck as he breathed something in your ear.

Nothing could take you out of this moment. Well maybe except your phone buzzing in your bag. You had felt it buzz around six times before you reached into your bag to see what it was.

Of course, as you suspected it might be, it was Wooyoung. Telling you that he was tired and wanted to go home. You huffed and thought about ignoring it when you saw San approaching you.

Quickly, and without much thought at all, you reached into Mingi’s back pocket. He looked a bit taken aback by the action. When you pulled out his phone, he looked down at you, intrigued.

“Open it,” you told him. He did what you asked, unlocking the device and handing it back to you. You were quick to type in your number with your name. Simple. No emojis. No petnames. He could change it up later if he really wanted.

By the time San had grabbed your shoulder, you had already given him his phone back. And that was it. You let San pull you away. Left him with nothing but your phone number. Not a kiss. Not a promise to meet up. Not a “call me” with a wink. Nothing.

You left him with the hope that, if he really wanted you, he would chase you. At least just a little bit.

✭✭✭✭

Mingi had really pulled through. He had texted you that next night. It was nothing special. He told you that he had had a good time. That he thought you were beautiful, and he’d love to see you again. You texted a bit through the week, too. Casually flirting with each other. Well, it was more of him flirting, and you responding calmly. A completely false persona, because every time he mentioned anything suggestive you were a total wreck. Kicking your feet, giggling with red ears.

Even when he texted you at work.

✭✭✭✭

Working the closing shift was always such a bore. Working until the late hours of the night, cleaning up messes that you had no part in making. It was the perfect storm for a less-than-perfect evening.

Having a friend to join you in that suffering, though, made it just a little more bearable. You had to beg your manager to keep scheduling you with San in the evenings, but it certainly paid off. The restaurant was small, so it was just the two of you at night. Left to your own devices to clean up and close down.

Being alone with him, though, unfortunately, gave him time to lecture you.

You’d just finished mopping the floors in the back kitchen when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. You smiled a little when you saw who it was.

“Oh god,” you heard San grumble from where he was next to you, also mopping the floors.

You looked up at him, “what?”

“You know what,” he rolled his eyes, “are you actually talking to that douchebag?”

You shrugged, “it’s nothing serious. It’s all just fun.”

“Yeah, it’s all just fun until you actually start catching feelings for him, and then he dumps you like he has so many other girls.”

His words stung quite a bit, but mostly because you knew there was more than a small layer of truth to them. You knew this was far from the first time that Mingi had given a girl this much attention, but you’d be fully lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t like it. His sweet words and constant pet names were something you looked forward to every day.

Which is why you looked back down at your phone despite San’s obvious disapproval.

| mingi: you work at arriba’s right?

| you: uhh…yeah? who told that? and why?

| mingi: no one told me. ive just seen you there a lot

| mingi: and you said you were working tonight so i wanted to know if i could pick you up after your shift

| mingi: my roommate’s gone tonight. thought maybe we could watch a movie or whatever. we’ll have the place to ourselves

Holy shit. He was inviting you over. You’d only been talking to him for a week, but you were starting to wonder if texting back and forth was going to be the extent of this…thing…the two of you had going on.

| you: riiiight… watch a movie…

| mingi: we can do whatever you want baby

| mingi: i don’t give a shit about the movie. i just wanna see your pretty face

You glanced over at San, who was still vigorously mopping the floors in the kitchen. There’s no way you could have Mingi pick you up without him noticing. He was your ride home anyway. You didn’t want to lie to him either though. Which meant you’d have to face the humiliation of telling him you were going over to “watch movies” with the guy he was desperately trying to get you to avoid.

But you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to see Mingi. And you’d be lying even more if you said you just wanted to watch a movie with him. You were trying so hard, though, to make him keep playing this game. To see how far he was willing to go. How much he was willing to chase you.

You couldn’t help it, though, that every time he texted you thought back to him dancing with you at the bar. His hands on your waist and your back. His lips brushed up against your ear. The strands of his dark hair between your fingers.

Noticing your silence, Mingi messaged you again:

| mingi: please baby? i really want to see you

| mingi: i’ll even pick up some takeout on my way to get you

| mingi: and i’ll drive you home tomorrow i promise

Tommorow? Well fuck. You really weren’t sure at first if he wanted you to spend the night, but that much was clear now. Sure, you probably wouldn’t get done at Arriba’s until midnight, but you thought maybe he’d just drive you home super late. But spending the night? Well, that just added a whole new level of intrigue.

| you: fine, i get off at 12. don’t be late

| mingi: wouldnt dream of it

San was still mildly upset at you as the night went on. Well, upset wasn’t really the word, he was more worried you were gonna get your heart broken which you assured him wouldn’t happen because there were no feelings really involved here. Hell, you hadn’t even met up outside the bar yet.

But San’s poor attitude made it significantly harder to bring up this evening’s plan.

“Hey, um,” you started, not looking at him as you wiped down the table in front of you, “I, uh, don’t need a ride home tonight.”

You glanced up to see that he’d stopped wiping down his table.

“Ok,” he responded, resuming his cleaning.

You cringed, that response was almost worse than a lecture, and you told him that.

He shrugged in response, “You’re an adult. I’m not going to tell you what to do. I can strongly advise you against certain things, but I’m not going to stop you,” he met your eyes, “If he makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, though, please call me, ok?”

You nodded.

“I won’t lecture you at all. I’ll just come get you.”

"Thank you, Sannie,"

✭✭✭✭

After counting down the cash and setting the alarm, you were both ready to go for the evening. You checked your phone for the time. 12:14. Below it, of course, was a message from Mingi:

| mingi: im here

[attachment: 1 image]

| mingi: and ive got food

You bid your friend farewell with a hug. When you stepped out into the parking lot, you saw Mingi leaning up against the hood of his car, food in hand. San’s eyes burned into the back of your head as you made your way over to him. Actually, you had more reason to believe he was staring at Mingi rather than at you.

He pushed himself off his car when he saw you coming. He held the food out to you, grinning.

“What’d you get?” you asked, taking the bag from him.

He shrugged, “Just some chicken. I wasn’t sure what you liked. There’s fries in there too, and I’ve got a Coke in the car if you want it.”

“Thank you.” “Not a problem, baby,” he glanced over your shoulder, “Although…is your friend gonna be alright? He won’t stop staring.”

The butterflies you got seeing him call you “baby” over text were nothing compared to the pure giddiness that came from hearing it out loud.

Of course, though, you had to remind yourself that you were far from the only girl whom he’d called “baby” with that voice you’d come to obsess over. This wasn’t about the use of a pet name, it was about how his voice really got you going. But just maybe you did enjoy him calling you “baby.”

“Don’t worry about him. He just doesn’t like you very much.”

“Oh, how refreshing,” Mingi rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t go unnoticed by you.

✭✭✭✭

After pulling his car into the parking lot and leading you up four flights of stairs (apparently, the elevator has been broken for months), you arrived at the door of Mingi’s apartment. He pulled the key from his pocket, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He turned around to usher you through the door.

“Here she is,” he mumbled.

You laughed a little, “You refer to your apartment as a ‘she.’”

He shrugged and laughed a little with you, not providing any explanation at all.

You took a glance around the apartment, other than the bedrooms, you could see the whole thing from where you stood in the doorway. It was small, but it definitely was an adequate living situation for two college students on a budget. You walked through the kitchen, setting the leftover food on his counter since you had eaten most of it on the drive here.

When Mingi disappeared into his bedroom, you froze just a bit. He’d seemed super casual over the phone. It was obvious that he definitely wanted to have sex with you but not at all like he’d try to force it out of you. You were kind of under the impression that the ball was in your court on that one. Maybe you had misread the situation.

Despite your confusion, you made a couple of steps toward his room only to see him emerge from the room moments later with some clothes in his.

“I figured you might want to change out of your work clothes,” he says, pushing the change of clothes into your arms. It was nothing special, a black tee and some gray basketball shorts. “If you want you can use the shower too. I cleaned it yesterday, too, so you don’t have to worry about anything.” He laughed, scratching the back of his head.

You were a little thrown off by his demeanor. Maybe the flirty Mingi you had previously been interacting with had an on-and-off switch, because, right now, he was just treating you like a friend who was crashing at his place for the evening. Not at all like the Mingi who you’d been talking to all week who was desperately trying to get into your pants.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “I actually wouldn’t mind taking a shower.”

✭✭✭✭

After you had finished your shower and, mostly, dried your hair, you and Mingi sat together on the couch. His arm rested behind your shoulders as he scrolled through different shows on the TV.

Holy hell he smelt good. You couldn’t tell if it was just good hygiene or cologne or maybe even just fabric softener, but, nonetheless, you couldn’t help but breathe in and lean closer into his side. When he felt you lean closer, the arm around your shoulder pulled you in just a bit closer. You glanced up at his face which was still focused on the screen in front of you. Illuminated solely by the television screen and the faint light in the kitchen behind you. Your eyes traced his profile watching how his eyelashes fluttered and his tongue absentmindedly played with his lips. They looked soft. Really soft.

Forcing yourself to stop looking at his lips, halting the dirty thoughts that began clouding your mind, you looked back up at his eyes which were focused on the screen ahead of you. Light from the TV reflected off the glassy surface of his eyes. He truly was beautiful.

In all honesty, you felt yourself falling into dangerous territory here. Everything about this situation, him buying you dinner, letting you wear his clothes and use his shower, cuddling on his couch while his roommate was out of town. All of it screamed couple. Right? Why was he treating you like a girlfriend? You knew for a fact that wasn’t his angle here. Or at least you thought. God this was so frustrating. Why couldn’t you just relax and enjoy yourself in the arms of a beautiful man? This is why you never went home with guys. You would spend the entirety of your night micromanaging your thoughts and overanalyzing the situation.

Subconsciously, in the midst of your chronic overthinking, you had pulled away from Mingi just a little, but it was enough for him to notice and look down at you.

“You good?” he asked. Setting the remote down on the couch next to him.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. Maybe I should kiss him. You thought. That would make it clear what you wanted. Give him some indication. No that’s a terrible idea. And an impulsive one, too.

He found your speechlessness endearing. He laughed softly and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, brushing your jaw with his fingers and swiping his thumb softly across your cheek.

Well, fuck. You lost all restraint over yourself in that moment.

Holding his hand against your face with your own, you leaned into him and kissed him. He hummed into the kiss, smirking slightly as his moved with your own. His lips were just as soft as you imagined. Like velvet when they passed over yours. And fuck he tasted good, you could tell he had definitely freshened up while you were in the shower.

You sighed even further into the kiss when his hand moved down to your neck. Throwing one leg over his lap, you straddled his waist. He kissed you even harder now. Playfully biting your bottom lip. Pulling at it before kissing your chin. Then your jaw. Down your neck. All the way to your collarbone.

His hands dug into your hips much like they had when you had danced together the weekend prior. Your hands gripped his t-shirt. Failing to contain your anticipation.

“Baby,” he whispered, the depth of his voice shot straight to your core, “how far do you wanna take this?”

You whined, grateful he was defining boundaries but overwhelmed with the fact you had to tell him how you wanted it, “Please, Mingi.” You breathed out a heavy breath, “I need you.”

He smirked, his demeanor changed ever so slightly. Noted. You thought. He liked it when you begged. “Come on, baby. Tell me what you want.”

Burring your face in his neck and gripping his shirt tight, you rolled your hips. Grinding your core into him, “Mingi,” you moaned softly, “You’ll make me feel good, right?”

“Of course,” and apparently that was enough for him because, in the next moment, he pulled the shirt you were wearing over your head. Leaving your bare chest exposed to him.

He shifted you slightly. Motioning for you to lay back on the couch. You did, and he was quick to start kissing at your chest. His lips brushed over you collar bone. He kissed down your sternum and reached your belly button before coming back up to kiss your breasts.

You gripped his hair as he pulled a nipple into his mouth. Biting at it as he massaged the other one with his hand. He wasn’t wearing his rings right now, but you could only imagine how it would feel. The cold metal against your skin.

With his mouth occupied, you felt a hand slip under the waistband of your shorts and past your panties. You gasped, loudly, when he slid his finger through your folds. He hummed contently when you arched your back into him as he slid the finger into you. Adding another soon after you.

His thumb played with your clit. Slowly. You could tell he wasn’t trying to make you cum right now. He was doing his do-diligence and prepping you. You had no doubt that he could make you cum if he wanted to or else he wouldn’t be so popular with women. You had heard stories about nights with Mingi, and everyone was always overwhelmingly positive about his skills in bed.

Your eyes rolled back slightly when he slipped a third finger into you. Mouth open in a silent moan that came out as nothing more than a little whine, you threw back your head.

Shortly after though, he pulled his fingers out of you. He pulled off your shorts and panties together before ridding himself of his own pants and underwear too. Fuck, he was big. He smirked when he saw you looking, “You can take it. Right baby?”

You nodded breathlessly, “Mhm.”

When he hovered back over you, you gripped at his shirt. Trying to pull it over his head. He helped you out. Reaching behind his back to pull the tee over his head. You would have spent more time admiring his build but he was back to kissing you in an instant. His kisses made you so dizzy. You probably could have just kissed him for hours if you weren’t so undeniably horny.

You were so focused on his lips that you didn’t even notice when he’d slipped on a condom. You whined when he slid his length between your folds. He held down your hips when you started to roll them. Begging for something to touch your clit that was almost throbbing for attention.

“Don’t be so greedy, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

And that he did. The moment he slid into you, you lost all control of yourself. Your nails dug into his back as he thrust into you. Painfully slow at first.

“Please,” you begged, “faster…” You wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

His thumb furiously rubbed at your clit as he thrust into you. Faster and deeper with every movement of his hips. You gripped at anything you could, his shoulders, his hair, his back.

You were so undeniably lost in your own pleasure. Your mind was foggy. All you could think about was this beautiful man, furiously fucking you, grunting in your ear, and breathing on your neck.

Even though you thought it was impossible, his thumb moved fasted on your clit. When he hit just the right angle you cried out, and he could feel you tighten around him.

“Oh?” he asked between pants, “Right there?”

“Fuck! Yes, right there!” your head lolled to the side as you felt your orgasm approaching. Your legs shook as they wrapped around his waist, holding him close. With one final movement of his thumb, you came around him. Your walls fluttered as you reached that incredible high. “Oh god!” You cried out.

“Shit,” he grunted, “I’m close, baby. Hold on.” With a couple more thrusts into your sensitive pussy, he came into the condom.

He fell forward on top of you. His arms or either side of your head held him up so he wasn’t crushing you. Your chests both heaved.

“Wow,” you said, breathlessly.

He laughed and kissed you softly, “Was it good?”

You nodded, “Great.”

When you looked into his eyes, his beautiful eyes, you momentarily forgot that you were not supposed to get your feelings wrapped up in this. Sirens rang in your head as he kissed you again, but, if he was gonna fuck you this good, you could ignore them for just a little longer.

✭✭✭✭

note ✭ ayyeeee it's done!! i honestly don't know how considering i have midtrems this week 😅 anyways, this has been in the drafts for about two months, and i'm glad i finally decided to start it!

if you enjoyed, please let me know! i absolutely LOVE hearing feedback whether it be through my inbox, comments or reblogs.

not sure when the next chapter will be released, but if you want to join the taglist you can lmk here or sign up here :)

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #mingi smut #song mingi series #song mingi x reader #everyonewooeverywhere

668 notes · View notes

k-hotchoisan · 4 months

Note

(Updated version because I forgot to add one more detail!) Hello! Can I request an ATEEZ smut based on the song I Want You by SB19? Any member will do please?

Here's the Music Video: https://youtu.be/s25Yi6pZnMs?si= ZpzmmV6Yvy1Wa4bZ

And the sound Audio:

https://open.spotify.com/track /16GGH8OF6LISUTTbm8421f?si= 2zklm5olQIKxp2yodrwv1Q

Note: SB19 is a boy group from the Philippines (Which is my country (I'm born from the Philippines by the way haha))), which they became super popular because of the song "GENTO" (Which the song became super popular they did the dance challenge.) (San did that dance challenge! (https://youtu.be/zn8GzEhPqkl?si= qrHRBKWcasrAW2HC))

Thabk you and have a great time. 🌹

~Queennie

Hey Queennie (and also to my fellow readers) Thank you for waiting for this. I was in a rut and not mentally doing well. I hope you haven’t forgotten about me 😭🩷

Also note: YES IVE HEARD ABOUT SB19!! The song got me side eyeing in the best ways possible HAHAHA

The girl in front of him is stunning, but even when he’s all over her, he can’t seem to get you out of his head. So when his phone buzzes and it’s you, he finds himself standing before you with another chance he’s willing to gamble.

Genres/warnings: smut, angst(?) cream pies, orgasms, unprotected sex, fwb to exes to lovers?, Mingi is actually so hung up on you, reconciliation

🩷 Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs

10 months.

10 months since you both stopped talking.

Mingi thought he’d move on by then. The girl in front of him was absolutely stunning, her hands hanging loosely around his neck. She smells like vanilla, but he feels that it’s overpowering. He can’t really see her under the dim flashing lights of the club, but he doesn’t pull away when her hands pull his neck closer to kiss her.

He tastes the fruity cocktail in between her lips, and he can think about is the taste of yours, the feeling of your lips pressed against his. The mere thought of it quickly turns into something he craves. Something he was deprived of for 10 months. Mingi’s hands that were on her waist shift lower down her sides, while she pulls him closer and deeper into the kiss. She thinks they’re getting lost in it. Mingi is definitely lost, though, not in the kiss.

All he thinks about is how your waist feels when he slowly touches her up, and his cock strains against his jeans when he thinks of the way you would moan in his mouth, while your hands run all over him, and how you’d edge him slowly with your hands around his cock while you make him melt against your lips. He’d always pull back breathless and desperate. Always.

His eyes slowly open when she pulls back.

Fuck.

Mingi feels guilty. It’s as if he’s doing something wrong to you. It’s driving him fucking nuts that he can’t see you, and the worst part of it all is that it was his fault. So damn fucked up that he was the one who initiated to stop whatever the two of you had.

“Mingi”, she calls out and his attention snaps back to her. This is his third date with this chick he met online, but for some reason, she simply looks like a stranger. Her fingers tap along his jaw.

“Should we go your place or mine?” She asks as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

Mingi doesn’t even realise he’s half hard. But she probably did. He weighs his decisions. And then he realises he really wants to fuck.

But fuck her? He’s hesitant. He obviously has someone else in mind.

“Not today. I have plans early tomorrow”, he lies. She’s about to pout and try to convince him, until she’s interrupted by Mingi’s phone buzzing in his pants.

“Sorry, give me a moment”, he pauses to take the call. He puts his cell to his ear and his breath is stuck in his throat when he hears who’s at the other end of the line.

“Yunho…? Could you pick me up?”

Mingi blinks. The fact that you broke the no contact meant that you never blocked him even though you said you would. His heart is racing in his ears.

“Hello? Yunho? Are you there?”

It makes him snap out his trance a little.

“Yeah. Where are you at?”

“Uhh, the family mart near xxx club. I’m tryna sober up.”

You’re near. It’s not too far away.

“Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks. Oh, and don’t tell Mingi.”

That’s all you say before you hang up on him. He’s still in disbelief. No, wait, maybe it’s a chance. He glances down at the girl, who’s starting to look impatient.

“Uh. Something just came up. I’m sorry we had to cut this short but it’s kind of an emergency.”

That’s when Mingi realises he’s a fucking terrible liar.

She rolls her eyes, evidently annoyed at the interference. Mingi doesn’t even let her respond before he nods quickly and disappears into the crowd and out of the club. He knows that this will have repercussions, but it’s one he’s willing to risk.

There you are. Still looking absolutely breathtaking even when you’re trying to keep yourself together despite the alcohol. It was as if the 10 months never happened. He’s breathless from almost sprinting to where you were at.

He stands before you, watching the way you’re scrolling through your phone mindlessly, the light from the screen illuminating the tear stains on your cheeks. Were you crying? He takes a breath, wondering how you’d react to seeing him after 10, long, agonising months.

“Y/n.”

Your eyebrows scrunch for a second at the familiar husky voice. You look up, and your mind blanks out when you see Mingi standing right before you.

“Mingi? What the fuck are you doing here? Did Yuyu send you here? Fucking son of a-“

“It wasn’t Yunho,” Mingi cuts you off. “It was me who you called.”

You blink slowly at him, processing what he just said before narrowing your eyes at him.

“There’s no fucking way. I’m pretty sure I blocked you”, you reply with a frown, before opening your call logs, scrolling through and your frown is replaced quickly with wide eyes and disbelief.

Goddamn, did you sober up quick after that. You glance back at Mingi, who has an unreadable expression on his face. You cover your face with your hands, feeling your face flush, but definitely not from the alcohol this time.

Mingi takes a seat beside you, leaning forward towards you. His heart is racing as fast as a race car right now. It’s been forever since he’s this close to you.

“Ugh. This is so embarrassing”, you mutter in your hands before you drop them to your lap.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about”, he assures, which only makes you more flustered and borderline irritated.

“You could have called Yunho. You didn’t have to come”, you jab, not wanting to look at him, because he’s staring at you so intently. To Mingi, at least, you’re like home. The relationship you both had no label, all because he was so fucking foolish for thinking it would never be more than what it was.

He was wrong, clearly, because now he’s here beside you, and he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

He’s determined.

Determined to make things right, at least.

“I was the one who you called, not Yunho,” Mingi replies, unwavering.

“It was a mistake”, you sigh, feeling the tears pool around your eyes. Even though Mingi is the last person on earth you wanted to see now, you can’t help but crave for him.

“No it wasn’t. Do you know what’s an actual mistake?” Mingi retorts back. His back is straightened, and he wears a frown.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. Probably coming over? Probably seeing you again? Probably you? You remember how it started like it was fresh from yesterday—it started when he had trapped you on the couch, his tall frame looming over yours when he was trying to get back at you for teasing him.

Like a spark, it ignited bright and burned like a forest fire. So intense that you couldn’t get him out of your system. You pretended you were okay with the arrangement even though the flames were burning through your feelings too. Everything about it was so addicting. If this was forest fire, you were the moth. Until three months later, he suddenly called it off.

“We should stop. I’m not sure what I want right now.”

You shut your eyes and your head spins. “What?”

Mingi swallows hard before his words leave his mouth, “whatever I said 10 months ago. That was a mistake.”

You scrunch your eyebrows, staring at Mingi. And it was a fucking mistake. He’s looking at you with those fucking puppy eyes he knows you’re weak for. Well, now you’re completely sober. But you don’t follow. Why the fuck is he telling you all of this now?

“Elaborate”, you challenge, facing the male.

Mingi covers it up very well but you can tell that he’s getting nervous and flustered.

“Calling it off. It was a mistake,” he answers, his fists balling.

You scoff, even though your heart is bursting. No, you’re not surrendering to him. Not yet. “You’re telling me this now? Weren’t you seeing someone?”

“Was”, he replies a little too quickly, a little too enthusiastically. “Then you called.”

There is a drawn out silence between the both of you momentarily.

“Let’s go. I’ll bring you home, y/n.”

You stare at him for a moment as another load of silence follows. You know it’s a bad idea. You know you shouldn’t let him in again.

Mingi seems to pick up on your concern and distance, and especially your coldness. “I won’t do anything to you. I promise. I’ll leave if you want me to. But it’s not safe for you to just be alone here.”

You know he’s right. He may be an asshole for doing what he did but at least you know Mingi is a man of his word.

His hand is outstretched towards you, and you hesitantly let your fingers graze against his palm. Mingi swears he feels electricity shoot down his spine just from your touch, and a simple one—just a soft brush of your fingers has him ready to be on his knees for you.

You let go quickly when you regain composure and follow Mingi to his car.

The ride back is quiet, much to your relief, letting you sober up as you let the cold night wind brush along your cheeks. What you don’t realise is the amount of glances Mingi casts you when he stops at the red light, and he sees the soft glow of your tear stains.

Mingi pulls over, and as before you could unbuckle the seatbelt with your own two hands, Mingi’s big frame looks over you, his face inches away from you. His gaze catches yours and you hold a breath, expecting him to do something.

Which he does—unbuckle your seat.

In truth, Mingi really wants to kiss you. So bad. To feel you up. He’s so starved it’s insane how he survived ten whole months after foolishly breaking off something that shouldn’t even mean anything. Something that was just simply casual.

“I won’t lay a finger on you if you don’t want me to”, Mingi reminds you as he pulls the car door open for you to leave.

At your doorstep, he doesn’t leave just yet though. He haphazardly dumps his keys onto the little tray you have to hold yours. You don’t say anything. After all, this place was once where he resided with you. He knew it like the back of his hand.

Just like you.

It’s a hard feeling to shake, you think. The familiarity rushes back to you, as if the 10 months never happened. You wish it didn’t.

You push past him and he watches you (thankfully) walk a straight line towards your bathroom. He lets you freshen up, and tells himself he won’t stay for too long—just long enough to make sure you’re alright and going to sleep in peace. He shuts his eyes for a while, letting the soft, cold blows of the air conditioner prick his cheeks.

You step out of the shower, and you see him sprawled on the couch, his slow breaths heavy and steady. Despite every bone in your body telling you not to, you take a seat beside him. He stirs slightly before his sleepy eyes meet yours, barely open before he turns away, combing back his hair.

“You shouldn’t drive if you’re tired, Mingi”, you say. “Go take a shower. I’ll pass you your clothes.”

A prick blooms at the corner of your heart when you say that. You never had the courage to contact Mingi to return his clothes when he was staying over. You were sure you had your clothes kept at his place too. Mingi nods as he leaves for the bathroom, leaving you with your web of thoughts. The resentment was boiling whenever you thought about it, and especially when you are in your room, pulling out the lowest drawer and reluctantly reaching out to feel the fabric that Song Mingi wore, some you wore too and you knew he loved it when you did that.

How did you let him lure you into a situation ship like this?

You dump his clothes onto the counter and climb onto your bed. There was no awkwardness, just tension, and a lot of unspoken words. Words that you were determined to pull out of him so you could finally move on in peace.

There he was, leaving the shower looking like a whole new person. His eyes look a lot softer now, accompanying his damp hair when he has his make up removed. He doesn’t get on the bed.

“What are you trying to get at, Song Mingi?” You question, your eyes darting to him, your fingers tugging each other in anxiety. “We weren’t anything to begin with.”

Mingi presses his lips before he speaks, making sure he doesn’t say it wrongly. “I’m not over you.”

He says it with such distinction that you’re almost taken aback. He catches your confused gaze. But he continues.

“I can’t move on.”

You only scoff. “And that’s my problem, because?”

It’s only then he slowly inches towards you, and you’ve never seen it before in his eyes—desperation?

But you hate that you’re feeling the exact same way. Deep inside you wonder if things could go back to the way they were.

“No. That’s my problem, y/n.” Mingi responds, his finger nervously pinching against the bedsheets. “I’m still hung up over you even after all of this.”

It’s a trap. A trap so big and obvious that a bear could fucking see it from a mile away.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was immature and confused about where that would have gone”, he sighs. “Especially during all the days you’d spend with me. And before I realised what I had done, I had already fallen for you, so hard.”

Your eyes narrow.

“Coward”, you spit, knowing you were in the exact predicament, for a spilt second, on the end of being foolish—thinking that it had meant something to him.

His fingers brushed against yours, his eyes wandering to your figure as more tears stream down your face. Why were you even crying again? He’s obviously playing around with you.

Mingi is on the bed now, inches away from you, his hands gently lifting your face, his thumbs brushing away the burning tears.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you. Out of every mistake I’ve made with you, this was the worst.”

You’re lured into his pretty eyes again, like a puppy begging for forgiveness. You grow so weak every time. You press the side of your cheek onto Mingi’s large and warm hands, the comfort of it never once foreign to you. He brushes his thumb against your cheek.

And Mingi then decides to just throw all of his cards in, his heart like sledgehammer as he lets those words slip from his lips.

“Tell me you want me”, Mingi whispers, his fingertips brushing against your neck to hold your gaze with his—so intense, so overwhelming. “And I’ll be yours.”

Such an obvious trap.

“I want you”, you whisper back, looking at him through your wet lashes.

Mingi feels his heart pounding and fireworks explode in his head. He was ready for you to push his hands away, chase him out, tell him you never want to see him again.

Mingi glances down at your lips and then back into your eyes, before you shut yours and let him completely trap you. Rash decision, stupid decision — your mind is screaming at you while you’re tasting the memories Mingi left you in his kiss. His hands slide down your back, letting lie down properly onto the bed. He pauses in to take in the sight of you—so endearing and gentle. He feels that he should be jailed for wanting to ruin it all and keep it for himself. The thought that no other men could have you like this comforts him, for now, at least.

Mingi tugs against your nightwear, lifting it over your head in one swift gesture before he’s back to kissing you with much desperation. There it is. Your taste. The only one that matters for the rest of his life. His cravings will never be satisfied. If it’s you, he wants more, more, more.

He pulls back, watching the way you’re so flushed and gorgeous. He turns you around, letting your shoulder hit his chest and he presses against you, his erection enough to convey how he feels, that’s for sure.

His fingers brush so lightly against your shoulders, the electric running down your back until he reaches your waist.

“I love you. I adore you”, he hums into your ear, melting every and any sense of rationale that remained in you, no answer but soft whimpers escape your lips as he kisses the nape of your neck to your shoulders, his fingers wet with spit, rolling your nipples in between them. Jagged breaths are the only thing that barely keep you intact for now, before your head is on his shoulder, begging for him.

“It’s been awhile. Don’t you think that’ll be a tight fit, baby?” Mingi questions, his boxers now off and his cock pressing hard against your ass.

You squeeze your thighs in response at the thought of his cock just splitting you open like before. It’s so tempting.

You feel something press against your wet folds, and it’s his fingers. Mingi’s free hand coaxes your thighs to open up and relax for him as his fingers slip right into your sopping cunt, and you gasp. Mingi’s arm snakes around your waist, and one of your opened leg is trapped by Mingi—he’s making sure you don’t close, not until he makes you cream and scream everywhere. You palm against his bare erection, pumping him so painfully slow for the sake of listening to his low, breathy groans right in your ear. He never fails to tell you how much he loves it—when you flick your wrist teasingly at make sure he hears the wet squelching sounds. But for now, your concentration is everywhere, especially when Mingi is stuffing you full with two of his fingers, brushing teasingly against the spongy spot he knows that drives you up the wall.

Your eyes flutter open, completely letting go of his cock. “M-Mingi”, you squeal when his fingers not only curl against the spongy area, but also repetitively fucks your pretty hole stupid, cream completely staining his fingers as it only lubes your clit for him to rub his finger on. Your mind is in a haze, only the thought of letting Mingi finger fuck an orgasm out of you prominent.

So good that you try to wipe the drool seeping past your lips. The feeling builds up so quickly, Mingi notices the way you’re clenching around your fingers. The way you’re grabbing onto his arm and pressing your face into his neck, telling him, “cumming. I’m cumming, Mingi. Fuck me”, was enough for him to pull his fingers out, and stuff his cock in—while you were still mid orgasm, clenching and fluttering with his cock in you. Mingi has his eyes rolled back at the sensation of you just clenching around him, giving your clit wet circular movements to send you over the fucking moon. You’re barely down from your high, panting when you realise that Mingi is inching himself inside you.

Your breath is stuck in your throat when his cock is fully in you, all the way to the brim. Mingi sighs in pleasure—this is what he loves. This is the familiarity he could never get tired of—or rather—crave so fucking badly.

Your mind had completely been melted. Sex with Mingi was always so mind blowing. You hate to swear that you would never get enough. His cock is so big and you love how well he fits into you, and his comments of, “fit me so fucking good, baby. I think if I move I’ll just cum”, as he hisses and forces himself to hold back for bursting.

Mingi’s fingers press against your jaw, your attention seeping back to him. He looks at you lovingly before he watches your face contort with pleasure the moment he pulls back, then fucks you with a thrust.

“You don’t know how much I want you”, he whines, even with his cock just pounding into you from below. “I promise I’ll treat you better. Love you better. Fuck you better.”

You’d let Mingi do whatever he wanted with you. That’s the honest fucking truth. You know you were gonna regret this. Everything is screaming at you at one moment and then completely muted when Mingi’s husky voice lulls you over.

“That’s my good girl. Oh god. You’re good at taking my cock.”

Heaven would jealous at how good you’re feeling being fucked by Song Mingi.

You tremble slightly, more tears pooling at the corner of eyes. Not from sadness or melancholy. The only kind that Mingi is able to pull out from you when his cock is deep inside you.

“It’s okay. That’s a good girl. Let it go for me”, he hums into your ear, his arms holding you down despite the fact that your orgasm is hitting you in waves, spots of white bursting into your eyelids as you feel tour cunt convulse against Mingi’s cock, cream just gathering at the base of his dick as he still continues to jut his cock right into you, sending your legs shaking with pleasure. He swears he wants to record your orgasms and seal it somewhere where only he can access it. He could get addicted.

His thrusts turn more desperate. The loud sounds of wet cock fucking a wet pussy echoing around the walls while you’re crying Mingi’s name.

“That’s a good princess”, he assures, rubbing your thighs, even though sticky with fluids before he thrusts himself right into you for the final time, your legs trembling.

“So much. Mingi, that’s so much”, you swallow hard as you feel him pump his cum right into you. Even that feels so fucking heavenly.

“It’s all for you, princess. We can keep going. I’ll always have more for you. So much that it’ll leak out of your pretty hole for days on end”, he utters so softly in your ear. Your eyes are still glazed from the mind-numbing pleasure. The last thing you could remember was a kiss planted on your forehead before a muffled “Goodnight”, before you completely doze off, your worries saved for the next day.

Morning kicks in, and your eyes are barely able to open, the exhaustion weighing on you from the previous night, so does the realisation. Fuck. You rise up, your hand on your forehead. Then you realise another thing—the other half of your bed is empty. You reach out to your phone on the nightstand—no messages either. Frustration builds in your body. But this time, it was your own foolishness to blame you think to yourself, as you slide off the bed, the soreness of your lower body a burning reminder of what transpired the night before. Instead of the bitterness that lingers in your mouth, you wonder if that should have been your closure.

Freshened up, you walk to your kitchen area to grab a meal, and your eyes widen.

Mingi stands there, pulling the plastic cover off. He pauses briefly when his eyes meet yours.

“Hey. Good morning”, Mingi greets, his morning voice dropping an octave lower. He seems completely fine, as long as you aren’t able to hear his heartbeat going at miles per hour. Would you just chase him out? Would you promise to never see him again? His mouth is dry again, even though he’s had a couple of glasses of water thinking about what to say to you.

“I bought takeout. Come and have some”, he gestures. You don’t question it, taking the seat across him. You follow his movements—the way he settles the utensils—handing you yours first, before he pours you a cup of water. Then he sits himself comfortably.

There is another moment of silence before you speak up.

“About last night…”

You see the grip on his chopsticks tighten.

“Wasn’t a mistake either”, he says, his gaze trailing the food before he meets yours.

“Is it?” You reply, shoving a couple of egg rolls into your mouth. You didn’t expect that answer from him.

“I thought I could move on. But no matter how many girls I came across, it was always you. No one felt as right as you did. I was scared before, but I’m not now.”

You can’t meet his eyes. You’re unsure if it’s because of swirl of emotions that have started bubbling, or because you’ve denied it for so long, that it’s beginning to slowly bleed out.

“Let me make it up to you. For the 10 months”, Mingi professes. “If you’ll have me.”

You finally are able to hold his gaze. Your mind is swimming is dopamine, but you’re not about to let him have the satisfaction, just yet. A small smile curls at the corner of your lips.

“Then you better do a good job.”

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tightjeansjavi · 11 months

Text

Jail Bird | Joel Miller x smuggler/raider f! reader

A/N: I got inspired by listening to the song “Stay” by Rihanna when I was driving home from Kentucky, and this was the result of it 🫠 you’re either gonna love, or hate the reader in this one.

~word count: 5.9k~

Summary: your relationship with Joel has always been easy up until the point that you make the conscious decision to leave him, and the QZ behind. Years later and you meet again, under violent circumstances.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, pining, stalking (if you squint) borderline possessive/obsessive behavior, smut (described but not as the main focal point of the story) conning, emotional manipulation, the reader is morally gray and you’ll either love them or hate them, actions on the base of survival, implied consent, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving) violence (undescribed but marked) possessive! Joel, vulnerable! Joel, protective! Joel, dark! Joel (if you squint) Joel is a hopeless romantic, manhandling, threats, use of firearms, smoking, +18 minors dni!

Jail Bird: ‘a person who is or has been in prison’

Your relationship with Joel Miller, your partner in crime, was as easy as sliced pie. The syrupy sticky sweet warm filling with melted vanilla ice cream drooling down the crust. Joel Miller, however, was anything but sweet. He tasted of smoky bourbon and life-long indescribable grief. Fluttering ashes, tongues tied, teeth clashing. His hands; sculpted by Greek gods in a meticulous manner. Strong, veiny, calloused yet soft. Joel Miller was a perfectly wrapped package with an ash stained bow. A dangerous combination of brooding, pining, and lust. Your partnership consisted of smuggling, sharing rations, and fucking. Joel was a man who knew how to fuck. The first time he took you was in a back alley in the QZ. The air was balmy and ridden with suspense. He caught you sneaking through the shadows past curfew to make a few back door deals with some FEDRA soldiers. A blow job for a trade of a handsome stack of ration cards? No biggie. He never felt jealousy course through his veins till he saw you sink to your knees on command.

Even with the lack of lighting, sans the pale moonlight shimmering above, Joel saw the doe like innocence in your eyes as he peeked his head around the corner. It felt wrong to watch. It weighed heavy like cement around his bones. Filth and sin dripped through his grime stained pores. He had been watching you for a while. You were a new resident to the QZ, a pretty thing that knew her way around the rules like they never even existed to you. He liked that about you. He liked that you were brash, that you outsmarted every lonesome fuck that crossed your path. So he’d observe you from a distance, catching your keen eye every now and then. It turned into an obsession for him and now the last shroud of little morals he possessed, were completely shredded as he palmed himself through his painfully tight jeans. Cursing under his breath as he tried to provide any form of relief to his aching cock. His head tilted back against the brick wall, lower lip taken harshly between his teeth as he took another risky peek around the corner.

You knew Joel was watching you. You caught his familiar, ruggedly handsome features appear from around the corner. How long he had been watching you did not matter. Your cunt ached for him just as much as his cock weeped for you. You had been observing him the day you arrived at the QZ, and you found yourself yearning for his rough caress.

Your eyes stayed locked on the spot behind the wall where Joel was pressed against as you pleasured the FEDRA soldier who lasted all of 30 seconds before he was spilling his filth down your throat and tossing ration cards at your knees. The stray dribble of cum was wiped from your lips with the tip of your thumb as you gathered up the ration cards and shoved them into your pockets as you rose to your feet. You pulled out a freshly rolled cigarette, bringing the tip to your lips as you lit the other end with an old lighter. Your features were illuminated by the warm glow of the flame as you lit the death stick and deeply inhaled. “You can come out from your hiding spot, Joel Miller. I know it’s you behind the wall. Don’t be shy.” Your head tilted to the side as you took another long drag.

Joel sauntered from behind the wall. His tall frame was brooding under the soft glow of the moon. His boots crunched heavily under rubble as he approached. Thunder lowly rumbled in the far distance as a warm breeze kissed your skin. The comforting glow of the moon was casted over in darkness of thick moving clouds as cooling droplets of water began to free fall from the heavens. The pavement was stained in dampness as the sky grumbled above. Bleach-burn hot flashes of lightning illuminated the jet black sky and illuminated Joel’s features in a blink of an eye. The rain didn’t deter him as he stopped a foot from where you stood. His gaze on you burned as brightly as the lit end of your cigarette pursed between your lips.

“You know, you’re worth a hell of a lot more than a blowjob in a back alleyway. How long did the fucker even last? 30 whole fuckin’ seconds?” He was leaning over you now, forearm resting along your head and you could feel the electricity and heat radiating from his body.

“Do you always watch women give blow jobs to FEDRA soldiers in back alleys? Or is this just a new hobby that you have suddenly developed?” You were casual with your question, a smirk playing on your lips as you lightly blew the hazardous smoke off to the side.

“No. You’re the first, darlin.’ It’s filthy of me, I am aware. Bet you liked it though huh? Bet you liked the idea of some dirty old man watching you get down on your knees prettily like that. You don’t seem like the type of gal to beat around the bush. Storms rollin’ in..wanna see if we can give the thunder a run for its money, sugar?” Joel wasn’t one to beat around the bush either and you appreciated a man that knew exactly what he wanted. Joel Miller was exactly what you needed to satiate your desires.

“You want to fuck me Mr. Miller?” You purred, flicking what was left of your cigarette to the ground, listening to the light hiss the extinguished flame gave when a stray rain drop fell upon it.

You felt his lips dip down to the shell of your ear, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin as he whispered, “wanna destroy you in the best fuckin’ way possible. Wanna ruin your sweet cunt. Been s’long for me, n’you’re so fuckin’ pretty, it hurts. Let me take care of ya, and I promise you won’t have to get on your knees for another FEDRA fuck again.” He pressed an open mouth kiss against the spot where your ear met your jaw, licking a hot stripe down your throat with a heavy warm breath.

“Is that a promise you can keep?” You whispered through the steady rainfall, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting.

“I don’t do promises, baby.” He rasped as his strong hands found purchase around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “I only fuck. Ain’t gonna find any love from me. Don’t go and lookin’ for it.”

“I don’t do love either. It’s lost all significant meaning for me. I’m just looking for a good consistent fuck, and the means to survive.” You grasped the back of his neck in one swift movement, yanking his head up so you could crash your lips against his in a heated, tongue filled, teeth clashing kiss.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, doll. You’re mine now.” He mumbled against your swollen lips as he popped the button along your jeans and shoved his hand between the tight fabric and your soaked through panties.

“Yours.” You gasped longingly as his broad fingers teased your sticky, slick folds, gathering up your pooling arousal that oozed just for him.

The pounding rain soaked through your clothes as your thighs were wrapped tightly around Joel Miller’s hips. He was buried to the hilt inside of you as he slammed into you in a rhythmic pattern. The wind howled wildly as thunder cracked dangerously above. His hips would snap forward into you each time the thunder cracked ferociously. You and Joel were like two feral animals, clawing, biting, and moaning through the ever-growing violent tempest.

Your need for one another had grown carnal. Your bodies were constantly drawn to one another, like moth to flame. You spent more time in his apartment on the other side of the QZ than your own. He fucked you into a peaceful slumber everytime. Sometimes he’d fall asleep inside of you when he’d grown exhausted. “G’nna keep you full of my cock all fuckin’ night.” He’d whispered against your sex stained skin as his arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

You’d slip out of his steel grip before the sun would kiss the budding horizon. Sleeping over at Joel’s felt too personal, and you did it for yours and his own good. Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed. He’d confront you about it each time you’d accompany him on a smuggling run. “Why’d you leave in’sucha hurrry? Think I’m ugly or somethin?’” He’d casually ask as he walked alongside you.

“We both agreed to do no sleepovers, Joel.” Was always your reply. It was like clockwork.

“Fuck our stupid rules. I want to wake up to that pretty little cunt squeezing my cock. You gonna deny me that? C’mon. One sleepover won’t kill ya. I like havin’ you in my bed darlin.’” He nudged you against a nearby tree as the early morning birds chirped along the swaying branches.

“Fine. One sleepover.” You grasped him firmly through the tight confines of his jeans as he hissed under his breath. “Just one, baby. I swear on my filthy, lust ridden heart.” He affirmed.

One sleepover turned into five, and five to a dozen, till neither of you could keep track. It’s as if Joel had made a home inside of your flesh where he refused to depart. He built a door between your sternum; strong and sturdy. On either side of your sumptuous breasts laid two crafted windows. Your heart is where his bed laid where he secretly wished he could inhabit there for the rest of his dying days.

You had grown accustomed to the old metal bed frame striking the crumbling wallpaper fiercely. The old creak and groan of the bed springs creating a rhythmic tune in sync with your sweat slick bodies colliding over, and over again. Joel took you in any position imaginable between those 4 cramped walls. He grew fond of the way you’d ride him slowly where he had the pleasure to watch the way your warm walls hugged his cock with each roll and rise of your hips. He reveled in the erotic sight of your cum mixing with his own, like your own personal watercolor painting between your connected bodies. He reveled in smearing your skin with his release, using his fingers as a paintbrush as he streaked your skin in his filth.

When he learned that you were incapable of having children, he’d press his cum back into your tight hole with glint in his darkened eyes as he used his tongue to push his cum further inside of you, humming at the taste. “Gotta keep all of that inside of ya, sweet girl. Love knowin’ I can fill ya up like this. Don’t want any drops to leak out of this cunt. Wanna keep you stained in my cum forever.” He’d kiss your clit lovingly, tenderly with a light flick of his wet muscle. His words were nothing short of filthy. Any existing priest in this shit-hole would proclaim that you and Joel were children of satan for the debauchery that you both willingly partook in.

You liked it that way.

On the evening you made the conscious decision to leave Joel, and the QZ forever. The weather was stormy, just like the night you had first officially met. The rain pounded furiously against the grime stained windows. The tattered curtains casted shadows along the peeling floral wallpaper. Bright hot flashes of lightning illuminated the room you inhabited for what felt like centuries in fluorescent white. Your thighs were deliciously squeezing either side of Joel’s head as his face was buried deeply into your ruined cunt for the fifth time that evening. His tongue worked you in practiced strokes. His hunger for you was that of a ravenous beast that hadn’t experienced the taste of a woman along his tongue in years. He lapped at you like a man starved as if your cunt was that of the holy grail, sweet and life-curing. His hands acted as anchors around your hips, holding you pliant with little strength needed, eyes blissfully closed as he drank and lapped every last drop you could possess for him. Always so willing, always so needy, always such a good, good, girl for him. Only for him.

When he finally detached his mouth from your swollen clit, he looked up at you, grinning like a devil. His beard and chin were freshly coated in your slick that glistened under the bright flashes of lightning. His lips were wet, and appeared like two dew kissed cherries, scarlet and kissable. He rested his cheek along the inside of your sweat thick thigh as he caught his breath, chest rising and falling as he gazed up at you through thick lashes. He pressed an open mouth kiss as his beard scratched your skin gently. He was in love, and yet you had no idea. Or, maybe you knew all along. Maybe you loved him too. Maybe, just maybe. “Do you think maybe we can just stay here forever?..I’ll greet ya with a kiss every mornin.’ We could just stay between these walls and no one would have to know.” He pressed a feather light kiss to your hip bone. “Just you and me, and this sweet cunt. Never have I tasted something so sweet.”

Your fingers found purchase through his sweaty tendrils, twisting them between your digits with a content sigh. “I’m leaving the QZ, Joel. I can’t stay here any longer.” The confession flitted past your lips with a heavy sigh to shortly follow.

He chuckled, the sound vibrated up his chest and through his throat that was coated in your taste like cough syrup. “What do you mean you’re leavin’ the QZ? Don’t be ridiculous, darlin.’ Everywhere behind these fuckin’ walls is a shithole. There ain’t anythin’ good out there. I can’t fuckin’ protect you past those gates.” Another kiss was left along your abdomen.

“I never asked for, nor needed your protection, Joel. I’m perfectly capable on my own. You have to let me go. This has gone on far too long, and it’s for our own good.”

He scoffed as his lips continued to kiss their way up your body. Stopping at every freckle, every scar, every blemish. He traced them gently. “Let you go? How the fuck do you expect me to do that when I’ve learned, and know every fuckin’ inch of ya. Is it really for our own good? Or just yours? Don’t lie to me.” He nipped at the spot just below your ribcage, and your immediate reaction was to arch up closer to his touch. You always felt magnetized to him.

“You and I both know that it’s better off this way. What we had was good, and I have no regrets, but we broke every fuckin’ rule we put in place, Joel. It’ll hurt for a while, but the pain will reside and you’ll forget all about me.”

He was on his knees now, yanking you down by your ankles so you were beneath him. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me how I’ll feel. You know how fuckin’ long it’s takin’ me to finally open myself to someone again? You think you can just leave and suddenly one day I’ll stop thinkin’ about you? You’re fuckin’ out of your goddamn mind if you think that to be true.” The tip of his cock was nudged against your entrance, dragging through your slick folds that parted open for him like a canyon. He pressed himself into your tight wet hole, groaning softly at the feeling of your cunt hugging him already. “Put your thighs up against your chest fo’me.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Your thighs moved on command as you brought them up to your chest, bending yourself in half like a folding table as the weight of his own broad chest pushed your back further into the old mattress. “Joel, please.” You mewled. “You have to let me go. You have to.”

“Stop. Tellin’. Me. What. I. Have. To. Do.” He enunciated each symbol in a borderline patronizing way. He sunk further, and further into your warm abyss. Your pussy hugged him tighter and tighter till he had bottomed out. Sweaty strands of curls draped across his forehead like curtains as he snapped his hips forward in an aggressive manner. “You wanna leave me so bad, baby? After everythin’ I have done for you? Everythin’ I have given you? Shelter, food in your belly and a cock that knows how to fuck you stupid? You ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’ll just have to follow you. Care about you too fuckin’ much to just let you leave me like that.”

The old springs in the mattress squeaked with each one of his heavy thrusts. Your eyes rolled back as his tip pressed firmly against your cervix, eliciting stars to be casted behind your eyes. He fucked into you at an impossibly deep angle, his heavy balls hung between his thighs and slapped against your skin with every snap of his hips. “Joel, please.” You pleaded with him between moans.

“Please what, baby? Please fuck you stupid till you forget all about wantin’ to leave me? You’re not the same until you’ve had a well deserved fuck. I’m the only fuckin’ man that can give it to ya. Take it like the good fuckin’ girl that you are fo’me. Your pretty ‘lil fuckin’ pussy is huggin’ my cock so perfectly. S’like she was made ‘jus fo’me.” He was kissing you now, all teeth and tongue to shut you up. You protested words that fell muffled against his addictive lips as he fucked you the way he knew best. Always making sure you felt filled, stretched to your limits, and on cloud nine by the end of it. He always took care of you afterwards. Gently wiping between your thighs, bathing you under a warm stream with the tenderest of touches. Joel Miller loved you, and that’s exactly why you had to leave him.

He kept you anchored against his naked chest all night. Notched together like two puzzle pieces. At the strike of morning, with the soft beams of light trickling in through the wispy curtains, prying yourself from his satiating grasp. If you stayed in his warm embrace any longer, your heart would cave and you’d never leave. Without even delivering a proper goodbye, you left his apartment without looking back. You kept pushing yourself further and further from Joel, from the QZ till it was just a mere speck in the distance.

Joel drove himself mad on his search to find where you went. His anger shrouded his hurt as he scoured the QZ for any sign of your existence. He checked alleyways, the abandoned mall, your own apartment. He tore through your things in a fury, tears burning his vision as he ripped through your belongings like a predator rips apart its prey. No signs. No hidden clues for him to find where you ran off to. He inspected mutilated faces of the infected, praying that none of the once living would resemble you. None of them did. He gave up his search when he and Tess were forced to take a teenage girl across the country to the fireflies. Tess perished and soon it was just Joel and the kid. He never stopped thinking of you, of course. You haunted his dreams and sometimes he’d wake up to see your ghostly face laying beside him.

He thought he’d never see you again until one brutal winter in Jackson while he, Tommy, and a few other men were patrolling on horseback. Ellie was safely back in town, far from harm's way while Joel placed himself on death's doorstep every time he patrolled with his brother. His horses' hooves crunched heavily along the freshly fallen snow. The wind whipped and howled in an ominous tune as the bitter chill tore through his thick jacket and pierced his skin. “There ain’t nothin’ alive here for miles, Tommy. Let’s go back. That rumor we heard about a raiders camp is probably false. Besides, you said it yourself, ain’t no man is stupid enough to try and overthrow the town.” Joel rode up alongside Tommy’s horse.

“The cold botherin’ you or somethin’ brother? Thought you were tougher than that.” The younger Miller brother said with an amused grin as he lightly punched Joel in the shoulder.

The wholesome moment quickly turned to chaos as 3 shots rang through the snow covered evergreens. Your group had been closely stalking Joel and Tommy for hours in the shadow of the forest. It wasn’t your first choice to join a raider group. Why the men spared you that day was beyond you, but they had become your new family, and you’d take whatever protection you could get; good or bad. You were the mastermind behind ambushing the group from Jackson. Driven by greed and bloodlust, you convinced your men that they could take down the patrol group, and overthrow the town. A lack of poor judgment proved to be fatal as you were thrown from your horse and tumbled into the snow. Your gun was kicked violently from your grasp with a heavy boot as you let out a feral scream.

The same boot that disarmed you, kicked your body down into the snow with a heavy thud. Adrenaline coursing through your veins clouded your senses as you held your hands up in defense at your perpetrator. You could only see his eyes as the rest of his face was covered by a thick wool scarf. The barrel of his gun was pressed against your temple as the man’s knee pressed harshly down on your stomach, pinning you at his mercy. “Your men are dead, and now you’re about to fuckin’ join them. How stupid does one person have to be to try and pull off a stunt like that?” The man gruffly spoke, voice muffled through the thick wool disguising his features.

That voice. Could it be? No. You were just imagining things again.

“Go ahead and fucking shoot me then. Better you than the men back at my camp. They’ll do far worse than you can imagine.” You spat.

Joel grasped the back of your head, yanking you up as he kept the barrel of his gun steady against your trembling temple. “How many of ya are there? In your camp, how many? If you tell me where they are, I won’t kill you.” Joel Miller was always a man of his word.

“Twenty..or so. You’ll need more men.” You grinned your teeth together as he roughly yanked you up. Your face was also concealed with a thick scarf, but your eyes held a sense of familiarity that Joel hadn’t felt in years.

“Tommy! Round up what’s left of their horses, and we’ll take her back with us. She’s gonna tell us where the rest of her group is. Ain’t that right, darlin?’”

Tommy was weary of his brother's proposal but ultimately agreed. “Fine. We’ll put her in a cell and then interrogate her for information. Maria isn’t going to take lightly to this, just so you’re aware.” Tommy narrowed his eyes at you before turning on his heel to return to his own horse.

“So, I’m becoming your prisoner? You gonna put me in handcuffs or something, sir?” You couldn’t help but take a tone with this man, despite a literal gun being pressed against your forehead.

He yanked you up to your feet in one swift movement. “You’re going to be my jailbird for as long as I fuckin’ see fit. You wanna live another day? Better get to talkin’, and cut that smartass attitude out. The hell is wrong with you?” Joel shoved you towards your horse with the barrel of his gun now shoved at your back. “Get on.” He demanded.

“You injured my horse.” You flatly stated as you grabbed ahold of the reins and hoisted yourself back into the saddle, and your scarf fell down just the slightest before you quickly scrambled to re-secure it.

“That’s what happens when you ambush heavily armed people, darlin.’ A grazed bullet to the flank ain’t gonna kill your horse. He’ll live.” Joel hoisted himself back up into his own saddle.

“It’s a she, and fuck you.”

“Well, my apologies to her.” Joel held the reins in one hand while the other was firmly wrapped around your bicep, just in case you were going to be stupid enough to try and escape.

You were in fact thrown into Jackson’s makeshift jail like a rag doll. Joel was anything but gentle as he shoved you inside the cell and slammed the door shut with a heavy clank and locked it. “You outta go and make yourself comfortable, cus’ you’re gonna be here awhile.” He pulled up a chair to sit right outside the metal bars. It scraped painfully along the flooring as he sat down.

You sat down in the chair across from him, peering through the metal bars with your arms crossed against your chest. “So, even if I tell you where the rest of my group resides, you aren’t going to let me go?”

Joel mirrored your actions by crossing his broad shoulders over his chest in an intimidating manner. “I never said anythin’ about lettin’ you go. All I said was that I wouldn’t kill ya if you told me where the rest of your group is.”

“Ohh. So you were dead serious on the whole prisoner thing? I thought you were bluffing.” You pressed the weight of your back against the metal chair. “Well, if we’re gonna be here awhile, mind telling me who you are?”

“Those details are not necessary. You ain’t got a reason to know who the hell I am. You’re gonna sit there, and you’re gonna talk and I let you live. You think you get to call the shots, sweetheart? You got another thing comin’ for ya.” Joel stated with a raised brow.

“Alright, how about we make a deal. You seem like a reasonable man. How about we both take these scarves off and reveal our identities, and then I’ll talk. Let’s make this entire transaction personable, it’ll make it way more fun for me to kill you if I see your face.” Your threat was casual, yet all the more serious.

“Kill me? How are you gonna do that? I got you trapped behind these bars and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.” He scoffed at your threat, brushing it off like water off a ducks back.

“I have my ways.” You stood up from the chair and sauntered over to the bars, grasping them between your hands with your cheek pressed against the cold metal. “C’mon. Tell me your name, and then I’ll tell you where my camp is. It’s a fair deal.”

Joel let out an annoyed huff. He was sick of your games already and he briefly wondered how someone as incessant as you, survived this long. “Joel. My name is Joel.”

Joel is a common name, right? There’s plenty of Joel’s. There’s no way in fucking hell that this man was your Joel Miller. Not a chance.

The air felt heavy as you stared at him through the bars. Your gaze was heavy on his covered face as if you were trying to see through the wool that covered it.

“The fuck are you starin’ at? Y’know what? Maybe I should just kill you after all. You ain’t gonna tell me what I want to know. You think that you’re gonna fuckin’ weasel your way out of this. Well, guess what? You ain’t.” He stood up from the chair in a fury as he strode to the bars and grasped your chin in one swift movement. You clawed at his hand, but it was too late. Your scarf fell from where it was secured on your face and he stumbled back as if he had seen a ghost, his own scarf falling as his body collapsed into the chair.

“YOU?!” He yelled incredulously as he stared at your recognizable face in disbelief. “YOU TRIED TO FUCKIN’ KILL ME!” He tossed his scarf to the ground as he pulled himself back up from the chair. “All these years, and this is how we meet again?!” His voice echoed off the concrete walls, booming painfully against your eardrums as you cowered from the sound.

“Had I known it was you—”

He didn’t even give you a chance to finish your sentence as his hands slammed down around the bars. His face was flushed red with anger, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Bull fucking shit! You tried to kill me, and my brother! You fuckin’ ambushed us!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOU! I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOU, JOEL! I SWEAR!” You tried to plead with him.

“You tried to kill me.” His voice fell flat as he stepped back from the metal bars with a heavy shake of his head. “You fuckin’ bitch.” He whispered under his breath as he strode out of the makeshift jail without looking back.

Three days passed since you had last seen Joel Miller. You were convinced that he, and the people of Jackson would let you rot in here without a care in the world. In your solitude, your mind drifted off to the QZ and your time spent with Joel. Oh, how everything had changed.

A metal tray skidded to your feet below the metal bars along with a mug of coffee. Joel had returned and was once again sitting in the old metal chair as you scarfed down the food he provided you like a ravaged animal.

“Your men are dead. Cordyceps got to them before we could.” He was resting his hands on his knees as he leaned over, observing you.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” You spoke between mouthfuls of stew, not even looking up at him.

“Tommy wants to kill you. His wife is pretty fuckin’ pissed that you and your group ambushed us. I’ve convinced him for the time being to spare your life. You’re welcome.”

“I agree that they should kill me. I’m a traitorous killer. If you let me out of this cell, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“You can quit that whole tough girl act ‘round me. I know exactly who, and what you are, and you darlin’ are not a killer.” Joel retorted with a sigh.

“Stop fucking acting like you know who I am, Joel. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me anymore. You don’t know the people I have killed since I left you. You don’t know what I’m capable of, so stop pretending that you do.” You snapped.

“Oh? I don’t? Just because you went off and joined a group of murderous raiders, doesn’t mean I don’t know you anymore. Are you forgettin’ that I used to be one of them?”

“What exactly are you trying to get out of this, Joel? Are you looking for closure? Are you looking for revenge? What the hell is it that you want?” You kicked the empty tray back under the prison bars.

“I want some fuckin’ answers. I want to know why you just up and left me like that. Do you know how long I spent lookin’ for you? I was forced to give up because a teenage girl, who I now view as my own kid, was thrown into my life, quite literally, and we went on this journey together. I stopped looking for you in mutilated bodies, but I never stopped thinking about you, and where you were.”

“I already told you why I needed to leave. I gave you those answers, and you wouldn’t agree with me. Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever fucking had to do. I told you it was for our own good.”

His boots were heavy along the floor as he stopped in front of the bars, grasping them tightly between clutched fists. “No. I want a real fuckin’ answer. I deserve that at the very least.”

You were in front of him now, hands grasping the bars just below his own with your eyes boring into his. “I left because I had to. If I stayed any longer, I would have never been able to leave. We would have never worked out, Joel. It was going to come to an end whether we wanted it to or not.”

“You didn’t fuckin’ have to do anythin.’ I provided you anythin’ you fuckin’ wanted. Anythin’ you needed. I let you ruin me, and you just get up and leave? Fuck you. I didn’t ask to feel this way. I didn’t ask to care about you. It just fuckin’ happened. So how dare you say that you had to do anythin.’” His tone dropped an octave as his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“What the fuck else do you want me to say, Joel? Do you want me to say that I hated you? That I never cared about you either? Do you want me to lie to your fucking face and tell you that you never fucking meant anything to me? Is that what you fucking want?!” You responded exasperatedly with your lips nearly touching his between the gaps in the bars. “I’ll lie to you if it means that you’ll finally let me go.”

“I loved you.” He whispered with a clenching heart. “I loved you, and would have done anythin’ to keep you. I’d lasso you the fuckin’ moon if it made you happy.” He confessed.

Your heart fell heavy between strained strings as your palms grew clammy. “No. Take it back. Don’t you dare fucking throw that word around with me, Joel Miller. You’re fucking lying.”

“Am I? Am I fucking lyin’ when I tell you that I searched every goddamn crevice in the QZ looking for you? Am I lyin’ when I tell you that I tore up your fuckin’ apartment to try and find any sign or clue as to where I could find you? Am I lyin’ when I spent sleepless nights cryin’ in my own filth because it felt like a piece of me was ripped away? Just like the way my fuckin’ daughter was ripped from me? I love you, you stupid, stupid girl.”

Suddenly, you were kissing. Magnets drawn together by an impossible force that not even prison bars could keep you apart. He grasped your face delicately between his hands as you kissed one another with desperation, as if you’d slip between one another’s hands like sand on a beach. He detached his lips from yours, a string of spit keeping you connected for a mere moment as he quickly unlocked the cell door with the key in his pocket. You were on each other in an instant, slamming his back into the door before kissing him fervently once more. Joel Miller should have never trusted a jailbird such as you. You felt the coolness of the key in your grasp, having him distracted at your mercy. You shoved him away, slipping through the door and slammed it shut before locking it. He barely had a chance to register that you were no longer in his proximity.

He shook the bars wildly, yelling fiercely as you slipped from his grasp once more. “DON’T LEAVE ME! DON’T LEAVE ME! I LOVE YOU, PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T GO! I LOVE YOU!” He slammed his fists into the bars over and over again, till his knuckles were raw and bleeding, and his throat ran dry.

Tagging people I think will enjoy! @chaotic-mystery @cavillscurls @morning-star-joy @sinsofsummers @cupofjoel @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @darkroastjoel @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42

Part Two

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond’s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you

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thewonderingbard · 6 months

Note

how do boys react to sick s/o? With like something that doesn’t make them SICK but mildly uncomfortable, like. Hmmm… pink eye, known for itchy-ness and eye gunk. Making it hard to even open your eyes when you wake up

-🌽 anon :-)

Currently watching Ninjago , Living life rn.

Sorry it took a bit 🌽 anon ;)

(I’ve personally never had pink eye or anything like that but a quick google search shall help)

———————————————————————

Undertale Sans -Vanilla

He is tries to help but he is not great at healing magic.So he goes to the doctors for S/O and gets the medicine S/O needs. As a skeleton he can’t really get pink eye so he just uses as an excuse to lay in bed with S/O.He tries to keep S/O’s mood up by telling jokes.He also keeps getting S/O water and snacks aswell.

Undertale Papyrus - Paps

Yeahhhh…S/O is not leaving that bed until he knows S/O is better.He is actually quite good at healing magic so he uses that quite often.He can’t stand seeing his S/O in pain.When he first saw S/O infected eyes , he and S/O we’re at the doctors in record time.Once given the medication and being told it’s not serious,only then will he calm down.He ,the ever generous skeleton,puts the eye drops in S/O’s eyes.

Underswap Sans - Blue

He first thought S/O had been crying and went to comfort S/O . Once S/O tells him it’s pink eye he surprisingly is not panicking.But now S/O is forced to rest on the sofa and eat Blue’s soup…(It tastes horrible).He is right on time when giving S/O medicine.Don’t let him do the eye drops or the liquid will end up in your eye brown for some reason.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey

“Awww,Poor little Bee…”

He feels so sad just for S/O . He like Vanilla gets all the medicine S/O need sand gives it to you aswell.He also hand feeds S/O and holds the bottle of water S/O drinks out of. He is doing every for his S/O.He is such a mother-hen when it come to people getting ill or sick. Honey is not the best at healing magic but he uses it on S/O if it stops their irritated eyes from hurting.

Underfell Sans - Red

He is super weirded out! How did your eyes get like that? Why do they look that way?Once all his questions are answered he takes S/O to the doctor to get checked out.Let me give you some advice NEVER accept Reds offers to make you food.You know one time he set the COFFEE MACHINE on fire.Anyway,he is not the best at healing magic so he makes Edge help s/o. He ,like Vanilla, uses this as an excuse to nap with S/O, not like he can get pink eyes when he has sockets.

Underfell Papyrus - Edge

One of the only time you see him worried is when S/O has an illness.He is surprisingly good a healing magic so he uses that on S/O’s eyes.He literally makes S/O sleep on the sofa instead of his room but he does sleep on the floor of the living room just so he knows S/O is safe.He is very organised when it comes to giving S/O medicine and eyes drops.He even goes out and runs errands for S/O.He may or may not give S/O’s work a very rude notice that S/O is ill and won’t be coming in.

Horrortale Sans - Seaweed

He is a bit confused when S/O tells him.How are your eyes pink?They are not normally pink are they?Once S/O tells him he really tries being helpful.But he can’t go out on his own so he can’t really get S/O medicine, he can only really go and get it if S/O is up to it or if his brother will take him.Other than that he stays by S/Os side constantly, asking if S/O is okay every 10 minutes and if S/O needs anything.

Horrortale Papyrus - Papaya

Oh no.If you thought Honey was a mother-hen get ready for Papaya because he becomes the ULTIMATE another hen.He instantly knew something was up with S/O it’s like a sixth sense.As some one who takes a lot of medicine himself and makes sure his brother takes his medics what makes you think he would forget about S/Os medicine and eye drop times. S/O need water?Here have 12 bottles .Hungry? Be ready you’re getting a feast. S/O warns him to not pull his back or hurt himself and gives S/O a death glare.

_________________________

This was fun to write!

I hope it’s alright!

Thank you for requesting - Morganna

#underfell #horrortale #undertale #underswap #undertale headcanons #sans x reader #undertale imagines #papyrus x reader

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 8 months

Text

SOFTTOBER: REQUESTS OPEN

The results have come in and the winning vote was...

SOFTTOBER!!!

The antidote to Kinktober where you can read the filthiest smut ever and then come to blog and cleanse your palate with with fluff, vanilla and downright gooey-est of fics.

Details:

I will be writing 6 fics! (circa 700-900 words) and one will be posted each Sunday AEST.

Dom!San x Overstimulation @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell

Sub!Seonghwa x Mommy!Reader @ddeonghwassimp

Dom!Jongho x Virginity @marievllr-abg

Daddy!Bang Chan x Begging @whatudowhennooneseesyou

Lee Know x Praise @whatudowhennooneseesyou

Request Rules:

5 spots available! First in and best dressed.

1 spot will be for sub!idol, first person to request sub!idol will get this spot.

Non-anonymous requests will have higher priority over anonymous requests (this is because I'll know your age), 18+ Only

ONE request per person

Only accepting idols from Stray Kids and Ateez.

I will be writing fem!reader unless gn!reader is requested.

One idol per request and the 5 fics will be 5 different idols.

I am only able to write certain idols as submissive so if you request a sub!idol and I can't write it, I'll request another idol.

Finally!

One kink per request and be realistic yeah??

E.g of request...

' Hi, Can i please request begging with Daddy!Chan and fem!reader?'

This is Softtober and it's meant to fluffy, soft and sweet.

Don't come into my inbox requesting the reader to be tarred and feathered or spun like a rotisserie chicken.

That's not the point of this series.

And that's it!!

Request away!

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @lemonhongjoong @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @muselin @justaaveragereader @lyramundana @saintfool @wolfakira @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @sometimesiwritethings @ja3hwa @hwalysm

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noneedtoamputate · 1 month

Text

Flyboys and Flirting

I had a chat with @shoshiwrites earlier this week after seeing this photo of Callum Turner in a turtleneck (thanks @hogans-heroes for doing God's work.) I blame her entirely for my Bucky Egan obsession. Like Ellen, I am not one to like the bad boys, but there is something about him and his character development during Masters of the Air that got to me. I tagged the photo with something like Chuck wouldn't mind Ellen taking off her sunglasses to check Bucky out, and Shoshi said no one deserves to look that good in a turtleneck. Based on our chat, here's a little fun one-off I wrote about Colonel Egan stopping by the tobacco store.

San Francisco

October 1957

Afternoons were usually quiet in the shop, a good chance to catch up on pesky tasks like organizing receipts for the accountant. He called Chuck last week, and Ellen saw the headache start behind Chuck’s eyes. Chuck hated anything to do with taxes.

She decided to get a babysitter for Friday and come into the shop for the day. They’d get everything sorted and then go out for dinner, just the two of them, as a reward for a solid day’s work.

They were in the back room, Chuck at the desk and Ellen perched on the counter next to the sink going over August’s purchases, when the bell above the front door rang.

Chuck sighed and rubbed his temple.

“You keep working. I’ll go out front,” she said as she hopped down, giving his shoulder a squeeze before walking out into the store.

Her eyes widened at what she saw. She forced her mouth to remain closed though her jaw wanted to drop to the floor.

A curly-haired man with a mustache, aviators, and a bomber jacket, looking better in a turtleneck than any man had a right to, stood in front of the high-end cigars. He must have heard her footsteps, because he looked her way, took off the sunglasses, and flashed her a smile, a smile she knew he put on for everyone and had nothing to do with her.

This was a Bad Boy.

Ellen never had gone for the Bad Boys. She’d always liked the honor roll students, the boys next door. She suspected Chuck had gone through a Bad Boy stage, but by the time she met him, he owned the store and shaved every morning and parted his hair just so and was always on time to everything.

Every once in a while, she wondered what it would have been like to be with a Bad Boy, the boy who kept her out past curfew or had a motorcycle or had a mustache that normally didn’t do anything for her but made her hot and bothered.

She congratulated herself on wearing a pencil skirt and heels today instead of her usual shirtwaist dress and flats.

“Can I help you?” she asked calmly as she walked toward him.

“Yes, I think you can,” he said slowly, still smiling. “I should introduce myself. Colonel John Egan, United States Air Force.”

“Ellen Grant, co-owner of this store,” she said, shaking his hand. “Cigars, I see. What flavor are you looking for today?”

“Perhaps you can explain my options,” he said.

Despite whatever game they were in the middle of, she wouldn’t play dumb. She went through what made each cigar different, whether they were flavored with sweet Mexican vanilla or spicy Indian pepper, how each one was rolled slightly differently and had different shapes and filters, affecting their taste.

“Which one is calling you? Sweet or spicy?” she asked coyly, barely believing those words came out of her mouth.

“A little bit of both, I would say.” He lifted his eyebrows just a bit. “Let’s take a box of each.”

They walked over to the counter.

“I just flew into Hamilton Air Force Base last night for meetings. I’m sure my colleagues will enjoy these tonight,” he said.

“I’m sure they will,” Ellen agreed. “Any cigarettes? Luckies or Chesterfields?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Luckies. How did you know?”

She laughed. “It’s my business. But for most officers, it’s one or the other.” She rang up two packs.

They made small talk for a few minutes, about the store and his Pentagon desk job, but mostly about flying.

“You seem to know a lot about planes,” he said. He looked down at her finger, the one with the diamond ring on it. “Is your … co-owner a pilot?”

“Well, he was in planes, but he didn’t fly them. A paratrooper,” she explained.

He looked impressed. “The 82nd?” he asked.

“No!” Ellen almost shouted. “The 101st.”

“Sorry,” John apologized.

“You should be. Those guys in the 82nd were a bunch of amateurs.” She grinned as she handed him the bag.

“Well,” he said, a little deflated at the prospect of leaving, “This has been a delight. Thank you, Mrs. Grant.”

And with that, the spell was over.

“Likewise, Colonel Egan. Enjoy your cigars and the rest of your trip.”

He smiled, nodded, and walked out the door without a second glance.

Ellen turned around to walk into the back room when she saw Chuck, leaning against the wall, arms folded on his chest with an amused look on his face.

“What?” she innocently asked as she walked past him.

“You were flirting with that flyboy,” Chuck pointed out.

“I was not!” Ellen could barely keep a straight face.

Chuck couldn’t, and he laughed out loud. “I heard the whole thing. God, it’s so predictable. All it takes is a pair of fancy sunglasses and a leather jacket and all the girls fall for it.” He shook his head. “Here I was thinking my wife would be better than that.”

“Oh,” she said, closing the gap between them and putting her hands on his shoulders. “Are you jealous?”

“Of that guy?” he asked incredulously. “Please.”

Ellen tilted her head.

“I’m not jealous, but nobody should look that good in a turtleneck,” he conceded.

She playfully hit him on the arm. “That’s what I thought!” she said.

“I’m not jealous,” he said again, grabbing her by her hips. “I’m the one who gets to do taxes with you and go out to dinner with you and go home with you,” He gave her a slow, sultry kiss. “When is the babysitter off duty?” he asked

“Nine o’clock. The kids should be asleep,” she sighed as he found the spot on her collarbone that she liked.

“I hope so.” His hands left her hips and roamed lower. “No, I’m not jealous of that guy who is going to be smoking cigars with the brass tonight while I get to be with you.”

“You know, you can be bad, when you want to be,” Ellen remarked.

“Very bad,” he agreed.

Ellen didn’t want a bad boy. She didn’t want a hotshot pilot with a mustache. But she liked knowing her clean cut, responsible husband who didn’t own a turtleneck could be bad if he wanted to be. That was enough for her.

#chuck grant #ellen thompson #chuck grant x oc #masters of the air #john egan #bucky egan #masters of the air fic #band of brothers fic #turtlenecks #midcentury dads #every beautiful thing

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aloysiavirgata · 11 months

Note

Okay okay now me! How about the old three words prompt format? Potato salad, birthday, camel. Love having you back!

They’re eating potato salad and pulled pork at a picnic table outside of Savannah. The picnic table is behind a garden shed that has been converted to a barbecue shack. Mulder read about it on a message board, said it was worth the forty-five minute detour.

It is. She will never admit this without sodium pentothal.

“Wanna go to the fair later?” Mulder asks around a bite of sandwich. “Saw a sign outside the fire station.”

Scully frowns, poking at her potato salad with a spork. “Mulder. Those rides are set up by meth-addled degenerates with all the engineering expertise of an 8 year old with a Lego set.”

“Ahhhh, come on. We can make out on the Ferris wheel, it’ll be fun.”

She blushes and hates them both for it. “Mulder.”

He pouts. “It’s my birthday.”

“It’s August 3rd.”

“Well,” he concedes, “it’s my birthday next.”

She’s had vague ideas about his birthday, a new lingerie set maybe? But it embarrasses her to consider in any real way. They’ve slept together four times but she’s mortified at the thought of chatting with the leggy sylphs at Victoria’s Secret.

Mulder leans across the table on his elbows to kiss her, outside in the daylight in front of the ghosts of General Sherman and Flannery O’Connor and everybody.

There’s a whoop from a few stoned teenagers across the gravel, eating Kool-Aid pickles.

She tries to look prim and scandalized when he sits back, feels herself fail miserably.

“Fine,” she says. “Let’s ride the Ferris wheel.” She loves the idea of sitting at the top with him, the little frisson that will come as the seat stops and swings. She knows he’ll try to win her a prize at some rigged game.

He looks intolerably smug and she almost reconsiders on principle. He washes down another mouthful of pork with sweet tea.

“And the making out part?” He bats his lashes at her to disarming effect.

She sips her own tea. “Not a Ferris wheel exactly, but my first kiss was on the um…the what do you call it? The sky tram thing at the San Diego Zoo.”

A wolf whistle from Mulder, echoed by the teens. “Minx,” he says.

Scully grins. “We were visiting some friends over summer break and they had a son my age on whom I had a life-threatening crush. His name was Frankie. We somehow ended up alone in the air tram gondola car together after the camel rides and, well…”

“You send him letters on scented stationery all summer?”

She had indeed.

“No.”

“Liar,” he says, chewing on his straw and leering. “So how was it?”

“We both smelled of camel and we both had braces. It was very romantic.” She’d ended up with a cut on her lip that Melissa blackmailed her with.

He laughs. “Ahab ever find out?”

She grimaces. “Thankfully not. We didn’t see each other after that, actually.”

“Poor Frankie.”

They finish their food, return to their hot, stuffy car for the drive back to the motel. They do not touch.

(Later, on the Ferris wheel, they kiss like they invented it. He makes obnoxious remarks while she eats a vanilla soft serve custard; she indulges him shamelessly and holds his eyes while she licks it.

He wins her a monstrous pink bear that she gifts to a small, sticky girl.

They fall into bed for the fifth time and his mouth tastes of lemonade and sex. Above them is the Dog Star. Vega, Arcturus. Scully, who wrote her thesis on Einstein’s twin paradox, knows time travel is impossible. But she is thirteen again, her lips swollen with kisses and the sweet impossibility of being young and stunningly in love in summertime.)

#xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr #my fanfic #fluff #prompts

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roomsofangel · 5 months

Text

CHAPTER ONE

death wish .ᐟ

wc 1.1k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ^_^

your mother said you had trouble following you ever since you learned how to walk — it had only gotten worse with age.

and with recent events, you were starting to believe her because truly, in what world, who can say,

the god of death asked you to marry him.

breathing in the scented candles, your shoulders slumped, “he has a taste for vanilla,” you muttered, index finger delicately grazing the glass holding the flame in tact

“do you not like it?” seonghwa’s voice startled you, your body tensing from the energy it couldn’t process radiating off of him, his large hands firmly holding your arms from behind you— yet, it still felt like he was handling you with more care than you could ever fathom a being like him would.

humming, “i never said i didn’t,” you turned your body to face him, his expression softening once your eyes met each others — he smiled, hands drifting off of you and to his sides

seonghwa’s scent was different and it was only more noticeable when the two of you stood this close, the mixture of cold iced air and rain, just add a bit of cigarette smoke and cherry — your nose twitched, hand lifting for your finger to wipe it

though all reapers had a scent,

seonghwa only proved he was much more than just that. his title being the god of death made your spine shudder.

“you should wake up now, y/n,” he whispered, his chest pressed against yours while you tightly knit your brows together, fingers laced in his belt loops, humming in question

“wake up?” you asked

nodding his head, he gently shoved you away so he could step back and gain his composure you saw was faltering, “i just came to visit,” he held his hands in defense, “lake, tonight. i’ll explain the rest of our deal.”

and before you had time to question, your body shot up with you gasping for air — chest heavy and frantically rising, your forehead dripped with sweat before you wiped it off

4:44am

“ah, seonghwa,” you cursed under your breath after your breathing had settled, laying yourself back down and pulling a pillow over your head in exasperation

the two of you had gotten separated that night after he dropped the sudden question—scratch that—the sudden command it seemed with the way he had came about it.

your mother had called midway of him getting ready to explain more about the wedding arrangements and why this had to be done — how do you tell your family you’re getting married?

and how the hell do you tell them he’s the creator of their future demise? he decided everything in the end.

“one iced mint green tea, please,” you requested, attempting to dust off the imaginary dirt off your blouse while you stood in front of the coffee shop’s cashier who nodded their head

you didn’t get much sleep after the visit seonghwa paid you with, a clouded mind — you sat in the back by the window, eyes glued to the scenery that changed with each and every new person added and removed, the sun bright and giving everyone a kiss on the head

hands clasped together, you continued to watch the endless amount of people who weren’t aware they would be dying soon, frowning at some that would be a few hours from now.

receiving your drink, you thanked the barista and put your straw in, and that’s when you noticed something

with a heavy chest, you turned to glance back at the register where you saw someone already looking at you — nose twitching, you attempted to look away, having the urge to run and hide

his catlike eyes stared deeply into you, almost as if he was trying to rip out your soul with his hands — he wasn’t a reaper, you could sense it.

then what was he?

“san! come get these boxes from the back, you’re stronger than i am,” you heard someone from the back call out for him and it broke his eye contact with you, his uninterested expression turning to the person who stumbled out before he followed behind them

and not before he gave you one final glance, mouthing,

‘come back soon’

the sky was going through its new phase, a waning gibbous moon glowing on the water while you sat in the same spot you had been residing when seonghwa had made his existence first known to you — your breathing was rough, almost as if your lungs refused to give you oxygen before the tightness released hearing footsteps behind you

with tensed muscles, your head glanced over your shoulder to see the myth and legend — park seonghwa, looking down at you with an expression that made your chest feel iced, “seonghwa?” you asked

taking a seat next to you, ignoring your acknowledgment, seonghwa looked back at the moon with a sigh, “you met san—didn’t you, y/n?”

clearing your throat, “san?”

seonghwa’s expressions were unreadable but you knew, deep down in your core, that there wasn’t pleasant feelings attached to them, scoffing, “you can’t lie to me, y/n,

not when i’m your reaper and husband,” he finally met your gaze.

“i never fully agreed on marrying you,” you muttered — it was now your turn to avoid his stare

laughing from the base of his throat, seonghwa hummed shortly after, “you didn’t need to, your energy was enough for me.”

“i know you met san, y/n, just not formally,” he humored, though, there was nothing amusing about the situation to him, you could tell with the way his fists clenched around his coat, “don’t go back there.”

“what?” you coughed, turning to look at him

how did—

“i think you forget i’m the god of death,” he shook his head, “god is in the name,” seonghwa deadpanned

and truthfully,

seonghwa didn’t feel like a threat despite his title screaming otherwise — something about him made interacting so easy.

why did you feel as if you knew him before? as if you both were picking up where you left off..

his fingers brushed against your hand, your nose twitching before you felt his frigid temperatures on your skin more — seonghwa held your hand and it made you question everything once more

“i could answer the questions you have, y/n,” he spoke up, voice more frail and broken before clearing his throat to continue, “but i need you to verbally consent to being my wife,” his eyes locked on you

and if anyone asked you what was going through your head when you answered his proposal — you knew they would call you insane

because why did you cup seonghwa’s face between your hands, and whisper, “i’ll marry you, seonghwa.”

as if you didn’t know the consequences that would begin to follow you after saying those four words.

MASTERLIST . . NEXT

taglist (open)

#. . ꯭ ☥˚━╋ lavender blood!#park seonghwa fic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez writing #ateez au #ateez ff #mythology au #park seonghwa writing #park seonghwa angst #park seonghwa au #park seonghwa #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa x reader #ateez seonghwa #park seonghwa smut

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prairiefirewitch · 1 year

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I’m hagging out a day early because I’m headed out of town for a couple of days, but I was not about to miss this month’s hag party. I love making infusions and have managed to turn infused witch things into my full time job, so this is my strawberry jam. Strawberry vanilla hibiscus infused mead, specifically.

I try to make at least 2 batches of mead a year; one at Yule to be shared at Midsommar, and the other made at Midsommar to be shared at Yule. It’s a nice way for me to slow down and apply patience (I’ve got zero) to a project, and eventually reap the delicious benefits of waiting for the mead to mature. And it’s very sweet to taste the labors of summer in the middle of winter, and then to taste the warm spices of winter in summer. It’s alcohol-fueled time travel.

This mead is my favorite of all the batches I’ve made, so I made 3 gallons instead of the usual 1 gallon batches I make.

Mead is incredibly easy to make; once you toss everything together, it’s just a waiting game. Here’s the down and dirty but there are many good recipes online if you want something more complex. Sanitizing your equipment is the most important step and you can use San-star from a homebrew supplier, or make your own with a gallon of cool water and about an ounce of household bleach. Everything you use here needs to be sanitized.

You need all this stuff to make a gallon:

2.5 - 3 lbs honey

1/2 pack sweet or dry yeast mead (I used champagne yeast because I like it bone dry)

1 gallon spring or purified water

2 cups berries

Vanilla bean, split and scraped

10 raisins

1/2 cup dried hibiscus flowers

You’ll also want a gallon sized glass carboy, a big funnel, a large cooking pot, a small cooking pot, an airlock, a sieve, a rubber stopper that fits your carboy, and a big spoon to stir with.

Put your honey in your large pot and add about half a gallon of water. Warm it on low just until the honey dissolves. Watch the heat, honey scorches quickly. While it warms, put your clean chopped strawberries into the small pot with about 2 cups of water. Bring it to a low simmer and use a potato masher or an immersion blender to make a purée. Add your hibiscus flowers, heat for a few minutes to let them soften and turn off the heat. When it’s just barely warm, use your sieve to filter out the seeds and flowers.

Once your honey water cools to about 100 degrees, pour it into your clean carboy. Add the other half gallon of water, and your sieved strawberry purée. Top up with additional water if needed, leaving about 3 inches of head room. Add your vanilla beans and raisins. Raisins provide nutrients for the yeast. Sprinkle the yeast on top, but be sure your mixture is 90 degrees or cooler or your yeast will die.

Pop your rubber stopper into the carboy and insert the water filled airlock. Now you wait. Let it ferment for 2 weeks. Most of the activity will have stopped.

Now you need to filter the mead into a second carboy. If you don’t have one, use a sanitized pot or bucket while you wash your carboy for the secondary fermentation. You want to pour or siphon slowly and carefully, using a fine mesh strainer, so you leave most of the settled yeast and bits of strawberry out. Once it’s carefully filtered, add it back to the carboy, put the stopper and airlock back in. Now wait for a long time. This mead should be ready to drink in 6 months, but it’ll be a bit rough and unrefined. You can bottle it at this point, which is what I do, but lots of people just let it age in the carboy. I like heavy duty swing top glass bottles, but wine bottles work too.

If you’re patient, save a few bottles to age for a full year. This is when your mead becomes a nectar fit for gods, with all the roughness gone, and the delicate honey flavor gets complex. Keep your bottles in a cool dark place.

Thank you @msgraveyarddirt for hosting!

#hagging out #mead #hail dionysus #Midsommar

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not-poignant · 6 months

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Stain is such a great story, Alex and Sebastian have made so much progress understanding each other, and I'm excited for their relationship to continue to develop (not just physically... but okay really excited for that too!!)

Wondering what gave you the inspiration and what you like most about the Alex/Sebastian pairing, or any other thoughts about Stardew Valley as a fandom you want to share!

Honestly the thing that inspired me the most was just playing the game! :D

I have nearly 1800 hours in Stardew Valley, and that's like...what I would call a few hours to just daydream about all the characters. And me being the multi-shipping fiend that I am, I do also just like to imagine all the characters in relationships with each other.

I'm not someone who really cares about my farmer (or PC) in the central romance, which is why I don't write this in video games that have you as a player character! I didn't do that for Stuck on the Puzzle, or The Wind that Cuts the Night, or Palmarosa. I don't actually care as much about whoever I'm romancing, I care more about what relationships can happen between other characters.

And I think because I daydream about that, rather than my farmer character (or me) with the NPCs, that gives me like a lot of time to think of different things.

I started daydreaming about Sebastian as a top several years ago, he had that energy to me even like 2 years before I romanced him (the amount of times I've romanced Alex is criminal at this point). I sometimes imagined him with like Sam, but mostly Alex. I also imagined him being good goth literature friends with Elliott lol

Even in The Wind that Cuts the Night I have Sebastian as a top with the farmer :D

I don't actually get that involved with the fandom in general. I've tried a few times, and some of the fanart is incredible (and the MODS omg), but I've never really loved any of the SDV fic that I've read (or more accurately: skimmed). I don't like farmer/NPC pairings. The vast majority of people wrote Sebastian as a bottom (or a fluffy vanilla top which is somehow worse) in m/m like 4-5 years ago and I'm too tired to check how much that's changed.

Alex actually gets a lot of hate in the fandom - at least amongst most of the queer players - and seeing a character who is a victim of child abuse treated like that just kind of left me with a bad taste in my mouth (it seemed to be based around Alex's initial rudeness, which doesn't last nearly as long as Shane's, who was hero-worshipped long before he got his whole storyline, because he wasn't romanceable for years).

So I really avoid the fandom, and I couldn't tell you who's writing the most popular fics or the most popular pairings or anything like that. I don't look into the tags, and almost all the fanart I've ever shared here or at @capillata has been shared to me by someone else first.

So yeah the answer is mostly just that I daydream a lot and I've had many many hours to do it in! :D

I like Alex/Sebastian as a pairing mostly because I've always just liked troped opposites in enemies to lovers. The jock vs. the goth nerd has been a long-term media troped opposition romance pairing, and even outside of romances, is often shown as 'oppositional.' Many people even have memories of that in their school experience.

To me, the idea that Alex is always shown as completely alone (sans Haley or grandparents), and that Sebastian is nearly always shown with friends when he's not being like... deeply moody in a goth way, was really fascinating to me. ConcernedApe was already working hard to say 'this isn't what you think it is' even within the game. Alex is the one who apologises to you for being so desperate and also unrealistic about his sporting/goth abilities. Sebastian is the one who already has a job and is incredibly social - he's in a band that regularly practices and even performs outside of his hometown, he regularly plays TTRPGs with friends, and he regularly goes to the bar and plays pool and hangs out with friends. He's not a 'loner nerd.' He is hands down the most popular and social person in Stardew Valley who you can romance, outside of Sam, who is the same amount of popular. Like, Sebastian is literally a socialite social butterfly who is successful and charismatic and rides a motorbike. Subversion pretty fucking successful on that trope :D

To me, the game gives us the set up to a bullies-to-lovers scenario just by giving us the trope, and then subverting the trope. I always kind of liked that, but could never imagine writing it, until I aged them up and had Sebastian and Alex both mentally kind of growing up a little.

All right that's enough rambling from me! It's time to make lunch. But yeah, that's basically sadlfkjas er the sum of it (I say after rambling for ages)

#asks and answers #personal #a stain that won't dissolve #thespectaclesofthor #the long and short of it is really 'the game and daydreaming about the game'#that's usually where most of my game-inspired fics come from dsalfkjasd #i am very pedestrian that way

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xhanisai · 1 year

Text

What Do Kisses Taste Like?

AO3

Pairing - Adrinette + Ladynoir

Prompt - ‘Toothpaste And Energy Drinks’

Summary -

"We were discussing what kisses taste like, Marinette!" Rose happily quipped, more energetic than Marinette has ever been in her entire lifetime. The sweet girl clasped her hands together and pressed them against the side of her head in a precious pose. "What do you think they taste like?"

Marinette hummed lowly with little to no interest, placing the travel mug down on a nearby desk and her eyes fluttered shut. Everyone thought she was just mulling over it, coming up with an answer that'll satisfy them all in class president style.

They were wrong.

Before anyone could even take another breath, Marinette had Adrien's collar in her fingers instantly and then suddenly her lips were firmly pressed against his in one, deep kiss.

~(x)~ . . . "What do you think, mec? What do kisses taste like?" When the class discussion (sans Marinette who was most likely going to arrive much later) put him on the hot seat early in the morning (with Madame. Bustier having stepped out for some business for a little while), Adrien was immediately put off guard. However, it wasn't that he was intimidated by all the eyes on him nor did he feel pressured to do anything stupid or say anything equally as embarrassing. 'What do I say to this? The only times I've ever been kissed was by my Lady under the influence of an akuma where my memories were wiped and when Marinette kissed me as a prank...but I pulled away too fast to actually taste her lips...not to mention all those times my lips accidentally brushed my Lady's or my Princesse's by accident when helping them get out of an Akuma's way were all too fast for me to even register properly...' He thought long hard and deep, a comical look of concentration and focus plastered on his face adorably, peaking the curiosities of all his friends. He even had a hand clutching his chin in a manner that brought out endeared grins from some of his classmates, finding him quite cute and charming like a little kitten trying to make up its mind after being presented with two of its favourite treats. "Doesn't...well, doesn't it depend on who you kiss and when? And that multiple factors come into play when kissing?" Adrien finally asked after some time, still not able to come up with a definite answer and having his companions use the little brain cells they had that barely worked this early. "Like...say Rose had some chocolates and she kisses Juleka, wouldn't that make her kiss taste of chocolates too? Or Alya just came in from outside and kisses Nino, wouldn't their kiss taste like the cold, crisp air?" "True, true," Alya began, her sly, impish, fox-like smirk unseen by the blond boy who was still wracking his brain for more answers. "But I assumed you've already kissed a couple of times, Adrien- especially with how confident you looked when you and Marinette had to do it for our class film...unless...you have never been kissed?" "Our lips did lightly brush before Chloé interrupted us," Adrien sighed a little sadly and there was a tone of regret, ignoring the mayor's daughter who squawked indignantly in the background and simultaneously blind to the way everyone else's expressions (except Lila's) lightened up with pure delight and mischief. "Marinette smelt really, really sweet and so good...like spiced vanilla...and her lips were dewy with a cute gloss and it smelt fruity...so I'm not sure if she would've tasted like sweets or fruits or even the delicious cookies that she often shares with us in class. That would've been my first kiss too. What a missed opportunity." His unfiltered babbles and lovesick sighs were like the most delicious cheese in the world and all of his classmates except for the two grumpy, seething girls were Plagg. The way he looked despondent over losing an opportunity to kiss his beloved Marinette and the way he lightly pressed his bottom lip with his fingertips with the definition of unadulterated yearning within his big, green, sparkly eyes was just too good for his gossip-hungry, giggly friends. Though, neither of them got a chance to prod and pry further. "Ughhh...it's too early in the morning! Why are you all so loud?" A sudden, dead on her feet, sleep-deprived Marinette appeared, leaning against the door with a travel mug full of coffee in hand. She didn't even blink at the way Adrien physically lightened up at her presence, his body looking more than ready to pounce her in a huge embrace like his alter-ego's namesake and his emerald greens glittering with adoration and delight. The poor heroine was far too out of it to properly comprehend anything and was currently fuelled by less than three hours of sleep from the past forty-eight hours and many, many beverages. "We were discussing what kisses taste like, Marinette!" Rose happily quipped, more energetic than Marinette has ever been in her entire lifetime. The sweet girl clasped her hands together and pressed them against the side of her head in a precious pose. "What do you think they taste like?" Marinette hummed lowly with little to no interest, placing the travel mug down on a nearby desk and her eyes fluttered shut. Everyone thought she was just mulling over it, coming up with an answer that'll satisfy them all in class president style. . They were wrong. Before anyone could even take another breath, Marinette had Adrien's collar in her fingers instantly and then suddenly her lips were firmly pressed against his in one, deep kiss. His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, his body frozen under her fiery touch and before he could even think of reciprocating or even holding her with his burning, desperate hands, she pulled away. . Meeting the gazes of their baffled classmates, the super-tired Marinette eyed them with something similar to boredom and nonchalance. "Mint. Kisses taste of fresh mint...like toothpaste. There's your answer." She released her grip on the lovestruck Adrien, about to head for her cup of coffee, only for the feline hero to snap out of his stupor and grasp Marinette by her shoulders. "Wait a minute!" He growled with both annoyance and disbelief, slamming his lips back on hers without wasting any time. The speechless students around them gawked unattractively as Adrien clenched the back of Marinette's dark blazer with one white-knuckled hand and tangled his fingers up in her messy hair with the other, hungrily parting his lips against her rosy pair over and over again until he finally gained access to her mouth with his eager tongue. The more innocent of their classmates such as Ivan and Sabrina averted their eyes from the clearly, hormone-riddled kiss that shouldn't ever be seen in public, their hands covering their faces. The more excited and outrageous classmates such as Kim and Alya and Rose watched with glee and cheered them on, hearts pounding happily on behalf of the very occupied duo and relishing the joy of seeing their ship sail after all this time. A few of them took a couple of pictures and videos on their phones whilst a handle of the students from the class had to restrain a furious, fire-breathing Chloé from tearing apart their one-true-pairing (and no one paid any mind to the way Lila fainted from absolute disgust at the sight of her enemies shoving their tongues down each other's throats). . Finally, after what seemed like forever, Adrien reluctantly parted from Marinette's lips for some needed oxygen, his hands tenderly cradling her soft face and the two of them panting with cheeks more rouge than Ladybug's suit and their eyes glazed as if they've just woken up from a dream. . That was until Adrien's eyes flashed with irritation. . "Energy drinks...why do you taste like energy drinks? I thought your parents banned you from them because they completely messed up your sleep schedule. And you also brought a cup of coffee with you?" Blinking slowly at her frustrated friend, Marinette did the one thing that her slumbering brain could only think of. . She ran. . "Hey! Marinette! Wait up! You're not getting away with this!" . And Adrien followed suit. . "So...does this mean kisses taste like toothpaste and energy drinks?" "Kim. Shut up." ~(x)~ Alya was living her best life. The bestest of them all. She didn't know what she did in her past life or the previous one before that but dammit it must have been something so amazing because all the Gods and higher powers must have blessed her, evident in the way one of her treasured OTPs were kissing messily right there and then and her hands trembling with indescribable elation as she recorded the event with her trusty phone. Her personal 'adrinette' album was pretty much spilling with so much content! "Cappuccino. With five teaspoons of sugar. Five!" Adrien grumbled with irk, pulling away from Marinette's lips with a soft glare, his hands cradling her face and slightly squishing her cheeks so that her lips were pooched. The girl in his grasp only scowled with an intensity of a kitten stuck on a tree branch, her tired baby blues glinting with defiance and her arms crossed as she scoffed and looked away childishly. This only made her blond drawl out her name as a warning. "No way! I only had one and a half teaspoons of sugar in my coffee for breakfast!" She attempted to fib, cheeks and ears reddening as she tried not to give in to his narrowed (but gorgeous, beautiful) greens. "Besides, all that excess sugar is from the fruits I've also had with my breakfast!" "Do I need to shove my tongue back in your mouth, again?" And like the married couple they totally are, the duo began bickering once anew in a manner that reminded Alya of her other OTP, donned with polka dots and feline assets. She didn't pay any mind to Nino who gave her a slightly worried look as she manically cackled quietly behind her phone, squealing when this time, Marinette shoved her tongue down Adrien's throat and then pulled away triumphantly. "Aha! You also had coffee! And not just any coffee...an espresso! With at least three teaspoons of sugar!" The finger Marinette jabbed at Adrien's chest was caught by the taller teen, using the momentum to tug her back to his chest. "Unlike you, I take my caffeine and sugar in moderation and know how to not overwork myself. You? You go through the day with five or six cups daily!" "I'm not gonna let you stop me, Agreste!" "Oh, we'll see about that, Dupain-Cheng!" Alya once again, thanked the higher deities and her boyfriend simply just rolled his eyes with both love and affection for her and his good friends. Though, he much rathered that neither Marinette nor Adrien ended up in a heap of exhaustion and fatigue in the corner desk of the classroom again. The two of them were just as bad as each other. ~(x)~ A sleep-deprived Chat Noir registered the scent of sugar and sweeteners and artificial fruit flavours before the sound of his Lady's feet landing on one of La Tour Eiffel's beams, making her way towards him. He whirled around to face her without opening his eyes, swallowing her gasps as he slammed their lips together in one, bruising kiss. All that his tired mind could register was the extreme sugariness and silkiness of her yielding lips, flavoured with something she definitely should not have been consuming and her body melting like putty in his hands. "Energy drinks again, Marinette?" He sighed groggily as he pulled away from her lips, resting his aching head against hers with a quiet grunt. "At this rate, you'll give me a heart attack from worrying about you constantly-" He snapped his eyes open, feline greens constricting, finally realising that within his arms was one gaping, tight-lipped Ladybug, her face so red it blended in with her suit magnificently and her chest pressed against his as she had to strain her neck to meet his gaze above due to their height difference. "A...Adrien?" She whispered questionably, baby blues glittering and her rosy lips reddened deliciously thanks to his ministrations. Had he been in his right mind, Chat Noir would have probably whooped in joy and kissed her enthusiastically and maybe gotten down on one knee and proposed or something like that. . Too bad he was severely sleep deprived. "You. You're going to bed. You shouldn't even be up at this time!" Was all he muttered, his partner mutely allowing him to carry her away in his arms to her humble abode. She could freak out properly the very next day after a good night's sleep but for now, she casually just let her Chaton drop to her side on her bed after detransforming and snoozing in the comforts of her arms (but not before kissing her goodnight). . . . ~(x)~

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #ladynoir #ml fanfiction #ml fanfics

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