#and what i want to do is deposit my feelings in this pile of words

[ragingbookdragon]

Someday We'll Be All That We Need

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: I made a new friend so I made that friend a fic. @temeyes <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Other than the shivering, Simon doesn’t so much as twitch in the corner they’re huddled in. She’s cold herself, but nothing feels as terrifying as losing the man wedged in between her thighs, head resting against her chest. The bleeding has stopped though, the bullet wound plugged well enough that him exsanguinating is the least of her worries—it’s the ever-dropping temperature and the broken-down cabin that scares her.

It was thirty degrees Fahrenheit when the mission started; the last reading was ten and dropping. The cabin they’d taken shelter in was worn down, broken windows and missing ceiling allowing streams of frigid winter air and snow to fall in and continue to chill their bones. Simon had sealed his wound and managed to stay awake but with the blood loss he’d suffered and the stress, fatigue had set in, and that’s when she’d found herself curled up in the corner with the emergency blanket from her kit wrapped around his torso, his body wedged up against hers, trying to conserve energy and heat.

The comms had gone down, Simon’s radio busted in a skirmish of hand to hand with an enemy, and she had only managed to get one SOS out before the line cut off. They were alone in the middle of enemy territory, in a temperature-dropping environment, wounded and unable to call for help. Her worst fears were coming alive.

She swallowed thickly, shaking the thoughts away, and readjusted her grip on Simon, jostling him awake in the process. “Alrigh’, love?” he murmured lowly, tongue lazy and slow; he only called her love when they were alone and serious.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “You?”

“Back’s killin’ me.”

She huffed a laugh. “I bet it is. You’re folded like a pretzel.”

Simon shifted, or tried to, and rested his head on her shoulder. “How long’s it been since I feel asleep?”

“Maybe an hour?” she blinked, looking around the room; snow was beginning to pile up where the holes in the ceiling dropped to the floor. “I haven’t really been paying attention to the time.”

“Hmm.” He breathed into her neck. “I can’t feel my toes.”

Her eyes shifted to his feet, and she let out a breath, a mixture of shock and fear. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” he admitted. “‘s bad, love. Spreading up.”

“Motherfucker,” she laughed in disbelief and wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Price heard the SOS. He’s coming, okay? Just…just keep it together until then.”

Simon swallowed thickly; his eyes still shut as he nudged her neck with his mask-covered nose. “Got a safety deposit box back in Manchester,” he muttered. “Key’s in my nightstand back at base.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Got ‘bout five-hundred thousand pounds in’it.” He shifted again as if trying to get into her skin to be warmer. “Deed to a property in Herefordshire. Got it a few years ago when I was staying with Price.”

“Simon, stop,” she warned—she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Want you to get out and go live there. You’ve served long enough to get pension. You’ll be set for the rest of your life out there.”

“No. Not without you I won’t.”

He shook his head. “I don’ think I’m comin’ back, love. Not this time.”

“Don’t say that,” she stressed, turning her face to his. “They’re coming. We’ll be okay.”

Simon didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Want you to buy one of those big black Corso’s. Name her Morrigan. Let her take care of you and the land.”

Tears began to gather in her eyes. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered. “Quit it.”

“I want you to listen. I want you to be taken care of. I want—”

“I want you alive,” she cut off. “Now shut up and save some energy.”

Simon cracked an eye open and simply gazed at her. “I love you. I know I didn’ say it enough. ‘m sorry, love.”

She clenched her jaw against the wave eating her chest inside out and inhaled deeply. “Simon, stop and rest. I won’t say it again.”

He let his eyes close and laid his head back down. “Alright, love.”

***

It was at least another two hours before noise echoed outside, and it drew her from a slumber she hadn’t realized she was in; she jolted up, Simon jostling with her. “Simon,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.” He didn’t respond to her, and she pulled away, looking at him. “Simon?” he was asleep, unresponsive to any of the stimuli around him. “Fuck, Simon?” the noise outside grew louder, and she pushed past her fear and shifted from under him, tucking him against the wall as she grabbed her gun and rose to her feet.

Kneeling down, she put a hand against his face. “I’ll be back, okay? I promise.” She swallowed. “I’m coming right back, Simon.”

She rose again and headed for the door, cracking it open and slipping outside as a vehicle pulled up; tucking behind the railing, she breathed deeply and lifted her head, catching sight of a few men exiting.

Before she could even raise her weapon, she heard, “Contact!”

Ducking again, she cocked her rifle and listened as the others did the same, obviously hiding behind shelter themselves. It had to be the rest of that enemy squad that she failed to take out when Simon got injured. Fuck, she only had one mag left and she was running on fumes herself. She had to be quick. She had to be careful. She had—

“Identify yourself, or we will shoot!”

Wait, that sounded like—

“I will not say it again! Identify yourself or—”

“Price!” she called and peeked over the railing. “Price, it’s me! It’s me!”

Soap and Gaz appeared on the other side of the SUV. “Athena?”

She felt tears gather in her eyes as she stood up and lowered her gun. “Holy shit, I’ve never been so glad to see you guys.”

Price stopped in front of her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Good to see you. Where’s Simon?”

Simon.

Her heart dropped. “Fuck.” She turned on her heel and sprinted back into the cabin and to the corner, the men on her heels; she got to him first and dropped to her knees, shaking him. “Simon! Simon, wake up!”

He didn’t move.

“Simon!” she called again, lifting her cold fingers to his neck. Whether it was her own anxiety or him, she couldn’t feel a thing and she started panicking. “I can’t get a pulse!” she turned to them. “I can’t wake him up!”

Soap pulled her back as Price and Gaz got to work and she thrashed in his arms. “LET GO!”

“Lass, calm down!”

“LET GO! SIMON!” she screamed, her own vision beginning to haze, exhaustion weighing taking its toll.

“We’ve gotta start compressions,” she heard Gaz say and he looked at Price. “He’s not going to make it back if we don’t do something now.”

Price looked back. “Soap, get her in the SUV, we’ll prep Simon for transport.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said and hefted her up against her thrashing.

“NO! I’M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND! LET GO OF ME GODDAMNIT!”

“Lass, you can’t help him even if you wanted to.”

Her body felt like lead and she felt her limbs going numb as her breathing kicked into a wildness, head light and heavy all at the same time. She kept trying to get out of his arms when Price tossed a syringe his way, and a prick to her arm drew blackness into all sides of her gaze, the last thing she saw was Gaz yanking open Simon’s gear to press his hands to his chest.

***

There was an impossibly annoying beeping going off on the side of Simon’s bed and she had half a mind to kick him in his hip and gripe at him to turn it off; she managed to mumble something akin to it but when the beeping didn’t stop, she managed with great effort to crack her eyes open, only to be met with the sterile walls of a medical room.

It all came back in an instant and she sat up straight, yanking the IV out of arm, the oxygen tube from her nose, rolling from the bed. Her knees kissed the floor and pain seared up her legs as she scrambled for the door, only to fall again, but she crawled on her hands and knees to the handle. Lifting herself, she pulled the door open and leaned heavily on the wall of the hallway as she stumbled down, looking in every room for her lover.

“Simon!” she called weakly; the mission had taken its toll on her. She was weak, far beyond her own capacity and she was barely standing as it was. “Simon!” she yelled again, and Soap stuck his head out from a door about five doors down.

“Athena? Holy shite, you shouldn’t be up!” he made it to her, trying to help her, but she pushed past him.

“Where’s Simon?”

“Love, you need to go back to—”

“WHERE IS HE!”

Soap recoiled and recovered, gently wrapping his arm around her. “He’s down here. Still asleep.” His grip was steel. “I’ll take you to him.”

“I can—”

“You either let me help or I take you back to your room.”

She fell silent and let him, that was until she turned the corner of Simon’s room, and darted from his arms, barely managing to avoid face-planting into the hospital bed railing as she clambered onto the bed with the man.

“Simon?” she whispered, grabbing his face in her hands; he was so warm now. Tears seeped down her cheeks. “Simon, sweetheart?” she said again, pressing her head to his chest to feel his steady heartbeat thumping beneath; a choked sound of happiness escaped her, and she looked at Soap. “He’s alive.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah, love, he’s alive.”

“He’s okay?”

“Eh, we’re a little worried about his toes, but so far yeah.”

She buried her face in Simon’s chest, crying into the gown he wore, and grabbed one of his hands; she squeezed it tightly, relief flooding her as his fingers tightened around hers in his sleep.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader imagines #simon ghost riley x reader imagine #simon ghost riley imagines #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader imagines #simon riley x reader imagine #simon riley imagines #simon riley imagine #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x reader imagines #ghost x reader imagine #ghost imagines #ghost imagine #ghost #cod imagines #cod imagine #cod #call of duty imagines #call of duty imagine #call of duty

[heich0e]

There's a knock on your door at 3:30PM on the dot.

It's a Sunday, and you're not expecting company, so you're more than a little confused at who could be coming calling.

Even more so when you open the door to sea of colour right before your eyes.

"Uh," --you step back slightly, eyes scanning over scene before you. They're flowers, you quickly realize, in abundance, in virtually every colour you could ever imagine and more--"hello?"

"I don't,"--you hear Shouto grunt a little, shifting two of the bouquets in his arms so his face peeks out from between a bunch of white hydrangeas and an overflowing bundle of red roses,--"I don't know your favourite flower."

He looks concerned, his brow pinching and his lips pursed, like the thought troubles him.

You gape.

"Shouto, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?"

He shifts his arms again, and a bouquet of gerberas becomes visible in the crook of his elbow--sunny yellow against the dark blue of his jacket, thrown on overtop of his uniform though it doesn't do much to disguise it.

"I finished early. And I wanted to bring you flowers."

"You brought me a garden, Sho," you say, enthralled and alarmed all at once. You reach out and take three bouquets of blooms from his overflowing arms in an attempt to help, but somehow it doesn't seem to lighten his load at all--like the flowers have multiplied as quickly as you took some away.

You nod behind you, urging him to follow you into your apartment, which he does diligently.

"Well, I didn't know which ones were your favourites."

"So you said," you mutter, setting the three bundles of flowers you carried in atop your kitchen counter. Carefully, Shouto follows suit, placing his armload down slowly as to not damage the fragile stems and blossoms.

Your counter is piled high by the time the last bouquet has been deposited, the delicate scent of flowers slowly filling your apartment.

"This is... a lot," you breathe, as your eyes rake over the hoard. You peek at Shouto from the corner of your eye, and find him staring right at you, seemingly unconcerned with the veritable Eden he's emptied into your tiny kitchen.

"I upset you yesterday," he says slowly, like he's spent time planning out the words meticulously, "and I wanted to apologize. The internet said flowers are a good way to do so, but I don't know which ones are your favourite."

He'd missed dinner plans with your parents the night before. You'd spent the entire meal worried about where he might have been, what may have been keeping him, whether or not he was safe--only to find out he'd lost track of time filling in paperwork at his agency, and forgotten about the meal all together.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Shouto, that doesn't mean you had to clear out the entire flower shop."

"But I wanted to make sure I got you your favourite. So that you knew I was sorry."

You sigh.

"You could have just said it, silly."

Shoto blinks, like he hadn't thought of that.

"Oh."

Shouto's great at what he does, what he knows: being a pro hero, saving people, doing what's right. But he's new to this, you realize. New to being a boyfriend. New to having to be mindful of another person's feelings. New to apologizing.

"I'm sorry."

All at once you feel like you might laugh and cry. He says it so sweetly. So sincerely. So earnestly.

He hasn't taken his eyes off you since the moment you let him though the door.

"I accept your apology, Sho," you say, stepping towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist. "I wasn't even that upset, there will be other dinners."

"I was worried," he murmurs into the top of your hair, his arms holding you tight against him. "I know it was important to you. I know that you worry."

You pull yourself away, though he only allows you far enough that you can lift your head to look at him. His cheeks are pink as you peek up towards his face.

"Well, it's not like I could stay mad when you show up at my door with my favourite flowers, could I?" you ask, a little smile playing at your lips.

He smiles too, bright and eager, pride swimming behind the mismatched hues of his eyes. "Which ones are they?"

"Peonies," you say, pressing yourself to him once more and burrowing your face against him. "The pink ones at the top of the pile."

Shouto hugs you tight. "I like those ones too."

"Yeah?" you ask, laughing into the blue material stretched across his chest.

"Yeah," he agrees, "I think I have more of them in the car, too."

Your head pops up in shock.

"There's more?"

#shouto x reader #shouto x you #shouto todoroki #pro hero shouto #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x you #bnha writing #bnha drabble #writing #todoroki x reader

[munsonology]

Sugar Daddy! Eddie who just happens to meet you. You're a waitress at some restaurant and he gives you a hard time. Eddie is joking but he has a bit of a bite to his tone. He's expecting you to blubber and apologize like everyone else does when he snaps (he isn't typically a dick, but sometimes his social cues are off and he can come across as dickish). You immediately give him sass back. He's immediately intrigued, you've got a backbone and you're pretty? Score. Plus, he is 85% certain you were checking him out as he was lead to your table.

Unfortunately, another customer does not appreciate your sass (honestly tho, that customer was an asshole who kept making classist comments and called you trailer trash, which you aren't even sure what that means fully)(Eddie overhears that on his way to the bathroom and immediately knows what that means). Customer complains which is enough for the boss to fire you on the spot. Completely unfairly. You show up early, work your ass off, plus you don't even get to keep all the tips cause Mr Bossman keeps part of them because "you should be lucky you have a job".

You storm out snd Eddie is hot on your heels. He gives you an offer you can't refuse, you do have college to pay for and an apartment. At first, it isnt even anything sexual. He just wants to chat. To talk. To have a companion. Which led to cuddling. Which led to a kiss here and a kiss there. Which led to one heavy make-out session which you realized maybe college wasn't for you cause you could get used to this (this is also the time Eddie cums in his pants and he berates himself for acting like a horny teen, and he thanks every God he knows that you didnt notice).

Of course which leads to Eddie buying you lingerie *he already bought you many things and part of you wanted to refuse because you don't want his pity money you want to earn your money...on the other hand you want to be spoiled*. Which of course you model. Which of course ends in a photo session of you modeling the lingerie. And when Eddie has to go away to check in on one of his record stores, you're a little sad. But you're also a minx and just text him to open his camera roll to the hidden folder (the one where you have to put a pass code in). Eddie is confused cause he had 0 clue that was a thing.

He texts you asking for the code. You respond "its what I want to do with you." Before he can respond you say "it starts with a f". He types in the numbers that would correspond with the word fuck and he's immediately hard. Not only is there more pics of you modeling the lingerie, but one with you fingering yourself, and a video of said fingering where you are moaning his name and when you come you squirt. He's booking the next flight to you

Oh my word!!!!!!! Anon you’ve read my mind!!! I’m writing this in the grocery store 😭😭 thank you for sharing this!!! Inspirational!!

Cw: daddy kink, sugar daddy, cum eating, dom/soft dom eddie

Before you get fired there’s a couple weeks where he comes in everyday at the same time and sits in your section just to banter with you. He leaves a great tip which is always welcome.

So when he offers to take care of you in return for companionship. You’re hesitant at first but when the bills start piling up you call him. He immediately deposits your first payment for just coming over. $10,000, he kinda feels at fault for getting you fired. He has a contract drawn up by his personal attorney just to make sure that everything done is on your terms.

And he’s starting to really like you, beyond the 4 walls of the contract. You’re starting to fall for him too. He’s kind and gentle with you, more what any man your own age has ever done. He’s compassionate and sweet. He takes you out to dinner to tell you he doesn’t want the contract anymore. He wants to really be with you and it’s what you want too.

You’re wearing the fancy lingerie he bought for you. When he drives through garage of his penthouse in the city, he stands behind you as you admire the view of the city. He peels the straps of your dress from your shoulder, exposing your tits to the skyline. He grabs them in his hands and you keen into him 😭 his hands are so big and his rings are pinching your nipples!!!

And he lifts your dress up to see you aren’t wearing any fuckin panties!!! You’re so wet he can see the stain on the silk dress. He’s like “I’ll fill your skirt with as many dresses as you want baby” and he rips the dress down the middle and hiked it up to your tummy!!!

He gently lays you down on the floor and eats your like a grocery store in the apocalypse!!!! He guides you through orgasm after orgasm until his clothes are soaked and so is the floor 😦

And then he fucks the shit outta you!!!! Because even though he’d like to make love to you he just can’t wait! His cock thrusts in you while he has a hand on your neck and his other hand on your clit “you’re gonna cum when I tell you to princess”

“Yes daddy” you moan

“Who’s pussy is this”

“Yours daddy”

“Who’s ass is this?”

“Mine” you tease and he grips your cheeks, because you’re being bratty and you know he hasn’t fucked your sweet ass yet 😭

“It’ll be mine by morning baby. I know how much you want my cock in your ass. You’ve been hinting at it for weeks. Texting me those little peaches. Don’t worry I’ll split you open real good.”

You mewl and drab his wrist. “Please I want your cock so bad daddy”

“My baby gets what she wants. Open,” he commands and you open your mouth and happily accept the his spit!!!

And he fucks you like that until tears fall from your eyes in pleasure and you’re screaming his name. He pulls out and cums all over your tits and tummy, some landing on your face. You dip and finger in and taste with a little smirk and offer him some!! 🤤😦😦😭

Yeah he’ll make love to you tomorrow night 😭😭😭

Bestie what if Janice is his housekeeper/personal assistant because she practically helped Wayne raise him and she comes in the next morning to see you and Eddie butt naked in the living room 😭😭😭😭 Eddie is a heavy sleeper so you woke up with her standing there and she’s like “I guess you’re a keeper then titmouse” 😭😭😭😭

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #fem reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x black female reader #sav’s anons #eddie munson/female reader #older!eddie #older!eddie munson #sugar daddy!eddie #sugar daddy!eddie munson #Janice #munsonology #dom!eddie #soft dom!eddie

[sopebubbles]

Chapter six teaser

Master list

Warnings: brief mentions of past abuse. Honestly this chapter is mostly fluff (by my standards of fluff). Yoongi is just 🫠

Wc: 8.5k ;)

The alpha's eyes roamed over what little there was of you. Your small frame looked even smaller in his shirt. You were tiny even by omega standards.

"What?" You asked when they both stood staring at you a moment too long. Yoongi could see you were a bit more yourself now. The color of your irises wasn't so lost by the pits of your pupils anymore. He hated himself for wishing just a little bit to have you back in that soft state. What if you were about to kick them out?

Yoongi cleared his throat. "Are you feeling better?"

You averted your eyes from his dark stare and nodded. "Thank you." The alpha practically melted over the two softly spoken words. "What's this?" You asked, looking at the pile of blankets arranged on the mattress and then back at the two of them.

"I made you a nest. I thought it might help you sleep. Will you give it a try?" Hoseok asked, hopeful but shy. You swallowed, looking over the nest again, unsure.

"It will be really good for you," Yoongi encouraged. He wanted to purr at the way he could see your hesitation fall away an inch.

You tugged the towel from your hair and Hoseok took it immediately from your hands. He wanted more than anything to get at you with a brush and a blow dryer, but he knew that would definitely be too intimate for you.

"How do I get in it?" You wondered.

The two men smiled, and without thinking too much about it, Yoongi stepped forward and grasped you firmly around your rib cage. You kicked your feet a little in surprise, but it wasn't much of a protest. Hoseok pulled back one of the top blankets, and Yoongi deposited you directly into the center of the nest, where you let out a little 'oof.' You patted at the blankets all around you, looking smaller than ever surrounded by them.

"You can adjust them however you like," Hoseok said nervously.

You took a moment to feel the fabric under your fingers, enjoying the softness, and pulled the blanket on top of you. "I've never had a nest made by an omega before," you admitted quietly. Your eyes were already beginning to glaze over again, with tears or omega space, Yoongi wasn't sure. "This is so nice."

Hoseok's heart swelled, equal parts sorrow and pride. It was a travesty that you had never known an omega's touch, but if he would be the first, he would also be the best. His confidence rose, knowing no one else could do it better.

Coming Friday May 26th, 6am CDT/8pm KST

#bts fanfic #bts abo #bts omegaverse #bts poly ot7 #bts ot7 x reader #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #bts jin #bts taehyung #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bts namjoon #lone wolf #bts a/b/o #bts angst #bts fluff

[be-my-ally]

Splashing Around Ch. 2.

Chapter one can be found here.

So hello, welcome back to my lil cute, OC inspired a lot by Arlene (but also by my 50s dreams) cute kissing haven. I have to apologise for how short this is - it was taking me forever to finish the next section, so I've decided to break up what was one loooong chapter into two teeny tiny ones so his draft notice, army el, arguments and more kissing (basically all the good stuff I can't wait to share) to come very very soon!!!! 

I am, for those waiting on smut, cooking up a few things but I've been very, very, very, busy the past few weeks and can barely think about like, making a cup of tea, let alone putting words together in a way that makes sense so hang tight, it's coming.

wc: 3k.

sorry it's so short & so late - I think I've been promising *something* for like a month now, @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love but hey, here's something! I'm hoping it'll set me off writing and posting again.

shirtless elvis 1957 inspo pic:

c. July 16th - August/September 1957.

Elvis grabs a covered plate from the kitchen island, still dripping wet, before whisking it up the staircase to the side, depositing them both in his bedroom. Louise hadn’t been up this way yet, she’d briefly been shown around when he’d wanted to show off to her and the other girls; they’d all ended up piled onto his bed, stroking his hair and talking, but somehow the intimacy of going up these stairs, with him alone, made her feel like it was her first time witnessing this private space. 

“Right, it’s uh,” He looks up and down at where she’s dripping onto the carpet, “probably for the  best if you go on through there again.” He points through to the dressing room, “there’s uh, there’s towels and uhh, soap and all of them things in the bathroom there if you want a shower or anything.” 

The storm crackles outside, but in the cushioned sound of the bedroom and dressing room it's almost impossible to tell, and Louise quickly busies herself, uncertain of how long Elvis would be preoccupied, and not wanting to keep him waiting. She does, however, take a little longer in the shower than she usually would - marvelling at the amount of hot water available that meant both of them could shower at the same time.

She’s carefully trying to roll her hair in her fingers, concentrating on her reflection in the mirror,  when Elvis pokes his head in, sidling around the door until she waves him in fully. She immediately regrets it, realising she’s only half-dressed, sat in her underwear and her blouse on but unbuttoned. 

“Oh - uh, Elvis! I’m not, quite, um ready for yo-” She watches him as he looks her over, he’s barely dressed himself, pants slung low on his hips, unbuttoned, and shirtless - but he’s entirely unself-conscious, holding the plate out to her, unlike the blush spreading across her body. She cringes a little, skittish, and he snaps himself out of it when he notices her nerves. He frowns, looking her over, and Louise feels the panic suddenly rising - is she not what he expected? He saw her in her swimsuit earlier…but it just feels different somehow now - maybe now, fresh-faced, she’s just not pretty enough? But he makes no comment on her body other than an attempt to ease her mind. 

“Thought I told you girls to settle, ain’t no-one gonna do anything you don’t want, sweetheart - won’t touch ya, I swear it.” She swallows, she hadn’t been scared quite in that way, but she would be lying if she said his words hadn’t reassured her. Louise nods, slowly, uncertain of what to say next, but Elvis takes care of it - striding over to place the plate on the dressing table, whisking the cover off the top. “There’s cookies there. Help yourself, I’ve already had a dozen waitin’ for you to get outta the shower.” 

“Oh! uh, I didn’t mean to keep you, I mean you could’ve just called - I didn’t mean to take -” She panics all over again, and he holds his hands up in an attempt to calm her,  

“No, no, honey, re-lax, just meant I was waiting for you to be done s’all.” He shakes his head,  “I promised you a blow-dry didn’t I?” He twists a strand of her hair in his fingers, “... how about I do yours and you do mine?” 

“Uh, yeah,” She swallows, “yeah that works.” 

His deft hands style her hair, but the whole time she can hardly breathe feeling his fingers against her scalp, finger-combing and gently twirling and twisting the strands of hair into some semblance of a do. She can’t take her eyes off of him in the mirror, a look of complete concentration on his face; almost a pout, with a slight furrow of his brow and his lips pushing forward as he focuses on his actions. 

The dryer prevents all attempts at conversation - which is lucky, because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pay attention to a word he said, too focussed on trying to memorise the feel of his rings catching on a tangle - the tug somehow not feeling the same as when she brushes it, the sting making her shift in her seat, a dizzying feeling flooding through her body. 

“There.” Elvis finishes with the blow-dryer, fluffing her hair like she’s at the salon, looking back at her in the mirror. Miraculously, for all the ridiculous ways he was twisting and turning to do it, he’s managed to achieve a fairly respectable blow-out. “There we are. Now, look how pretty you look. Oughta do it for you everyday - could be my new career.” He puffs out his chest, clearly proud of himself and Louise laughs, 

“Hmm, I’m not sure all the other girls in the world would be pleased with that.” 

“Well I ain’t worried ‘bout any of them other girls, only you, baby.” He’s looking a little bashful, folding his arms across his bare chest. She can’t stop the blush, or the grin, from overtaking her face. She takes a second to respond, struggling to think of a reply, something that would make him feel as giddy as she does, when she’s suddenly knocked half off of the bench. Elvis sat down, bumping her with his hip. “Ok, my turn!” Louise obediently hops up, smiling at his playfulness, 

“Uh, ok - but I gotta warn you,” She nervously brings her hands up to touch his still-damp hair, it’s darker wet, but she can see where the dirty blonde is starting to shimmer through, “I haven’t ever dried a boy’s hair before, so, I might not do it very well and -” 

“You’ll do fine, doll,” He shakes his head at her, 

“Well, you might have to direct me,” His own smile grows wider, as if he’d expected she did this every weekend, and the knowledge that it was all new to her pleased him. 

“S’ok honey, I trust you.” She does her best, fingers pulling gently to hold the hair this way and that, as he constantly wiggles around in the chair; but she can’t help but get a little distracted by his expression in the mirror. By the way he seems to be practising posing, as if unaware she’s watching the whole time. His pouty lips going from a half-smile to a scowl to a lip raised in quick succession.

Louise thinks back to it, sat with her legs across Elvis’, on his new couch that he had been oh-so-proud to show off a week or so ago, of how lucky she was to be chosen like this, to be able to have thread her fingers through his hair, or watch him carefully comb it into place after it was dry; to be so close to him that she could see the acne across his neck, the remnants of a shaving rash on his lower jaw. How many girls could say they’d gotten to do this? But with that thought comes the sobering reality that it has to end at some point, and she’d rather not outstay her welcome…it’s probably time for him to get ready for dinner, or for entertaining whoever he’d invited tonight. 

“I’ve had a lovely day…thank you Elvis, it’s been really special…” She’s inching around the subject, she doesn’t want to leave, or for Elvis to say it’s time for her to go, but if he is she wants it to be from her prompting. She wants him to like her, desperately so, but she’s seen enough to know that she also doesn’t want to act too desperate, she wants to seem cool, and older than her years make her, mature about it all - aloof. She’s not though, and the relief she feels when he responds, 

“You ain’t thinkin’ about leavin’ me now are you?” while tucking her further under his arm and against his chest, is immeasurable. She’s safely cocooned against his torso, his freshly showered scent; shaving lotion, laundry detergent, and underneath it all him, the smell of all of it, along with the sound of the rumble of his voice in his chest, his heartbeat all mingling to solidify this memory in her head. Louise knows she won’t ever be able to smell any of the scents again, or hear another’s rumble or heart without picturing this moment in her mind. 

She spends the rest of the evening with his hand on her, on her thigh, her arm, her stomach - curled together and whispering to each other.  Even when some of the boys stop by - albeit briefly, no-one seems to be staying for dinner - he has a hand on her at all times, and no-one seems to blink twice at it. His lack of awareness of personal space, or perhaps of his lack of care about public physical affection completely understood. So, none of them question, even if Louise wasn’t Anita, why she was curled in his lap all evening, 

The other girls hadn’t materialised, some girls had, but not the girls. and Louise worried that it was intentional - that he was ashamed of her or something - was she meant to keep the day a secret? Worse to her than being kept a secret though was the thought that he might not consider her secret-worthy, and the fear that he might laugh her off is enough for her to keep her mouth shut from questioning him. So that night when she leaves, finally, long past midnight, despite her desire to, she doesn’t wait the last few hours until daylight and immediately call them, doesn’t get asked to be dropped off at Frances’ house, or stand beneath Heidi’s window waiting to be let in before crawling into bed with her - girl talk until the sun comes up. She wants to - god she wants to, wants to shout about it - wants to tell everyone that she’s just been on an honest-to-god date with Elvis Presley, that she’d kissed him. With tongues! But despite this desire, she’s almost too nervous to burst the bubble, the special bubble where only she knows; instead having to content herself with whispering the story to the stuffed bear tucked under her pillow - she’s much too old for him to be sat out in the open - or recounting it in as much detail as she dared to her journal.

She’d been sent home with the promise that he’d take her out for dinner the following night - but there’s a call about a change of plans; they’re all going to the cinema instead, Loving You was on the agenda,  and she arrives at Graceland that evening just in time for everyone to be piling into their cars, just barely making it in time for Elvis to smile at her, looking handsome as ever, captain’s hat on his head again and grab her wrist, pulling her into the back of his Cadillac with him. Louise tries her best to enjoy it as she might have done in the past, but she’s so worried about how to behave - if anyone can tell, worried about the other girls’ reaction; is she going to turn into some sort of social pariah? Ruin her chances for friends over a boy? Even if that boy were the only thing any of them truly had in common? And if that boy wasn’t just a boy, but a man, and Elvis at that. She can’t work out if it being Elvis makes it better or worse, so she sits there, primly, worrying her cuticles with her nails and her lips with her teeth. She watches as a tiny well of blood starts to form from where she’d pulled the skin a bit too hard and a bit too far - right to the quick, and she jumps as he covers her hand with his, pulling it out of her lap and onto his. He tuts at her, pulling out a handkerchief to rub at it, 

“Look at the mess you’ve made of that, stop picking at yerself darling. You’ll be sore for days.” She cringes, the desire is only made stronger by his holding of her hand, the worry that the others in the car might notice. They were sitting right there. But she complies, and is eventually soothed by the repetitive motion of his thumb on her palm. He lets go as they pull in, clambering out of the car almost before it’s even fully parked, seemingly anxious to get into the closed theatre. She tries not to be too disappointed at watching him run off with the boys without her, instead waiting for the other girls to climb out of the other cars, joining them in their excited giggling and chatting as they go in. Louise again has to remind herself to act normally, to join in their gossiping about how lucky she was, how excited they were for the film, and pretend she wasn’t a little upset watching him sit three rows ahead of them all. 

By the time the film is over they don’t bother staying for the double feature that had been set up for them, Elvis whisking the group away with the suggestion that even though it was dark out, it was still hot, and did they want to go for a splash in the pool? The night continues in that manner, Louise being seemingly steadfastly ignored, although she succeeds some of the time to forget about it. 

She’s not fretting in the shadows, she was just… taking a minute. He’d paid her no attention in the theatre, and the past half hour had been spent pretending not to be eavesdropping into the boys’ conversation, discussing Anita, singing their praises for her - as much as Elvis would allow - for her figure and face, and very briefly - her personality, before moving onto other girls; who from Hollywood they all wished Elvis would invite over, say, did you hear about that Venetia Stevenson girl coming in a couple of weeks? So on her way back out from the bathroom Louise felt like she was entitled to spend a moment or two in the shadowy corner by the back door. Taking a deep breath as she tried to remind herself not to compare, that maybe they spoke about them like that when they weren’t around. That sure, Anita might be a tiny little thing, but even she probably had to breathe in to button up her skirt - even if it was a smaller size. That, if nothing else, she wasn’t here with them all. 

She wouldn’t deny having had a good time, the film was wonderful, and the night as jolly as any, but still, she couldn’t help but wonder what had gone on that he’d decided to ignore her completely. She’s just getting to the point where she’s ready to return, a smile plastered on her face when suddenly, from the door, an arm reached out and pulled her back against the open door frame. Tugging her against someone’s warm body. She relaxes as soon as she recognises the smell and feel of him and he laughs as she stumbles against him, hands gripping both of her arms. He leans down, pressing a kiss to her cheek, open-mouthed, breathing on her as much as kissing her, before trailing his lips to meet hers. One of the boys shouts for Elvis, something about fireworks, and the next second he’s gone, barely a grin at her dazed expression, before he’s running off again. She can hear the way that the boys tease him about the lipstick smeared across his face, and his tight-lipped response. It makes her smile to herself, the way she has to try and catch her breath, still hidden in her shadowy corner, but no longer feeling invisible. And, though she wishes he’d pull her onto his lap or kiss her in front of everyone, she figures maybe it’s ok to keep it just for herself for the moment too. 

She doesn’t get the chance to see him alone again for a while, there are parties, and gatherings, and then he’s gone again - off on tour and to California for a long couple of months. Louise really tries to accept it all, even though the pictures appearing in the papers, and some of the stories that get relayed back (although never directly by Elvis) makes her heart hurt. It’s difficult, when he seems to look so happy in them, and so do the girls surrounding him - and who is she to judge another girl for feeling herself glow just by standing next to him. A little of his light reflecting onto them. 

One particularly brutal evening, after he’d promised to call but never did, she can’t help but cry into her pillow. This is why he goes for girls like Anita, ones that are a year or two older, they can cope with it. Louise shakes her head to herself - she can cope with it, she’s sure. She can deal. She can be mature, and deal with him out and about and kissing other girls. If Anita can, she can. Accept him inviting the starlets over, that’s fine, they’re only the toy of the moment, and eventually they have to go back to their own glitzy lives. They’re not like her, they don’t have an open invitation to his bedroom or to sit with his mother. But then, they do get private calls with him, and she knows Anita’s been telling anyone who’ll listen about the “just darling notes” he sends her.  Louise doesn’t get notes, sometimes he doesn’t even refer to her by name; simply just as part of the ‘girls’ he seems to always want to talk to as a group - all of them crowded around the receiver at Heidi’s house or Graceland. But then, rarely, sometimes, he slips into the conversation a little check-in, “How’s my lil’ Lou? Bein’ good for me doll?” and it makes Frances look at her in a calculating way, but her heart stutters every-time, every-time she responds

“Of course Elvis! Just waiting for you to come home. I can’t wait to see you.” He never replies the same way, it’s either

“Ah, who could miss this ol’ ugly mug,” or worst of all, “Uh-huh, looking forward to seeing the whole gang again soon.” On one occasion though, it was “Of course, honey, I’ll be seeing you re-eal soon,” and that was enough to give her hope all over again.

#elvis fanfic #be-my-ally #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc #elvis fluff #1950s elvis #elvis imagine #slight elvis angst

[imagine-darksiders]

Ok I’m sorry to ask because I know you’ve said you have a bigger work load now, but is there any way we can get some head cannons for your dragon Monty? I’ve only known him for 3 seconds but he’s my new beloved.

- Dragon Monty is a total thug.

- He’s the scourge of your father’s kingdom, a cantankerous beast with an explosive temper and a penchant for bullying innocent denizens into giving him their hard earned gold, livestock or other such essentials.

- He’ll often threaten to burn down the kingdom if he doesn’t get his way. And yet, in all the years he’s plagued the land, he’s never actually carried out on his threats. So far as the people know, he hasn’t actually hurt anyone, although he insists he definitely has.

- Freddy Fazbear is the captain of your royal guard, and he’s your most trusted friend.

- For your part, you despise the wretched dragon who terrorises your people.

- One night, a couple of thieves steal their way into the castle and take you for a ransom.

- They flee under the cover of darkness, making for the mountains in the hopes that the fearsome dragon will deter anyone from following.

- Monty smells the intruders in his territory and rushes to confront them. He doesn’t expect to stumble into a camp whereupon he finds a pair of thieves in the process of removing the local royal’s regalia.

- His eyes land on you, tears streaming down your face and your arms littered with rope burns and the beginnings of bruises from your rough treatment.

- His temper rages. Your home is in his territory. And everything in his territory belongs to him.

- His stomach is lined with Boric acid, which turns his fire a brilliant, sickly green when it erupts from between his teeth.

- Predictably, the thieves flee, leaving you tied on your stomach, half clothed and petrified.

- Monty scrutinises you for a moment, weighing up how he’s going to play this.

- Eventually though, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he gathers you between his teeth and flies you back to his cave, nestled beside an alpine lake.

- He’s never taken a royal before, so he’s a little embarrassed by the state of his home. With nowhere clean to put you, he deposits you gingerly on top of his treasure pile.

- He decides you look rather pretty perched up there on all those gemstones and coins.

- You daren’t say a word in case you set him off. You know of the dragon’s irascible nature.

- So it comes as a surprise when he suddenly offers you some undamaged clothes from his horde.

- You squeak out a tight ‘thank you’ that seems to catch Monty off guard. He glances around, as if there’s some other monstrous dragon you’re talking to, before he tentatively replies, ‘you’re… welcome?’ It’s like he’s never said those words before in his life.

- He still has a reputation to maintain though, so he puffs himself up and demands to know why you were in his territory, yet he almost immediately loses his bluster when you break down into sobs and hide your face in your hands.

- Well now he just feels bad. He’s not the smartest dragon in the world, but he knows what those thieves had almost done to you.

Clueless for how to calm you down, he decides to do what he does best. He acts tough. “Hey, you don’t gotta worry about those creeps no more! They wouldn’t dare come back now they know Montgomery D. Gon’s got their scent!”

- A strange noise drifts out between your fingers, so seldom heard by the dragon that he doesn’t immediately recognise it. When he does, he’s surprised. It’s a tiny, wet but unmistakable laugh.

- He’s… never made anyone laugh before…

- Monty would rather chew off his own wings than admit to himself or anyone else that he’s lonely.

- He realises he wants you to stick around. Which is a problem for you, since you’d much rather go home.

- That same night, after Monty finally falls asleep curled around you and his treasure pile, you make a run for it. You have no idea just how possessive a lonely dragon will turn out to be.

#fnaf #fnaf sb #montgomery gator #Montgomery dragon #dragon au #monty x reader

[hyperfixated-gvf]

Make a Rich Woman Beg

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, hate sex, degradation, name-calling, slow burnish, power play/dynamics, boss/employee themes even if reader isn't technically Sam's boss, teasing, denial, tit-fucking, oral sex, fingering, some dom/sub themes if you wanted to read it that way

Words: 12.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: As the heiress of an exclusive country club, perhaps you were spoiled, and maybe you had a superiority complex, but so what? Everyone has their flaws. But your most recent flaw? The fact that some playboy pool boy refusing to worship the ground you walk on shouldn't bother you as much as it does and, unfortunately for him, you aren't one to accept anything other than exactly what you want.

18+ / MINORS DNI

(A.N.: Looking at the greta van fleet smut tag, Sam girls -- how does it feel to have three fics published in the past two days after being neglected for so long? There's too much twins, not enough rhythm section in my opinion, so I'm working on filling that gap when I can.)

~~~

“Do you think he does it on purpose?” Tara asked, dark sunglasses not giving away where she was looking, but her words pointedly specific.

Although, glasses or none, it didn’t take a genius to know who she was talking about. Amongst the long-legged, model-esque women lounging in sun chairs around the pool, there was another long-legged, model-esque person flaunting their youth and beauty. But that person was a he and he was not a rich loafer.

Oh no. He was the pool boy.

And everything he did certainly had a purpose, down to the way he brushed what you were sure were strategic wisps of hairs left out of his bun from his face. The way he wiped away the sweat from his throat by baring it unnecessarily long to show off his slender lines and sharp jaw. The way he leaned against the doorframe to the pool house as he observed all the beautiful women and loaded men like some 90’s flick love interest. The way he let his eyes droop and linger when some unfortunate soul caught them and gave that smug little smirk that you knew drove all the women here wild.

You snorted, flipping through your phone as a slight breeze caught your skin and pebbled it with goosebumps. There was enough of you on display that anything other than the sun gave you a chill, but you didn’t care. You’d grown up with most of the girls at the country club, the tennis moms all knew your parents’ names, and the gentlemen knew to keep their thoughts to themselves  – the club was exclusive enough, but if there was anyone outside the reach of outward judgment or pious scorn of the others, it would be you, heir to everything in its entirety because your parents owned the place.

You were in your element here – untouchable until you wanted to be touched, and then you had your pick of the litter, the latter something this man seemed to experience on the daily, as well. 

But that was no concern of yours. You were more dedicated to getting to your spa appointments on time than you were keeping up with who was fucking the pool boy that particular night. 

You didn’t look up from the article you were reading. “Of course he knows what he’s doing; he’s a little peacock,” you sighed, unaware that the reason she’d asked was because the man himself was coming around to your spot with a fresh pile of towels to deposit at the pickup station nearby. 

And even if you had noticed Tara’s emphasized cough, or her muttered, “Y/N,” you weren’t sure if you’d care enough to halt the blissfully casual in the way you talked about Sam. You knew his name, not because you’d ever had a full conversation with him, but because enough of the other women at the club could be overheard telling others about their nights moaning it that you knew it well enough by now. It was just one of the reasons you felt justified for the impression you had of him. 

Anyways, you weren’t exactly known for holding your tongue around these premises, so even if you’d known that Sam was within earshot, your acute observation wouldn’t have been any less true, and therefore, any less worthy to be said aloud. “He’s an attention-loving whore like every other pool boy has been in the history of this establishment. I don’t know where Rico finds them, honestly.”

“Y/N,” Tara hissed again, louder this time and followed by an embarrassed giggle, before pointing subtly to where Sam was fixing the last towel on the stack with a small shake to his head and a crook to his lips that was less than warm.

His brows picked up when he turned your way and saw you looking back to see what Tara had been pointing at, but you didn’t flinch at his wordless challenge to blush and splutter out an apology in an attempt to not look like the heartless, rich bitch stereotype that came free with a membership at this club.

Call you haughty, but you didn’t see yourself as those things. Sure, you knew what you wanted, and you knew what you had – humility just wasn’t one of those things, and you saw no wrong in knowing where you stood in a space. But pride? Pride surely was one of the things you knew you had, which was why the only answer Sam got to his cocky little power trip was a returned silent challenge: what are you gonna do about it?

His expression didn’t change, but there was an intentional hold of brazenness in his attitude as he swaggered up behind your chairs. “Good afternoon, ladies. I couldn’t help but overhear a conversation about little ol’ me. I didn’t catch it all, unfortunately,” he tsk-ed, patronizingly. His next words were directed at you, darkened slightly in an attempt to intimidate you. “Care to repeat it?”

Ah. A wordless challenge to a blatant one. “Let’s see,” you murmured back, unfazed by his imposition but not wanting to disrupt any of the other pool-goers with your tense little exchange. Not only were you unfazed, but you felt yourself become strangely excited at the potential confrontation. It was your fatal flaw – you could never just step away from a fight coming your way; you liked being right, and the sweet taste of victory was just as addictive on your tongue as money in the back of some people’s pockets was, as the filthy, secret orgies that the rich and famous partook in because they could. It made you feel powerful. “I believe I called you a peacock, and then an attention-loving whore just like all the other shirtless pool boys that come and go.”

Sam puckered out his bottom lip and simpered at you. “Oh, well isn’t that just cruel,” he bemoaned. Turning to Tara, his long middle finger just barely grazed her bare shoulder, and he leaned in, voice lowering to wring every last drop of pity from her in any way he could. “Is she mean to all the staff? Or is it just me?”

Tara huffed out a laugh, gaze trapped in the siren song of Sam’s. “Um…no, I think just you. But she’s not being mean on purpose, that’s just–”

“How you know she has a little crush?” Sam finished for her, regardless of what she was actually going to say. 

Tara looked a little put out, because it was obvious Sam was only toying with her as a means to whatever end he had in mind. It made you scoff scorchingly, turning back to your phone to signal that the time Sam had to waste from your day of wasting time had expired. “Don’t waste what little brainpower you have left in that skull – if I had a crush, you’d know it. Now, don’t you have a chair to wipe down?” you asked dismissively. “Maybe a mistress to tend to?”

Tara kept out of the conversation this time, not wanting to be brushed off again; this was clearly between you and Sam, and your indifference had quickly shifted to dislike once he put up a fight that had an edge, that wasn’t just the silly product of flirty banter.

“Nothing pressing,” Sam responded, deliberately refusing your expulsion. “I’ll leave, but I have to know something, first. I might be a peacock, sure.” His admittance held no shame; in fact, he seemed proud, almost, of his status. “My cocking around certainly hasn’t been a problem for most women; frankly, I don’t care what you think about my rotating door. But surely,” he murmured, leaning in closer under the guise of getting up, “there’s something that sets me apart from all the other attention-loving whores around here.”

Your throat burned with a reply, scathing and with salt to back up the wound you so sorely wanted to make, but Sam had taken a coward’s retreat, leaving you no time to reply with dignity as he ambled away. His face was smoothed back into that serene arrogance as he made his way back around the pool, winking at a few loungers as if he owned the place instead of worked for it. 

“Little fucker,” you sighed, reigning your spite back in. “Only small-dicked assholes leave an argument as unfinished as their women.” The pout was clear in your tone - you didn't like it when people ignored you when you didn't want them to.

Tara snorted, but shook her head. “He’s too hot for his own good, and you’re too stubborn. It would never work.”

Never work? What, an argument? You shot an arched brow towards your friend. “It doesn’t matter how hot he is, I’d dominate him in a debate.”

You were bluffing – it was obvious that the man had some wit to him, as much as the admission made your lips pucker in distaste. But you were still fairly certain that you’d come out on top if you ever had a verbal spar that he couldn’t run away from. 

Obviously, that wasn’t the answer Tara had been looking for, because she sighed as she laid back into the sun, soaking up the warmth. “Not in a debate, Y/N. Romantically. Carnally,” she teased, a small smile on her face as she knew you’d look over in offense at the prospect that you’d ever give the pool boy, who’d been around the block a few times, a pass to your bed. 

“Oh god,” you scoffed, “you can have him. Please. Just keep him far away from me.”

…

Seeing as the pool made you unreasonably grumpy for the next couple of days, you spent your time doing other things. Yoga, pottery, cooking lessons, the dog run – they were all just as satisfying as laying by the pool was. Plus, it meant you didn’t have to see Sam, who you’d been content to forget about until Tara showed up at your room one day for lunch looking disheveled. 

You didn’t pry, per se, but you made it clearly known that you wanted to know why she was in such a state, and eventually she’d come clean about having spent the night with the very man you claimed not to care about in a negative nor a positive way – he wasn’t worth it, after all.

But as she’d laid on your bed, recounting how many times he’d made her come, how he’d cleaned her up and taken a shower with her afterwards, how he’d invited her to spend the night with him instead of kicking her out of his quarters – a knot grew in the pit of your stomach, something ugly at the center of it.

Far from wanting to make her experience about you, you didn’t say anything at the time, only humming and interjecting with appropriate phrases every now and then. But you couldn’t help but think back to how he’d used Tara at the pool to get to you, and wonder if this was the same. Wondered if he knew she’d come and tell you everything in hopes you’d hear.

Now that, perhaps, was a more fitting behavior of the self-centeredness most expected from women of your status and inherited wealth. The narcissism. After all, Sam was a known player in a game you weren’t keen on participating in and, at the end of the day, the small tiff you’d had by the pool was the longest conversation you’d ever had with him.��

Perhaps he’d forgotten about you by the time he locked the pool gates that night, and perhaps his tryst with Tara so soon after was coincidence, or because her name was the next on his list. But you supposed being around it all your life tuned you into the intentional behavior of others  – your own mother was the one who’d told you, at the ripe age of 12, that sharks were still invisible to other sharks in the water, and that you always needed to keep your head swiveling. 

“All I can say is that…” she glanced over, knowing that you were gritting your teeth and bearing it for her benefit, but still finishing her thought anyways, “He definitely doesn’t leave his women unfinished.”

Your lips quirked up at Tara’s statement, and even though you had living evidence that he didn’t, still found every cell in your body unable to admit that perhaps Sam wasn’t as incapable as you wanted him to be. Not as much a bimbo, not as much a careless pretty-boy as he seemed.

You weren’t used to not getting what you wanted, but that was the problem with people, wasn’t it? Factors out of your control and reach.

“Well…” You chewed on your words for a moment, not wanting to spit them out without proper filtering. “I’m glad you got what you wanted, even if your partner was a bit…inferior.” Tara raised her brows, shocked at your blatant classism, but you just smiled. “Intellectually, of course.”

Him being the pool boy had nothing to do with your spite. Not really.

Well...if in part, only because you were used to being waiting on, hand and foot, and Sam’s disregard for the people who paid his bills spoke of an arrogance you couldn’t stand. But god, did you sound like a bitch, no matter which way you put it.

…

As fate would have it (and a bottle of wine, as well), you found yourself out walking later that night, down towards the pool in an unconscious search to finish your argument from days before. If you were bold and brash sober, with a little alcohol in you, it was only exacerbated.

Your path wasn’t a beeline to the pool; it was unconscious, after all, but after meandering the grounds for a while, you’d found yourself staring at the locked gate, so deep into a mental debate with a made-up Sam who was a stuttering mess of a douchebag that you didn’t hear the rustle of someone coming down the path until you were faced with the real Sam, who seared you with an unimpressed stare as you each waited for the other to speak. 

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “Is there something I can help you with or should I leave you to fantasize about me outside my place of work? How often do you do this?” he asked condescendingly, taking a key from his pocket and walking right past you.

While he words technically rang true, you certainly weren't fantasizing about him in any normal regard, at all. “The only thing I fantasize about when it comes to you is watching as security escorts you off the property.”

Sam whistled, appraising you again with that god-awful, lazy look. “That’s a bit of a leap from the last time we spoke. All because I peacock around the pool that I work at?” 

No. No, actually – it was because he was disrupting your flow, and you didn’t know why you were letting him. By all means, you should care much less than you really did about Sam’s presence. His very existence. But something about him wriggled under your skin and locked onto a part of your brain that only bled disdain and a poorly-managed superiority complex. 

“Peacock all you want, pool boy,” you said, shaking yourself out of your daze. “It makes no difference to me. I’m here because…I left something. My watch.”

You didn’t wear a watch. They were too clunky, no matter how expensive they were, and if you did have one, the pool would be the last place you would wear it. Why would you want a wrist-strap tan line?

Sam apparently didn’t pick up on it, though, because he sighed and motioned you in. The deck was dark save a couple of lamps that served as security, and Sam took another key and unlocked the office door. “Any other night, you’d have been waiting until the sun came up again,” he warned, shuffling a few things around on the desk until he pocketed a slip of plastic. “You’re lucky I left my meal card here. Lost and found is in the bottom drawer.”

You eyed him, and he nodded to the door by his shins, making no move to open it. He did, however, stare at you as you leaned down to get your hand on the handle, tugging before you felt the resistance of a lock. You huffed, righting yourself and glaring at the man. “It’s locked.”

He nodded. “I know. I was the one who locked it.”

“Then why did you tell me to open it if you knew it was locked?” Everything he did seemed to have the sole intention to get you to act as he wanted you to, and you hated being played. This whole situation was stupid, and you would consider asking your parents to send you somewhere else for a few weeks to right yourself where Sam had lopped off your ability to be level-headed if that wouldn’t imply that Sam had run you off of your own pitch.

Sam crossed his arms and took a step forward, but you didn’t let him push you around this time, so you were stuck staring him down as he got closer. “Because I know you didn’t leave your made-up watch here.” Shit. He had noticed. “Why were you really here, Y/N? It’s just you and me here,” he cooed, eyes alight with mischief. “Tell me. Why do you hate me so much? What is it about me that makes you squirm?”

God, you wished you could tell him, but you didn’t know the answer. Perhaps if you looked deep enough, you could find it, but that wasn’t on your bucket list. The way he seemed so cock-sure of himself and what he mistook as a raging playground crush really ground your gears, and you pushed him away a bit with a finger on his bony chest. “Please,” you murmured, keeping your eyes firmly locked on his, “I have more important things to do than the trampy pool boy. Don’t flatter yourself.” The denial of the accusation was weak, at best. For all that you’d told Tara that you’d best Sam, you seemed to have lost your words now that you were alone.

Sam searched your face for any tell of a lie, and when he found none, he pulled back, smooth façade back into place. “I don’t think you know why you're here.” 

Bullseye, and you hated it.

“Oh, I do," you disagreed, contrary to you own inner confusion. "It's because I know you think that I’m a rich, spoiled, Daddy's girl,” you said, keeping his attention and prompting him to shrug in agreement. “I know you think we’re all just wastes of space in society. I see the way you use and discard the women here, and I'm here because I don’t want to be one of them.”

Sam’s face twisted into something unpleasant. “Then don’t be. I don’t force anyone to sleep with me, god–”

You cut him off with a hand. “I know,” you said, quieter. “I just hate that part of me is still interested.”

The confession discredited everything you'd just said, and you stopped in your tracks, horrified and entirely surprised that those words had come from your lips.

Once he knew he wasn’t being accused of anything nonconsensual, Sam relaxed again, rolling his tongue in his mouth as if your semi-admittance of wanting him was a 5-star meal, and he leaned against the sliver of wall between the doorframe and the desk. “I won’t tell,” he smirked, whispering conspiratorially.

“No.” You shut down the prospect immediately. You didn’t know where your little confession had come from, or why you were telling Sam, who happened to be the object of your ‘should I, shant I.’ Deeply in denial, you wish the little sprout of truth would just bury itself in the ground again, but it had already been seen. “I’m not one of your games.”

Sam let a small, smug smirk crawl up the corners of his mouth. “The women here like games. Tennis, BINGO, mini golf, poker – you name it. And they like it when I play with them, too.” He fixed you with a steady gaze, challenging you to argue what he was about to say next. “And you are exactly like all the other women here.

Your chest tightened, and you got a sick sense of arousal from the casual way he spoke about the women you regularly dined with, the ones you knew by name. What was wrong with you? Just a few days ago, you’d wanted nothing but to get Sam alone so that you could give him a piece of your mind, and now you were letting him stand on his self-appointed pedestal and look down on you like he had since he acknowledged you existence.

You wondered if he knew who you were, but you figured that would reveal itself in time, when you eventually did slip it into conversation. If he fixed up that problem of an attitude, all would be righted. If he didn't, then you didn't know what you'd do. That would be a brand-new scenario for you.

“Did you sleep with Tara to make a point?" you asked instead, not intending to drop that bomb yet. "Was her piece in your game intentional or just another coincidental pawn?”

With a quirk of his brows, Sam scoffed. “Everything’s always about you, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, running your tongue across your teeth. “Not everything," you denied. Just most things. Around here, at least, they could be. "But I think you’re selfish, and petty, and egotistic enough to make an exception when it comes to women who don’t fall at your feet just to get a taste of something different from their usual menu.”

Sam toed the door open further from where it had crept in with a draft. “What was it that you said,” he asked, mulling it over facetiously. “Oh, right. Don’t flatter yourself. Your friend came to my door. She knocked last night because she’d asked someone for my room number, and then she told me that she wanted me to fuck her, so I did,” he told you simply. “It had nothing to do with you. You were never a thought in the room.”

Again, hearing about his conquest of yet another woman at the club, your stomach clenched, and a deeply repressed part of your brain wanted to play into the hot pool boy, rich employer trope, even if you weren’t technically his employer. Not yet, at least. Soon, though, you intended to become more active in shadowing your parents. Perhaps you could start by fixing this staffing issue.

“That’s not how she told it.”

“Of course that’s not how she told it,” he scoffed, lips curling. “Why would she tell you about how she begged for it? About how she showered me with compliments and pulled my hair and about how wet she was when I fingered the fuck out of her or about how she told me how well my cock filled her up–”

“Shut up,” you snapped, face reddening. “Stop trying to make this about something it’s not. If you want to recount everything that happened, invest in a diary.”

You weren't jealous. That wasn't it, if that was the angle he was playing.

But Sam wouldn’t stop, and with each act he let out of his mouth, he took a step towards you. “Why would she tell that to someone as judgemental, snobby, and condescending as you–”

But hell no. Absolutely not. In no world would Sam the pool boy get away with calling anyone condescending with the medals he held for pretentious behavior displayed towards others. “Fuck you, calling the kettle black,” you spat, temper flaring.

But Sam met you halfway, pointing an accusing finger in your direction, “It takes one to know one, so don’t even try to go there.” 

He was insufferable. Everything about him made you want to rip your hair out and swan dive into the shallow end of the pool, but you simultaneously wanted to fuck him, and it was tearing you in two and giving you indigestion.

“How anyone can stand you is a mystery to me,” you huffed, patting your pockets to make sure you had everything, even though you’d never put anything down in the first place, and fully intended on stalking out, away from Sam, who was still lingering unnecessarily close.

He scoffed. “You’re the one who came here without knowing why. Freud, anyone?” 

“Don’t throw Freud in my face.” You needed to leave. Needed to gain a little clarity, to ruminate on these new discoveries about yourself. Or, at least address it without the scent of sunscreen and saltwater in your nose and an unbuttoned shirt staring you in the face. “I think we’re done here.”

“I’m not sure why we were here in the first place.”

He watched with guarded eyes as your gaze flitted towards the open door, and then they dipped further down your face when you hesitated, body turned towards him but every line still aggressive and confrontational. “Then you won’t mind locking up after you leave after me.”

“Fine. That’s my job.”

“Fine. Good. I’m glad you know your place.” 

“The only place I have is inside every little friend you have here that isn’t as much of a stuck up bitch as you are.” 

Nearly sharing breath at this point, your chest heaved slightly as you tried to take in more air, convinced that he would kiss you right then and fuck you like he had the others without you having to admit that you wanted him to at all. But your tongue was still sharp, even if your senses had been dulled until Sam was the laser focus of them all. “That’s none of my business; I hope you have fun being the neighborhood bicycle.”

“I will,” he said with a patronizing smile, even if it didn’t match the way he leaned in even closer. “I always do.” With a tensed jaw and a grind of his teeth, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let out a rough breath that fanned across your face. You shifted on your feet, and your thigh grazed the front of his shorts.

He was hard, but you didn’t say anything about it. You couldn’t say anything at all, at the moment, too close to something to want to ruin it. Everything about his body communicated that the tension between the two of you would be resolved.

The next step between the two of you was teetering on the edge of realization, but Sam met your eyes, pupils blown out and lids hooded, but shook his head. “No.”

His denial of the unspoken twisted your gut and, too proud to give him what he wanted, you shrugged as if it was no skin off your nose and breezed out of the office without another word. 

You knew getting the last word was not always the way to win an argument, so you let his petty rejection stretch out behind you and dissipate into the darkening sky, beautiful in the sunset. Not that you noticed. Needing something – anything, to get your mind off of Sam and the embarrassing presence of wetness being your legs, you stopped a little further down the path, right near where it split to go towards the stables, and tipped your head back to the sky, letting out a big sigh filled by, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t deny it anymore – you wanted him. You wanted him, and you knew what he wanted. He wanted you to beg. To breakdown and ask. But you very rarely had to ask for what you wanted around here, and you weren’t going to start now for an asshat like Sam.

That’s what you told yourself as you met your parents for a late dinner. 

That’s what you told yourself as you wound down with a personal masseuse. 

That’s what you told yourself as your fingers crept down your body as you soaked in your bathtub, and it’s what you told yourself even after you accidentally splashed an armful of water onto the tile with how hard you came thinking about him. And after you grew frustrated when your orgasm didn’t satisfy the throb in your center. 

But it certainly wasn’t what you told yourself when you found your way to the front desk and begrudgingly asked for Sam’s room number, not an eyebrow raised your way because of your status. Had it been any other woman, more care would be taken in who that information was dealt out to, but not for you.

However, even when you had the information, you found yourself hesitating outside his door, stuck in a loop of want and pride. It took all of one very small thump as you rested your forehead on the wood to decide that one night was not worth your dignity. In fact, you’d been about to turn and leave when the door opened on its own and Sam stood in the frame, shirtless, hands braced on either post, and fixed you with a smug expression that ticked his features up.

Before he could get a word out, you spit, “I was just leaving.”

“After standing outside my door for the past 5 minutes?” Dammit – just what didn’t this man know? “You seem to end up in my space more than what one can call coincidentally.” When you didn’t leave, nor did you speak. Because he was right. Perhaps Freud did have a place in the conversation. Sam crooked a brow. “Well…if you’re gonna stand there and just…not leave, come in, I guess.”

There was no internal debate this time and, silently, you stepped into his room. You realized after seeing his pajama pants and a towel laid out on his bed that he must have been about to shower, and that was further cemented when he shucked his pants off, leaving only his boxers, and then grabbed everything from his bed, casting an amused glance in your direction. “I’m not stopping for you,” he said flippantly before heading to the bathroom and leaving the door open.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised at his bold behavior anymore, but you still instinctively looked away when his pants came off. You weren’t sure if either of you really knew what you were doing or what was happening but, the door seemed like an invitation and though you didn’t plan on taking another shower today, it beckoned you towards the bathroom.

The small room was quickly filling with steam and, through the mirror, you caught Sam’s bare ass as he climbed into the shower cubicle, the glass around it steamed just so that you could only make out the blurry outline of the naked man. 

You were a voyeur here, not having asked to watch, but having been invited, and you took the opportunity to receive anything that Sam gave up without you having to say one word to him. If you opened up your lips, you weren’t sure if what came out would properly keep your reputation, and you’d be damned before the pool boy gained one inch in this war you were waging.

But oh, you were sorely tempted to when his reflection in the mirror lifted a hand and intentionally wiped away a spot near his hips, so that there was a clear view to how he reached between his legs and sucked in a breath, hand wrapped around his cock as the other planted itself on the wall. 

Without consciously telling your body to, you moved further into the room, around to a small bit of space that separated the toilet and the sink, where you dug your nails in and watched as Sam’s elbow moved back and forth, deep breaths filled with steam barely audible over the sound of running water. 

The head of his cock peeked out from his fist every time he squeezed down at the base, and he grunted when he brushed his thumb over the tip on the way up, feet shifting as his hips bucked into the sensation. “Jesus,” he grunted, head hanging lower than his braced arm, looking directly where he was touching himself. Or, perhaps he was stealing side-eyed glances at you which, after hearing him groan high in his throat with a murmured, “Oh, god…shit,” escaping from his lips, was likely the more probable answer. Although with his own narcissistic habits, perhaps he liked the view. Auto-eroticism or something.

Regardless, your own hand had snuck down again, and you were helpless in your search for the same pleasure Sam was giving himself, dragging the pads of your fingers through the slick mess down there, clit singing with pleasure as you circled it until you felt like your knees were going to give out.

Just a few minutes later, Sam gasped and moved his hand faster, fist flying across his dick as he tilted his head back. “Holy shit – holy fuck, ah– ahh,” he moaned, a hard ‘guh’ sound finishing out his syllables as he sucked in air. He tugged at his cock sporadically, and you could only imagine the spurts of come he stroked out of himself hitting the wet tile and washing down the drain immediately, all evidence washed away. 

The high whimper that escaped your throat as you came as well, clutching the edge of the sink and rubbing furiously at the little bundle of nerves under your fingers while you wished you had something to clench around as your walls contracted, seemed loud in the silence that followed Sam’s orgasm, and he groaned a bit as he listened.

Without washing his hair or soaping his body, Sam shut the water off and squeezed the excess out of his hair quickly, sliding the door open and locking eyes with you as he closed in. You were backed against the unforgiving line of the counter, your hand still tucked into the waistband of your pants as you came down, but as Sam closed the space between you at a lightning pace, you jerked it out.

That one small movement brought the skin of your knuckles scraping against his cock due to how close he was, and he gritted out a strangled sound at the overstimulation, the product of his own action. “You drive me absolutely insane,” he huffed into your face. He didn’t specify if it was in a good way or in a bad one.

“Ditto,” you breathed. The fingertips that had just been tucked in the warmth of your cunt grazed his stomach until he grabbed your wrist and lifted those digits to his mouth, staring you down as he flattened his tongue, dragged it up, and then encased the entirety of your middle and ring fingers in his mouth, suctioning and letting his tongue dance around each knuckle.

When he popped them out of his mouth, he said, “Say it.” He knew you were aware of what he wanted, so there was no need to waste words on asking you specifically to lower yourself down to where he wanted you and beg him to fuck you.

You shook your head.

“You have to ask for anything you get from me,” he said in response, shaking his head. “You get everything for free, but not from me.”

Since he had no qualms in taking what he wanted, though, he flexed his hips and ground his quickly-recovering dick across the fabric of the sweats you’d thrown on for the walk over. Perhaps it felt better than he’d anticipated, or maybe he really was just some hyper-sexual young adult, but as he continued his slow thrusts against you, he readjusted and seemed to lose himself in the feeling, eyes fluttering when you pushed your thigh forward for him to grind against harder.

This was fine. You didn’t mind having the control.

“Come on, Sam,” you murmured, pressing your palm into the small of his back to scoot him closer. “You know I won’t ask you. But you can hump my leg like a bitch in heat however long you want.”

He let out a shuddery breath and his dick jumped at your words, but he pulled away quickly regardless, still unwilling to take your shit. “Just because it seems like you want that too – no thanks.” And then he turned, newly hard and seeking touch, and grabbed his pajamas from where they were laid on the closed toilet seat. 

You took a deep, frustrated breath in, but followed him out into the main room again, crossing your arms and pouting when you saw he’d already gotten the material up his body - even if it tented out - and was settling into the mattress on top of the blankets. You were sick and tired of waiting for him to give you what you wanted, so you didn’t stop following him at the edge of the bed, and instead climbed on and then up his body.

Now, technically, you were on your knees but, since Sam was on his back, you counted the positions as canceled out when it came to power dynamics, and that was something you were very aware of here, in Sam’s space.

In this position, it would have been easy to make a connection where you both wanted it, but Sam didn’t let your hips lower enough to create any friction for you or for him. “Stubborn,” he muttered.

“Bull-headed,” you replied, and then slithered out of his grasp. He let you, and propped himself up on an arm to watch as came face-to-face with his covered erection. Knowing that he wouldn’t let you touch him directly, you pushed your luck and instead raked your nails down his stomach and across his happy trail, veering off afterwards to sink them into the meat of his thighs.

His abdomen tensed and flexed as you looked up at him from under your lashes, but still, he didn’t give in to your silent question and said, “Use your words. Ask me so that I can hear you say, ‘Sam, please let me suck your cock’ and you can give me all the head you want.” 

“That’s a little backwards,” you remarked, fingers still crawling across his legs. “I’ve got dildos I can suck on if I wanted something in my mouth. You don’t have anything I don’t already own.”

Sam’s eyes darkened as he gazed down at you, flicking a strand of hair away from your forehead. “You’d just love to own me, wouldn’t you? Then you wouldn’t have to ask to use your toys, hmm?”

His words sent a lightning bolt of arousal through you, and your hips chased friction without your say-so, but the mattress was too flat to give you any relief. “One of these days I’ll own this place, then what?” you asked breathlessly. Obviously, you didn’t mean a single word of what you said – you weren’t into illegal business or gross misconduct between an employer and employee, but he’d opened a Pandora’s Box you weren’t even aware you housed in your body.

“I’ll find another hoity-toity club to fuck my way through. Got a job here, it was easy enough.”

At the mention of his activities, you squeezed his hips, hard. You hoped you’d leave bruises, but Sam didn’t react other than a flex of his ass, just out of reach. “Oh please,” you mocked, darting down to steal a lap of your tongue against his skin, “everyone knows you and the golf caddy get high on the greens every night. What is he, your best friend? He’s been around longer than you, I know that. He got you this job, didn’t he?”

Sam blinked down at you, taken aback for a moment. Ha. Finally, a leg to play up. “Shut up,” he spit, very little heat behind the words. You wouldn’t expect anything else – you don’t know if you’d go through with this if the two of you didn’t still fight just for the sake of the adrenaline and excitement that came with it. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Uh oh,” you clucked, resting your chin on his belly button, just so that your throat would be pressed against his cock. You felt every twitch and jump, as well as his initial bump up into you, and hoped that he felt the vibration of every word that came from your mouth. “It seems like someone doesn’t like it when his women aren’t as vapid as they let on.” 

What could you say – you took an interest in psychology when your parents began forming you into their perfect successor, and Daddy had immediately hired a private tutor for you some years ago so that you could study it alongside business. And Sam was an open textbook – he was just like you: intelligent, privileged, perfectly satisfied with being handed things on a silver platter but never able to turn away from a challenge. You might as well have been reading words straight off of the page. 

“Just because you looked at my file doesn’t mean you aren’t the same dumb bitch you were before.”

His words stung, but in the best way. In a way that stoked the fire of your temper. Angry sex was superior, and you could feel all your emotions growing hotter, more volatile, until they were simmering just below boiling point. “Maybe I shoulda fucked him instead. Daddy always did say he liked the curly-haired caddy. Can’t see why he’d waste his time on someone like you.”

“Danny wouldn’t glance in your direction, Y/N. He’s too good for you. I wouldn’t let him.” 

It was the first time your name had painted his lips, and you smiled at the use. So he did know who you were all this time. “And you aren’t?”

Sam cocked his head. “Why do you think I haven’t touched that soaked pussy that I know you’re dying to get your fingers on again? Tell me,” he asked, eyes burrowing into you, “was that the first time you’ve played with yourself thinking about me?” You didn’t hesitate giving a small, coy shake of your head. “Have you fucked yourself with that dildo you say you own wishing it were mine?”

This time you shrugged. “Maybe. I’m about to go get it, though, since you’re the worst guy I’ve ever been in bed with. Hell, maybe I’ll just knock on one of your neighbors’ doors, see if they think they’re too good for me or not.” To really hammer your point home, you stretched back into a downward dog pose, letting your face gently drag across his cock, and then lifted onto your knees, not touching him at all. “I’ll let them fuck me. I’ll beg them to. I’ll gag on their cock, and I’ll let them put their tongue anywhere they want to. I’ll take off my shirt,” you said breathily, grabbing one breast in your hand and moaning when you gently pinched your nipple through your shirt, “and maybe, if they beg me extra pretty, I’ll get down on my knees and put their dick between my tits. Fuck, Sam – you can imagine how hot that’ll be, right? How much your neighbors will like that?”

Sam looked up at you as he reached down to palm himself through his pants, trying not to look as affected as you knew he was. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he promised, but he didn’t make any effort to move. You knew he wouldn’t be able to end the night without some sort of closure., though. “And if you leave right now, you never will.”

A promise and a threat, all wrapped up in one package that was still being withheld from you.

“Well, I’d make sure you heard, so at least you’d have that,” you simpered, shooting and exaggerated frown his way and swallowing harshly. “All alone in your room, listening to some other staff member get a tit-job because you were too dumb to know what I wanted. That’s a sad reality.” 

Sam’s breath quickened and he took his hand away from his cock in a show of great restraint, instead sitting up so that his head was level with your chest. His big brown eyes looked up at you sweetly, if analytically, and you were suspicious of his change in attitude. “You’re really not gonna ask on your own?” 

Without a word, you shook your head. No. You weren’t. 

He seemed to mull things over in his head before taking in a deep, defeated breath. “Then I guess…I surrender,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. “I can’t take it anymore, Y/N, you win just…touch me, and let me touch you. I’m too hard to fight you right now.”

His words were muffled in your skin, and you placed your hand on the back of his head, the damp strands tangling between your fingers. You didn’t trust him, but the relief was too great to push him away.

He sucked his way up your throat, pressing a kiss to your fluttering pulse before coming to rest nose-to-nose. “I don’t think you’ve given up at all,” you said, running a finger underneath his waistband. “I’m onto you.”

“That’s right,” Sam nodded, nudging your face with his. “I want you on me. Just for tonight, just so that we can both get what we want, and then we can go back to hating each other.” He closed the gap, and finally, after waiting for longer than you were used to, kissed you.

You noticed his redirection and deflection straight away, but the taste of his tongue was a more pressing matter at hand, so you let him pull you in closer, taking kiss after desperate kiss, and paw you with his big hands. It was all pouring in, everything you wanted, and insofar, you hadn’t had to ask for it, so you let him continue.

Your shirt came off, and Sam groaned when saw your bare breasts, unhindered by a bra. Immediately, he got to worshiping them, holding them up to his mouth so that he could ravenously suck on them, letting your nipples pass through his lips before gathering them in his mouth again, one after the other, until he pressed your tits together and buried his face in them. “Will you still let me fuck them, Y/N? Please?” he begged, dragging his tongue up your chest. “God, you made me so hard talking about it. I didn’t want to come, but I was so close and you weren’t even touching me.”

He sounded so desperate. So genuine, that you figured you’d still have the power over his pleasure and gave in, saying, “Yeah. You can fuck my tits, Sam, since you asked so nicely.”

Because the floor was uncomfortable, you just lowered yourself, letting your chin catch on his skin as you descended, and he groaned at the visual, immediately backing off when you gathered his wrists in your hands and pushed them away as he tried to take his pants off himself. Instead, you insisted on being the one to hook your fingers into the plaid and tug until it pooled at his feet, and then surprised him by dipping down and taking his tip in your mouth, holding it on your tongue as you suckled lightly.

“Oh fuck!” he cried out, hand flying to the back of your head. “Shit, Y/N, you can’t do that to me. I have a reputation to maintain.”

You let him slip out of your mouth and smiled sweetly. “You didn’t seem to care about my reputation when you asked me to beg for what I wanted.”

Sam licked his lips and swallowed. “And I’m regretting that now,” he assured you.

Humming in satisfaction, you gave him one more lick, then retrieved the lube from where Sam directed you, clicking the cap open before letting Sam watch as you drizzled it between your breasts, his Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes never blinking. “Come here, Sam,” you instructed, manhandling him by his thighs forward. The mattress gave under his feet, and you felt the flex of his legs to keep himself upright. “Now, say please.”

You thought that he might say no for a second, but he just rolled his shoulders and put his bottom lip out. “Please?” he inquired. He couldn’t contain the rock forward into friction as soon as you laid his dick against your sternum, gently cupping your breasts and pushing them together around it and giving him a nod to signal that he was okay to start moving.

Since you were too far away to hold onto at any point on your body other than your head, as he began thrusting into the pillowy weight of your tits, he made do, even bending at the knees to get a better angle and a more anchored hold.

“Feel good, Sammy?” you asked quietly. You weren’t getting any stimulation from this, but watching the expressions of pleasure washing across Sam’s face as he tried to keep the wanton noises in was enough for now. Power. You were getting your pleasure from power.

He nodded, trying to wet his dry lips as his hips moved on their own accord, the unstable footing he had on the mattress throwing off any rhythm he established. Still, his face screwed up as he pitched up, breath uneven. “Yeah, I– it’s so good, Y/N,” he whined, a whole different person than the one who refused to give into you just a little bit ago. He let out a breathy chuckle. “They’re obviously not just for show. And I’ve watched you show them off, every fucking day you’re laid out in that little swimsuit of yours.”

It gave you an inordinate amount of pleasure to know that he’d noticed you and that he wasn’t as impervious to your presence as he’d been leading you to believe. As a reward for his little slip of honesty, you ducked and stuck out your tongue, the tip of his cock hitting the slick muscle each time it peeked out from in-between the tops of your breasts. And Sam faltered, staying buried in the warm cocoon of skin as he shifted forward and tried to get more of your tongue on his dick. 

It was obvious he was getting close with the small shake of his legs, trying to hold Sam’s tall figure up on shaky ground while he was chasing pleasure, so you let go of your tits, freeing his cock, and Sam protested. “Wait, just– just a little more, please,” he asked, gently guiding you onto your back before stripping off the rest of your clothes and taking your hands to resume the position laying down. “Like this,” he said before he straddled your chest and guided his dick back to the warm, slick channel it made, eyes closing and mouth falling open as he rode you. “Good god, save me,” he pled, back where he wanted to be. “Just like this.”

From here, you had a better view of the faces he made, and the ripple of subtle muscle under tanned skin as he moved his body. He lifted his hands to grasp the top of the headboard, using it to steady himself as he put more force into the punch of his hips, at the mercy your control over how tightly you pressed your breasts together. You could give him a nice, tight grip, or you could tease him, relaxing your hands and watching as he chased a barely-there friction. God, you felt drunk off of it. 

The drag of his balls against the top of your stomach along with the sensation of each ridge on his cock against your skin made you squirm, and you were ready to move on, having sufficiently allowed Sam to fulfill his little fantasy that you’d put in his head. 

Even though he made a weak objection when you let your breasts go slack and fall away with gravity, he didn’t fight you when you pushed his hips away so that you were eye-to-eye once more. However, he also didn’t let you get a word in before he resumed his writhe, his cock brushing against your pubic hair until he readjusted so that he was in-between your thighs, and increased the pressure of his grind until he was able to nestle himself against your soft, warm, wet core, your lips cradling him as he collected dewey slick with each thrust. 

Now that he was catching your clit with each shift, you craved him more than ever. He was so close, and if he pulled back just a bit, and angled himself just so, he could slip inside your body and show you what the fuss was about.

But first, you needed to get him in a condom. In fact, you probably shouldn’t have let him near you without one, knowing how many women he’d fucked over the course of his employment. “Condom, Sam. Who knows if I’m the first girl you’ve fucked even today, little slut.”

Sam let out a displeased whine, but he held you tighter, and you knew he was still getting off on the animosity. He pulled away, though, knowing you were right, and went right back to what he’d been doing once any excess lube had been wiped away and the latex had been rolled on. Lips at your neck, he licked and sucked a mark into you, grunting as he worked up to your lips again. “Let me taste you,” he pleaded. “I know you’ve been so worked up today. I’ll make you come, princess, I promise.”

You fisted his hair and he gasped out a curse, lashes fluttering. “Show me what that tongue of yours can do besides nettle the hell out of people, then.”

Sam groaned at your acquiescence and immediately trekked down your body, pausing to suck each tit into his mouth as if in thanks for providing a soft place to land for a while, and then continued down, physically wrapping your thighs around his ears so that there was no space left for him to breath.

“Sam,” you chuckled, genuinely amused. “We’re not gonna fuck if you suffocate yourself.”

As if it was the most irritating thing in the world, Sam groaned and reluctantly let you spread your legs wider so that he could reach his final destination. “Mmmm,” he hummed, flicking his tongue out to catch the crease where your thigh met your pelvis. With a deep breath in through his nose, he kissed your lips softly, bringing his gaze to look up at you. “You smell delicious. Let’s see how wet you really are.”

Watching as he spread you apart and never breaking eye contact until he dipped below the line of your stomach, the tip of his tongue running from your entrance to your clit and then down again, tracing a map of each nerve that lit you up and made your legs twitch. “Oh god,” you gasped, relishing in the feeling. You could tell he was just warming up.

Once he was more familiar with what made you tick, he gave you everything, fitting his top lip against the very top of your cleft and letting it rest there as he settled in for the long run, tongue laving hot pressure against your clit, softer than your fingers, more human than a vibrator.

He flicked and soothed, drew and stayed still for you to grind against his tongue, and at times he brought his teeth and lips up, chin grazing the wet skin below as he rapidly used his whole to complete a lick, suck, teeth, lip combo, each round allowing explicit noises to escape, from his own grunts and gasps to the suction and wet connection between your cunt and his mouth. And when he added his fingers, pressing one in but immediately following it with another, your stomach clenched and your back had arched up a bit, a curse and a multitude of other noises leaving the barrier of your lips to let Sam know that what he was doing was working. “That’s it, Sam,” you nodded as he curved his calloused fingers up. “Good. Right there. Shit, yes,” you sighed, sinking into the pleasure. 

With his mouth dutifully attached to your clit, he was in no state to speak, and when he disconnected from you, he followed it up with a series of kisses and undulations that let you feel a spectrum of pleasure only your toys gave you.

Seeing as you’d already come two times prior, you didn’t know how tired your body would be after your next, so you gave him a short tug on his locks and watched as his hips twitched in time with it. “Alright, enough.”

Sam looked up, mouth wet as he ran his tongue around the perimeter of it. “Already?” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes but gave him a small smile, pulling him up and allowing him to replace his mouth with his cock, sighing in relief when he resumed the position he’d been in before his meal, all of him pressed against all of you with a small rock to stave off the edge of desperation.

“Come on, you said I hadn’t seen anything yet. Where’s the bravado? Where’s the bedroom master that I’ve been hearing about?” you taunted in his ear, your words offset by the way you swiveled your hips and attempted to get him where you needed him to be. “Or was that it?”

He didn’t answer you, only reached down and grasped his cock, positioning himself at your entrance so that all he had to do was push.

But he didn’t.

The lips against your throat shifted into a grin that you couldn’t see, but could feel, and you groaned instantly, knowing that you’d been lulled into a false sense of security. You knew he'd been up to something. “Oh, you conniving little–”

Sam took your lip between his teeth and bit down. No blood was drawn, but the force was enough to make it swell and indent the shape of his front two teeth. It was effective in making the insult shrivel up and die, and Sam used his hand to run his tip up and down your pussy, never giving you anything more. “We’re playing chess, darling,” he murmured in your ear. “You said it yourself – you didn’t trust me. Were my pawns that convincing?”

Yes, they were. His desperation, his compliance, his constant feed into your power complex. But you’d played chess before – it wasn’t your favorite game, but you could hold your own. Your mother was a chess champion, though, and she’d always told you the same thing–

Never take your eyes off the Queen.

Sam paused altogether, not inside of you, but pushing so that you could feel the resistance. “We’re gonna stay here for as long as it takes for you to make a decision,” he whispered in your ear, gloating, but calm at the same time. He was back in the driver's seat of his own actions, and he was trying to reach over to commandeer the wheel of yours, as well. “Say stop, and I’ll get off. You can leave.”

“Don’t tell me there’s only one other option,” you said, your bad feeling that there was unfortunately just one way to proceed only complemented by Sam’s dark chuckle. 

“You’re really not that dumb. All the time, at least,” he scorned. “The only option to get what you want is to ask for it. And, since you wanted to lord yourself over me so badly earlier, let me return the favor: you’ll have to ask for it, and don’t forget to say please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, already dreading what was coming. But there was no way you were going to tell him to stop – not with his dick poised so intimately against you. “Sam,” you said, and he gazed down at you, raised eyebrows as if he was interested and curious about what you had to say. “Sam. I want you to fuck me.” He said nothing, only looked at you expectantly. “Please,” you tacked on, teeth clenched and nose wrinkling at the word.

“But I already did, Y/N,” he tsk-ed. “I finger fucked you, I fucked you with my tongue – you really are just a spoiled heiress, aren’t you? You have so much, you’ll have to be more specific.”

You pinched him, and for your efforts, he reared back and gripped each wrist in his fingers, away from his body and against the bed. You had no other option now than to finally give in. To lose the ground you’d so staunchly defended up until now. “Fucker,” you hissed. “God, I hate you so much. I want you to fuck me, Sam. What else do you want?” you asked, temper tantrum rising up in this rare occasion that you had to do something you didn’t want to. “I want your cock, okay? I wanna feel you for days, and I want you to be so fucking deep inside me that you think about how well you fucked the owners’ daughter everytime you even so much as look in the direction of another woman for the next week.”

Sam seemed to be savoring the satisfaction of your words, but he still looked at you with a cheeky grin. “And?”

“Fuck you,” you said venomously. “Please.”

“Good answer,” he grinned, letting go of your wrists and gathering your knees in the crook of his elbows. 

After that, he let go of his restraint and stopped playing a role, sucking in breath and letting it out on a grunt as he slid home, low mutterings seeping from his lips as he knee-walked forward and bent you back until the backs of your thighs were skin-to-skin with the front of his. Only then did he pull his hips back and jackhammer them back in, giving you time to adjust before he reached in further with his fingers and pressed them into your inner thighs. 

With his proximity, there was a small slap when his hips met yours, but the soundtrack of the evening otherwise was made up of slick, wet noises and the posts of his bed knocking against the wall every so often.

And the steady back and forth stream of curses and unintelligible noises from you both. Not to forget those.

He kept pummeling into you, watching you bare your teeth, feral with the ecstasy of resolution after such a long build-up. You were glad you hated him. Glad he hated you. It all made this so much better, and Sam seemed hell-bent on keeping the curses to his name (and now his dick) spewing from your mouth.

“That’s it, princess, tell me how much you hate me. How much you hate the fact that I’m the best lay at this godforsaken club.”

“No,” you gasped. “You still aren’t shit, pool boy.”

He let go of one of your legs, roughly turning you on your side and straddling one leg, slotting himself between like a tetris puzzle piece. “God, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he huffed. “Bitch.”

“Bastard.”

He groaned, your cunt tightening around him and making him stutter. “You’re lucky you're the daughter of people who actually did something with their money,” he seethed, not actually angry but his hips colliding with yours as if he was. “I’d love to see you somewhere where no one gave a fuck about who you were. See how you do in the real world.”

Again, Sam flipped you over, his thrust of re-entry pushing your face into the pillows. “Complaining as a grown-ass man who cleans a pool for a living and gets paid generously for it is– oh fuck, oh god–” you gasped, orgasm building as Sam’s fingers sloppily rubbed fast, tight circles around your clit, “-bad taste,” you finished.

Sam hitched your hips up more, trying to get even closer to you than what was physically possible, already buried balls-deep inside you. “For once in your life, maybe you’re right,” he grunted, pressing his palm into your back and arching it until you moaned, the tip of his cock catching your g-spot. He held you down in that position and gripped a handful of your hair as you’d done to him. “I do love my job.” He punctuated his words with a harsh stroke that bumped somewhere deep inside you that you hadn’t even touched doing your own exploration.

“Sleeping through the clientele wasn’t in your job description. Being a whore just seems to be your favorite hobby.” With each slowing thrust, Sam kept his depth but was losing his speed and his coordination. He had to be close, but he stopped once more to turn you around and push back onto the mattress. “Jesus christ, do you rotate every girl you fuck like a gas station hot dog?” you asked, dropping the act for a second as a smile threatened to break out. Sam’s eyes widened, once again visible since you were on your back after changing positions for the third time within a few minutes.

“...Sorry.”

You shook your head, a bit of mirth still lingering in your tone. “S’fine. Just keep going this time, I was close.”

Sam nodded, restarting with something a little slower, a little less intense than the rest of your coupling had been. It was just as good, though, and you closed your eyes as your high began building again. Since his hands were busy holding himself up as he undulated and kept the roll of his hips going, Sam paused and took your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips for the second time that night. He wet them in his mouth and guided them to where he was still buried in the sweet heat of your body. “Touch yourself for me, princess,” he rasped, voice low and rough.

Lost in his own arousal, his edges dulled, and you watched the unfettered desire take over him as he watched you do as he asked without a fight, for once. 

He really was entirely too good-looking for his own good. All of the features you spent days building up a disdain for, for reasons that didn’t reveal themselves until you stuck in his web lost the veil of contempt that sullied them, were on display and for the first time, you admired Sam without feeling the need to punish yourself afterwards for thinking such thoughts. 

The steady push, pull, fill, drag of Sam’s thrusts into you finally pushed you over the edge with the help of your experienced fingers, and you threw your head back in ecstasy, gasping out Sam’s name as small noises crawled their way out of your chest and left it heaving.

Sam followed you off the edge, enticed by the flutter of your walls around him and the sound of his name on your lips. He echoed you with a low, drawn-out groan, pausing when he was as deep inside of you as he could be. “That’s it,” he breathed, lowering himself to his elbow as his other hand smoothed up and down your side, one of the first gentle interactions between the two of you.

You couldn't keep the jab in, this time - not with how much you found yourself liking the new, softer atmosphere. “You’re not falling in love with me, are you, Sam?” you jested softly as he kept his hands roaming your skin. But you kept your voice low, and your leg wrapped around his hip, keeping him lodged in your warmth so you didn't have much ground of defense if he turned your argument against you. “After all that effort acting like you wanted to eat the rich…”

“Shh,” he hushed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. “Like I said, we can go back to acting like we hate each other tomorrow but, for now, we can pretend to like each other. Also,” he said, finally withdrawing and discarding the condom before wrapping his arms around you from the back, “I definitely did eat the rich.”

You let out a half-hum, half-chuckle, and laced your fingers over the backs of his, snuggling closer to him and enjoying the butterfly kisses he was slowly placing across the nape of your neck, nose barely brushing your earlobe. “I suppose you did.”

With both of you basking in the after-effects of your orgasms, it was a while before you got up to pee and clean up the mess between your legs – or, let Sam do it in the shower.

Part of you thought back to how Tara described him doing the same for her, so you didn’t allow yourself to think much of it. But you still spent the night wrapped in his arms, and when you woke up, his soft snores muffled by your skin, you counted yourself lucky that you found it rather difficult to fall in love with people. There were many women at the resort that couldn’t say the same, and you wondered just how long the trail of broken hearts that Sam left in his wake was.

Finally, you were too restless to remain in bed, and you managed to wriggle out of Sam’s grasp to collect your things, throwing your outfit on from the previous night and thanking the universe for being an early riser. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and you could make the walk back to your room in peace without running into anyone who might want to stop and talk.

“It’s not time to wake up,” Sam mumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes and yawning from the bed. “You don’t have to sneak out,” he said with a frown when he registered that you were making to leave.

“I know,” you assured him. With a small half-smile, you said, “I do own the place, after all.”

Sam got up when it was clear you weren’t going to come back to his bed and walked you to the door, leaning on the frame in that annoyingly attractive way of his when you stepped into the hall. “So...come by the office and maybe I can give you the ‘pool boy special’ sometime,” he said, and you softly flicked him on his bare chest.

“And watch you offer the same ‘pool boy special’ to every other woman there? Yeah, no thanks,” you refused, under no pretense that Sam would stop being Sam just because he slept with you. “But I do appreciate the reminder as to why I don’t like you.”

Sam hummed, tilting your head up by your chin to languidly press a kiss to your lips. “And why is that, again?”

It was a nice distraction, sure, but the pride you held to be able to say that you could see through the water, no matter how murky it was, kept you focused on the conversation. “Whore,” you scoffed, both in insult and in explanation, and Sam smiled down at you, almost affectionately. 

“You’ll take every opportunity to call me a whore, won’t you?”

You were about to confirm Sam's suspicions when the door across from you opened and a very tired looking man stepped out, looking surprised to see you. Dark, curly hair, a pressed polo, lightweight, quality trousers, and a belt that matched his shoes – the golf caddy. “Oh! Uh…good morning, Miss–”

“She doesn’t need the ego boost of an honorific, Daniel, please.” Sam smirked at you as you narrowed your eyes.

You ignored Sam’s words, instead sauntering over to a wide-eyed Daniel, smoothing a finger over a flip in his collar. “I appreciate the respect, Daniel. Sam needs to learn a little more of it. You’re the head golf caddy, aren’t you?” Daniel stuttered out an affirmation, and you smiled warmly at him, feeling Sam’s eyes on you from behind. “That’s impressive. So young, and my father talks very highly of you. It’s quite difficult to earn his approval, but you’ve managed to do it. Perhaps I’ll stop by for a private lesson one of these days; you’ll have a spot for me in your schedule, won’t you?”

It was a shameless power play, and a gross misuse of your status, but that familiar wave of satisfaction when Daniel didn’t even check before he said you could come anytime and he’d be available sent your brain whirring with pleasure. A different kind than you got from your spars with Sam or the physical kind you experienced the night before, but you liked the feeling, so you had no plans on denying yourself of it.

Turning smugly back to Sam, just so that he could see that you still held the power he wanted to fuck out of you, you shot him the bird. “Well, invigorating conversation, Sam, but I still think you’re a lazy asshole and a shameless, attention-seeking–”

“Whore,” he finished for you. “I know.”

As you walked away, you heard the muted slap of an impacted hand, and Danny hissed, barely audible, “Goddammit– are you kidding me, Sam? The one person I told you that you didn’t want to piss off and–”

“Chill out, Daniel – that was flirting, not fighting.”

~~~

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~~~

Feel free to talk to me in the comments or my ask inbox!

#greta van fleet fics #gvf smut #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #sam kiszka smut #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 13. Shimmering Icicles | Sinclair/Betty (OC)

AN: This takes place shortly after Sinclair and Betty get together, which hasn’t happened in the main fic yet, but I don’t think it’s a spoiler that they will get together!

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Sinclair was rummaging around in Betty’s closet, pulling out blankets, while she stared uselessly at the boiler.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it!” she complained. “Can’t you have a look at it, Sinclair?”

“Oh, I’m useless with anything mechanical!” came his reply as he crossed the flat to deposit the bundle of blankets onto the sofa. “If you can’t tell what’s wrong with it, I definitely can’t. You have a lot of blankets, by the way.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the first time it’s packed up,” Betty replied. She turned to him and had to stifle a laugh to see he was piling every single blanket onto the sofa, like he was going to ask her to lie on top and tell him if she could feel a pea at the bottom.

“It wasn’t winter then, though. Look, there are literal icicles on the window! Sorry, Sinclair. This must seem like squalor compared to your place.”

“No, it’s cosy! Come on, get under the blankets, Betty, and I’ll get us some snacks.”

He literally did a little jump for joy when he said the word “snacks,” like he was a puppy dog hearing the word “walkies.” He made a beeline for the cupboard she’d nicknamed the Sinclair cupboard, because she kept it stocked up with snacks especially for when he visited.

She had to admit, he’d made a good blanket fort. If he was cold, Sinclair didn’t show it as he laid out an array of snacks for them on the table, although Betty wouldn’t have been surprised if he kept himself warm by the amount of energy he emitted.

“Alright, I think that’s enough!” he declared.

Betty looked at the snack table.

“Have you just emptied out the Sinclair cupboard?”

“Yes! That way we don’t have to keep getting out of the blankets to get more food.”

“Excellent idea. Come on, get in here, I need your body warmth.”

Sinclair burrowed himself into the blankets, eventually finding his way to her, and she immediately cuddled up to him.

“You’re so warm! How are you so warm? I’m stealing your warmth. Gimme!”

Sinclair laughed as she curled up against him, not caring that her skin was freezing cold - he liked just being able to hold her at all. He’d spent so long trying to ignore his feelings for her that now he was able to, he wanted to spend the rest of his life holding her, kissing her, doing anything and everything with her.

“What do you want to watch on the TV?” he asked, picking up the remote to switch it on.

“Anything you like, Clair,” Betty said, knowing full well he’d spend at least another ten minutes flicking through the channels before choosing what to watch. “I’ve got snacks and I’ve got blankets, what else could I need?”

“What about me?” Sinclair asked, and she chuckled at the way his puppy dog eyes looked genuinely sad that she hadn’t mentioned him.

“Well, of course I need my puppy. I thought that was a given.”

“I like to hear you say it,” he admitted, slightly embarrassed. “Just so I know you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Sinclair, blankets, snacks. That’s all I need, in that order, so I’m happy.”

“More than snacks?!” he gasped.

“Of course. You’re my favourite snack, after all.”

Sinclair smiled, and Betty leant her head against his chest, doing her very best to absorb his body warmth.

“Go on, then, puppy, put something on. I’m probably just gonna fall asleep on your lap anyway.”

She closed her eyes and settled into her favourite position, curled up on his lap with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing.

Sinclair chuckled. “I just realised something… curled up on my lap for warmth? If I’m a puppy, you’re definitely a cat.”

“I do knock things over a lot,” Betty mumbled in reply, already half asleep.

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Love you, kitten.”

She giggled.

“Love you too, puppy.”

#rickmas2023 #sinclair bryant #alan rickman #close my eyes 1991 #Sinclair x oc #Sinclair x Betty #for the love of books

[littlemissaddict]

Not My Day - Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's Joe's first day off for a while and all reader wants to do is spend time with him but unfortunately she has to work.

Word Count: 1195

My first time writing for Joe but I saw this picture and the idea has been stuck in my head ever since so I just had to write it. RPF so if you don't like reading that please skip this.

Today was the first day in a while that Joe had had off. His past few months having been filled with filming, comic cons and work calls that he was really needing the time just to relax and recharge despite how much he enjoyed his work and everything that came with it. Although he couldn't deny he was looking forward to a few days spent doing nothing with his girlfriend, the only problem being that she had to work.

"Are you sure you can't just call in sick?" he pouted; his already big eyes seemingly larger now that he was pleading with her from his spot in the bed as he watched her get dressed.

"I would take a few days off but we're so understaffed already, I can't do that to them" she sighed because she wanted the same as him, a couple of days spent doing nothing but doing it together. Him being away for long periods of time was tough and she always missed him so much that it had almost broken them up as they spent more time apart than they did together at one point that it was just too much. "I will try for an early finish though but I can't promise anything" she compromised as she finished pulling her hair up into the tie and brushed a few stray pieces off her shirt from where they'd fallen.

"Do I get a kiss before you go then?" he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position and puckering his lips.

"A kiss I can do'' she confirmed but as she came closer, she noticed the cheeky smile that had worked its way onto his face and she could tell that he was up to something. She dropped her hands to her hips as she stood at his side of the bed, close but just out of reach, "but no funny business, you got it Quinn '' she laughed, eyebrow raised as she remained just out of his reach as she waited for his answer.

"You got it, love" he saluted, piling on the dramatics just to see her smile as she finally leaned down to kiss him. Her lips were as soft as he remembered and just as intoxicating as he tried to pull her back when she pulled away.

"I love you but I gotta go or I'm going to be late" smiled sadly as she left him with a wave as she left the room which was followed by his own shout of 'I love you' as she closed the front door behind her.

All throughout the day her mind kept wandering back to Joe and what she’d give to be back home, cuddled up with him on the couch with the tv on playing god knows what as they finally have a chance to catch up with each other and maybe steal a few kisses as well. Although it seems her wandering thoughts consumed her more than she’d thought as it seemed she kept making mistakes throughout the day as her boss pulled her aside just after lunch and told her to go home. She didn’t argue, instead collected her things and promised she’d be focused tomorrow as she passed her boss on the way on.

Stepping outside the building the first thing she did was pull out her phone and message Joe to let him know she was on her way home before pocketing her phone and beginning the twenty minute walk home.

“Joe honey, I’m home” she calls as she steps through the door, not even closing it before she hears Joe call out that he’s in the living room. Toeing her shoes off and leaving them by the front door, she deposits her bag on the bottom step of the stairs before she pads into the living room where she finds Joe sprawled out on the couch, who as soon as he sees her reaches out for her making grabby hands at her which makes her chuckle. The weight of the day feels like it’s been lifted off her shoulders by just being in his presence and she’s quick to cross the room so she can hold him, or more accurately he can hold her and she can’t start to feel more like herself again.

“How was work love?” he asks as she melts into him the moment he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap, burying his face into her neck where his stubble scratches against her skin which makes her shiver.

“Well I was sent home so that should tell you enough” she sighs, leaning her head back so that it flops back against his shoulder and inadvertently exposes more of her neck to him as he begins to press soft kisses against the skin that set the butterflies in her stomach all aflutter.

“Wanna tell me about it?” he asks, momentarily pausing his kisses to speak.

“Not much to tell, I just missed you” she admits, seeing no point in lying when she can tell he’s missed her just as much, “kept thinking about you so much that I kept messing up and I guess they’d had enough of me in the end” she mutters and he pulls his head from her neck.

“Yeah?” he questions teasingly, smiling when she nods then leaning into her so close that his lips brush against as he speaks again, “well I’m going to love on you so much tonight that you’ll be glad to get to work tomorrow just to get a break” he hums, closing the barely there gap between them and finally pressing his lips to hers in a gentle yet passionate kiss that has them both breathless when they pull away.

“Don’t think I’d ever want a break from you” she whispers, almost as if she’s afraid that her voice will break the little bubble they’ve situated themselves in.

“Is that a challenge baby” he questions, a smirk pulling at his lips when she shakes her head, “Oh I think it was” he chuckles, attacking her lips once more, this time in a bruising kiss that has her moaning into his mouth before he pulls away with a look of amusement on his face as she tries to follow him to get his lips back on hers. “Come on love why don’t you get changed into something more comfortable, we’ve got all night after all” he suggests, squeezing her thigh as she remembers that she’s still in her work gear and reluctantly, only after the reminder that he’s not going anywhere, does she pull away from him to do so.

With the promise of a night in her boyfriend's arms and her favourite food awaiting her she can’t help but think of how lucky she is that she gets to have this even if it’s few and far between and well she’s more than happy to have these precious moments to cherish even if it means a few months a year away from each other. Though there is one thing she knows for certain is that Joe is it for her and that’s all that matters to her.

#joesph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn fluff #joe quinn fluff #joseph quinn oneshot #joseph quinn drabble #joseph quinn #joe quinn oneshot #joe quinn drabble #joe quinn #rpf

[cyantomatos]

Even Stars Will Fall - Ch 7

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader x Ellaria Sand Word Count: ~3k Warnings: Rylan is a creep(pt 2 electric boogaloo)  Notes: Someday I will remember the foreshadowing I write into my own fics. And important plot details. Maybe.

Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

As it turns out, trying to commission a gift for someone when you have no money of your own and don’t know anything about the country – or really world – you’re living in is difficult, to say the least.

You woke the next morning full of confidence and pride in figuring out such a perfect gift. You knew less about Oberyn than you would like, but enough to know he would love this gift. Ellaria, too, since it was at least also partially a gift for her.

Your confidence deflated, somewhat, when halfway through breakfast you realized you had no idea how to get this gift.

First, you went to Doran. You needed money, and there was no way you were going to ask Oberyn for money to buy his own gift. The elder prince looked a little shocked when you entered his office, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

“I’m really sorry to bother you about this, I would just ask Oberyn really, but it felt wrong. Would I be able to borrow some money, maybe, to get a present made for his name day?” You twisted your hands together in your lap as you spoke, somewhat nervous.

Doran seemed to relax slightly as you spoke, and chuckled when you finished. “Of course, my dear. I can see why you would not want to ask my brother to pay for his own gift.” He leaned over, rummaging around for a moment in one of his desk drawers before re-emerging with a jingling bag that he deposited on the desk in front of you. “If I may, what have you decided to get him? I doubt you would be one to pile on another jewel-encrusted dagger or solid gold peacock statue.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “No, it’s not something fancy like that. I actually think he’ll like it, at least I hope he will anyway.” You briefly outlined the plan for Oberyn’s gift, your confidence growing as a grin spread across Doran’s face at your description.

Finally he nodded approvingly. “I think he will adore that gift.”

“How are your lessons with Amphise going?” Oberyn set his wine glass down as he spoke, a slight smile playing on his face at your pained expression. “That well?”

You shrugged, setting down your silverware with a sigh. “I’m not sure if it’s because I’m learning so late, or if I’m really just a bad student. I can’t seem to focus, and I think she’s getting frustrated with me.”

Ellaria shook her head. “I doubt you are a bad student, my dear. I suspect it has more to do with your unique circumstances than anything. You cannot expect to catch up with years of training in just a few weeks.” She reached across the table, settling her hand over yours with a small smile. “You are too much like Oberyn, criticizing yourself when you are not immediately perfect at something.”

“Well, it becomes hard to accept anything less than perfection when I am so often perfect.” Oberyn grinned at you as Ellaria rolled her eyes fondly.

Your eyes darted between them as they spoke, a warm feeling settling over you. Their conversations had begun to feel less and less like you were an outsider looking in and more like you belonged. Like this was where you were meant to be.

Oberyn turned towards you again. “What do you have planned for tomorrow? You do not have lessons, correct?”

You sat up straighter, forcibly pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “Oh, um, I think Maricel was going to come have me try on some more dresses. Ellaria seems to think I need enough dresses to outfit a whole army.” Oberyn chuckled, shooting a grin at his lover.

“While I do not doubt that, I think outfitting the Dornish army in silk dresses may not be the best idea.”

You shrugged, matching his grin with one of your own. “Well, might not be the most practical, but you can’t deny it would confused any enemy they face. Might be an advantage.”

Oberyn erupted with laughter, tipping his head back towards the sky as your own grin grew. The sound filled the private garden, and you couldn’t help but feel a little pride blooming in your chest at getting that reaction out of the prince. Even Ellaria chuckled, shaking her head at the two of you.

“Gods help me, I cannot handle the both of you.”

The next day, after what felt like an eternity of Maricel poking and prodding and holding various fabrics next to your face, you ventured out into the city. Equipped with a small purse of coins and a recommendation for who to visit, both courtesy of Doran, you headed out with the intention of ordering Oberyn’s name day gift.

Finding the small house proved easy enough, with a little direction from kind strangers. You described what you wanted to the short, older man than answered the door when you knocked, and when you mentioned it was a gift for the prince, he assured you it would be done with plenty of time to spare before the name day celebration and waved you off when you apologized for the short notice.

Finding your way back to the palace proved slightly more difficult.

You’d always felt you had a pretty good sense of direction, but you weren’t sure if it was the unfamiliar city or entirely different world you’d found yourself in, but after a while of wandering you realized you were hopelessly lost. You’d hoped you would be able to find your way back without asking for help again, but it was rapidly becoming clear that was not going to be easy.

Just as you were about to give up and ask someone, a tall shadow fell over you. “Ah, if it isn’t our own local mystery. Oberyn should keep better track of his treasures, you seem lost my dear.”

Fighting the wave of unease that spread over you at the familiar voice, you plastered a pleasant smile on your face and turned to face the prince’s cousin. “Lord Rylan. What a pleasant surprise.”

Rylan shot you a charming smile, inclining his head towards you. “I could say the same. Where are you headed? A beautiful woman such as yourself should not be wandering alone.”

Biting your tongue you lifted a hand helplessly. “Well, I was heading back from ordering a present for Oberyn’s name day, but I seem to have gotten lost trying to find my way back.”

For a split second it seemed like a shadow passed over Rylan’s face at the mention of a present for his cousin, but just as quickly it was gone, and the ever present charming smile was back in place. “You are in luck, my dear. I was just headed back to the palace myself, I could escort you. Sunspear can be quite confusing to those who are not used to finding their way.”

The lord held out his arm, and while you wanted nothing more than to assure him you could find your way back on your own, you reminded yourself it wouldn’t be a good idea to be rude to the prince’s cousin. No matter how much Oberyn seemed to dislike his own cousin.

And besides, you probably couldn’t find your way back on your own.

So you slipped your arm into his, mentally coaching yourself. You’d dealt with worse men before, and Rylan had yet to give you any reason to dislike him other than his vibes just feeling off. A short walk back to the palace wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Rylan beams down at you as you slip your arm into his, starting off down the street. “You really are not that far off from the palace, it will take us maybe a quarter of an hour to get there. It is unfortunate for you that the streets of Sunspear are so confusing. Those of us that have lived here most of our lives have no trouble navigating it, but it is often disorienting to outsiders.”

You give a polite little laugh, your eyes wandering to the colorful buildings as you walk past. “I was about to ask for directions when I found you, actually. I had to ask on my way there, and I was hoping I’d be able to remember the way back. Apparently not.”

“Ah, well, pride can get the best of us sometimes.” Rylan gives you another charming smile and guides you around a corner. There are a few market booths on this road, although it seems most of them are currently closed to avoid the mid-day heat beating down on the city streets. You glance at the open booths as you walk, glad Rylan doesn’t seem too interested in conversation at the moment.

One of the booths is painted a cheery orange color, although the vibrant paint is chipping off in spots. The roof is made of different fabrics stitched and tied together, with small gaps letting in thin shafts of light that dance over the counter. The young woman behind the counter is working a long, thin band of metal in her hands, wrapping it around a fiery red gem. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy braid, curls escaping around the colorful scarf covering the top of her head. Her eyes flit up every few seconds to scan the scattered people out braving the heat. Scattered across the counter in front of her are a handful of pieces of jewelry, mostly necklaces, sparkling in the sun.

Rylan notices your preoccupation with the booth and slows his steps, glancing down at you. “Would you like to stop?” You hesitate, torn between your curiosity and your desire to get away from him as soon as possible. Your curiosity wins out though and you nod, turning towards the booth.

The woman’s eyes light up when she sees you moving towards her booth, and she immediately sits up straight and sets aside the necklace she is working on. She spreads her hands in a welcoming gesture, grinning widely at the two of you. “Welcome! I am surprised to see anyone out at this time of day.”

Rylan said something to the woman that you didn’t pay too close of attention too, instead scanning the colorful jewelry in front of you. Your eyes snag on a necklace with a small blue and white swirled gem wrapped in an almost black metal. It almost seems like an optical illusion as you stare at it, the colors catching in the sun and seeming to shift in the dancing light filtering through the cloth roof of the booth.

“I see something has caught your eye.” You glance up to see the woman watching you a bit closer than before, a slight smile curving her lips. Something about the way she watches you itches in the back of your brain, like you’ve felt it before, but you can’t quite place it.

“It’s beautiful, did you make all of these yourself?” The woman nods, pride seeping into her face.

“I made all of these. My mother taught me to make jewelry when I was little, just as her mother taught her, and her mother before that.” She holds up the piece she had been working on when you walked up. “The materials may change, but the women in my family have been making jewelry for generations.”

You can practically feel the boredom radiating off of Rylan, but when you glance up at him his face is arranged in a mask of polite intrigue. Your eyes slide back down to the blue necklace longingly, idly wondering if you have enough left over from what Doran had given you to buy it.

The woman’s hand comes into your view as she lifted the necklace, and when you look up she’s smiling at you. “Do you like it? I have had it for a while I am afraid, no one seems to gravitate towards this one. I think it may be the size of the stone, most opt for larger and flashier gems.”

She smiles slightly down at the necklace, and you’re struck by the way it reminds you of a mother looking proudly at her child. After a moment she looks back up, that shrewd expression back as she holds out the necklace. “I think it suits you. Perhaps it was meant to find you, and that is why no one else bought it.”

Instinctively you reach towards the small pouch tied at your waist, opening your mouth to ask how much she wanted. Before you can speak, however, the woman shakes her head.

“Take it. Sometimes things are meant to find people. Besides, you would be doing me a favor anyway, it has been taking up space in my booth for months now.” She motions you forward before you can protest, fastening the soft leather cord around your neck.

You stare down at the gem now resting against your chest, once again struck by the way the light plays in the colors. When you look back up the woman has a satisfied look on her face, and her eyes shift from the necklace up to meet yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I have enough to pay what it’s worth, but I feel bad just taking it.” She shakes her head, taking a step back.

“It is a gift. I hope it brings you happiness.”

“Well, it is rude to refuse a gift.” You almost jump as Rylan speaks, having totally forgotten he was even standing next to you. The woman doesn’t seem any more pleased either, her piercing eyes shifting to look at the lord. It’s subtle, the way a slight tinge of displeasure seeps into her eyes as she looks at him, and when she looks back at you it’s gone.

“He has a point, my dear.”

Thankfully, the walk back to the palace doesn’t take much longer. You spend most of it tuning out Rylan as he describes the play you’d turned down attending with him the day before, instead studying the necklace now looped around your neck. No matter the lighting the colors seem to shift and change, although every time your eyes move they stop, and you’re left wondering if you were just imagining it.

Rylan comes to a stop at the front gates, turning to you with a charming smile. “This is where I must leave you I am afraid, I have matters to attend to at my own house.” He holds out his hand, and you reluctantly place yours in his, suppressing a shiver of displeasure as he bows slightly and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

“Until next time, my dear.” With another grin he turns and walks off, and you’re left wondering just how long would be long enough before you can stand to be alone with him again.

You come to the conclusion after a moment that there isn’t a period of time long enough.

Walking back inside you breathe a sigh of relief at the cool air that hits you as soon as you’re out of the sun. Sunspear truly was a beautiful place, and you got the feeling the rest of Dorne would be just as beautiful if you ever saw it, but the oppressive heat was genuinely draining sometimes. You could only count your blessings that it wasn’t overly humid.

You headed down the hall, navigating with a little more confidence gained over the last couple weeks. There were still times where you took a wrong turn and had to ask someone for directions, but overall you usually found where you were going.

The guards stationed outside Doran’s office nodded to you as you stopped outside the large doors, opening them without question for you. Most of the palace staff recognized you on sight by this point, and Oberyn had made it clear you were to be treated with respect as his guest.

It wasn’t really like you could do much to harm either of the princes, anyway. You’d likely just hurt yourself in the process.

Doran was seated behind his desk, head bent over a piece of parchment as he wrote. He looked up at the sound of the doors opening, smiling warmly at you. “Ah, back already I see. Did you find what you needed?”

You nodded, walking forward with a smile. “I did, thank you. And it didn’t cost as much as you thought, I wanted to return the leftover money.” You held the much lighter than this morning pouch out as you came to a stop in front of the desk.

The elder prince only smiled and shook his head, holding up his hand as he settled back into the chair. “No, my dear, you may keep it. You may not have any expenses with my brother providing for you, but I imagine it would be nice to have money of your own if you should need or want it.”

You let your hand drop to your side with a sigh and a slight smile. “What is it today with people giving me things?” You hook the pouch back to the belt around your waist. “Thank you again by the way, he said it should be ready by Oberyn’s name day.”

Doran’s smile widened at that. “I hope my brother appreciates it, it is a thoughtful gift.”

You returned his smile, ignoring the butterflies that took up residence in your stomach as you thought about giving Oberyn his gift. “I hope so too.”

Taglist: I know tags are being kinda iffy, but I’m still going to put them in because I don’t have that many so it doesn’t take much time

@sarahjkl82-blog​ @ecuadorlady​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @knivesareout​ @writeforfandoms​ @gorgeousgrogu​ @leto-duke​ @xoxabs88xox​ @kirsteng42​ @hauntedmama​ @urofficial-cyberslut​ @marvelousmermaid​ @tanzthompson​ @lowlights​ @dobbyjen​​ @tanzthompson​​

Join my taglist here!

#Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Ellaria Sand #Ellaria Sand x reader #ESWF #Even Stars Will Fall

[lieutenantwilliamrusso]

The Ivy Crown II

A/N: Hi!! In honor of Valentine's Day and the SaB season 2 trailer tomorrow (!!!!) here is this!! Side note, the word "darkling" means in the dark and was commonly used during the late 1800s in poetry.

"I had a dream, which was not at all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished and the stars did wander darkling in the eternal space.

-Lord Byron

Darkness

Book II

When you wake, it is to the sun inching across your window pane, prickling at your eyelids in the early morning. You groan, attempting to turn over to block the harsh rays, but your legs get tangled in the sheets and you're forced to lift yourself from slumber. You're back in your room, in the little white house the literature students lived in. You had no memory of arriving there, but you were sure a quick glance at your phone would reveal that your friends had deposited you here.

When you finally scrape yourself up and off your bed, the night begins to return to you in flashes, little pin pricks of memory. You remember your friends' laughter, the shots of kvas and, and...Aleksander. His green sweater, his eyes as he'd laughed at your drunken state.

His...compliment.

And he'd called you something in Old Ravkan. Mil...mil...but it never comes and you're left to ponder the fact that Aleksander Morozova was checking out your chest.

It had to be a fluke. You aren't unattractive, but there's no way Aleksander would seek you out above every other gorgeous, willing woman traveling through the halls of the university. Maybe he'd just been alarmed, he'd never seen you in something so revealing before.

Saints, what a night.

You wash the remnants of your drunken mistakes off in the hot press of the shower water and focus your energy on your reading for Monday.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Monday comes rapidly and you're suddenly left with the realization that you're going to have to be alone with Aleksander today. He prefers to workshop student essays in private, giving constructive feed back in a safe space. And you're scheduled first, right after class.

You barely look up as you take your seat, pulling out your poetry anthology and setting up to take notes. When you do finally raise your head Aleksander is already watching you, something unreadable in his gaze, something almost dangerous. It alarms you, leaves you feeling the need to gasp, so you look away, pretending to check your notes.

"All right. Let's begin." He commences class, clapping his hands once. "Who wants to tell me what they think the rose represents in Mina Loy's "Sea-Rose?"

This one is easy, so you sit back and let the boy sitting to your left answer. Aleksander smiles and nods at him encouragingly.

"So we've established the rose is a woman. Then what are we to do with that first stanza?"

You raise your hand.

"To me, this is a political poem. The "harsh rose, meager and sparse" takes on societal perception of women. If you're too harsh, too outspoken, you're useless to patriarchal society. I think that's what she's saying here."

Aleksander nods, biting his lip. You watch the movement closely, memorizing the white of his teeth peeking through his plush mouth. Then the moment is over and he's walking back towards the whiteboard.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

Class ends, and you wait in your seat for the other students to file out, mentally trying to prepare to be in close proximity to Aleksander.

"We still on for our meeting? Or are you here to break my heart?" He jokes as he gathers his things, coming to stand in front of your desk.

"We're on, though I'm quite popular today so I don't know for how long." You tease.

"Oh I'm sure you are everyday." He eyes you, eyebrow raised slightly.

You chuckle, moving to stand and follow him to his office.

Aleksander's office is like that of any great academic. That is to say, a mess. Papers are strewn in haphazard piles across his desk and floor, books sit precariously on shelves as if they are only waiting to be told to fall off. Aleksander smiles at you almost sheepishly as you navigate the chaos, stopping to clear off a plush leather chair for you as he goes to take his own behind the sturdy oak desk across from you.

You sit on the chair and take out your paper, knowing Aleksander prefers to edit papers when they're printed. It's cute, the way he struggles with technology, and you almost want to say you forgot to make copies just to see his nose wrinkle at the thought of using your laptop.

"Shall we?" He asks, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Sure." You agree and pass the paper over.

He reads your paper slowly as you sit, his intentional analysis making you squirm. Your writing feels like a part of you, like something intimate that came from a deep spot at your center. Aleskander's eyes are on it now, but you don't mind, not when it's from him.

"Hmm..." He mumbles, fingers dancing across the arm of his chair.

"Good or bad?" You question, unable to keep it in any longer.

"Excellent." He chuckles at your squirming. "Relax, milaya, you've done well. I expected nothing less."

Milaya, that's what he'd called you the other night, you suddenly recall. Your eyes widen but before you can question him he's continuing.

"The way that you bring out the longing in the poem is masterful. You explore Prufrock's voice closely, that's what I was looking for. You do it so well I can only wonder what's got you thinking so much about hidden desire?" His eyes are molten as they meet yours, like chocolate that's melted on your fingers after you've held it too long.

Saints, you want to hold him too long.

You don't know what to say, whether to let the truth fall from your lips or to laugh it off like what happened over the weekend meant nothing. The truth it, the memory comes back to you all the time, unavoidable.

"What does milaya mean?" You ask instead, mind turning over too much to respond to the question.

Aleksander smiles then, full and bright and you can't help but think you've revealed an answer you aren't aware of yet.

"What, didn't pay attention in your Old Ravkan lessons?" He teases.

"Saint, they were three years ago, I'm not sure I can summon much more than a few lines of Oretsev." You admit sheepishly.

"I can't blame you. It never hurts to review, however." Is the only answer you get.

Aleksander lets it drop and continues to mark up your paper, his broad scrawl visible from your vantage point.

When he'd finished with you, you gather your things to leave for the day, but his voice stops you.

"Any plans for this weekend?"

"Nothing quite as interesting as the last." You chuckle softly.

"Did you get home all right?" He asks softly, brows pulled down in concern.

"I always do." You smile, slipping through the door, leaving him.

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling #my fics

[jkoo-njoo]

College crush - 3

summary : college au l when the frontier between a crush and an obsession blurs, how can you draw the line?

pairing : shy n clingy bf! jk × black fem! reader

genre : fluff, soft yandere | headcanons

word count : 2150, on going story

warnings : stalking, fixation, home intrusion

author’s note : Hi loves ! This is supposed to be the second to last chapter of this story, but I don’t feel like ending it so soon. I’m still hesitating on wether to write a sequel in the form of drabbles or just add 2 or 3 more chapters instead of just one. You tell me what you would prefer most (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) Enjoy my angels ~ ♡

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3/ the moth searching for light through darkness, with hope

- the first time : just reaching out to you

Jungkook was really set on taking the leap of faith and sending you a message directly.

he is very nervous but also confident that you will appreciate this gesture because he has backup :

a few days ago, after the bi-weekly photography class, he followed you a bit around before going home

you went to grab coffee with some of your friends at the local café

and he just sat at a table behind you lot, making sure not to be noticeable

he was glad that you and your friends had the habit of talking a bit loudly so he didn’t have to sit right next to you to listen to your discussions

anyways

what he heard that day left him completely speechless

you guys were talking about the type of actions you’d consider romantic from a significant other and what you’d love to experience

best believe he was absolutely tuned in when it was your turn to speak

and that’s when he heard you say that you were a delusional and hopeless romantic that would really love to have a secret admirer that sent you letters and gifts

everyone clowned you and kept telling you to give it up because it would never gonna happen

but he, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier

he was going to make your dream happen, with the upmost joy doing it.

fast forward to today, with Jungkook going insane over trying to choose the perfect first-letter-from-a-secret-admirer between the 3 piles of tens of already written letters he had in his room

he settled for this one short letter :

“Like a bee drawn to a flower, I am endlessly attracted to your being, your beauty and existence essential for my survival.“

he signed — your secret admirer not yet ready to put any indication about his identity

he folded it with great care and put the message in a beige ancient style letter that he sealed with red wax

he hesitated on perfuming the letter or not but he eventually decided against it, because what if you don’t like the odor and throw away his letter, rejecting him before even checking him out ?

he was ready to go all out for you, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take reckless risks

he truly wanted to make an impact on you in the best way possible. And that included being very meticulous

when he was done, he walked up to the building next to his and deposited the letter in your letter box, whilst shaking uncontrollably the entire time

he did that in the middle of the day, so he figured he’d check the day after if you opened your letter box

he went there 3 days in a row and noticed that you didn’t really check your letter box that often

so he went against one of the main restrictions he imposed on himself : not to go all the way up to your front door.

but he did. and from now, he’d give you letters by putting them in between the front door and the wall, just above the handle so you’d inevitably notice them immediately every single time.

- the second time : being too greedy

this little back & forth of him writing letters and giving them to you lasted a few weeks

he would send you letters every 2 to 3 days, and they would vary in length but never in substance

they would always be very light and easy to read, whilst intensely dripping with passion and love

the one he sent you yesterday was :

“if anyone ever asks me which is more important between my life and yours, I would tell them that I have died to myself and that I live only for you.”

he was taking his secret admirer job very seriously.

and judging by the way you would take all of his letters and not throw them out — he regularly checked the dumpster assigned to your building — you were visibly enjoying it.

one day, the routine got interrupted when he came up to drop off the LLOTD [love letter of the day] and…. your door was unlocked.

in his defense : he was sliding the letter between the door and the wall like he always did, but this particular time it didn’t want to stay in place ; the letter kept falling

so he grabbed the handle to have more balance while trying to make the letter fit in the crevace

then the handle just… moved. and opened the door.

he didn’t even do it on purpose like,,, it just opened ???

and now he was standing there, frozen in the middle of the hallway with the handle still in his hand, unable to move.

his hands inevitably start to sweat because even if he’s stuck, he knows what he wants to do ; but he can’t bring himself to do it.

he has always dreamed of entering your place. He has been wanting this for so long.

and there was now a golden opportunity to fulfill this dream……. he couldn’t let it pass by him. He just couldn’t bring himself to close the door and go home

so… he enters.

he is absolutely delighted to be in your space ; but he’s also getting very overwhelmed

there is so much to look at, so much to smell, so much to admire and ingrain in his brain

he gives himself like 5 minutes to get around and puts on a timer to make sure to go out on time.

you are living alone so your room’s decoration is very sweet & unique

also meticulously clean and organized

though he takes notes that he should buy you a basket to put your fruits in it, and a duvet cover so you can snuggle your cute self inside, and more plushies to horn your bed

he cannot wait until the time he gets to decorate this place with his own special touch too

the timer goes off indicating that it was time to go back to his place

he pushes the letter between the front door & the wall, then leaves

he was in such a state of euphoria that when he got back to his place he wrote like 5 letters in one sitting

when he noticed that you never really locked your door but just shut it, and since he knows your schedule by heart, he starts breaking into your home a bit more often over time

each time, he tries as hard as he can to not touch or move anything

he only verifies that you do not throw his letters by checking your bins, and lays on your bed while daydreaming of cuddling with you on it while watching movies, or play with you on your pc set up

he is very careful to not do anything that would make you notice that someone is coming into your place while you’re not there, because he doesn’t want you to be scared.

he would never deliberately cause you to be uncomfortable, afraid or to resent him

but it’s getting harder and harder everyday to not touch or take anything when he wants to go back to his place with each and every object that you use as a souvenir

he’s getting tormented…

so close, yet so far from the goal,,,, it was driving him crazy.

- at the same time : a curious appreciation

it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been regularly receiving love letters from a secret admirer

you would be lying if you said that you weren’t completely enjoying and indulging in it

at the beginning, you thought that it was a prank, because it was just so random & the timing was almost too perfect since you started receiving letters right after that one discussion with your friends

but it started being more recurrent, and it progressively made you flattered to receive such sustained and lovely attention

the words of this admirer were sure having a strong effect you.

so much that you kept absolutely every single one of their letters in a little box hidden in your nightstand

nowadays, you were catching yourself waiting for their letters or thinking about their words more than once throughout your day

you didn’t talk about it to your friends because you didn’t want them to make fun of you ; or worse : that one of them admits that this has all been a big joke and that it was all fake

this is your own little secret that you keep between you and your heart

and it’s just letters, beautiful letters at that. The admirer does not seem to be a creep, so you’re safe. There’s no need to alert anyone… right ?

at some point, you’ve tried to find out about the identity of your admirer.

the only information that you have at the moment is their signature : they sign every single letter with the mention — your secret admirer

you do not even know their gender. This is as anonymous as it gets like you cannot make this up

you have no idea about who it could be : no one in your social circle or the circle of your closest friends seems to be a good enough pretender to this spot, so it was surely intriguing you

but what you do know is that you are going to meet them soon. You have to.

- the rest of the time… too far gone to go back

eventually, one of your hoodie disappears. Like straight up vanishes.

you noticed it because you were looking for something to wear as lazy pajamas and it was one of your appointed “trash clothes” to put on

it is not that serious though like you must’ve just lost it.

So you wore something else and went on with your life, not caring much about that.

a few days later, you received a letter from your secret admirer.

it was weird because they haven’t sent you anything in like 10 days ; that was very out of character for them.

so, you were relieved to receive something from them again, but this letter was rather unusual

it wasn’t a poem ; but an apology.

the title was “please pardon me my love” and their writing was very clumsy, like they’ve been shaking while writing it.

in the letter, they admit that they took your hoodie — you assume that it must be the one that you lost the other day. They apologize for it by saying that they just wanted to have a piece of you with them and knowing that you didn’t value this particular hoodie that much they couldn’t help themselves. They promise to buy you absolutely every clothes that you want, and that they’ll replace the hoodie with a new one of your taste by tomorrow. At the end, they beg for your forgiveness and implore you to not stop loving them ; some water drops that you assume to be dried out tears adorning their words.

if you were being honest, you really couldn’t care less about the hoodie disappearing ; but it did make you feel kinda uncomfy knowing that they intruded your sacred space

their confession made you reflect on the past few days, and validated the feelings of confusion and uneasiness you felt seeing some of your belongings slightly changing places sometimes while you did not recall moving them yourself

you were definitely not crazy nor were you having hallucinations.

despite this… you still couldn’t find it in you to fear them or worry in any way.

like, they just took a hoodie that you didn’t care about. This was harmless, right ?

so, for the first time since the beginning of this whole ordeal : you decide to write an answer to them

you didn’t take yourself too seriously : you told them that you weren’t mad about the hoodie, but that the next time they come in here they better clean up your place a bit because you were pretty busy at the moment and didn’t have the time to do so

you would leave it on your desk tomorrow and see what happens

but for now, it was time to sleep and rest. Or at least try.

#lufy’s fics ♤ #thebtswritersclub #bts x black reader #bts x poc reader #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts headcanons #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook headcanons #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #soft yandere #college au #college crush update #jungkook started sending letters & intruding y/n’a home…… ouuuuh it’s getting serious 🫢

[swiftstreetfox]

curious about "won't you wear my flower crown"! :D

Ohohoho! You have chosen one of the few fics I’ve actually fleshed out to some degree, and made art around lol. I’ve got a bullet-point outline and about 3k worth of text smashed out already!

It’s a mashing of two soulmate AU’s in one, a soul animal x dream walking AU. Basically through some deliberate quirky (heh) interference, Aizawa and Izuku start sharing a dreamscape together. BUT! They don’t know it is the other for they are in the form of their souls, which are the animals that most represent them. Naturally Aizawa is a cat and Izuku a hare, and they can’t understand the other right away either! So lots of fun interactions, with the natural consequence of sharing a dream effecting their waking life mwahahaha!

So here is a short snippet: (Izuku is currently at a fall market with the dekusquad, Aizawa the chaperone. In this scene he is talking to a mysterious vendor)

——————————————————————————————————

Her gaze pierces into his, oddly reminiscent of Recovery Girls own disapproving look when he inevitably winds up in the infirmary. Izuku feels himself flush self consciously, eyes flicking away from her gaze.

“You must have had a hard time of it younger, children can be so cruel” Her hand gently traced the edge of a scar on his palm.

“Remember, it is not bad to be this way. Simply keep your wits about you, and don't let your own habits consume you” She petted his hand reassuringly “Your doubts lead if you allow them to, similarly your wants. It is a balancing act you must hold firm on young man”

Her words seemed to draw Izuku in, something about them resonating within his soul. As if they spoke to a part of him buried where he thought things had died. She leaned back, letting go of his hand.

“But I sense you soon will find someone to help you with that.” Her voice danced knowingly, eyes no longer looking at him but focused over his shoulder.

“Problem Child” A gruff voice huffed.

Izuku almost jumped in his seat, head whipping round to see Aizawa-Sensei staring down at him with exasperation. When the man had gotten there, Izuku could not say. Looking at his expression clued him in though.

“A-Aizawa Sensei! I completely lost track of time! I’m sorry, was everyone waiting long?” Izuku fumbled, shooting up out of his chair and nearly tipping it over, had Aizawa not reached over to steady it reflexively.

“Never mind that, its time to leave. I hope you’re wrapping things up here, hmmm?” The man raised a brow.

“I, uhm- Yes?” Izuku turned to the lady, bowing quickly “Even though I don’t really get it, thank you for your time” he rushed out, thoughts feeling scrambled at the sudden reminder of the hour.

“Thank me by being a better pro than the previous ones, no offence Scruffy” She snorted, shaking her head.

“None taken.” Aizawa-Sensei sighed.

“Hmmm. A smart one then.” She grinned, “Here.” hand reaching over to the stones on display, she plucked two from the pile.

“Give me both of your hands” She huffed, fist held up in their direction.

Izuku glanced at Aizawa who grudgingly held his palm out. In a bid to speed things up, the man nudged the boy to do the same, who rushed to present a palm as well. To which the lady deposited a stone each in them.

“A gift of good luck, we need good hero’s like you sticking around after all.” Was her only explanation, before she turned away in clear dismissal.

Izuku curled his fingers around the rock, slipping the fist into his pocket. Diligently trotting after Aizawa Sensei who had already turned to make his way back to the others. As they pushed through the crowd, Izuku failed to notice the way his right hand seemed to tingle, growing momentarily warm with the stone in hand.

——————————————————————————————————

Wonder what will happen 👀

I might post some of the art I’ve made later, not sure yet since its more of a wip and not complete (story of my life)

You can tell I have a habit of turning characters into animals, I just love the idea of them in a different form :D

#aideku #aizawa shouta #izuku midoriya #ask game #fic wip #Flower Crown AU #bnha

[kopivie]

The sound of knocking roused you from your half-sleep at half past ten in the evening. You grumbled under your breath as you rubbed your bleary eyes with a groan and stood up, ready to shoo away whichever eager-eyed, candy-hungry children were standing at your door this time. 

“I haven’t got any sweets, you know,” you called, hoping whoever was outside could hear you as you turned the lock. The door swung open. “So don’t bother with any trick-or-treating.”

“That’s a pity,” said Spiderman. “Here I was, hoping for a candy.”

You blinked. Still riddled with sleep, your brain took a second to make sure he wasn’t another cosplayer. He responded to your bewilderment with a smug, “Happy Halloween?”

“What… what are you doing here?” 

Spiderman shrugged. “I thought I’d swing by to see my favourite person.” He nodded over your shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure.” 

“You seem a little out of it tonight,” he observed as you led him into the living room. DVDs laid in piles on your table, all horror, and some half-hearted attempt at decoration was evident in the cobweb on your wa— Oh, wait, no, that was an actual cobweb. “Is something wrong?” He gasped suddenly. “Wait, I know. You’re scared of all the ghosts.” As he said this, he wiggled his gloved fingers in the air. You landed a playful punch on his arm, but your jesting mood died down with a sigh.

“It’s nothing much,” you admitted. “Just… Kazuha said he might be able to come over tonight. We were planning to watch some horror films, but that obviously didn’t happen. I guess he couldn’t make it after all.” You ran a hand through your hair. “Still, it’s my fault for getting my hopes up. He never confirmed anything.”

For once, Spiderman was oddly silent. You raised an eyebrow. “And now it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay.”

“I’m good,” he replied with what sounded like a smile. “I’m… sorry to hear he didn’t come. I’m sure he feels terrible for letting you down. You must be really disappointed, right?”

“Nah, it’s no problem. You’re here, at least, so it’s not all bad.”

“You sure?”

“Why are you so concerned about this?” you asked, amused. 

“I don’t know,” he replied in a quiet voice. “I don’t like the thought of you feeling lonely.”

You smiled and flicked his forehead to rekindle the previous playful atmosphere. He batted your hand away with a chuckle. “Thanks, Spiderman. I appreciate it.” 

“Anything for you, lovebug,” he said. You couldn’t tell whether his tone was light-hearted or serious. “Oh—and let me know if that Kazuha guy doesn’t make it up to you. I’ll have a word with him.”

You rolled your eyes in good humour. “Let him off easy, alright? I’m sure he had his reasons.” You walked over to your sofa and plunked yourself down. “Anyway, enough about him. Since you’re here, we can do the movie marathon, right? If you have time.” You patted the place beside you in an invitation which he gladly took.

“As far as I’m aware, there isn’t anyone terrorising the city right now, so I should be all yours.”

You bit down a grin as Spiderman began rifling through the various DVDs strewn on the table. 

“Anything catch your eye?”

In reply, he scooped up the whole lot and deposited them in front of you. 

“How about all of them?”

You sent him a wry look. “Are you sure you can handle all that horror, Spiderman? You won’t have any trouble sleeping?” 

“Oh, I’m not scared. You’re here to protect me, after all.”

You snorted, opening the first DVD. “You bet.” Before you could put in the disc, Spiderman’s hand stopped you. Puzzled, you turned around to face him. Funnily enough, you got the impression that he was blushing beneath the mask.

“You know how you said earlier you weren’t doing any trick-or-treating?”

“…Yes,” you answered slowly. “I did say that.”

“Well… I was hoping to come by for one thing.”

You squinted at him. Your brain felt very slow as you struggled to figure out where he was going with this. “You want some sweets?”

He laughed. “Not quite. Rather, I was thinking we could flip the roles.”

Finally, after what you could only compare to an eternity, your brain began to grind in what felt like the right direction. “You have something for me?”

You could almost hear his smile from under his mask. “Sort of.”

“That’s definitely not cryptic.”

Ignoring your comment, Spiderman stepped forward. “You’ll only know what it is once you ask.”

You sighed and folded your arms across your chest. “You really do delight in being elusive, don’t you?”

“Only for you,” he sang by your ear. You couldn’t help but notice your increasing proximity with every passing moment. Being around Spiderman really was magnetic, and not only emotionally. Your heart began to thud when he lifted your chin up with an index finger, levelling your eyes to where his would have been. “Well?”

You swallowed. It took an effort to fight down the heat rising to your face enough for you to trust yourself enough to speak. Somehow, you suspected you knew what was coming as you asked, “Um. Trick or treat?”

Spiderman chuckled, and then next thing you knew, he was kissing you from behind the mask. You squeaked, despite yourself; a sound he all too readily consumed, only drawing you in closer until your chests were flush against each other’s. 

You’d always felt conflicted about spending time—this kind of time—with Spiderman. He was supposed to be impartial; you were supposed to like Kazuha. Even though you two weren’t together, you almost felt like you were doing something wrong by stealing such seconds with Spiderman. It was groundwork you and Spiderman always tiptoed around, careful not to disturb in the fear that you might break whatever tentative relationship you had should you delve too far into it.

But whenever moments like these did happen, against both your better judgements, you could never find it in yourself to resist.

Through the fabric of the costume you could feel Spiderman’s smile, wide and boyish, as he broke away to begin peppering masked kisses over your jaw. 

When you came apart, you felt as giddy as he was, your heart beating like a furious antelope was springing around your ribcage. His mask was slightly rumpled, and you’d reached out a hand to right it again before you knew what you were doing. Another laugh, airy and bright, escaped him. His hand chased after your own and threaded fingers through yours, giving them a light squeeze.

In a voice verging on sheepish, he said, “Happy Halloween?” 

(For one night, you thought, maybe you could lose yourself in him.)

-🎻 anon

(Also, another Halloween-related idea: a ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ AU?)

oh god, today was such a shitty fucking day and i was literally about to cry on my train ride home and this just tipped me over the edge. in a good way though, i promise! i don't even care about my mascara running either. it's halloween; for all anybody knows, it's just makeup for show.

hhhhh god i missed him so bad, oh god my chest hurts so bad;; i might just write something of my own when i get home just to make myself feel better... hhhhhh fuuuck..

#[ 📬 — inbox. ] #🎻 anon #oh god like im actually sobbing #like chest heaving gasping for breath sobbing #i missed him so so fucking bad #so much more than i would have ever admitted #and then i missed his fucking birthday and #i cant stop crying oh my god

[daintyduck99]

(this whole list really is rulie coded 😆)  “you’ve been talking about this crush for months now, when are you going to just go for it?” “i don’t think i can…”  and rulie?

Julie eyes the bags piled in Reggie’s arms as he steps past her into the apartment.

"That looks like a lot more than pizza."

He blushes, then ducks his head, carefully depositing everything on the kitchen table.

"Yeah, I—sorry if it's creepy, but I noticed you've been using your heating pad a lot and I just got paid, so—I got some stuff that I thought might make you feel better."

She slips under his arm in an instant, startling a laugh out of him, and peers into the bags, blinking tears out of her eyes.

He got all of her favorite snacks, plus an adorable calico kitten plush, and he even bought her preferred flavor of frozen pizza.

Who wouldn't be hopelessly in love with this man? Seriously. How is he real?

Julie twists to bury her face in his chest, hugging him fiercely. His arms come around her easily, and she bunches her fingers in the back of his shirt.

"Thank you, Reggie. It's not creepy, it's incredibly sweet. How much do I—"

"Julie, you don't owe me anything. Don't worry about it, okay? I pulled extra hours last week since Nick was out sick, so I had money to burn, anyway. And who was it that saved my ass on that huge lit essay?"

She giggles, only regretting it slightly as her body pangs in protest. "Me?"

"You," he whispers into her hair, and she suppresses a shiver. "That and way more. Let's not start keeping score now, okay?"

Julie snorts as they unravel, playfully poking him in the ribs.

"You say that now. I'd better not hear anything similar from you the next time I decide to get you flowers or something nice for the hell of it, alright?"

Reggie softens. "You'd buy me flowers?"

The smallest things make him happy. She'd pour over every single one of her mother's gardening journals and build him a botanical garden, if she could, just to make him smile like that every single day.

But she swallows all of that down.

She settles on replying with, "I will. But right now I think our ice cream is melting."

His eyes get wide. "Shit! The pizza too!"

It's fine, though. Everything is salvageable, and before long, they're cuddled up on the couch with Julie's calico plush, who needs a name, and her heating pad, watching season three of Stranger Things. By familiar agreement, Reggie finishes her pizza crusts as she digs into her pint.

"You know," Reggie murmurs during a montage of non-stop bickering, "I kind of get why all of the kid couples are fighting, but why are the older couples acting like that, too? Shouldn't a healthy romance hit this point where it's kind of—boring?"

Julie hums. "They didn't think that was interesting enough, I guess?"

"As if they needed more conflict. And just—every couple? Come on, guys."

She laughs, which makes him laugh, too.

But she doesn't summon the courage to ask the question burning on her tongue until the start of the next episode.

"Would you want something like that?"

"An—exploding car?"

She giggles into his shoulder. "No, you goof. A relationship. One that's…not boring, per se, but domestic, I guess."

His fingers knot in the sleeve of her shirt.

"Well—I have you, don't I?"

Huh.

That's…huh.

Still, she knows a deflection from Reggie when she hears one.

And as painful as her next question is…

Julie has to know.

"What about your crush?"

He huffs. "I don't—having a crush as an adult is so embarrassing. I have like, three quarters of a degree! Could we not call it that?"

"Babe. You used that word like seasoning the last time you were drunk. It's fine."

She twists in time to see him wince.

"What—what all did I say?"

"Nothing you haven't told me before," she soothes, fumbling for the remote and pausing the episode. "At least, nothing else sticks out that I remember. I wasn't exactly sober, myself."

Realization dawns in Reggie’s eyes.

"The night that Willie brought us home."

"Yeah. But Reggie…you've been talking about this crush for months now. When are you going to just go for it?"

He worries his lip between his teeth.

"I don't think I can. I—I can't."

"Why not? You're the sweetest man I've ever met. Who wouldn't want you?"

This only seems to stress him out more, for some reason. She hands him the calico, and he squeezes it, exhaling slowly.

"I can't risk it, Julie. It's someone who's already precious to me, and I—I can't even imagine losing them."

He makes the mistake of meeting her eyes and damns himself further by flinching.

"Oh," she breathes, "it's…me?"

He lets out a little self-deprecating laugh.

"Yeah. It was foolish of me to start falling for my roommate, huh?"

"I'm a bigger fool than you," she says softly, which snaps his gaze back to hers. "I'd already fallen for you by the time you agreed to take Flynn's spot on the lease. I had a crush on you…freshman year?"

Reggie gapes at her. "But—we didn't—"

"Really know each other then? Because I barely spoke to anyone?" She shrugs. "You were kind to me, anyway. My mom had just died and I was always so sad and you…didn't treat me like I was some kind of bomb. You made me laugh. And…"

He waits, still staring at her owlishly.

She smiles even as tears sting her eyes.

"You were the one who eventually introduced me to your friends and brought me back out of my shell. Flynn did, too, but…I got over the crush I had on her. Not you, though. With you, I just keep falling."

Reggie’s mouth works, but no sound comes out. Finally, what falls out of it is—

"So I assume you aren't kicking me out?"

Julie laughs so hard that her cramps come back with a vengeance, which worries Reggie so much that they both fall off of the couch in his flailing, but before long they're giggling and grinning like idiots, tangled together on the cheap carpet.

And maybe it's not the most romantic moment to kiss someone, but for them?

For them, it's absolutely perfect.

#friends to lovers prompts #rulie #reggie x julie #ficlets with ash #this post is sponsored by bored together and season three of stranger things #idk y'all what is an ending #julie and the phantoms

[unexpectedstormy]

HEY GUYS! IT WAS @enjolras-out‘s birthday yesterday! Go wish them a happy birthday! What a happy coincidence that their birthday was the same day as Hyrule’s, one of her fave boys! Here! As a birthday gift, my friend, have a snippet of a Hyrule sickfic I’m working on:

******

Hyrule pulled some of the kindling and tinder he’d stashed in his bag, and Twilight deposited several logs on the ground. The bark was peeling off some of the logs in jerky-like strands and Hyrule twisted them around his fingers and tugged them off not really thinking, just doing.  He sat there wrapped in his blanket, zoning out and staring at the kindling.

A cold hand on his face summoned him back to the world and he looked up to find Four looking at him intently.

“Your face is flushed,” he said. “And it’s a little warm.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Hyrule admitted.

“Here. You just rest and I’ll build the fire.”

“Okay,” Hyrule scooted back to give room for Four to work and brought his knees to his chest and wrapped the blanket tightly around himself. Now that he’d stopped moving, the true chill of the night set in and he shivered. He watched Four busy himself with the fire, laying two logs parallel on top of the other two, stacking tinder on it and making a little pile of tinder on top. Hyrule zoned off again as Four struck a flintstone with a knife multiple times trying to get the sparks to go into the kindling. His eyes drooped shut and he let himself drift off.

A flare of laughter from Wind and Wild (and quickly hushed by Four) startled Hyrule aware once more, but he didn’t open his eyes or move. He found himself leaning awkwardly on the rough stone of the wall of the cave, it’s surface icy cold to every surface of his body it touched. The floor underneath his rear was damp and cold and it sucked the warmth out of him, but he could ignore it for now. Warmth bathed his legs and face from the campfire lit in front of him.

The other heroes moved around and talked quietly, probably finishing up camp chores.

“He said he’s not feeling good and he may be starting to run a fever,” Four said, his voice faraway. Someone replied but their words turned to soup in Hyrule’s ears and he drifted once more. Some unknown amount of time passed with him hovering between asleep and awake.

“Hey.”

Someone with a very warm hand touched his arm. Hyrule startled awake and jerked his eyes open.

“Hey. It’s just me.” Twilight said crouching beside him. “That can’t be comfortable,”

“Issnot bad,” Hyrule said, his voice slurring faintly with exhaustion. His throat stung slightly and he swallowed to try and get some moisture down there.

“Do you want to lay down?” Twilight motioned to where someone had neatly set out his bedroll with a couple of the spare blankets laid on top.

“He should eat something first,” Legend piped up from where he sat stirring the soup pot.

“Only if he wants to,” Sky said. “We don’t want to make him throw up.”

“Throw up?” Wind asked suddenly interested. “Is he sick?”

“It’s too early to tell,” Four said. “He could just be tired.”

“Why don’t you ask Hyrule himself?” Wild said. “He’s literally right there.”

“Do you want some soup? Legend made soup.” Twilight asked. “It’s, uh, vegetable soup… of some kind.” Legend made a face at Twilight who quickly added “I—I don’t recognize what kind of vegetable it is, sorry.”

“It’s peas, Twi. You don’t know what peas are?”

“Uh, afraid not.”

Hyrule wasn’t hungry in the slightest; his stomach felt pinchy and tingly and he wondered if food would settle it or make it worse. But both Twi and Legend stared at him expectantly, and Hyrule knew they very much wanted him to eat.

“Soup,” Hyrule said. He was willing to try it even though he didn’t really want to. Twi looked relieved and Legend looked satisfied.

“It’s ham and pea soup, so there’s meat in it, but it’s pretty good,” Legend said ladling soup into Hyrule’s bowl—how did he have his bowl already? Someone must have gotten it out of his bag while he was dozing off.

“Here,” Twilight pulled the corner of Hyrule’s sleeping mat and dragged his bed next to Hyrule. “Now you can have both bed and soup.” Twilight pulled back the blankets and Hyrule kicked off his boots and scooted onto it. Twilight arranged the pillow behind him and the blankets on his shoulders and lap before Four reached back and handed him the bowl. The spoon in it wasn’t Hyrule’s spoon so whoever collected his bowl must not have been able to find his spoon.

Hyrule enjoyed the warmth radiating from the bowl into his hands and his lap and he felt utterly spoiled and cozy. It was so nice to finally sit and be comfortable and warm. He was so lucky to have friends to take care of him.

#linked universe #lu Hyrule #sickfic #fanfic #u legend #lu twilight #lu four #I would have sent this as an ask but it seemed a little too long for that #HAPPY BIRTHDAY! #It might be a while for me to publish this fic #I think I'm going to write the whole thing before publishing any of it. #I have too many wips on ao3 right now #in this story the gang was crossing a mountain range and took shelter in a cave