#baby what do you do in your summers?????????????

[atticrissfinch]

Born of Confusion and Quiet Collusion | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

pairing: stepfather!joel miller x fem!reader summary: he’s been in your life since you were fourteen, the first reliable father figure you’ve had in your life. but you’re not a child anymore. and you’re not the only one who’s noticed that.  warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] sleazy/deadbeat stepdad!joel, age gap (joel is 51, reader is 20), stepcest (v self-referential), daddy!kink, size!kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected piv, deepthroating, cum-eating, marking, ball-sucking, angst!!! a lot of it!!!, smoking, drinking, infidelity, v brief mentions of past domestic abuse and past impregnation of a minor (16) via statutory r*pe (neither apply to joel or reader), too many religious metaphors, reader has a landing strip because…I said so word count: ~10.6K | ao3 a/n: I had such a good time writing this. it didn’t turn out as PWP as initially intended, but I love it just the same. this is definitely not your mother’s stepcest fic (it’s her husband’s 🤪) but it’s still horny and sick and twisted and I hope you cry or cum or both ❤️ if people like this, there is a possibility of a part 2! title from lana my queen ♥️ thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers <3

Masterlist | Kofi

Blinding sun has begun to streak across the sidewalks in your childhood neighborhood. Patches of grass and wildflowers sprout from the cracks in the pavement. Vibrant chalk drawings smear from trekking feet. Sprinklers stutter and hiss for giggling children — a picturesque snapshot of youthful frivolity, submerged in the ephemeral gloss of summer vacation.

In a way, it feels like you’ve never left. For the past two years, you’ve only come home for the summer from college. Which is unfortunate considering how beautiful New England is in the summer. Instead your thighs are sticking to plastic benches at fast-casual restaurants in Texas, where it feels like the devil himself has his head between your legs anywhere you sit.

Of course, it’s always nice to see your mother. Never without a pitcher of sweet ice tea in the fridge, never without a pasted-on Southern debutante smile, and never a single hair that’s not bleached to hell on her head. Frazzled and air-headed as they come, flighty as a hummingbird, but easily reined and tethered to the earth with one hand by…Joel.

Oh, what could you say about Joel?

He loves your mother, you’ll say that much. You’ve never seen a man as drawn to his wife as you have him. The touches are constant, the compliments doled out like those strawberry bonbons on your grandmother’s coffee table. It’s been seven years and he still acts like your living room is the lobby heading to the honeymoon suite they call a bedroom.

As a result, you wouldn’t be caught dead without headphones at any given time in your home. You’ve heard far too much over these seven years to not know to be prepared.

But what Joel makes up for in physical affection, he severely lacks in any other form of decorum. His recliner is perfectly molded to his body, his side table littered with cigarette butts and empty Pabst cans. The blare of NASCAR is ever-present, and you swear you can see the outline of an ad-riddled Camaro burned into the television screen.

On any given Saturday you hear “Beer, baby,” about a dozen times.

Beer, baby.

Beer, baby.

‘Nother beer, baby.

They almost don’t sound like real words after the first several. Just a nonsensical pattern of plosives spewing into the air that your mother is conditioned to respond to like a dog.

Beer, baby.

and then,

Snick. Crack. Fizz.

And she never complains, as far as you’ve heard.

You’d tried one time to yank her out of the trance.

“Mom, you don’t have to be his little barmaid, you know. He can get his own beer,” you’d said.

She just smiled that plastic smile, slid her hands down his chest from behind his chair, kissed his sweaty temple, and said, “‘Least I can do for my white knight. Ain’t never no skin off my nose.”

“White knight with the biggest sword in the land,” Joel had tacked on for his own benefit, grabbing his crotch lewdly with a filthy grin before your mother swatted him playfully and gathered his empty beer cans.

The thing about your mother’s current questionable standards is that your biological father was a shitbag, to put it lightly. He’d gotten your mom pregnant when she was just short of seventeen, and he was thirty-five. And that’s just the beginning. He’s locked up now, but he’d had about fourteen years to do damage to her in this very home that he bought for your little family to maintain appearances of family values.

To her, Joel is her white knight. She was a single mother of a teenage girl with an ex-husband in the slammer and a dead-end receptionist job at a local travel agency.

Joel showered her with love and praise without the shadow of the back of his hand just behind. And maybe he was still fifteen years her senior. Maybe he didn’t have money. Maybe he was a deadbeat, beer-bellied local with a million excuses as to why jobs never work out for him (a “Type A” personality, he likes to blame it on. Which you’re unsure he even knows what that means given that the only Type A you’ve observed in him that he could credibly claim is his blood type).

But he loved your mother when she needed it the most. And he loved her enough that he accepted the package deal the two of you came as. So there’s only so much you could hold against him.

And not that this would ever matter, in any universe, but in spite of his dirty undershirts, his ratty sweatpants, his prominent beer gut…Joel is not an unattractive man. He cleans up very well on the rare occasion your mother has required him to, and you see a sparkle of what your mother sees in him on a daily basis.

A sparkle that, for reasons unbeknownst to you, had your hand sliding into your panties once or twice or more growing up when you were still discovering your own sexuality in your twin bed with your headphones in.

You haven’t done that for years now. You barely even remember it happened. But you don’t think of Joel that way. Joel is just…Joel. He’s your stepfather. Love of your mother’s life. The stability she needed. For seven years, that’s how it’s stayed.

When you return to your house in the evening of a hot Summer night, ear freshly talked off by your old friend from high school and a stomach satiated with your favorite local spot, your mother is working on dinner for her and Joel at the stove, still dressed in her work attire.

“Looks good, sexy mama,” Joel says, slapping her ass and gripping a handful of it as he kisses her neck.

She giggles and bats him away. “Oh, shoo. Go sit and it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

He fits in one final grope before plodding over to his recliner and powering on the television, eyeing you as you slip your sandals off by the front door.

“How’s Nancy?” He asks in his deep drawl, pulling the arm of the recliner until the footrest pops up for him to prop his socked feet.

“Francie,” you correct, tossing your keys into the dish on the antique wooden console table by the door. One your mother and you had spotted at an estate sale when you were seven, and one you’ve made a mental note to make sure none of your sticky-finger relatives get their hands on before you have a solid place of your own to furnish and you can take a piece of your childhood home with you.

“Francie. That’s right. How’s Francie?”

“She’s good. She thinks Josh is gonna propose soon.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” your mom pipes in, plopping a hand over her heart as she stirs. “I always liked that Josh. Always holds the door open for me when I stop by Sal’s.”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” you say dismissively. What you don’t say is how he’s already cheated on Francie twice in as many years, but she keeps going back. But that’s none of your business in the end. Francie’s always been one to do what she’s going to do.

“Well, what about that boy you been seein’ every goddamn night?” Joel asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Hasn’t been every goddamn night,” you sass back, propping your hand on your hip in front of him. “We’ve been on four dates.”

“Been real long dates,” Joel says, a clear inclination in his voice.

“They have not been real long dates, Joel. They’ve been normal dates.”

“Oh, leave her be, J,” your mom scolds lightly. “She’s just havin’ fun, aren’t you, blossom?”

“I guess,” you mutter, studying the old magazines on the coffee table. “Hoping it becomes something a little more serious than ‘just fun’ soon.”

“Caught your eye, didn’t he? He’d be a dumbass to throw that away,” Joel says with surety. “Knew that the second I looked at your mama. You girls are a prize. Beautiful as all get-out.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, shifting your weight a little uncomfortably at the compliment.

Joel’s mouth falls into a smirk as he taps his side table. “You wanna make like your mama and grab me a beer, sweet girl?”

You scoff, giving him a look of disgust. “Fuck off.”

Joel gives an upside-down smile and shrugs before hollering at your mother, “Beer, baby.”

You let out an annoyed sigh and head off toward the kitchen. “I’ll fucking get it, mom. Lazy ass,” you mutter the last two words under your breath.

“Thank you, doll,” your mom says, a wide smile on her face as you pull open the fridge and retrieve his drink. You slam it down on his tiny table with thinly-veiled irritation, flourishing your hands towards it in a facetious “ta-da” gesture.

Joel looks at the can, then up at you. “Ain’t gonna open it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you bite out incredulously, turning on your heel toward your bedroom. “Open it yourself,” you yell over your shoulder as you head down the hall.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” you hear him bellow to you with a laugh in his voice as you shut your door.

—

Your mom is acting different lately. Pushing Joel away more when he becomes affectionate. More short-tempered at random moments with him. You’ve already witnessed her going off on him once since you’ve been home about him not doing the simplest things. Tidying up the table, forgetting to run errands for her while she’s at work, emptying his own ashtray. Her patience is much thinner the last several weeks since you’ve been home, and you’re not sure for how long prior.

But you see her smiling at her phone one evening when Joel is out at a bar with his friends. It’s a certain kind of smile. Less plastered on, more secretive in its delight. Forty minutes later she tells you she’s playing some late-night pinochle at a friend’s and to not wait up for her. She looks awful dolled up for a card game night with “friends”, but you say nothing.

She’s playing some “late-night pinochle” with someone, alright, you think.

Joel stumbles in at 2 AM, clattering loudly around in the kitchen. You pad out of your room in your sleep shorts and tank top, squinting into the bright kitchen lights.

“The fuck are you doing, Joel?”

His head whips around, hand frozen on the handle of an open kitchen drawer. “Shit, sweetheart. Sorry, didn’t know I’d wake ya.”

“You’re being noisy as fuck. What are you rooting around in here for?”

“Ran outta smokes. I know I got a spare pack stashed in here.”

You sigh tiredly, resting your chin on your hand on the counter. “Junk drawer on the right.”

Joel follows your instructions and emerges victorious, waggling the pack in the air. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, pushing yourself off the counter to head back to your slumber.

“Wanna have a smoke with me out back?”

You stare at him blankly for a moment. “I don’t really smoke.”

Joel fixes you with a telling look, eyebrows raised. “Mama’s not home. You wanna have a smoke with me?”

You stand quiet for a pause, but then roll your eyes and tilt your head to the back door in a silent acquiescence. Joel smiles lightly and follows your gesture, slipping a cigarette into your hand as he passes.

The night air is still balmy, but there is a light breeze. You hunker down on the porch steps and Joel flicks his lighter for the both of you.

You’re not a habitual smoker. It’s purely social and for the occasional nerves. Your mom hates smoking, even hates that Joel does it. But she really doesn’t want you to get trapped in it. And as far as she knows, you’ve never had nicotine in your life. She definitely doesn’t know that you’d surreptitiously coerced Joel into offering you your first cigarette at sixteen. On these exact same steps.

You smoke in relative silence for several minutes, the cicadas chirping around you and the wood creaking underneath.

Then, into the dark, “She’s steppin’ out on me.”

You look over at him, legs spread, half-smoked cigarette dangling between them, and looking a little more haggard than you remember seeing him before.

Something about the softness in his face, the puffiness under his eyes, has you looking at him in a more sympathetic light that has nothing to do with the dying glow of the bulb above the doorway.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” you mutter gently. But he’s right and you know it. You don’t know the details, but she’s not being the most subtle about it.

“Don’t want to,” Joel replies, taking another pull from his smoke. “But the signs’ve been there for a while.”

You nod silently in understanding, feeling the burn of the smoke in your throat.

Joel sighs, tendrils of smoke billowing from his mouth. “Happens, I guess. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“Yeah. It’ll blow over,” you agree. Joel doesn’t respond again, just stares out at the overgrown, weed-infested back lawn. You knock your knee against his until you have his attention. You reassure him, “It’ll blow over.”

Joel stares at you for a prolonged minute, then bumps your knee back. A heavy palm falls low onto your bare thigh, stroking gently with a thick thumb. Goosebumps flare up under it immediately, a strange feeling in your stomach ramping up at the graze of him. You blink and take another drag.

Joel’s hand slides off your leg, leaving a bizarre chill in its wake. He pulls himself up and taps out the smoldering butt onto the railing.

“It’ll blow over,” he confirms, pushing open the door and disappearing inside.

Tightness constricts in your chest as you desperately suck down to the filter on your cigarette, jettisoning the smoke into the air pensively.

A lot has changed since you were sixteen.

—

The night had not gone as planned. Six dates and you really thought this would be the one. You knew it would be long distance, but you thought he liked you.

You hadn’t even gone on Tinder with the intent of finding a relationship, but then you went on a few dates and you thought, maybe you could do it. He’s cute, sweet, makes you come and then fucks you well. You had thought this would be the night. The “Will you be my girlfriend” night, not the “This isn’t going to work” night. So you’re fighting back tears as he awkwardly drives you home.

Joel is in his chair, beer in hand, when you walk through the door. You’re really not in the mood, so you beeline it for the hallway.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?” Joel calls after you as you sequester yourself in your room, chuck your heels at your closet, and hurl yourself onto your bed.

Not two minutes go by before a light knock sounds at your door. “You okay, sweet girl?”

“Fuck off,” you yell back at him through the closed door. But the door opens, and Joel is there, leaning against the doorway.

“Date go to shit?”

“How tactful,” you grumble, wringing the pillow in your lap with your hands and dropping your head back against your headboard.

Joel chuckles, but he looks earnest in his interest. “Come on, darlin’. What happened?”

You shrug dismissively, throat thick with your restrained emotions.

Joel knocks on the doorway in an awkward fidget, before ultimately crossing the barrier into your room and sitting on the bed at your feet, looking at you expectantly.

You bite your lower lip, doing your damndest to stave off the tears. “He broke things off.”

“Dumbass,” Joel mutters.

“I’m the dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass. I would know, wouldn’t I?” Joel teases, jostling your foot lightly.

A hint of a smile forms on your face. “Yeah, you would. Dumbass extraordinaire.”

Joel matches your smile with an upturn of the corner of his mouth. He tugs at your ankle. “Come ‘ere.”

You groan, but toss the pillow aside and scoot down the bed next to him, folding your legs to the side in your wrinkled dress. Joel wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him. You sigh and lower your head onto his shoulder.

“It’s fucking stupid, but I liked him,” you say quietly.

“He don’t deserve you,” he says, hugging around your waist.

“Apparently no boy does, at this point,” you sniffle. The scent of Joel fills your nostrils — beer, cigarettes, a thin sheen of sweat. It should be off-putting, but it smells like growing up. Like maturity.

“You’re right. No boy does.”

The arm around you shifts, and once again, a hand. Warm on your thigh. Midway up this time, just below the hem of your dress. You stare down at it, conflicted.

“What do you mean?” You ask, fearing you already know the answer.

“I think you need a man,” Joel rumbles, squeezing at your thigh.

You swallow thickly, unable to look away from the masculine hand clamped onto your leg, a little less than innocently.

“Joel? Where’s my mom?”

When Joel doesn’t reply, you pry your eyes from his hand to study his face. You see his expression and the answer passes between you wordlessly.

She’s not here. You both know where she is. And you both know she won’t be back for a good while.

Joel’s gaze fixes on yours as his hand slips up a single inch, pinky dipping just under your skirt.

“Joel…” you whisper, but you don’t think he quite hears it. His eyes drop down to your mouth and stay there, watch as your tongue flicks over your suddenly very dry lips. “What are you doing?”

A casual smile twitches onto his lips as another inch is lost between him and a ticking time bomb. He just repeats, “You deserve a man.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand closes the distance, dress dragging up your thigh until his pinky brushes the soft fabric of your panties. Your eyes drift closed at the feather-light touch, a war waging in your head.

Joel was not the one meant to discover the type of underwear that’s under this dress tonight. He’s the very last person you expected. As he should be. He’s your stepfather. You’ve overheard him fucking your mother countless times.

Overheard how good he is. How big he is. How thorough he is.

Your leg quivers under his palm, your jaw clenching with the discordance in your mind.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” you say shakily, fingers gripping the sheets under you. “I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Joel’s gaze bounces between your eyes and your lips. Then he gives you a sultry look and speaks the forbidden words.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your fingers dance anxiously as Joel’s pinky grazes up the crotch of your panties again, where you’re terrified he’s going to find you responding favorably to this scenario.

“You want me to keep it a secret from my mother that her husband fucked her only daughter?” You burst out in a single breath. You feel lightheaded and tingly. You can’t parse your thoughts and they’re starting to get crowded.

“Already usin’ the past tense, huh?” Joel says huskily, and you feel his hand burrowing in between your thighs until two fingers press at the seam of your pussy over your underwear. “Seems like your mind’s already made up, sweet girl.”

You whimper quietly, the clouds in your brain growing denser by the second. Then, without ever actively deciding on a course of action, your legs are resituating themselves into a position much less concerned with modesty. Your thighs are spreading with zero input from your critical thinking skills, and a stifled groan slips out of Joel.

“Feels like it, too,” Joel moans, fingers rubbing over what must be a prominent wet spot on your panties.

You release your first moan, and it seems to echo around your room and back into your ears, spearing through the overcast in your head. You finally vocalize what you really should keep inside at this point, but it needs to be said.

“Joel, I-I’m your stepdaughter. Y-you’re my stepfather. We can’t.”

Joel’s nose ghosts up your jaw, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. “Grown woman, aren’t ya? Ain’t my blood, neither.”

“My mom…”

“Your mama ain’t gonna find out. I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell her.”

“I can’t lie to her,” you insist, but your mouth drops open as one of his fingers strokes at the crease of your thigh and your pussy, shaved smooth mere hours ago for your date. His skin on your skin, in a place where it should never fucking be.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” Joel breathes into your neck, and his lips land just after, shoving your concerns to the side. You jump at the stroke of his tongue over your throat, the scrape of his teeth, and all at once you’re slave to it.

You fall onto your back and he follows you down, straddling your hips and cupping your jaw, pushing it upward as he sucks at your neck. If you don’t stop him, he’s going to leave a mark. As if he hasn’t already. The deed is as good as done.

“Joel, be carefu—”

“Don’t call me Joel,” he growls, nipping below your ear.

“What do I call you?”

Joel’s mouth halts on you, exhaling over his saliva on your skin. “Daddy. Call me daddy,” he instructs, latching onto you again.

“Fuck,” you sigh, craning your neck up for his enjoyment. “That’s so fucked.”

Joel’s laugh borders on unhinged as he presses his lips to your ear and whispers, “We’re already fucked. Would be a waste to half-ass it.”

He hooks a finger into the gusset of your underwear and tugs it to the side, and you can sense him watching your expressions as your eyes clench shut in disbelief that this is actually happening, while not even dreaming of telling him to stop.

Air rushes out your chest as a thick finger glides through the folds of your cunt, confirming your arousal with damning evidence.

“Jesus, you’re juicy as a fuckin’ peach, darlin’,” Joel groans, sounding almost pained at the discovery.

“Not the first time. I used to think about you,” you admit, a runaway train, brakes shot. “When I was younger.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that,” Joel moans, forehead pressing against your temple. “Give people the wrong idea.”

“Never telling anyone else. Just you. Besides, I’m all woman now…daddy,” you coo, testing the waters.

“Fuck,” he swears loudly again, another finger joining the first to massage at your clit. “Nasty, naughty girl. You take after your mama.”

You whine and wriggle under him at the comparison, but by some inexplicable, Freudian twist of fate, a distant, previously obscured light in your chest begins to beam. “Keep touching me, daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

“Yes, you will,” Joel says in response. Not like an order or an expectation. But like it’s a given. Like you’d ever behave any other way beneath him. As if he’d known all along, all seven years, that you would end up right here. Disheveled and heartbroken on your twin-sized, pastel pink duvet, with paternal fingers that have biblically, intimately known the inside of your creator, the site of your creation, now acquainting themselves with the life she created.

Do you feel like her? Do you have her lips like you have her mouth? Has this man successfully sown and reaped the benefits of a distressingly similar — kindred — octet of lips? Matching horizontal and vertical smiles all thirsting, parched, yet drooling for him under a single roof? If he closes his eyes, could he tell the difference?

Joel’s breath is at your ear, sending chills over your flesh from head to toe, muddying your mind.

“Take off your dress.”

A full-body shudder wracks through you at the order, a traitorous flood of wetness flowing from your opening as Joel continues to explore you with his touch. You begin shrugging out of your dress straps until steadying fingers cling to your thigh.

Joel pulls your focus with damp fingers perched on the underside of your chin, your own slick marring your skin at the hand of your father figure. Your lip trembles as he commands your attention.

“Stand up. And take it off. For me,” he instructs measuredly, bringing his thumb down to stroke the point of your chin softly.

A burning starts in your throat, like the smolder of one of his cigarettes slipped into your mouth. “Y-you want me to strip for you?”

Joel’s lips slant upwards and he says, “I wanna see everything you have to offer your daddy.”

You nod, the blaze in your throat sizzling to your chest as you long to reveal all you have to him.

You extract from the cage of his limbs to upright yourself, smoothing the line of your dress down to its full length, hitting you mid-thigh. Your hand twists back to capture your zipper, and with torturous patience, you work it downward. Your straps droop down your shoulders with the slack, and you’re quick to wrap an arm around your breasts to prevent too premature an exposure. You get the feeling that a man like Joel appreciates the delay of gratification, if his ask of you putting on a show for him is any indication.

The zipper ends precariously at the top of your ass, the sides of your dress falling open to show the expanse of your back to him along with the band of your bra.

“Fuck,” you hear him say under his breath, the squeak of your mattress springs sounding as he moves behind you into an unknown position on the bed.

You languidly slip your arms from the straps entirely, pressing the dress to your tits for a moment longer before letting the top of the garment fall at the waist, holding it to your stomach instead.

“Just like that, sweetheart. That’s right,” Joel grinds out, the springs squealing again, but this time accompanied by the rasp of a different zipper.

Curiosity, eagerness get the better of you, and you start to turn. But you’re instantly met with a hard, “Uh-uh. Keep lookin’ forward. You’ll get an eyeful soon enough.”

You fix your gaze forward again, struggling to keep up this glacial charade when you have good reason to believe what you long to see is now just behind you. So you bring your hands to the side of your dress and shift it down, bending at the waist to put your ass on display in your lacy thong you’d worn for your date, until the dress at last crumples to the floor.

A low whistle sings behind you as you stay bent for a decent few seconds before standing at full height again. Your fingers fiddle with the clasps of your bra at your back, coming apart with practiced ease. The article hits the floor as well, your tits free to the air and your nipples hardening at the exposure.

“God, you’re such a good girl, aren’t ya? Finish the picture for daddy.”

You whimper, your fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong on either side. With a final flair of showmanship, you shimmy the elastic strap of your panties up and down with a slight sway in your hips, before bending at the waist again as the last stitch of clothing on your body sounds a silent death knell as it hits the carpet of your childhood bedroom.

The air feels thick and weighty as the quiet stretches. You can hear the hum of voices from the television Joel didn’t shut off before he sought to damn the both of you. You could wrestle with the reality that the soundtrack to your irredeemable sin is a King of the Hill rerun, but Joel is still on your bed, and you’re still hands-to-ankles, laying waste to each and every ounce of sense you’ve accrued in your twenty years.

A resounding groan shatters your trance as Joel thrusts you back into the situation at hand. “Fuckin’ Christ,” you hear, and then the loud thump of Joel’s knees crashing to the ground, rough hands startling you as they take hold of your hips. Your palms slam to the carpet to maintain your balance as wet lips suck open-mouthed kisses onto your asscheek.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh loudly, your feet arching onto your tip-toes as the kisses close in on your aching core. Two thumbs part the split of your pussy from behind, and Joel doesn’t waste another second diving in. A large, flattened tongue licks a line up the length of your pussy, clit to entrance, leaving your legs shaking.

Another deep, gratuitous moan rings out, and Joel’s mouth is stroking over you with rigorous passion. Joel comes up for air, but only to take an aggressive bite into the globe of your ass, one sure to leave behind unmistakable, irrefutable physical evidence of exactly who had been there.

It’s foreboding.

But why does it feel like sanctuary?

A tug at your hips, and you’re at last spinning back around to face him.

And his eyes are ravenous. Ruinous.

His mouth descends onto your mound, slobbering up the small strip of hair you left as a guiding path to whoever sought to grant you pleasure.

An almost-boyfriend.

Or a stepfather.

But he goes against the grain, kissing further and further north of your throbbing cunt, over your stomach, up your sternum. Your spit-slick tits find refuge in the confines of his hands, groping, pushing, pulling at them as your nipples drag against his palms.

You manage to steal a glimpse between you, fiending for a sneak peek of that sword he constantly boasts about. He hasn’t revealed much, other than a sizeable bulge and a red, shining head poking out from the band of his boxers. It’s enough to have you imagining what it will feel like inside you, crying out for it to become reality.

His lips claim your neck with purpose as he steers you toward your bed, the backs of your legs giving way and cascading the both of you into a sea of bedding. Your head nestles among your pillows as Joel works his way south again.

Joel looks up at you as he approaches the seam of your pussy. Heated exhales tease at your clit as he says, “You always screamin’ about why your mama keeps me around? Lemme show you why.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to take in the sight of your stepfather’s mouth sinking down onto your pussy and dancing his tongue over the bundle of nerves that has been throbbing for him. The first sucking pull of his mouth on you has your head tipping back in an entirely unhindered moan, and you have to flop it back down, your chin colliding with your chest in your haste to view the bob of his head between your legs.

Joel’s work is impressive to say the least. His tongue drags up and down the length of you, stopping to circle your clit with a pointed tip and suck you back into the wet warmth of him. Your entrance leaks in excessive excitement as he riles you up with gusto, hands framing you at the inside of your thighs and spreading you wide for his consumption.

He breaks away, not allowing himself to go far, to croon over your soaked core, “Such a sweet pussy on such a sweet girl.”

You exhale heavily, browns furrowing in overwhelming pleasure as he directs his attention back to your clit. A finger tests the bounds of your opening, stroking the perimeter of the point of no return.

He knows the outside of you now. He’s familiarized himself with every inch of the surface of your skin, either with his eyes, or with the aid of his mouth. Inside is foreign territory. Inside is unforgivable.

He slides in so easily, it’s like you rolled out a welcome mat and propped open the door. He’s filled you to the webbing of his fingers in a manner of a half-second, and you feel dizzy with it.

Then he’s fucking you with it, and it’s like you’re floating. The grip of your cunt around his finger has him moaning around your clit, sending vibrations throughout your body.

He crooks his finger, stroking at the softest part of you, and you feel yourself unraveling at an alarming pace.

“Daddy…daddy…” you call out desperately, hands thrusting into the sheets to scramble for something to keep you earth-bound.

“You gonna come for me?” Joel says, hovering only for a brief moment above your clit to ensure you maintain your high. “Come on, come for your daddy,” he finishes, diving right back onto your clit and thrusting a second finger into you along with the first, honing in on your blessed g-spot like he had it marked on a map of you from the second he met you.

All said and done, it takes him minutes to bring you to the brink of destruction, where you’re squeezing around his practiced fingers and arching for the sky, screaming exactly what he’d instructed you to call him.

His mouth remains warm and diligent against you as you work through the throes, pulling the full extent of your pleasure to its frayed ends, until you’re pushing him away with trembling hands to get some reprieve.

Joel’s head falls against your thigh as he levels his breathing, soaked fingers streaking your hip. The bed frame wobbles as he starts to grind against the mattress.

“Goddamn. I usually make your mama come at least three times before I even stick my dick inside her. But feelin' how tight your little cunt is clenching on my fingers I’d be a damn fool not to take a test drive right fuckin’ now. One’ll have to be enough.”

You whimper, your legs falling open to accommodate his broadness as he moves up your body. Your fist tugs at his shirt as you say, “Wanna see you too.”

Joel glances down at himself and gives a little wince. “Not nearly as pretty as you are, sweet girl.”

“I don’t care.”

Joel sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “Alright, but you ain’t gettin’ the whole rigmarole,” he says, reaching behind him to grab the back collar of his shirt and pull it over his head, damning it with the rest of your clothes on the floor. His cock is quickly freed of its confines as the godforsaken pile builds, and you get your first real look at him.

And for all the little white lies Joel tells, you have to give him credit. The boasting was not borne of a necessity for overcompensation.

Joel is big.

You should have guessed. In every passing gloat from Joel, your mother has never argued the opposite. She only ever grows embarrassed, smacks him lightly for being crass.

Apparently his doting compliments and pussy-eating prowess are not the only reasons she’s kept him around.

“‘M I what you expected, sweet girl?” Joel asks, his eyes hooded as a hand strokes down the length of himself with a casual, justified pride that only exists in men who are impressively sized and they know it.

The dumbfounded expression on your face refuses to dissipate as you shake your head “no”, followed by a flurry of rapid blinking as you nod your head “yes”. Then a confounded response sputters out, “I-I didn’t know what to expect. You always said…but I didn’t….”

“‘S okay, darlin’. Normal for a girl to go cockdumb when she sees a dick like this for the first time.”

You just nod, a woman possessed by her deepest, darkest desires, regardless of how sick and depraved they may be to the sound mind.

And, god help you, you are not currently of sound mind. Maybe you couldn’t prove that in a court of law, but in your own psyche, you certainly are clearly lacking in the logic sector at the moment.

Joel really has nothing to be concerned with in the looks department. Your eyes are transfixed on one thing only, up until your field of view is robbed of it, replaced by the glassy-eyed lust on Joel’s face as he drapes over you.

“Fuck,” Joel groans, his expression nearly pained as he takes in the enraptured silence of you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t stop thinkin’ about how your mama must’ve felt before she pushed you out. This is the closest I’ll ever get to feelin’ that for myself.”

A whine escapes you as you wrap your arms under the backs of your knees, deliberately spreading yourself as wide as you can for him with blatant intentions. Let him feel it for himself. You’re so hungry for him, you feel fit to burst over it. You’ll be the newer model of her. You’ll be a tight, young hole for him. You’ll give him what she hasn’t been giving him, what you haven’t overheard in weeks from their bedroom.

“Fuck yeah, sweet girl,” Joel moans, positioning his cock at your waiting entrance. “Show me how your mama felt twenty years ago.”

You’re certain your own fall from grace should not feel so heavenly. But the first shove of Joel’s cock inside you toes a line dangerously close to a reckoning. The stretch of your walls around him, the death grip you have on your assured destruction, the fullness he’s wrought upon you nothing short of gluttonous satisfaction.

“Daddy, that’s so good,” you sigh into his ear, and it earns you a rumbling grunt as he bottoms out.

“Jesus, baby,” he moans, burying his face into your neck. “She teach you how to keep it this tight for me?”

She.

He sinks inside you, makes room inside his wife’s daughter for himself, and how thoughtlessly her identity is reduced to…she.

Your breath hitches as Joel pulls out to the head and he slams the full length of him into you, your ankles locking at the small of his back, your wrists around his neck.

You’ve heard Joel’s sex noises countless times before across the hall, muffled by closed doors. He’s an entirely different animal when you’re mainlining his sounds, his words directly into your ear. The scratch of thirty years of cigarettes in his moans, the chant of the devil in his terms of endearment, the authoritative intonation of a guardian.

He beats inside you like a drum, a deafening reverberation, punching air out of your lungs with every punitive thrust. His balls slap against the split of your ass like the muted clap of hi-hat cymbals, keeping tempo for you as your mind drifts away.

Flashes of reality wade through your hedonistic bliss, like they’re desperate to haul you to shore, save you from this entirely avoidable fate, resuscitate your suffocated sanity. Your brain beseeches you to notice your glaringly exposed circumstances. Your bedroom door as ajar as your mouth moaning for him, your window curtains spread wide as your legs, your ceiling light as illuminated as your soul emitting the final streaks of vibrancy before the sun sets at dusk.

You’re recklessly laid bare for Joel and the world around you. A single rogue pair of eyes could end that world as you know it. Your mother could walk through the front door, down the hall at any moment. Even still, your heels dig into his flesh to hold him inside you, your skin yearns for the drag of his hair-spattered potbelly against your soft stomach.

You long to be full of more than just his cock.

Through hiccuping breaths you say, “Come inside me.”

Joel lets out a conflicted keen as the pendulum of his hips swing. “I can’t, baby. We can’t.”

Your fingers tug at his hair as you whine like a child in protest. “I’m on birth control. I promise.”

Joel’s breath grows labored as his orgasm looms over him, a strain in his voice as he wrestles with your pleading request.

“Fuck,” he yells out, his hips stilling inside you as you moan on his cock, high on the prospect of his spend painting your insides with sin.

But you don’t feel him throbbing, pulsing within your walls. He’s not winded and gasping from a climax wrung from your clutch.

“Daddy…?”

“I can’t, baby.”

“Please. I need it inside me.”

Joel groans, but his cock drags free of your pussy, leaving you empty and fundamentally altered. Joel’s hand brushes across your forehead, a boundless devotion in his eyes. “How about I shoot my load inside your mouth, huh? So you can have part of me in your belly. You wanna suck your sloppy cunt off daddy’s cock?”

A broken moan slips out of you as you stare down the layers of what seems a lot like love in his gaze. Maybe more than one kind of love. Something more akin to a convoluted amalgamation of parental, platonic, sexual, worshipful love and affection.

A warm hand cups your cheek and you nod in compliance to his suggestion. Joel’s lips press a kiss against your forehead, leaving a burn in its wake. He takes your hand and leads you off the bed with him. He doesn’t have to ask, you just drop to your knees in a showing of submission.

“You felt how big daddy is. Think you can fit him?”

“I can,” you state assuredly. You take initiative, gripping the base of him and gliding up and down your stepfather’s cock with your own slick.

“You sure? She’s able to take all of it, but it’s a struggle. So be real positive.”

“I can do it,” you say confidently, poising his tip at your mouth.

“Go ahead and show me, then.”

You take him into your mouth and you half expect him to dissolve on your tongue. A Eucharist to tide you over until he spills his wine, heady and white across your supplicant taste buds.

But he’s solid, hefty as he slides deeper, a presence unignorable.

“That’s it, sweet girl. All the way back,” he coaxes, and a whimper seeps out from you around his girth. His hand strokes over your hair in blessing as he knocks at the back of your throat, your face screwing up as your reflexes activate. You stave off the worst of them, eyes watery as they gaze up at him. “Still got more to go.”

You nod as gently as you can, feeling the strain in your jaw.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your face. Loosen you up a bit, okay?”

A greedy noise of approval from you and Joel’s fingers are entwining in your hair, gripping hard enough to pleasantly sting. Your mouth is wet and drooling when Joel pulls your head off of him, until just the tip weighs down your tongue.

“She digs her fingernails into her palm to make it easier. Don’t know if that helps.”

You whimper and glance down at your hand. You’ve already got half-moon crescents piercing the heel of it. Timidly, you open it up to reveal it to him.

A throaty growl fills your ears as he tightens his hold on your hair. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

Like mother, like daughter.

There’s a loud grunt and Joel is fucking into your mouth with little mercy. Your dry lips crack to accommodate the size of him, your cheeks concaving to maximize his sensation, and the back of your throat taking a beating as his head punches the tender flesh with impeccable rhythm.

As your one hand threatens to prick blood under the pressure of your nails, the other seeks to draw it from Joel’s hip. You’re not trying to stop him, or even harm him, but you need him to feel what he’s doing to you. How certifiably insane he has you, a puppet with holes for him to fill and control. You’re a living, breathing creature, but he fucks your mouth like you have no need to breathe at all.

You’d inhale through your nose, but it’s clogged with snot and running in rivulets down to your lips, servicing him with further lubrication for your debasement. The salty wet cascading down your cheeks blurs your vision as you force yourself to maintain precious eye contact with him.

There’s a divine burst of air in your lungs as your head is wrenched from Joel’s cock, and you cough and sputter, willing yourself to suck in the sex-tainted oxygen around you.

Joel’s hand cups your jaw, smearing the mixture of snot, saliva, and tears on your skin. “You’re gonna take me deeper this time. All the fuckin’ way back. Wanna feel your goddamn nose smashed against my belly button.”

You sniffle your congested nostrils, but nod. You’re not sure why you say it, but you whisper, your voice distorted by stuffiness, “Fix me.”

A pitying noise falls from his throat as he slides his thumb into your mouth for you to suck in pacification. “Ain’t nothin’ need fixin’. You just needed a better daddy. ‘N that’s what I’m here for.”

A muted sob puffs around his finger, and you think you might see glistening in Joel’s eyes for a passing second. But he clears his throat and it’s gone, his hand around the base of his cock again and his thumb prying open your mouth.

When the head of him pushes past the block of your throat, Joel’s grunt could probably be heard by the neighbors. Nevermind that where you now stand is in perfect frame of your first floor window, a glowing halo at the side of your house. The alarm on your bedside table blinks 12:35 AM, so the Christensens are likely fast asleep. But although you may have a fence, Douglas and Cheryl have a second floor, where their bedroom window could peer right into yours.

And yet you stay on your knees, unhinging your jaw for the eight, maybe nine, inches of cock your stepfather is feeding down your throat while your mother is absent, getting reamed by her boss or coworker or friend's friend ten miles away. You’re sure the view is remarkable. A perfect, vignetted cameo portrait of familial implosion.

Your mother most certainly did not raise a quitter, that much is evident when the last inch of Joel’s length is seated in your mouth and your nose contorts at the prominent curve of his stomach, just like he wished. Joel’s arms are secured around your head, holding you to his gut in a manner that might be endearing and benign if you weren’t simultaneously choking around his entire cock.

Instead he’s cutting off your air supply and using his unyielding embrace to rutt into your throat in short bursts as you fight not to eject him.

The mess when you resurface is notable. If you were still trapped in that dress, the front of it would be sodden, soaked through with spit. You’re not sure there’s a spot on your face that isn’t coated in some form of your own fluids — the slobber from your mouth smearing over Joel’s hairy abdomen and transferring to your forehead and temples, and even more rivers of saliva dripping onto the carpet.

You feel debauched and torn apart, and you still croak, “Again.”

Nails in your palms do nothing for you now. You've already crucified yourself.

Once he’s buried deep again, he secures the back of your head with a single arm, and then you feel the breadth of his other hand around your throat.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” Joel groans out, nearly as wrecked as you’ve been all evening. “Can feel my cock in there.”

Joel’s hips move in staccato jabs, just to feel the glide of his fat head demolishing your throat through the skin of your neck pressed against his hand. If you hadn’t tapped rapidly at his hip, gasping for air, you fear he may have been content to die there.

You collapse onto your hands and knees, rasping and pulling air into your deprived lungs, cheek colliding with the dampened carpet as you catch your breath.

“What a fuckin’ trooper. You are a one-of-a-kind wonder, sweet girl,” Joel pants out, hands on his knees and his cock angry and purpling as it bobs and jerks in denial of its orgasm.

Through your slouching to find your breath, you smile.

“Let’s give you a little break, huh? Come and give daddy’s balls a little kiss.”

He clasps a hand on your bicep, helping you back up onto your knees as you regain composure. You’re a bit wobbly, but you ground yourself with hands on his thighs, resting your forehead just to the side of the root of him. Your tongue lolls out and swipes up his sack in a languid stroke.

Joel hums his approval above you, his hand reclaiming its place on the back of your head lightly. With his guidance you dip down, slipping one of his balls into your mouth as he moans out praises.

His balls are large and lush with hair, on par with the rest of him. They hang low, dangling inches down into the space between his thighs. You cradle them in your hand as you caress them with your tongue, sinuses slowly draining as his concentrated musk penetrates your nostrils, filling your olfactory senses with him. You pop one of his balls out of your mouth to pamper the other in equal measure.

Joel begins to pull at his cock with long, tempered strokes. “Fuck, that’s right sweet girl. Treat ‘em real gentle. Might have a little brother or sister in there.”

You whine as you widen your mouth, succeeding in fitting the pair of them inside thanks to your sufficiently stretched jaw, properly warmed up from his dick.

“Shit,” Joel says, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice as he gasps, branding at the waist slightly at the overwhelm of your hot mouth encasing him. “‘F that greedy pussy ever clamps around me again like this filthy mouth is…might even be a son or daughter in there too.”

You moan a little too passionately at that, your mouth packed full of possibilities, and Joel’s hips jolt forward at the sensation, a pleasurable noise of his own spilling out.

“Jesus, can’t moan when I say shit like that. You’re gonna make me…” Joel groans again flexing around his cock. “Gonna have to hit it from the back next time. ‘Lot easier to not just blow my load up that cunt when I don’t got you lookin’ up at me with them puppy dog eyes, beggin’ your daddy to come inside you.”

Next time.

How do you feel about a next time?

You don’t even know what’s going to greet you come daylight.

Joel’s fingers yank on your hair as your mouth works dutifully on his balls, finally saying, “Fuck, daddy needs to come, sweet girl.”

He slips from your mouth, but it opens again for him instantly as he starts to jack himself in earnest. He lays the trickling head on your tongue as he grunts and gasps, and you raise a hand to tease at his balls, squeezing them tenderly as you see his eyes roll in response.

“Fuck, fuck, open up for me, little mama,” he groans, signaling the first thick burst of spend shooting to the back of your raw throat. Joel growls his way through his climax, rope after never-ending rope of come pooling on your tongue until it overflows the corners of your lips and down your chin and neck.

Joel swears as his pulses slow to a stop, taking the tip of his cock and dragging it over the puddle of him on your tongue, spilling more from your mouth and down your tits. “Good girl,” he pants, finally withdrawing his dick. “Swallow for daddy.”

You obey eagerly, pushing all he gave you to the back of your throat to join where the rest of him had already been. You present your clean tongue, preening slightly, and Joel returns a sleepy, immensely proud grin.

There’s a scraping at the front door, and you both dart your heads to the open doorway.

“Shit!” Joel bites out panicked under his breath, shattering what you both have built as he bolts out the door, pulling yours shut as well as his own in his marathon back to the bedroom he shares with your mother.

You hear the front door open and you’re snapped out of your daydream of a night, lunging for your light switch to kill any suspicions of you being conscious. You flatten your hands against the back of your door, pressing an ear to the wood as you stifle your breathing.

You hear the noise on the television cut to silence, then footsteps. The door across the hall squeaks open and…nothing, save for the faint sound of fabricated snoring. You hear your mother sigh, the two thumps of her heels kicking off, and then, “Might as well be right where I left you.”

A stretch of silence, then you hear the low hum of her voice in a string of words that sounds like, “‘F I could, I’d probably just leave you altogether.”

You hear her feet padding down the hall, then the snick of the fridge in the kitchen.

As quiet as you possibly can, you twist the handle of your door and peek through a small gap. Joel lays naked on his stomach on top of their sheets, back rising and falling with his breath, facing you as his head dents his pillow on the bedside closest to the door.

The protector’s side.

And as silent as you tried to be, you see Joel’s eyes squint open directly at you as your door opens. You stare each other down, and you feel your heart begin to pound.

When your lip starts trembling, you close the door.

It’s not until you’re nestled under your covers that you realized what he had called you when he’d come across your tongue.

—

The morning comes uneventful, despite your entire world shifting on its axis. A normal Saturday. You exit your room just as your mother is tidying the kitchen table of breakfast and Joel is starting up the shower in their bedroom.

“Mornin’, blossom. You want some eggs?”

She seems as chipper as ever, scraping off plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Uh, no. Thanks,” you dismiss, heading straight for the couch and curling up as you grab the remote.

She joins you shortly after, folding her legs up under her in a frightening mirror of your own.

“I’m sorry about that boy, sweet pea.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking away from the TV to observe her.

“J told me about what happened with the boy. He’s definitely a dummy.”

“Oh,” you say once you realize what she’s talking about. Truth be told, you haven’t spared that boy a second thought since Joel wrapped his arm around you last night. “It’s whatever. Boys come and go, right?”

“Some of ‘em stay,” she says, glancing down the hall to the sounds of the shower.

You follow her gaze, undoubtedly battling the dissonance in her head of what she’d done last night, and who was waiting for her back at home.

Only she doesn’t know that he wasn’t up pacing over her. He wasn’t waiting for her at all. And it might just be in your own head, but you hope he was maybe the slightest bit…disappointed at the sound of the front door.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking that.

You see the confliction swimming in her eyes, and you place a hand over hers.

“But some of them aren’t going to stay forever if you’re giving them a good reason to leave, mom.”

Her eyes meet yours, tears brimming and threatening to break. “How do you…?”

“You could see it from space, mom. And he can too.”

She brings a knuckle to her waterline, dabbing at the tears before they can fall and muddy her mascara. She sniffles and shrugs with a raised hand, letting it fall back down in a helpless gesture.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, sweet pea,” she says, letting out a small, pitiful sob. You clasp your hand over hers and squeeze, feeling your own eyes begin to prick at seeing your mother choked up. “You ever…like you get so comfortable, things are goin’ so good, that you start to get anxious? And before you know it…you’re…you’re sabotagin’ yourself. Throwin’ stones, tearin’ down everythin’ that ever brought you a lick’a happiness. Like…like you need to destroy it before it destroys you?”

A lump forms in your throat as she speaks, and you clench your hand a little harder than you intend to. It hits you pretty hard, the reality of it all. Joel is in the shower, washing your dried spit and slick from his cock. Maybe even with your mother’s soap. Wiping away what didn’t already rub off on their shared sheets.

“Yeah, mom,” you say, your throat scratchy from more than just the emotional influx. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The memories come back in succession. Joel’s hand on your bare thigh. Your dress dropping to the floor. Coming on his mouth, his fingers. His cock pushing inside for the first time. His hand feeling his length down your throat. His spend dribbling from your lips.

You deserve a man.

Good girl.

Swallow for daddy.

Why did you do it? That safety, that security Joel has been for you since you were a teenager. The reliable presence, always sitting in that chair three feet to your right. Sipping his beer, spilling on the remote, losing potato chips in the couch cushions.

It’s all twisted up now with memories of his naked body, his satanic tongue and devilish grin, the stretch of his cock that you’ve now felt inside you — still feel inside you, if you’re honest. The soreness persists in the entrance of your pussy, the wall of your cervix, the column of your throat. Evidence of your betrayal to the one who gave you life.

She granted you breath, and you used it to moan “daddy” beneath her husband. Allowed him to take that breath from you as you gagged on the very flesh that makes your mother gasp his name in the sanctity of their marriage bed.

Maybe your mother desecrated it first, but he and you…he and you incinerated it. Rolled around and fucked in the ashes.

She may have gathered her train, lifted her dress for someone else. But the veil hasn’t been removed yet. And you’re nowhere near ready to admit to her that she no longer has somewhere to sleep. She can remain blind for now.

A tear finally drips free down your cheek.

“Yeah, mama. You…you have no idea. How well I know.”

A watery smile crosses her face and she leans toward you, cupping your face in her hands. “We’re gonna be okay, blossom. We get through shit, don’t we? Can’t take us down.”

You nod in her hands, the lump in your throat closer to a golf ball now. “Yeah, mama.”

She strokes the plush of your cheek, wiping at your lone tear track. Then something captures her interest, and she draws back, tilting her head.

“You let him do that to you before he dumped you?”

You furrow your brows, unable to follow her line of sight where it lands at your neck. “Let him do what?”

“Got a hickey the size of Texas there, sweet pea,” your mother giggles, brushing her thumb over your throat.

Your stomach lurches, your eyes masking panic. You’d flown too close to the sun. Reckless, stupid, irresponsible. Let him defile your skin with nicotine-yellowed teeth and a thick, adulatory tongue.

It’s written on your face, on your neck, plain as day. How does she not know? How does she not see?

Because her only daughter, a child sprung from her womb when she was just a mere child herself, would never do that to her. An act so treasonous is unthinkable. Laughable. Not worth a fleeting thought.

To her.

To you…that very thought has been brewing since you were fourteen, alone in your room, the pads of your fingers pruned and your mutinous mind alive.

What if it wasn’t her? What if it was me? What would he say to me?

You deserve a man. Good girl. Swallow for daddy.

Your mother just smiles, oblivious to the context of her observation and the wretchedness within you.

“It’s okay! Nothin’ a little makeup can’t cover, huh?”

Your palms sweat as you nod.

“Come on,” she says, gripping your hand in hers as she stands, guiding you along with her. “I’ll help you. It’ll be like old times when I used to give you makeovers.”

You are hyper-aware of the slickness of your hand in hers.

She has to know, she has to know, she has to know.

But she doesn’t.

Words jam in your ravaged throat, no longer loosened by your stepfather’s brutal misconduct, as you silently follow after her into her room. She ushers you on the bed as she gathers her makeup from her vanity.

She sits beside you, smiling as she begins to tap concealer onto the bruise. “Cover it up, and it’s as good as gone. Never gotta see the boy who gave it to you again.”

You nod again lightly, your eyes falling closed as she pats at your skin. The shower turns off in the bathroom, and the sickness in your stomach roils again.

He’s washed you off now, smelling of her eucalyptus shower steamers. He bears no marks. He shares no burden. Honor by marriage is not honor by blood.

Hence why your mother’s affair can blow over. It can be fixed. Swept under the rug, forgiven in confessionals and late-night whispers during love-making.

But betrayal like this? Of daughter to mother at the hands of a father and husband? That’s Armageddon. And you didn’t pay much attention in church growing up, but you listened enough to know…the apostates are destined to lose.

Rummaging noises bleed from the bathroom, and your mother glances toward the door.

“Joel Miller, you stay in that bathroom for a minute. We’re havin’ a mother-daughter bondin’ moment in here,” she calls out to him with a broad grin, loud enough for him to hear it through the closed door.

Bonding. Oh, yes, you’re very bonded now.

“Should just attach you two at the hip while we’re at it,” he calls back. “You share damn near everythin’ with each other.”

You can't decide if he said that on purpose. If he’s twisted enough to joke about your circumstances to your mother’s naïve listening ear, or if he really is just a dense-headed dumbass, ignorant of the magnitude of his words and actions.

Regardless of how he meant it, the blush pink gossamer blur smoothing over the events from last night is beginning to slip away, the images sharpening each passing moment that you spend with your mother. What your mind was attempting to bang down your door over, grabbing hold of your thoughts to try and thrust you into reality, is finally coming into focus.

You can’t come back from this.

And what was it all for?

The sun shines through the open drapes of the window onto your mother’s back as she smiles and shakes her head at Joel’s comment, the shade cast over you shifting gently with her movement. She rolls her eyes in good-natured jest as she unknowingly conceals the mark of the devil on your neck.

Both her devil and your own.

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[summerssover]

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐱 ⊹ ִֶָ ❲ 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 ❳

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘, in which you and chris make soft porn in the bathtub

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆, sub!reader x softdom!chris, blackfem!influencer

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒, SMUT!, super fluffy, riding, creampie, praise kink, filming, fingering, p in v

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𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙖𝙥𝙥 𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙝!

hey loves i’m back for the summer, this was so cute to me make sure to show it some love and let me know if you want to be on the taglist <3

▐ 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋’ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑

𓏲 🥭🐚 𓂃 ✦ 🌺

“what time am i supposed to be picking you up?”

“uh, i don’t know maybe tomorrow”

“kay, don’t forget to wrap it up kid”

“get outta’ here matt..”

chris chuckled as matt drove off, leaving him to walk to his girlfriend’s porch. you had texted him earlier about it being a content day and needing help with filming, obviously he was quick to accept the offer considering your line of work; you were an only fans influencer. you’d upload videos of yourself masterbating and a couple streams here and there, but your content mostly consisted of clips from you and chris; it was what got you the most views after all.

chris pulled his key out of the door before locking it back and walking into the dim and spotless family room.

“babe!”

he announced himself in the house but got no answer. walking around the living room and the kitchen, chris called for your name again and still no answer so he progressed to the stairs. the closer he got to the second story, the more he could hear faint whimpering coming from the bedroom.

he soon opens the door to reveal you, completely naked, hovering over the bed with knees staked into the mattress and a pillow under your pulsating cunt. chris lets out a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding as he watched you glide your needy pussy along the pink satin pillowcase.

going at it for quite some time now you begin to build up your climax and throw your head back at the sensation you were getting. the feeling didn’t nearly match how your man would put it on you but it would do for now. suddenly you could feel the presence of another, head still dangling upward and overdramatized moans filling the room. the warmth got closer causing your eyes to shoot open and an upside-down chris gazing at the water-like movement of your ass with a cheshire cat smile.

“m’ baby, how long have you been standing here?” you tossed your legs to the side of the bed and went to stop the video before catering to your flustered boyfriend, showering his face and neck with tiny kisses.

chris allowed his ice cold hands to scoop you up before roaming freely around the plush of your skin, soaking up all your love and tenderness. “i wanna’ to be greeted just like that from now on, every time i step foot in this house i better see some ass.”

you brushed chris’ childish joke off and wrapped your arms around his neck. “no seriously, how much were you in? you know i’ll have to cut it out.”

“quite whining ma, we’re gonna’ get you some even better shit today right?” you cracked a smile at chris as he slyly smirked back at you. he was lucky you didn’t get to your orgasm in that clip or you might’ve actually been mad, but for now you’d let his puppy eyes win.

“let me see how wet you are baby.” he said under his breath and with no hesitation reached between your legs to pick at the soak string of fabric buried inside your pussy then stuffing two fingers in.

“ugh—” chris pulled his fingers out of you just as fast as he put them in and shoved them in your mouth, cutting off your whines and forcing you to suck up the slick. his index and middle finger rested in your mouth as you swirl your tongue around them, thoroughly getting a taste of your juices.

chris’ pants went extremely tight and he poked his cheek with his tongue and a smirk playing on his lips, absolutely loving how freaky you’d get in filming mode, it turned him on embarrassingly fast.

pulling his fingers from your mouth and making his way to your bed he asked “how was your day mama, you eat good?”

chris investigated his girl, now laying belly up on your bed with you following, laying arched over his crotch area.

“my day was fine, i did a little shopping earlier, not gone lie i haven’t ate in a minute though”

“you wanna’ get some food after we’re done?” you nod while chris takes your head in his hands to connect his lips to your forehead.

“and how was yours, my love?” you melted into his body as he pulled you closer.

“fucking boring, matt peer pressured me into cleaning with him. i was thinking about you all day though.”

your heart melted at his words and chris softly rubbed the small of your exposed back, occasionally touching your dermal piercings while the two of you conversatated above a faint whisper until you noticed the time was whining down.

snuggling deeper into chris’ neck you lightly groaned. “i don’t wanna’ move”

“fucked yourself out huh?” chris silently snickered at the way you clung your body to his, knowing well enough that you were tired from how clingy your actions were. he ran his fingers along the spinal groove of your back and whispered into your ear. “laying around s’ not gonna’ pay you anything”. a tingle played on your cheeks and core at the rasp of his lowered voice. choosing to ignore it you only responded with yet another groan.

“i’ll tell you what, let me do all the work and you sit there n’ look pretty” chris offered out of generosity and partially for his own enjoyment. your face lit up

in a split second and you brought your head to look at his. “you want to be in a video?” you exclaimed with a toothy grin, normally he was the one recording here.

“i mean i don’t really consider myself porn star material but i’m cool with the neck-down”

you squealed with excitement. you’ve always respected your boyfriend's wishes in regards to keeping him off of your platform, obviously your audiences didn’t mix, but deep down you’ve always wanted chris to fully be in one of your amateur films, knowing it would do numbers and make tons of money.

“here lemme’ make you a bath” chris gently scooted you off his lap, dragging your damp cunt across his clothed leg in the process, making your breath to hitch. you watched from the bed as he made his way into your connected bathroom and slipped his shirt off before turning the faucet to warm then pouring some lavender body wash in the tub. his sweats followed after, hitting the ground allowing his dick to spring up and collide with his lower abdomen.

leaving the soap and water to fill the bath and backtracking to you, he began to take the remainder of your clothing off and took one of your hair bows that resided on his wrist to pull your fresh blow out into a ponytail.

once the pair stood in front of the half empty bathtub chris was the first to sit in the lukewarm water then pulling you in to straddle his waist. your phone had been propped up on the bottle of soap he used to fill the water, giving the audience a perfect view of both your bottom halves and the overhead lights were set to dim.

“you ready ma?” he whispered ever so gently, making sure the camera wouldn’t pick up his voice even though it was a known fact that chris was in a relationship with a cam girl. you nodded your head in response, giving him the green light to touch you the way he’d been wanting to. leaning his back on the wall of the tub chris lifted your ass to the air and began to run his rugged fingers through the maze that is the folds of your pussy. he peeked over your shoulder and gazed into the phone screen to get a glance at your glistening heat as he felt you clenching around him, encouraging him to rub a little harder. you softly moaned in his ear and laid your head on his shoulder as he did his thing.

taking the pad of his thumb to your clit he circled it around while his hand that held you up traveled to your ass also applying slow strokes before sending it a sting.

“ugh chr—” chris cut off your whimpers, smashing his pillowy lips into yours before you could disclose his name. your back arched and chris removed his thumb leaving space for your puffy bud to press against his stiffened shaft. chris proceeded to bury two fingers in knuckles deep in your needy hole, plunging and curling inside you. as if it was a reflex you rhythmically grinded on chris’ cock earning a growl from his pouting lips and breaking the long winded make out. the couple took this time as a breather before chris connected your lips once more and returned to sending rapid strokes to your sweet spot. you lifted off of his fingers a bit with a scrunched face and a wide mouth, echoing shrieks bouncing off the walls. your nails dug intensely into chris’ red flesh as your juices began to trickle down his fingers and dripped into the water.

as you basked in your high chris pulled forth his bricked cock to replace his cum covered fingers, granting himself a taste prior to forcing them into your mouth for you to suck the excess off.

“good fucking girl” chris grunted through his teeth while he tried to not cream at the sexy sight in front of him. your head tilted up as chris slowly pulled out of your mouth and sank you down to rest on his dick, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and squeeze against every inch of girth he had to offer. both of you panted as you tightly hugged each other's bodies and chris littered passionate kisses along your neck and shoulders, the hickies left behind going unnoticed by you. you rolled your hip, stretching yourself around him even more as chris’ lips traveled to peaks of your breast while a free hand messaged the other.

his cock throbbed desperately need to be in your gut and he released pathetic whimpers at your teasing antics. it was only a matter of time before he could feel pre cum seeping from his tip and tensions building up before having to handle you himself. rough hands roped and squeezed at your ass, guiding you to bounce up and down on his dick causing your head to fly back and growls and moans to escape your mouths.

“f-fuck feels so good, baby” your praises came out choked and choppy by the way chris pounded you at a now rapid pace and hummed in response. he was mesmerizing at your boobs that moved freely in his face, sparkling beautifully from the water and saliva that coated them. at this point his groans were just as loud as yours and his eyes were rolled to the back of his head. you screamed out and grabbed the shaggy, damp hair on the back of chris’ head while the camera captured prominent white rings forming around the base of his dick. the coil in your belly sprung a euphoric sensation throughout your whole body before you stood on your knees and chris’ dick slipping out of you with a pop of the head. globs of milky essence came gushing along the sides of his dick colliding with his spewing out the tip and painting your messy walls white.

you collapsed your upper body on chris’ chest and drool slid down the corner of your mouth. and chris whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you both finally got a hold of your breathing. chris lifts your head from his chest, brush bits of hair from your face that once was straightened but now texturized due to the humidity of the bathroom. “you still with me, mama?” he chuckled, half of him joking and the other half making sure you didn’t actually black out, it was hot as fuck in that bathroom.

your eyes fluttered open and a soft grin rose on your lips.

“you deserve a metal or some shit, that was too good”

chris just shook his head and smiled then wiped the drool from your chin before releasing you to retrieve your phone. crawling back to your spot between chris’ legs you played around on the camera making funny faces and posing while chris kissed all over the red and purple bruises along your skin.

“y’all my boyfriends dick is magical, comment down below if you want to be next” you squished his cheeks together making his face turn flushed.

“okay” he spoke flusteredly, dismissing the nonsense that left your mouth and ending the recording. “c’mon i wanna’ take a shower now”

so much for hiding his identity.

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩!- @worldlxvlys @ariieeesworld d @muwapsturniolo @esioleren @sturn59 @junnniiieee07 @iluvmattyb @kriissy4gov @patscorner @imsosillygoofylol @sturncakez @sturnzsblog @mattslolita

#˖ ࣪ 🥭⋆˚࿔ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x black reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nathan doe x reader #black writers #matt sturniolo x black reader #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #x black reader #SoundCloud

[jackhues]

it's not hate... | oscar piastri

note: okay so i was bored and i got a random inspiration i hope y'all like this <3 i think this will have 3/4 parts, but they might be split up if i reach the picture limit.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader, logan x best friend!reader, one sided!enemies to lovers

faceclaim: various, from pinterest

youruser & logansargeant

liked by y/bffsuser, oscarpiastri, yourmomsig & others

youruser: gang's back together 🤘

pinned youruser: welcome back to america @/logansargeant glad you could join us! -> user: i love how she seems sarcastic but i know babes is so happy he's back

user: logan living out his frat dreams

user: this would be logan daily if he didn't go into racing

user: wait i'm confused... who's this? -> user: y/n y/ln! from what we know, her and logan are best friends since they were born or something. she finished her undergrad, but i think she's doing law school now (?)

user: i ship -> user: ew

y/bffsuser: not pictured is the entire drink falling out -> logansargeant: it wasn't my fault! she moved her head -> youruser: yeah okay, blame the woman -> logansargeant: i blame when she's wrong. and you are. -> user: stop they're so sibling

yourmomsig: aw no one posted the pic of y/n falling off the bed during the fight -> youruser: MOM! -> logansargeant: i tried but she stole my phone -> user: well we know who the favorite child is now

y/bffsuser: @/yourprivuser no photo creds -> user: IS THAT Y/N'S PRIVATE USER???!!! I NEED TO BE ACCEPTER NOWWW this comment thread has been deleted

oscarpiastri has requested yourprivuser!

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y/bffspodcast

liked by user, user, oscarpiastri & others

y/bffspodcast: surprise episode out now! take a listen for exclusive deets on logan's love life, his best friends, and the time he almost became a dad to a baby crocodile

tagged: logansargeant

user: i'm sorry, logan did WHAT NOW?

user: A CROCODILE?? -> user: well he does live in florida

user: it's a crime that y/n and oscar haven't met before. i need the irl best and the f1 bestie to get together and spill tea on logan -> oscarpiastri: well we might have to change that this weekend -> user: OSCAR??!! PLEASE DO IT! I BEG!

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Y/BFFS PODCAST - TRANSMISSION timestamp: 4:40-8:23

y/bff: i mean, you've known y/n your whole life, right?

logan: my whole life, yup. like, i was maybe only a few hours old when i saw her for the first time. you already know this, but like we have the same birthday, december 31st 2000. and we're also born at the same time, in the same hospital, literally right across the hall from each other.

YB: same time? like seriously? how did i not know that?

LS: *laughs* i mean, same time. down to the minute, at least. it's why we call each other 'twin', we're born at the same time. and like our parent knew each other and joked that we might be born on the same day... little did they know

YB: *laughing* that's insane. oh my gosh, and you guys have just been best friends since then. i love that. i assume you're the one who's got all the younger high school stories about her. i got some college ones, but you have the real gold mine, don't you?

LS: i've got my fair share of our insane stories, yeah

YB: mind sharing one?

LS: i'm trying to think of one that's not absolutely insane... oh okay! so one time, we were in the pool, it was summer, and then y/n just stops trying to murder me with the pool noodle and goes still. i'm confused as hell, so i'm trying to see what she's doing but she tells me to shut up. she's watching the bushes around the pool, so i swim to the edge of the pool next to her, and the two of us are just watching the bushes. i have no idea what's going on, but y/n's waiting for something. and then, a baby croc starts walking out of it, and it's so small, but like it's mom was nowhere. we didn't know what to do. and y/n *laughs* y/n goes, "oh we have to adopt it". i'm like what? but she just start spiraling "oh we're his parents now. he just saw us. what if the mom died? i don't know how to feed a baby croc? but i have to learn, it's my baby croc now." finally she calms down, and we get everything sorted out, but she cried when we had to leave the baby crocodile. adopted it and all within three seconds of seeing it

YB: *laughing* i'm dead, oh my god that sounds like her though. that's so fucking funny, she made you a crocodile dad!

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Y/N ADJUSTED HER SUNGLASSES, the Miami sun nearly blinding her as she walked towards the paddock. Next to her, her racer best friend, Logan Sargeant, nearly skipped along next to her. She could feel his excitement at being able to race so close to home again, and it honestly helped lift her own spirits.

Logan smiled and waved at some cameras and fans nearby, grinning brightly and taking the time to stop and sign some stuff. Once the fans had trickled away, Logan made his way back to his best friend, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked, turning his head away from the cameras so they couldn't read his lips.

"I'm great," she promised.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he reminded her. "We can say you were sick, or you weren't feeling well, or you just forgot, or-"

"-That I have diarrhea?" Y/N grinned a little. "You know, all of your solutions to this thing seem to involve me just running away or ignoring it."

"I mean, it's how you take on most of life," he shrugged.

"I've never felt more called out in life," she rolled her eyes. "Look, we've got a plan. I head over to the garage first, take a few pics, then say 'oh I have to go. I haven't even been to Williams' garage yet'. I've got this Logie, I promise. Besides, I don't even hate him. If I did, there would be a lot more violence threatened and swearing involved. I also would've blocked him."

Logan didn't look necessarily convinced, but he didn't argue either. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "If you need anything, send me a 911 text. I'll be on standby the entire time, I swear."

Y/N smiled at the boy, waving goodbye as she dropped him off to the Williams garage.

"I know you'll be there," she smiled. "It's what we do. Be there for each other."

MEANWHILE, IN THE MCLAREN GARAGE, the Aussie driver was pacing back and forth, turning back to the entrance every few seconds.

"Yeah, great job at being subtle, Osc," Lando Norris, his teammate, commented sarcastically. "Who're you even waiting for?"

"Y/N," Oscar answered simply.

Normally, he'd engage in banter with his Brit teammate, but he was too nervous to give answers longer than a few words. He was finally going to see Y/N, in person. Not on the other side of a screen, not a flash of hair that ran away too quickly, not a caller ID he'd see on Logan's phone all too often. After all these years, he was finally going to be able to see her, face to face.

He had to admit, he did seem a little pathetic trying to contact her. But the DM he'd sent years ago on her public account had never gone through. And he'd left it, thinking maybe they weren't meant to know each other, simply to know of each other.

But then he'd seen her private instagram, with so few followers, he knew that she wouldn't be able to miss it. But maybe she didn't use it, or maybe it was an old account, but he had no luck on that account either.

He finally mustered the courage to ask Logan for her number and just reach out. He was surprised and a little shocked she said yeah, but he was in too deep now to change his mind.

"Oooh, who's Y/N?" Lando teased. "Is she a girlfriend?"

Oscar whipped his head towards his teammate, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Why are you a literal child?" he asked. "Y/N's a friend. Well, she's a friend of Logan's. His best friend. And everyone found out the two of us never met each other, and they went crazy saying we have to meet and whatnot. So I invited her here to take a few pictures."

Lando tilted his head, almost as if he was dissecting the truth behind Oscar's words.

"Logan? Logan Sargeant's best friend? Her name's Y/N?"

"Yes, Lando. And everyone says I'm his best friend in racing, so we have to meet or something."

"Alright, I believe you," Lando decided. "Call me when she gets here, I want to take pictures with her too."

"Sure," Oscar answered nonchalantly.

Turns out, there was no need to call him over, because a second after he'd said that, she walked in.

Oscar stared at her as she looked around the garage, her eyes drinking in just how different it was from the Williams' garage that she was used to.

Lando made a noise between a snort and a laugh, causing Oscar to glare at him.

"No, nothing," Lando nodded to himself, ignoring Oscar's silent question. He cupped his hands over his mouth, shouting across the garage, "Y/N!"

Her head whipped over to the sound of her name, her posture relaxing the slightest bit as she realized it was only Lando and Oscar and not some random person. She didn't exactly know them, never even met them, but she knew enough of them to be a little comfortable.

She smiled slightly as she reached them, "Hey. How are you guys?"

Lando looked to Oscar, who simply stared at Y/N, before decided to take the reigns. "We're good, thanks for asking. I'm Lando, my friend here is Oscar, and I assume you already know that."

"Yeah, I watch enough F1 to know that," she smiled, falling into easy conversation with the Brit.

"Well it's nice to know you didn't take an invitation from a man who's name you didn't know," Lando joked. "That's what I call important information."

"I went a step further and made sure he was known by a friend of mine," Y/N continued the banter. "My best friend." She turned to acknowledge Oscar, "Logan spoke highly of you for a long time now. It's nice to finally be able to meet you."

"Yeah, same," he nodded. "I mean, Logan's spoke a lot about you too. All the time. He still does. It's nice to meet you too."

Oscar resisted the urge to close his eyes and curse himself out.

Y/N didn't seem to mind his stuttering and stumbling. In fact, her posture seemed to straighten out a bit, and her smile turned a little bit more warm.

She was beginning to realize that no matter how bad Logan had gotten it, Oscar was human too. He was new to this, and he probably had someone defending him the way she defended Logan. Maybe she was a little harsh on him. She just didn't like how it wasn't fair.

It was why she wanted to be a lawyer. She wanted to try and make things fair for people.

But in defending Logan with her entire heart and soul... she was being unfair to Oscar. She could try and be nice. It's only for a few minutes. After that, she could go back to avoiding him.

"So, how do you wanna do the pictures?" Y/N asked. "We should get them done now, I might have to leave early if my laptop doesn't work. I have a few assignments due."

"Right, yeah," Oscar nodded. "We can- uh-"

"The lighting's nice over there," Lando pointed out. "I'll take the picture of you guys."

"You don't wanna be in it?" Y/N asked.

"No, I'm alright," Lando smiled. "Unfortunately, I'm not best friends with Logan, unlike you two. Besides, I'm pretty good with a camera."

Y/N frowned at the reminder that Lando was one of the drivers who wasn't friends with Logan. She quickly fixed her expression, but Oscar noticed (only because he'd has his eyes on her ever since she entered). He was tempted to ask her about it, but she smiled and his brain froze up.

"Alright then, let's take the picture."

--

youruser

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, y/bffsuser & others

youruser: miami, you were fun 🤍

tagged: logansargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri

pinned youruser: to my haters: fuck you, i'm always proud of logan. no matter what. i chose him as my best friend and i'll choose him again every time. i'm just sad y'all have never loved someone so much to understand what it means to always be proud of them, no matter any outcome. he's my best friend, my brother, and the outcome of race isn't going to change that

pinned youruser: i heard there was a logan's besties meet up @/oscarpiastri -> oscarpiastri: oh yeah, did you end up making it? -> youruser: swipe to find out!

landonorris: same time next race 👀👀 -> youruser: wanna do my class for me?? -> landonorris: i will understand nothing. -> oscarpiastri: as if you understand anything ever -> landonorris: all grown up now, are you? -> oscarpiastri: shut up

mclaren: it was a pleasure having you stop by! next time, you should stay for longer! -> williamsracing: stop stealing her from us

williamsracing: loved having you around for the weekend!

alex_albon: wowwww, i didn't even make the cut this weekend -> youruser: all the pics i took of you were 0.5s -> alex_albon: thanks for showing some mercy

user: stop she looks so pretty

user: logan bestie meet up... but where's logan? -> user: getting attacked by a haas in his home race -> user: oof

user: TELL EM GIRL!

user: i want what she and logan have. like they'd DIE for each other

oscarpiastri: it was great to finally meet you! hopefully it's not the last time either -> user: boy please TRY to be subtle

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notes: i hope y'all liked this, don't forget to like + reblog! alsoo... comment on this part (not any others) if you want to be tagged, i might not respond but i'll add you to the taglist if you comment.

but my tags don't always work, so you might want to follow my writing tag 'naqia writes!' or the tag for this short series 'the bsf of my bsf! series' so they show up on your dash at some point :)

#naqia writes! #the bsf of my bsf! series #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #lando norris #williams racing #mclaren f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri instagram au #formula one racing #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x you #f1 2024 #logan sargeant!best friend #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x you #formula one fanfiction #formula one x y/n #miami gp 2024

[satorusugurugurl]

Aloe Vera

Summary: When on vacation with your boyfriend, things are great, the drinks, the sex, and the pool. What wasn't great, was the sunburn? But you're dating the strongest sorcerer of the modern age! He’ll take good care of you!

Characters: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,408

Warnings: language, sunburn (please wear sunscreen!) fluff~!

A/N: As someone who lives in the desert, this happens a lot. My S.O was sweet enough to rub aloe on me last week, thus my muse!

“Oooh fuck me.” You whine, shuffling into the bathroom. “Fuuuuck me.”

Satoru is right behind you, towel wrapped around his neck, sunglasses pushing his bangs out of his face. “I told you to put on sunscreen! But nooo, somebody stayed by the pool because someone wanted to live, laugh, and work on her tan.”

Your boyfriend was right; you had said those exact words to him earlier that day. When he specifically tried to get you to put more sunscreen on. You had a shirt for him and that you were fine. The sunscreen you put on four hours prior was waterproof, as you floated in a donut.

But the sunscreen had to be reapplied every four hours. If you had taken the time to read the bottle, you think you would know. You really should have listened to your boyfriend. But you were so excited that summer was just around the corner; the only sound you wanted to listen to was the sound of margaritas being made and beach balls bouncing.

If your skin ever felt like skin again, you would listen to whatever the sunscreen bottle and your boyfriend told you to do.

Your skin was so burnt it wasn’t even funny. It was painful and hot; it hurt to move with every step you took towards the shower. Satoru winced, watching as you whimpered, stepping out of your swimsuit and turning the water to a lukewarm temperature.

You don’t even have a chance to step in as arms gently wrap around you. Satoru intended it to be a comforting gesture. Instead, it had you jolting in pain as the cloth of your boyfriend's jacket rubbed against your burnt, sensitive skin. Your yelp had him pulling back, arms held out in front of him.

“F-Fuck baby! I’m sorry!”

“N-no, it’s okay, it’s fine, I-I’m just going to sit here and suffer for all eternity.” Satoru doesn’t say anything as you step into the water. You try to hold back the cries of pain that threaten to pass through your lips, but Gojo can still hear them. The tiny, pained whines have him wincing along with you. He hated seeing you in pain and regretted not making you put on more sunscreen. If he had been more stern with you, then maybe he wouldn’t be in the position that you are right now. But it wasn’t like he could go back in time. You had neglected to put on more sunscreen, and he had failed to pin you down on the pool deck and rub it all over your stupidly cute face. He could not go back in time to change the outcome.

There was, however, one thing he could do.

“Hey, I’m going to step out for a little bit. I need to run to the store in the lobby and grab a couple of things. Are you going to be okay?”

A pained yes is all he hears before you slowly sink to the shower floor, allowing the cold water to run over your burnt skin. Gojo wastes no time; the second who knew you would be okay on your own for a bit, he was bolting out of your hotel room and running down to the hotel store.

You shower to your best abilities without being in excruciating pain. Skipping on the rag and the loofah, you gently wash your body with your hands, which still hurts. You made a vow to yourself with the showerhead that you would never forget to reapply your sunscreen again. Even if you were to fail, your boyfriend wouldn’t.

For the time being, the only thing you could do was try to relax, even though it felt like you wanted to peel your skin off of your body. After your shower, you shuffle back into the main room, collapsing onto the bed, bare butt naked, enjoying the cool crisp sheets underneath you. Between your still-wet skin and the air conditioning, You felt some form of comfort as the hotel room door opened.

At first, you jumped, searching for anything to cover your skin, but quickly, the door shut a second later, and you heard the wrinkling of a plastic bag heading further into the room. “Toru?” You call down gently, lifting your head to search for your boyfriend.

“It’s me; you weren’t doing anything naughty, were you?” he teases, even though he knew the only thing you could do was cry in pain from the sunburn that covered most of your body. Having sex like this was out of the question.

“If by naughty you mean laying my naked ass on our bed, then yes, I am being naughty.”

You can hear his running footsteps just before his shadow spreads on the bed before you. For a second, you think that he’s going to wolf whistle or fist pump or even make some crude comment about how sexy you look naked on his bed, and he didn’t even have to ask you to do anything. Instead of crude comments, the bed dips under his weight as he flops near you.

One second, you're lying there in silence, and the next second, a cold jelly-like substance is squeezed on your back. Said jelly instantly eases the burn on your back, making you moan softly as Satoru’s hands gently rub the cooling, earthy-smelling liquid over your irritated skin. The contrast of cool against your burning skin felt magical. The pain subsided from a persistent throbbing or a mild sting.

“Mmm, Toru, that feels good~” You smile happily, “Thank you, baby.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart. Just remember this moment when I'm lathering sunscreen on you from now on.”

You scoff as Satoru rolls you onto your back so he can rub aloe vera over the front of your body. “Oh please, you think I’m ever going to get this burnt again?”

“You won't once I lather you up in sunscreen.”

“I just wanted to get a little tanner to give off goddess vibes.”

“Babe, you already do that.” The way your eyes widen and glimmer at his words makes Satoru fight the urge to pat himself on the back. “My sunburnt goddess.” He admires the lighter skin tones from where your swimsuit was to the darker tones of your sunburn. God, your skin was so pretty, even when it was burnt.

“Oh, haha, asshole. Sunburnt Goddess, my ass.”

“It's true; allow me to lather you in aloe vera and fan you with a palm tree leaf.”

You rub your face against the sheets. “But of course, my devote ivory follower~”

“Heeey, why am I the ivory follower?”

“Have you seen your pasty ass?”

Your boyfriend's hands stop their treading as he sputters in shock. “Pasty ass?! Pasty!?” You laugh out loud, lifting your head to look up at him. “I do not have a pasty ass!”

“I'm sure the astronauts in the space station can see your pasty ass when you're naked,” Gojo grumbles, digging in the bag and opening something. “The aliens can see your glorious ass from galaxies away. The honored one's ass, the strongest ass of the modern age.” Gojo perks up with a smirk, nodding as he slaps a cool patch on your forehead.

“Keep going, sweetheart~ I'm almost there~.”

You don't get any further as Gojo grabs one of his oversized t-shirts and carefully slips it on you. “Thank you, Satoru, for taking such good care of me, Satoru.” Your boyfriend grins, eyes shutting as he lies down next to you, teaching into his bag, handing you a popsicle.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.”

You both lick at your popsicles in the cool air of the hotel room. When a single thought crosses your eyes, wander over your boyfriend's exquisite body. “Hey Toru?” the man is sucking down on his popsicle like he was giving it the gluck-gluck-five thousand.

“Yeah?”

“Can you get sunburned with infinity?”

“Huh,” he blinked slowly, “I mean, the special grade curse Jogo didn't burn me—so I'm assuming not. Just another benefit of being the honored one.”

“The honored one with a pasty ass.” A smirk pulls at the corner of your mouth as Satoru chokes on his sugary treat.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

#fluffy friday #fluff #jjk gojo x reader #jjk gojo x reader fluff #gojo imagine #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk y/n #jjk reader insert #jjk gojo smut #jjk gojo #jjk men #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x you #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojō x reader #Satoru x reader fluff #reader jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #jjk men smut #jjk satoru x reader #jjk satoru

[moneymartin]

nika hcs? anything tbh…… maybe things she’d do in a relationship! :)

gf!nika hcs ✧.*

warnings: suggestive content and smut at the end under the divider :p

afab!r

a/n: anonie this is so kyoot thank u 🥸 kind of long?? i got carried away 😣

my beautiful croatian baby where do i even start with you…

this girl is the definition of ALL THE FIVE LOVE LANGUAGES

defff loves having conversations. could talk to you for hours on end and never ever get tired of hearing you talk

long talks = a good relationship w her

you two 100% play basketball together

promises to go easy but goes absolutely batshit crazy on you when shes playing defense

will literally break your legs if she has to just so she can score when shes on offense

when you guys go to the gym you spot her sometimes and her shirt always rides up andddddd and

ok what i’m saying is you love her abs

they’re great.

LOVES being touchy

esp in public… has no shame whatsoever and isn’t ashamed of it

keeps her hands on yours, grabs your arms, or always holds your thigh when she has the chance

also really super possessive and protective over you. if she sees someone staring at you for more than a second she’ll start to make out w you in front of them so they scram

hugs you in front of them too with her head over your shoulder so she can stare them down while you’re incredibly oblivious to what or why shes doing it 😭

she marks you up in easy to see places so ppl know that you’re taken…

also gave you a bracelet or necklace with her initial on it and a heart charm or something like that😇

when you guys cuddle shes 100% big spoon no debate abt it

loves seeing you all tired she thinks its adorbs 😢

plays with your hair while you try to fall asleep or does it while you’re on the phone trying to sleep

but if she’s in a really bad mood she’ll switch and be lil spoon

makes you scratch her back so she can relax before she sleeps

and you gladly do it!!

love love lovess doing the little things for you

if you’re sick she will cook you up something good asfk for breakfast in bed

babies you the whole time too cause she can’t help herself ☹️

when she’s at an away game and you can’t make it she has this little notepad and writes love letters on them for every day she’s gone (iykwim)

i feel like she’d spoil you too !

mention one small thing and she’s already ordering it off of amazon

if you mention an artist she’s buying you tickets to their concert already 🙇‍♂️

new clothes like every week i swear

acts of service is her thang too

will do the dishes or the laundry whenever you need her to

she doesn’t even say no either like she’ll stop whatever she’s doing and will do what you ask

drives you all over the place even if its in a wholeee different state 🥲

when you can’t make dinner she’ll do it for you

i feel like she’s also very open to trying new things

maybe new foods with you or new date ideas when you get bored of the reused ones

i think she’d LOVE roller coasters

thats probably the one place you two would never get bored of

cooks you croatian food 🥹

in summer she takes you there too and you get to go to all the places she went to when she was a kid there 🙁

loves talking abt her home country. she’s so proud of it

soft dom. NO DOUBT ABOUT IT.

your pleasure is incredibly important to her

she doesn’t care about what she feels, she cares about what you feel

def uses a strap i can tell… she’d use it most of the time

LOVES overstimming you though its something she can do for hours but will stop when it seems like too much and you’re practically sobbing 😭😭😭

rough unless asked to be soft and gentle

service top is what i mean

10000% cusses in croatian 😩

like she’ll be face deep in between your legs and she’s mumbling curses under her breath and its SOOO HOT

when she tops too her face will be right next to your ear and every time she moves she’s grunting something in croatian

honestly i feel like she’d be a scratcher if you ever switched it up

marks and dots of blood ALLLLLL OVER YOUR BACK

you try to show them off afterwards so she knows how pathetic she ended up becoming 😇

MY GOD

I NEEDDDD HER

#be gentle i kinda like these #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl #wbb x reader #wbb x you #wcbb x you #wcbb x reader #uconn wbb x reader

[firemenenthusiast]

Can you plzz do a farleigh smut where he only rubs the readers clit bc the reader is too scared to finger herself, but then she gets the courage to finger herself and charles shows her how to do it??

—“spell”

farleigh start x innocent!reader

summary: farleigh had trouble resisting you since the first time he saw you so he laid his trap to which you walk right in, starting from agreeing to spend the summer at saltburn with him. the fact that you’ve never done anything with yourself boggles his mind, so he decides to lend a helping hand

warnings: boy where do i start. 18+, porn with plot, reader is innocent, naive and kinda stupid (bear with me), fingering, mirror kink, corruption kink, panties kink, posessive kink if you squint, size kink, praise kink, farleigh calls ready baby & princess, blowjob, face fucking, pussy job, panties job (?), cum eating, facial, dry humping, thigh riding, jerking off, p in v, let me know if i miss anything

a/n: we hit another milestone thank you everyone !! this is me showing my love to yall mwah. innocent reader finally out whoohoo. idk who’s charles but thank you anon for this request ! i hope it fits with what you’ve imagined

summer could be too hot at times. sweaty. sticky. but nothing could make you hate summer. you love summer. your favourite season ever. the blossoming flowers and clear skies are one thing, but summer also means that you get to wear the flimsiest, flowiest, thinnest fabrics ever. sometimes almost see through, because of the heat. maybe if you wear thin enough short dresses the heat won’t get to you. what other perfect time one could be wearing the cutest dresses around if not in summer ? atleast that’s your excuse. wonder if there’s any other reasons. i mean, your short skirts and flimsy tops surely dont have anything to do with how nice farleigh is to you, do they ? you’re just so— pure, even naive at times that he doesn’t have the heart to treat you how he does others. delicate fragile little thing like you should only be handled with care

farleigh start is really nice to you, he’d helped you picked up the books you accidentally dropped when he bumped into you. he even offered to help carry them while you walk to class, which had drawn you to him. you’d given him the cutest, most doe-eyed little “thank you” for helping and he could just feel his cock twitch in his pants. it’s not easy to find a decent man around here so when he often showed up to your convenience you believe that he’s just a good person, with nothing but pure intentions. sure, farleigh thinks you’re such a pretty little thing.

that’s why when he first saw you on college fields, licking away at your cherry popsicle that was dripping down your fingers, giggling about something with your friends, he couldn’t get his eyes off you. he couldn’t stop thinking about things— things that he could be doing to you. for every day of summer you would put on the nicest short dresses that you’d saved just for the season. the type of dresses that cling onto your skin if you sweat through the fabric. those dresses that look like they could get one hard tug and would rip easily.

it’s funny how such silly first meeting could lead you to farleigh. the both of you aren’t necessarily friends, he’s more of the nice guy you know and would greet whenever you see him around the faculty. he’d smile and wave at you across the halls. he’d offer you a seat at the cafeteria if he sees you looking around. he helps you with stuff around campus, like returning your books to the library and carrying your stuff. though you do find it weird that you couldn’t find the books he said he’d help return on the shelves anymore. and because he’s so tall, he serves as your guardian, protects you from other boys that try to bother you. he doesn’t ask for anything in return, just a smile from you would suffice, the smile that leaves him smitten. farleigh also knows about the love you have for summer, the way you always mention how great of a time you would have in summer. just casually telling him about that time you wandered into a hayfield and just laid there looking at the sky. or about that time when you were little you had just received a gorgeous little floral dress as a present that you wore everyday because you liked it so much. sometimes you just couldn’t shut your mouth when it comes to summer. you’re sentimental about it, and the fact that he would sit through your stories every time, no wonder how random it can be or how busy he actually is

you jumped when he asked you to spend the summer with him. “really ?? are you serious ?” you beam at him with uncontainable excitement. your toes springing up and down, his eyes follow yours as you jump and squeal, a huge grin plastered across his face. farleigh had told you about his saltburn home. the most perfect, ethereal place to be spending summer at. you love to listen to his stories about what they do at saltburn in summer. basking under the sun at the lakeside, playing tennis, rolling in the hayfield naked— so when he invited you to spend the upcoming summer in saltburn, with him, you couldn’t be more excited. it’s gonna be the best summer ever. “yeah it’ll be fun. besides, elspeth is always thrilled to have a guest. she loves a pretty face like yours” you feel your cheeks heat up at his words as you push him away. he smiles at your reaction, sometimes it’s almost too easy for him to get what he wants with you. it’s always been felix who would bring his friends, toys- over so he figured this time he’d do the same. he chuckles at you twirling around in excitement, eyes trailing down to your ass peeking out under the skirt. he could see the bits of your panties if you would just jump higher.

thinking about spending the summer at saltburn, you cant help but imagine how it would be like. you’ve heard people talk about the greatest parties that took place there, and how sex infested it can get. people do all sort of wild things there, the wildest you could imagine. the type of crazy that you could say what happens there, stays there. trailing your eyes along the corners of your ceiling, you let out a heavy sigh. you’ve always had a positive attitude towards sex and well, other sexual stuff. you’d hear crazy stories from your friends, about stuff they did or would do in the bedroom with boys. it’s understandable for people your age to be acting like they don’t have a second to spare from reproducing. their stories intrigue you cuz you’ve never done the things they’d talk about.

they would mention playing with themselves, you struggled to understand at first, thinking what is there to be played with yourself until you learned what it actually means. you’ve never done it though, you’re too scared and it feels so crude to be doing such thing. sounds like a sin. every time you would try to rub your dainty fingers between your folds, you’d retreat though it felt so good. you heard that you’re supposed to be stuffing your fingers inside, and that scared you even more. they’d mention being wet, as in aroused, but you remember the conversation you had with your mom when you were going through puberty. the one you went through at a very early age. she had told you that it is possible, and that if you ever become wet because of someone, it means that they’ve done something bad to you. like they have put a spell on you so you would succumb to the fantasy of pleasure with them. you believe her. she may had just wanted to protect you then but it fucked with your perception towards arousal so bad that when your friends told you stories about it, you’d feel bad for them. you feel bad cuz they’ve been put under a spell yet they seem so happy about it. you wonder if they knew.

it’s not like you’re a virgin. you’ve had sex when you were younger, with a lanky boy who suggested you to do it with him like it’s just another invitation to go hang out. not thinking much, you agreed to him. you didn’t feel any pleasure when it happened. it was just a weird sensation and shitty experience overall. you’ve been pretty avoidant when it comes to sex since. you feel like people talk about it too much yet it’s not that great. you think sex is overrated, so no one has ever touched you in years. boys would try to get close with you, talk nice to you but you see right through them. not farleigh though, he seems genuinely nice. or so you thought. you’ve asked farleigh about sex seeing that he frequents it along the course of you knowing him. he thinks it’s overrated too and he only does it for fun. he’s fucked a number of people you know here and he said none of them makes him want to come back for seconds. when you told him about that experience you had he laughed, “dont sweat it baby, he just sucked at it. probably got too turned on by you he couldn’t last more than 5 seconds” maybe he’s right. alas, farleigh wouldn’t lie to you would he ? no, he’s too nice for that. so when you told him you’ve never done things with yourself and that you haven’t been touched for years it came off as such a shock to him. girls he know not only would play with themselves, they even practically throw themselves at him just to get fucked. knowing that you’re so— reserved, he felt like you just got purer, more precious in his eyes. sometimes he feels like a predator eyeing its prey. the way he would think of ways to corrupt you. but those are just bad silly thoughts at the back of his head. he’s too nice to act on them, right ?

your first day at saltburn could be easily described by the word ‘crazy’. everything is just crazy around here. from the towncar the cattons had sent to fetch you from the train station, the butler and footmen standing still at the huge beautifully carved doors welcoming you, the green carpet spread out as far as your eyes can lay upon, the greek sculptures scattered along the garden trails, to the seemingly nice people that are farleigh’s aunt and uncle. he was right, elspeth called you pretty. like bambi she said. you met venetia, the only other girl around your age living in the enormous estate. she seems happy to be getting a girl company for the summer, showing you around the house and always borrowing you from farleigh. he paid no mind towards the friendship that is forming between you and venetia, as long as you’re having the best time ever. he wants this summer to be able to compete with your previous amazing ones. you’re walking alongside venetia with your knitted beach totebag across the field, towards the lake when felix greets you. he’s just as tall as farleigh, maybe a little shorter by an inch but you can see the genes connecting them both. “heard you’re farleigh’s friend, how’d you know him ?” you smile at his question before giving a quick answer. “he helps me around campus, he’s always so kind to me—“ before you could say anything further, he scoffs in disbelief. “farleigh ? kind ? think you got the wrong bloke there mate” he shakes his head before skipping away towards the yellow hayfields, his hair flopping messily. you look at venetia who’s giggling at you, also shaking her head while raising her shoulders. frowning at her, you couldn’t get to bask in your confusion any longer as she takes your hand and drags you towards the boys.

seeing her strip off, you look around to see the boys already laying comfortably, clothes off. most of them are covered by the tall grass but you can tell that they’re not wearing anything. particularly cuz you spotted the discarded clothes that they were wearing at breakfast not far from you. as you start to lift off the hem of your top, you feels venetia’s hand on your arm. “you dont have to, it’s just a stupid thing we do” you nod at her words, a little relieved yet you feel like you’re gonna miss out from the real saltburn experience if you dont do it like them. so you follow venetia’s actions before settling on the ground, in between the tall grass. she starts giggling at you as you slowly burst into laughter, not noticing the burning glance trailing along the outlines of your body. the grass covering the most of you teasing him, depriving him of the sight he craves the most at the moment. thankfully felix is too caught up in his cig to notice him practically eyefucking you, putting his imagination to work like he’s some prepubescent horny teenager. you felt your saliva caught up in your throat when you noticed his naked body in the grass when you were looking around earlier, and you’ve been trying to shake off the image of his tan broad shoulders, glistening in sweat, beads of it dripping to his defined collarbones since. as he seems busy flipping through the pages of his harry potter book, you hope for his focus to stay on the lore as your eyes continue to scan his beautiful face, his luscious curls bouncing off his forehead. his shoulders propped up against the ground, looking firm and shiny from the sun

weird tingling sensation crawls across your body as you struggle to take your eyes off him, or his body. he looks so flawless in his glory, basking under the sunlight, the sweat clinging onto his skin making him glisten. the tingling you felt turns into heat, seemingly most prominent around your core. the more you try to ignore the heat, the weirder it feels until you notice the forming stickiness in between your folds. fuck. you wanted to panic badly yet you keep your composure around venetia, not wanting to let her know what’s happening. you look at farleigh who’s still laying on his chest, your eyes widen at the fact that it’s happening to you. he’s put a spell on you. he must have, cuz one second you were looking at him and now you’re wet. just like what your mom had told you about. internally panicking, you quickly grab your clothes and try to put them on without having to stand up, to avoid flashing the boys. just as you’re done, you abruptly get up on your kneews before venetia notices. “what’s wrong ?” you look at her, offering a smile to convince her nothing’s going on. “nothing, forgot my sunscreen” she gives you a look of approval before sliding her shades back down. your swift movements and walk back to the house catches farleigh’s attention as his eyes follow your disappearing figure into the distance. he puts his book down as he slowly reach for his clothes before patting felix at the back, to which he pays no attention to. he’s too busy listening into the earphones connected to his walkman with his head settled on his crossed arms. farleigh’s eyes notice your small figure stepping into the foyer before taking the turn leading to your assigned bedroom, the men in suits along the corridor eyeing you as they stand still. hastening his steps, he tries to catch you at the coridor before you got into your room but failed. you’d planned to check yourself out in the bathroom, see what’s actually going on down there, hoping that maybe it’s your period though that’s not for another 3 weeks. pushing your underwear down your thighs, you notice the colourless wet patch at the crotch. trying to make sure, you dip your fingers in between your folds to collect some of the stickiness. holding your fingers up, you feel your breath caught up in your throat. you feel like you could cry, you couldn’t believe farleigh would do this to you. he’s supposed to be nice and kind unlike other boys—

just as you step out of the bathroom your eyebrow quirks at the tall figure standing just infront of the door, his linen yellow polo tshirt hanging loosely on his shoulders, his fingers fiddling with each other. “w-what are you doing— you shouldn’t be here” your eyes struggle to find something to settle on, trying hard to avoid his direct gaze. “is something wrong ? why’d you leave ?” his eyes trail to yours, trying to catch them as you make way to the wardrobe, opening the doors to see your clothes that have been neatly arranged by the maids. looking through the compartments and drawers, you’re actually trying to find a fresh clean pair of underwear to replace your soaked ones. seeing you suspiciously try to run and avoid looking at him, you leave him no choice other than to grab your arm. his action makes you turn to face him, he steps closer before crouching so his face levels with yours, his eyes searching into yours. pursing your lips shut, you didn’t want to confront him for what he did just yet but now that he’s standing infront of you- you decide to finally look at him

“i- i cant believe you did this to me farleigh” he cocks his head, taken aback by your words, not having any idea what you may be talking about. before he asks you decide to spare him the pretending. “the spell” you continue in a stern voice. “what the— what spell ?” his voice pitch higher as his eyebrows quirk. you let out a sigh, “i looked at you in the fields, now im- your spell, now im— wet” he looks like he’s still trying to puzzle the pieces together. rolling your eyes “you must’ve casted a spell to get to me, otherwise how am i this- wet ?” you wince at your struggle to explain to him, having to say the word ‘wet’ so much cuz you don’t know how else to make him understand. his face drops in realisation, finally getting to guess what you’re trying to say, yet he’s still weirded out. “so…you think i casted a spell on you that makes you wet..?” you squint your eyes at his slow response, is he pretending to be innocent or what ? “who told you that ?” he asks. “who cares ? i thought you were nice” getting defensive, you’re starting to feel that you’re being ridiculous. you notice his shoulders drop, his stance softening as he throws his head back with a smile on his lips.

“oh poor baby,,” he starts, before stepping back towards the bed, sitting on it.

“—come here” he ushers you, to which you compliantly follow. he grabs your arm to position you so you’re facing him, as he looks up to find your face. you’re now as silent as a baby deer, waiting for him to say something. he begins to chuckle lowly as he shakes his head. “so you think because you’re wet from watching me in the fields, i’ve put a spell on you” he tsks, before continuing with his dark eyes boring into yours “how cute.” his hands start to touch yours, ghosting his fingers along your wrist, trailing up your arms. a shiver travels down your spine at his touch, your eyes search into his, multiple feelings creeping into your head that you struggle to focus on one. one thing you’re sure of is you don’t want him to stop doing whatever he’s doing. suddenly his hands start smoothing over the hem of your skirt, his fingers carefully playing with the waistband against your navel, maintaining eye contact the whole time with an amused look on his face. “maybe i should take a look at the affected area, see it it’s curable hm ?” he suggests, both his index fingers already hooked beneath the waistband. you nod at him, your mom never told you what to do if one gets put on that spell but it makes sense if he needs to be the one to heal you. as he was about to pull your skirt down he changed his mind, he has a better idea that is to just leave your cute frilly little skirt on. slowly bunching up your skirt from the hem, he has his bottom lip between his teeth. you feel heat finding its way on your cheeks as you hear him curse under his breath. “oh- you’re really wet baby” the nickname makes you lightheaded. “all this because of me ?” he says proudly at which you frown at his stupid words. why is he acting like this is an achievement ?

“yes now can you cure me ?” you’re becoming restless the way you can feel yourself getting wetter. that’s not a good sign, it just means it’s getting to you. you’re worried that it might go beyond curable and you’re stuck living with the spell forever. not giving you any response, his hand still holding your bunched up front skirt as his fingers graze the fabric of your panties. he trails his finger at the top, where he can feel his cock pulse seeing the tiny ribbon. your panties had turn a shade darker from its original colour from your wetness clinging onto it. suddenly you feel his thumb press at your crotch, earning a gasp from you. you quickly pull your skirt higher to look at what he’s doing. the thumb that was pressing against your sensitive nub now rubbing at the wettest part of your crotch, pushing and rubbing the fabric in between your folds. he’s making you feel so good you wanted to tell him to keep going. his fingers are now grabbing the fabric together, before pulling it up against your folds making you moan. you look at him with wide eyes, he’s not looking back at you as he’s busier tugging and rubbing the fabric against your pussy, an amused look on his face. he could just see you getting wetter and practically drenching your panties. “fuck,, you have such a pretty cunny” his words making your pussy tingle before you decide to urge him, “help me, farleigh”

he lifts his head, his eyes soft as he looks at you. “i can cure you. but you have to be good for me” you listen to his words carefully before nodding, “i can be good” he smiles as his hands slowly grab at your arms, turning you to face the full body mirror mounted against the wall infront of him before pulling you down to settle on his lap. he rests his chin in the crook of your shoulder, looking at your eyes through the reflection on the mirror. his fingers creep up to your thighs, playing with the hem of your frilly white short skirt. as you try to breathe steadily around him you feel your breath hitch at his fingers’ sudden movement smoothing along your inner thighs. your eyes instantly shoot to his fingers now disappearing under your skirt before getting the clear view of his fingers playing with the side hem of your flimsy panties after his other hand had bunch up your skirt to your waist. you feel his plump lips plant soft kisses on the crook of your neck, his eyes gazing directly into yours. as you feel his lips, you can’t help but look into his eyes in the mirror, not breaking eye contact as he continue his kisses and his fingers grazing very lightly on the wet fabric of your panties. “farleigh-“ you let out a soft moan. “you told me you’ve never touched yourself ?” you shake yout head at his question, head too hazy to give him actual words. “that’s a pity” you dont really get what he meant by that but you dont think you’re missing out much.

he takes your hand in his, guiding it to your core. “here” you crane your neck up to him, looking into his face. he looks down, meeting your gaze. “i’ll show you” you keep silent as you let him pull your thighs even further, placing them over his. you can see yourself sprawled out on his lap in the mirror, showcasing your glistening panties clad cunt. farleigh’s fingers pull the side hem of your crotch, holding them to the side as his other hand bring yours over. “try grazing your fingers over the little nub there” he instructs and watch closely as you do what you’re told. you moan as you feel the pressure against the sensitive part. he continues to guide you through touching yourself the way it would feel so fucking good, that you’re a whiny moaning mess. you feel heat on your cheeks the whole time, embarrassed by the fact that he’s watching you touch yourself. “now try one finger inside” he suggests, your head shot up to look at him. “it’s okay, it’ll feel even better” his large hand grab yours, showing you to your cunthole. you obey him, prodding a finger at the hole, yet you feel nothing but discomfort. “it doesn’t feel good, farleigh” he pushes your hand further, your finger now fully inside. you bite your bottom lip trying to hold onto yourself. “now curl your finger” you take a minute to steady yourself before doing what he told you to. once your finger hit that spongy spot, you let out a high pitched moan at the newly discovered sensation. farleigh smiles at your reflection in the mirror, “there you go” you experiment with the all new experience for you, you try curling your fingers multiple times against the spot as it gives you pleasure each time. farleigh watches you get lost in the sensation in the mirror, fucking yourself on your finger. his eyes darkened as he feels a dark, lust dripping need form inside him.

as you rapidly fuck your finger into your pussy, you feel knotting in your stomach, a weird tingling making you feel like you were gonna pee. “farleigh-“ you call out to him, your free hand grabbing his arm that were resting on your waist. “you’re close baby ?” you knit your eyebrows at his words, unfamiliar with the feeling. “keep going, you’re doing so good” he encourages, his lips kissing against your neck, trailing behind your ear. he sucks the skin at the back of your neck as he feel your breath getting faster and heavier. all the overwhelming pleasure is new to you yet it feels too good for you to stop. “you can cum princess, cum for me” you can feel yourself chasing after something, until it all comes crashing down, the orgasm washing over you as the sweat making your hair stick onto your forehead. he looks at you through the mirror, offering you a smile as he pushes the hair out of your forehead and wiping the sweat from your rose tinted hot cheeks.

“you did such a great job, baby” your breath hitch at the new nickname, yet your head is too clouded to say anything about it. he let you catch your breath in his lap, his hands roaming at your waist. “that should cure you” he says before pulling you up, he gets up himself as he places you carefully on the bed, you sit at the spot he sat in just now. though you feel relieved, you feel like you wanted more, you wanted more of him, more of whatever that was happening, the pleasure clouding your better judgement. “farleigh,,” you call out just as he was about to walk away. “let me do something for you” he turns, his lips pursed to hold himself back from smiling at the fact that you’re about to walk right into his trap. he walks back, standing right in front of you. “yeah ?” he says, as you start reaching up and tugging at his belt. your eyes notice the huge bulge at his crotch. “you’re- hard, boys like it when girls suck them off when they’re hard, right ?” you ask him, he moans at your words. “well yeah, but you don’t have to” you shake your head at him, “i want to” you’re quick to respond as he bites his lower lip to suppress the strings of curses he wants to let out. “you’re the sweetest- fuck,,”

you begin to unbuckle his belt as he watches you carefully. he could cum right this second just by looking at your pretty innocent looking face. “god, you’re so breathtakingly pretty” he compliments, earning a giggle from you. you’re gonna look even prettier with a huge cock stuffed in your mouth, he thinks. his eyes follow your hands, that are now taking out his cock from his briefs, your hands barely covering the size of his length. you take a deep breath before looking up at him through your lashes, batting them at him with your doe eyes. he smiles at you before throwing his head back once your tongue start kitten licking at his tip. his hand automatically reach up to rest at the back of your head as he watches you suckling his raging red wet tip. “am i doing it right ?” you ask him, worried that you might doing it wrong for your first time.

“fuck, right- its your first time” “just- try squeezing your hand around the base while you suck at the tip, fuck-” he suggests, his head getting light from all the blood rushing to his cock. his hand involuntarily pushes your head down, his cock fucking into your mouth. letting out a whimper, he struggles to keep his hips from buckling, his length hot and heavy on your tongue. your plump lips now wrapped around his cock, perfectly fit for you. smothering saliva all over it, your hands squeeze at the base, and the rest of it that you can’t fit in your mouth, his tip already prodding at the back of your throat. “so good baby, you’re doing so good- look so pretty with my big cock stuffed in your face, mhm” he says, sending familiar heat down your cunt, you feel it getting wetter as before. you try hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head back and forth, your lips wrapped nicely around his cock. you hear him let out a low guttural moan. you look up at him through your lashes, he’s throwing his head back from the pleasure, his hips slightly buckling into your mouth making you pull away.

catching your breath, you feel his large hands cupping your cheeks, smoothing over the skin. “you’re a natural, princess” you smile up at him, before trailing your eyes down to look at his length. he’s huge, his tip raging red with precum trickling down his length. you lean in to catch the drop of precum at the underside of his base, earning a curse from him, before he moans. “how are you already so good at this, fuck-“ you cant help but smile at his words before continuing your licking and sucking on his cock. its not long until you notice him twitching, cock jumping as his face contorts in pleasure. his hand reach up to wrap his fingers around him before he starts jerking himself off, his hand moving rapidly with his jaw hanging low, mouth agape. his voice cracks as he’s letting out a loud moan, before you watch him shoot ropes of sticky white mess, landing on your face, most covering your lips and cheeks, some on your collarbone. you’re shocked, a little weirded out by his cum sticking on your face but cant help letting out a giggle while looking up at him. he was catching his breath as he noticed you giggling, before letting out a laugh himself. He reaches up to your face, fingers collecting the cum before prodding them at your lips. You frown at his action, weirded out that he wants you to suck at his cum covered fingers. He nods, encouraging you, “you can taste” he offers, before you decide to give in, trusting him has been giving you bliss until now. You open your mouth as he pushes his fingers past your lips, your tongue lapping at the sticky substance. Humming, you look at him, “‘s sweet”

“well im glad” he chuckles

“you okay?” he asks as you nod before gaining the courage to tell him about the wetness forming again in your panties. “farleigh im- im wet again” he lets out a chuckle, “your cunny’s wet again ?” heat rushing up to your cheeks at his words as you shyly nod, embarrassed. “you do realise that just means you’re turned on right ? nothing to do with me putting a spell on you” he chuckles at the silly concept you believe in. you’re taken aback by his words, realisation hits. the first time was maybe explainable by your mother’s words, but the second time around, now that you’re wet again, he might be right. he sits on the bed before pulling you to sit on his lap, your legs settling on either side of him, straddling him this time. your eyes roam across his face, appreciating his beautiful features, his long lashes, his dark brown eyes, his thick eyebrows, they’re all so pretty to you. you reach your hand up to graze your fingers along his lips, feeling every lines and crooks, slightly pulling at his bottom lip before leaning in to kiss him.

he lets out a breath as he leans into the kiss, pressing his lips softly against your plump ones, savouring your flavour. your lips dance against his, pulling him closer to you with his large hands grabbing at your waist. the kiss is soft, and pure in some way, it feels like there’s only the two of you in the world at the moment. your first ever kiss with him. his lips moulds perfectly against yours, making you want to kiss him forever. he’s a good kisser too, effortlessly returning your kiss and offering his own, his tongue swiping across your lips. his hand on your waist start grabbing firmer, moving you back and forth against his thigh and crotch. he lets out a sigh as he pulls away for a moment, resting his forehead against yours as he looks down to see the tent in his pants forming again. he continues to lean into you, kissing you once again while he guides you to hump at his crotch. the material of his pants serving you a little bit of pleasure as you try to chase that orgasm you had discovered from earlier. “you can go faster if you want” he says, offering you his lap to help you get off.

“use me” he continues

you wrap your arms around his neck, your boobs pressed up against his chest to steady yourself. his hands continue to guide your pace by your waist as he plant soft kisses along the crook of your neck and your shoulders. the bulge in his pants rub against your soaked panties before you accidentally angled yourself that you’re humping against your clit. the tingling of pleasure spreading all across your body leaves you a moaning mess, causing him to buckle his hips against your pussy. “you’re doing great princess, does that feel good to you ?” he asks as his hand roam across your back, encouraging you to get yourself off on his lap. you nod at him, too caught up in the pleasure now that you’ve found your sweet spot. “can you use your words for me baby?” you whimper at his request as you arch your back against him. “feels- feels so good far’” you manage to let out before letting out a whine.

“that’s my girl” he smiles.

you continue to work yourself on his lap yet you feel like you need more. grabbing at his polo, his eyes search into yours before trailing down at your hands pulling up the hem. he helps you take of his shirt as you marvel at his toned chest, fingers grazing along his collarbone. your pace on his lap becomes stuttered, interrupted by you trying to undress him. his hands grab your roaming ones, stopping your eager movements. “what do you need ?” not responding to his question, you grab the hem of your top instead, pulling it off of you. farleigh’s breath hitch as he moan at the bouncing tits in his face. he grabs at your waist to get you to look at him, his eyes pleading for your permission. you return his gaze, looking into his eyes for a moment before slowly nodding. he maintains eye contact with you as he slowly poke his tongue out, licking at your nipples, looking at you through his lashes. the warm wet tongue against your sensitive bud makes you moan, as you feel the bulge underneath you twitch. he’s now mouthing at your mould, his tongue spreading saliva all over it, all while looking into your eyes. pulling away, he grabs at both of them “such pretty tits, fuck”. you moan at his words, beginning to rub your clit against his crotch again. “need- need more farleigh” you plead him, before he grabs your waist to lift you up and lay you on the bed. now that you’ve had a taste of him, you can feel your body crave for more. for all of him.

“yeah ? that sweet cunny needs more huh ?” a sudden rush of hear creeps up your cheeks as you raise your hands to cover your face from embarrassment. you feel like you’re all exposed to him, like a platter waiting to be devoured. “you’re so small, i don’t think i can fit-“ he begins, as he leans down to plant soft kisses under your boobs, trailing down to your stomach with his hands roaming across the soft skin. “i’m gonna try something” he slowly takes out his cock that was covered by the crotch of his pants, his belt clacking as he winces at the friction against his length. he rests his cock on your soaked panties, his length heavy and throbbing. you look down to see his size, his tip reaching your lower belly. “such cute panties, shame it’s all ruined now” he smirks at the flimsy fabric of your panties that is now drenched in wetness. tracing his fingers at the cute ribbon at the top, he uses both hand to lift the fabric, stickiness stringing in between it and your pussy. he pushes his cock underneath the fabric before pushing it down with his fingers, creating a tight friction for him. he hisses at the feeling, before looking up at your eyes attentively following each of his movements, curious to see what he’s doing.

“‘m gonna fuck this panties okay ? rub my cock against your little folds. it’ll feel good” he informs, to which you nod. after that pleasure of riding in crotch earlier at his orders, you’re excited to see what this one’s gonna feel like. you wear him let out a moan as he starts moving, his hips fucking into your panties, his wet throbbing tip prodding against your sensitive nub, earning a whine from you. he’s right, it does feel good. and he looks so hot doing so, his face contorting and eyebrows knitted. his mouth agape as he lets out moans while looking at his cock going in and out of your panties, the wetness making the fabric translucent that he can see his cock fucking against your folds through it. he pulls the edge and pushes the hem further down, creating an even better pressure against his cock, pretending he’s fucking into your tight pussy. “fuck,, bet your cunny’s tighter baby” your eyes widen at his dirty words, your hands covering your mouth as you bite the skin on your thumb. not knowing where or how you gained the sudden confidence, “y-you can feel it for yourself” you offer, eyes carefully looking at his face, nervous anticipating for his reaction. his cock twitch underneath your panties before he throws his head back at your words.

“fuck princess,, you can’t say things like that”

“like what” you’re borderline panicking that you might’ve said something weird

“i might not be able to stop once i get a taste of your cunny”

you’re silent at his response, not really understanding what he meant by that. you continue to let him fuck your panties, his tip bulging through the material with each thrust. his length against your folds and his tip prodding at your clit makes you moan in a high pitch, the shivers travelling down your spine making you arch your back. grabbing at his hands, he looks at you while he struggles to halt his movements, his eyes searching into yours. “can you put it inside ?” you shyly asks, wanting to feel what it’s like to have his cock inside you, wondering if it’s gonna be the same as your first time. “what ?” his eyes widen at your request. he wasn’t planning on stuffing you full, you’ve already given him so much than he’d planned. “yeah- wanna, wanna feel your cock inside” he swears he almost busted at your words, his cock now painfully hard. “are you sure ?” he asks innocently. he’s been wanting to fuck you ever since he first saw you, so saying this is just a fucking cover for him. a manipulator he is, and you’re like a bunny foolishly trapped. “yes please” you bat your lashes cutely at him making him smile. making you say you want him inside you is one thing, but making you say please ? he fucking won.

he takes out his throbbing wet cock from your panties, his length bouncing as he settles on his knees, his face now infront of your pussy. he kisses at the fabric clinging onto your folds, moulding against your every crooks perfectly. he reaches the waistband of your panties, his lips kissing at your inner thighs on either sides of his face before pulling the band off your legs. his hands grab at your thighs as he looks at you through his lashes, smiling. he looks at your pussy infront of him, “thank you” he says before leaning in to kiss at your clit softly. you giggle at his actions, saying thank you to your cunt like he’s grateful for the meal. he chuckles against your pussy before getting up to put the weight of his cock on it, your wetness spreading onto his length, covering it with your juices. he moves backwards a bit as he positions his tip at your entrance before pushing his head in. you whine at the feeling, even with only his tip you can feel its bigger than you remember. who are you kidding anyways ? he’s 6’5, of course he’s gonna be huge. you whimper as he continue to push into your pussy, you push through the sting, taking his length like a champ. biting down at the skin of your thumb, he didn’t bottom out before he starts pulling out slightly, and pushing back in again. it’s a tight fit, your walls wrapped perfectly around his length as you hear the squelching sound from all the wetness. you offer him a soft smile shyly making him throw his head back.

“you’re so cute- oh” his words stumble as he feels you clenching down around his cock. “oh fuck” as his slow thrusts become stuttered, you giggle at his reaction before clenching down again. and again. and again- that he’s now crouched down against you, his face settling in the crook of your neck. “you okay ?” you tease him, at which he lets out a strained chuckle. “y- cunny’s so tight baby” you hold onto his shoulders as he starts thrusting again, bottoming up in the process. moans and skin slapping bounce against the walls of the room, the overwhelming pleasure making you forget that you’re in saltburn, having notably the best summer. you let him continue fucking into your pussy, letting out whines and moans ever now and then at him founding and hitting at your sweet spot. it was easy for him to find, every spot is basically so sensitive to you, he could thrust at any spot and you’d cum instantly. which is what’s happening now. your high pitch moans and legs shaking against his tells him that you’re close. “you’re close princess, cum for me” you whine at his words, his fingers reaching down to toy at your clit, helping you chase that orgasm.

the added pleasure makes you moan louder, your eyes searching his for encouragement. he looks into your eyes, his soft brown gaze makes you feel safe before you look down at his fingers rapidly rubbing at your clit. screaming his name, your orgasm finally crashes down on you, your breath heavy as your chest move up and down. “that feel good yeah ?” he asks you, he’s also catching his breath from watching you riding out your orgasm before you feel his thrusts getting faster and sloppier. sounds of skin slapping all so dirty to you as you hear him let out uncontrollable moans before he takes out his cock. his fingers quickly wrap around his length before he starts jerking off rapidly while moaning. his eyebrows knitted and face contorts in pleasure as he lets out a loud moan before you see thick sticky ropes of white land on your stomach, and settling on your pussy. he catches his breath while looking at the mess he made on your body. he looks up at you, offering you a smile before mouthing a ‘sorry’. his hand reaches down to move the strands of hair sticking on your face away, before leaning down to kiss you. you smile at him as he says “you’re mine now you know that right ?” your eyebrows quirk at his words, sure you’d wanna be his but you don’t quite get what he’s saying.

“good girls fuck one cock, you’re stuck with me”

taglist: @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @themoonchildwhofell @fuckshitslover @radioloom @love-me-pls @szapizzapanda @khxna

divider creds: @rookthornesartistry

#archie madekwe #farleigh start #farleigh start smut #firemenenthusiastinbox #@anon #archie madekwe fanfic #farleigh start saltburn #farleigh start x reader #archie madekwe smut #farleigh start fluff #farleigh start angst #farleigh start fanfic #farleigh start fic #farleigh start imagine #farleigh smut #farleigh imagine #farleigh start x you #farleigh start headcannon #farleigh saltburn #farleigh catton #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x fem! reader smut #farleigh start x innocent reader #innocent reader #farleigh start x innocent reader smut #corruption kink #farleigh start x reader smut #farleigh x you #farleigh fanfiction #farleigh start x fem!reader

[sonoyoung]

— i think he knows

boyfriend!jeonghan x gn!reader | fluff + early stages | 0.5k | i think he knows - taylor swift

a/n. im actually really glad i found pleasure in writing again i hope this is well received, i always appreciate feedback ty

So this is love mhm. It was funny to you, actually loving someone romantically, you had read so many depictions of the feeling and yet nothing close to it.

It was all still so fresh you wondered if it was actually love but what else could it be. Whenever you met eyes, it felt like heaven, a whole choir singing in your heart sweet harmonies that kept you warm. It was all his fault, Yoon Jeonghan.

You weren’t one to focus on romance aside from indulging in the various medias illustrating the concept, but you got distracted by his boyish looks and the way he’d tease you just enough to get you riled up only to be the one to comfort you afterwards.

It was addictive, loving him made it seem so easy and you wanted so badly to believe every single drop of affection you felt from him was him displaying his own love to you.

“You’re like if a man and a woman had a baby or something” he smiled taking a deep breath in so he didn’t just laugh in your face at the absurdity of your sentence,

“Or something” he hissed through his teeth tilting his head taking it all in, slightly pursing his bottom lip as he thought about it, you rolled your eyes at him, “You know what I mean”

“Do I?” his tiny teeth shining between his lips as he grinned, enjoying every bit of your annoyance.

“Androgy… Androgenius…?” you thought out loud, his little snickering distracting you as you raked your brain for the right word.

“it’s Androgynous baby” he finally revealed placing a soft peck on your temple putting you out of your vocabulary misery, nuzzling your head into his neck just wanting to sink into his comfort.

Being so playful with him only added to the appeal of the romance, he had such an amusing personality that somehow meant you never had the chance to get bored. His prickly attitude was what drew you towards him, letting your curiosity take over your actions as you explored his mind more and more, slowly falling into him more and more.

It’s like that coming of age part of life when everything seems so confusing and no one has the answers you need because why is he the only constant thought in your mind. How could you explain that feeling of wanting to be close to someone so badly that being close isn't close enough, no one would understand, maybe you loved harder than the average person because this wasn't in the descriptions.

Even now just sitting by him in the car, radio noises masking the sound of the engine, the only sound between you, even in the silence it felt right and you wanted him more. Maybe it was the way his hair flowed with the summer breeze , the way he leaned back in his seat one hand on the wheel while the other wrapped between your thigh brushing soft circles on your skin.

He had you so easily under his fingertips and you didn't even mind it.

ty for reading, feedback is much appreciated!

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #svt #svt fanfic #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt x reader #kpop fluff #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan fanfic

[hisfavoriteflvr]

Summer Wine ✿

Jude was a man that acted on impulse, you knew that, but it never ceased to shock you each time he made decisions on the spot. You certainly weren't expecting him to randomly ask you to accompany him to a vineyard somewhere in the countryside of Madrid, but you were never one for much self control either. He told you it would be for a single weekend, during which you’ll stay at the guesthouse, and receive a thorough tour from the workers. You were even allowed to keep a bottle or two of the wine made, and that was enough to convince you.

The only downside to the trip was that Jude couldn’t drive, and up until the morning of departure he hadn’t mentioned what method of transportation you two were going to take. You surrendered, believing you were going to drive all the way to the countryside, but you were saved that morning when Jude started rushing you, telling you the car was here. 

“It’s just one weekend, baby, please” he whined as you shoved a few last minute items into one of the bags, rolling your eyes as you walked past him, finally ready. “Fucking hell, thank you” 

The ride was as long as you had expected it to be, the sun nearly blinding you where you sat in the backseat. Jude sat next to you, as clingy as ever, refusing to sit in the passenger seat. 

“Jude, get off me, it’s too hot” you muttered, pushing at him, but he simply got closer to you, muttering something about the ac being on. You sighed, giving up as he kept himself draped over your side, his head resting on your shoulder with your arm linked in his. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep in that position, now making it for sure impossible to move him. 

But you deemed all the struggle worth it when you finally got there, waking Jude off only to quickly hop out of the car, admiring the place. It was flawless, you could see the rows of lush green vines from where you stood, the farmhouse standing big and tall before you. You paid no attention to Jude and the driver until the car drove off and jude stood next to you, dragging both of your bags, with your purse on his shoulder, ever the gentleman. 

“Hey, come on I want to take a picture of you in front of it” he ushered you, dropping the bags and pulling out a film camera from his pocket. You giggled at his gesture, not expecting the noise signaling that he had taken the picture. As he made his way to where you stood by the entrance, pocketing his camera and smiling at you, you couldn’t help but tease him for being so sappy.

“You love it” he grumbled in response, nudging you inside. You let him take care of all the talking, simply following him around to your supposed room, then to where the tour guide sat. 

You tuned out that conversation as well, simply fascinated by the scenery. You were getting dragged by Jude, his hand never leaving yours as you two followed the tour guide that was talking about what you briefly picked up on to be the history of this very place. 

“Here, try it” the tour guide then handed you each a handful of grapes, before proceeding to walk away. The two of you ate away at the grapes for the rest of the walk, Jude only turning around to take another picture of you mid bite with his camera.

“Are you gonna keep those?” you groaned, having no idea what you looked like in those pictures that he took, and he simply nodded. 

By the end of the tour you got to the winery, where you two were allowed to do a little wine testing, and sure enough you were allowed to keep a bottle as well. And when you finally got back to the guest house, neither of you wasted any time in showering, tired and worn out as you got into bed much earlier than you usually would. 

“See? You should start letting me plan stuff more often” Jude chimed from his spot against your chest, clearly fighting sleep to revel in his victory. You decided to ignore him, not wanting to admit that you were indeed pleased with his decision.

✧ --------- ✧ --------- ✧

asks/requests are open

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham imagine #real madrid #jb5 #jb22 #x reader #jude bellingham fanfic #fluff

[starlitmark]

Summary: You were enjoying a peaceful moment in the cafe when a man came to sit across from you at the table. Something in you changed. Pairing: Yunho x fem!reader Tropes: meet cute, nonidol au, strangers to something more Genre: fluff Rating: PG Warnings: language Word Count: 794 Note: for @cultofdionysus language of flowers event! Thank you to @anyamaris for proof/beta reading! Prompt: Magnolia - Natural

This is one of your favorite places. Being in this small little hole-in-the-wall cafe, peacefully crocheting while enjoying the low, peaceful music. Not many people know about this place. The Magnolia isn’t a known place, even by locals, even if it is on a rather busy street. That being the case, there isn’t much seating. You’re sat in the back corner of the establishment, and the lull of the employees talking and the music easily puts you into the zone with your current project. 

“Excuse me?” Someone calls.

Looking up, you see a young man, probably about your age, with a soft smile on his lips. You lower your project into your lap and give him your full attention.

“Hmm?” You hum in response.

“Is this seat taken?” He questions, gesturing to the chair across from you.

You shake your head, “No, it’s all yours.”

The chair scrapes against the hardwood flooring as he pulls it out. You go back to your project, fully ready to get lost in your work again. Then, in your peripheral vision, you see him pull out a book along with a pencil. The book isn’t academic, though; it’s a copy of the first Harry Potter book.

“First reading?” You question, not looking up from the yarn in your hands.

“Hmm?” He hums back, “Oh, no, it’s not I just wanted to reread it and annotate this time. What are you making?”

“Just a scarf. Nice and straightforward. I know it’s almost summer but I might as well get ahead of schedule with making things my family are bound to ask me for in a few months.”

“I like the yarn color. Baby blue is a good color, especially for winter.” He comments, “I’m Yunho.”

You look up from the yarn and smile at him, telling him your name in return. You start humming to the song as you crochet again. Yunho mumbles lightly when he places the book down and starts underlining a large section of the page. Giggling, you look up from the yarn again.

“Something you didn’t notice before?”

“No, I just fucking hate the Dursleys.” He grumbles, jotting down a little comment in the margins of the book.

“They had their reasons, though.” You comment.

He sighs, “I suppose so, but they did abuse the poor kid.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “but when you realize they did the things they did overcompensate the wish to protect Harry, it makes more sense. It doesn’t excuse their behavior in any way, but it does make sense.”

Yunho sits back in his chair and sighs, “You read the whole series?”

“Of course,” you chuckle, starting to work on your scarf more, “I read it when I was little, and I read it as an adult, too.”

“Any commentary on how useless Dumbledore was?”

“At first, he was useful…” you start, still crocheting as you speak, “By the end of the series… I’m still trying to figure out why he was letting kids and teenagers do his bidding. That doesn’t make any sense at all. There are plenty of adults who are more trained in magic, and he was literally the wielder of the elder wand… he could’ve done so much to prevent things.”

You and Yunho continue to chat about the book series and the gripes you each have with it. From there, your conversations branch off into other books and further into topics outside of literature. Speaking with this man you just met seems so natural, as if you were in your own novel and were destined to meet this man on a random day in a small little cafe. By the time you finish your scarf, you realize that it’s drawing close to evening. Looking at the time, you let out a puff of air. Yunho seems to have noticed your slightly upset state.

“You okay?”

“They’ll be closing soon… Probably means we should both be heading out.”

Yunho sighed, pursing his lips, “You know about the little restaurant downtown?”

“Which one?”

“It’s small. Not many people know about it. Kinda like this place. It’s called Lavender Forget-Me-Not…” He chuckles, “This town really loves flower-named establishments, huh?”

“I suppose they do.” you match his sentiment, “Is that an offer to go together?” You tease slightly.

Yunho chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “Is it too presumptuous to offer that?”

You shake your head, “Absolutely not. It’s a date.”

You put your yarn and finished project in your tote bag before standing up. Yunho follows suit, tucking his book under his arm. Even if you met this man a few hours ago, it all feels so natural to be around him and spend time with him. This could go somewhere, and you can’t wait to find out.

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris @almondmilkeu @shinestarhwaa @northerngalaxy @jwnghyuns

#codn: spring24 #yunho fluff #yunho x reader #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #yunho fanfic

[whorekneecentral]

Okay but imagine pulling over and jumping to the backseat to give LH head in the middle of a road trip 🫣

banger bestie truly.

Lewis decided the two of you would kick off the summer with a little road trip, but first a plane ride. He always wanted to road trip across the states so that's what you were doing.

The two of you find yourselves in the middle of Oklahoma, it's nothing but fields for miles and Lewis is humming along to the radio. It was dark out, the sun had just set and the roads were fairly empty, but to be fair, it had been empty for most of the day as you were in the middle of no where basically.

You watched as your husband drove. Windows rolled down with his arm propped on the frame; your eyes trailed up his exposed skin, the tattoos that covered his freshly tanned skin, the way the fabric of his shirt clung to his muscles.

Shifting in your seat, your thighs squeeze together and your lower lip drawn between your teeth. Lewis glances over, a sweet smile on his lips. "You okay, baby doll?"

You nod, "mhm hm."

"I can feel you staring," he whispers into the silence, eyes shifting between you and the road. "Don't think I didn't notice your shifting." He smiled, something wicked coming across in his words.

"Can't help it," you tell him, "you look good."

"Good enough to eat?" He jokes, eyes fixed on the road.

"More than that," you shift again, leaning over the centre console towards your husband. Your hand on his jaw, lips on his neck. Lewis's knuckles whiten, grip tightening on the wheel. The car sways and suddenly you're not moving anymore.

You look up at your husband and he looks down at you; a wordless exchange prompts your movement to the backseat. Lewis joins you in the back, the only noises are his belt clicking as he undoes it and the clicks of the hazards on - safety first!

On your knees between his legs, lewis can make out your features in the sightly light coming from the moonlight.

The feeling of your lips around his cock was the next thing he recognized, his head tips back as he sinks into the seat. Your lips wrapped around him, a hand taking care of what you couldn't fit in your mouth at the moment and you feel a hand on your head.

"C'mon," he whispers, prompting you with a soft nudge. "Aren't you my good girl? Take it like a good girl."

The words hitting you right in the core, you find yourself moving closer, head dropping further into your husband's lap.

Lewis's eyes flutter shut, savouring the feeling of your lips wrapped around him, the soft whimpers and gags you let out as you move up and down, your soft touch.

"Always so eager to please," he says softly, fingers brushing your hair from your face.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x reader #favs <3

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 4: Liberty

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5  (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You give comfort.

Hello, my little creachers! Welcome back to a new chappie! I was intending for Baby #3 to make its entry this time around, but plot got in the way. Much apologies. Another time jump here that is kept vague, but Reader is on the verge of giving birth, pretty much. Make of that what you will! This one moves away from smut and focuses a little more on the background stuff, which I hope makes a welcome shift. It was time to address this thread, after all! ESSENTIAL REVISION: if you are confused who the minor character in this chap is (you'll see what I mean), go back to ilibītsos (little slut) Chapter 8, 'Deal'.

Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for betaing this chapter for me!

Triggers: only the general. Incest, age gap, purity culture.

Though your skin is clammy beneath your woollen gown and your heart is pounding, you are at least faring better than Lord Olyvar. The Dornish man, so unused to the chill of waning spring upon the isle, is audibly shivering, his golden chain rattling with the shaking of his body. The sound forms a sort of harmony with the sharp thump of wooden swords.

“Hm. Your prince lacks skill,” he says. The words ought to carry with it a degree of disdain, you assume, if it were not for his vain attempt to stifle his reaction to the weather. “Though he is determined.”

You eye the scene below. In the courtyard, Jace is occupied running through drills under Ser Harwin’s tutelage. Even from here, you can see the look of concentration on his face. He knows he is being watched, and that he must do his best to perform this morning. The boy he is up against—the son of the master at arms, and rather solid for one so young—swings his makeshift weapon down hard, and Jace ducks and spins away, out of reach.

“I am but a woman, my lord,” you say dryly, “and perhaps my understanding is as lacking as my nephew is by your estimation—but I am not aware of a man alive nor dead who had mastered the blade in only thirteen summers.”

Lord Olyvar chuckles. “I do not intend to pay insult, Your Highness. Only to observe.”

You sigh. Conversing with this man is a battle in and of itself. If only Prince Qoren had sent Lord Uller instead. Intemperate as he may be, there would be much less of this feigned civility. You have little patience for it in your present state.

Jace strikes a blow on the other lad’s shin, causing him to cry out. A rumble of approval can be heard from Ser Harwin as he circles the warring pair, keenly watching his teachings being put to use. You hum approvingly.

“He is match for any his age.” Glancing toward your companion, you cannot help but add, “And it is my observation that kings are not known for their prowess on the battlefield. They are known for their rule. That is what Dorne is negotiating this union for, is it not?”

Lord Olyvar holds his spread hands up, amusement twisting his thin lips.

“Peace, Your Highness,” he insists. “I am ill-equipped to clash with an opponent as formidable as you have become.”

“I hardly need pandering to, even if it is appreciated.”

You wince as the child in your belly delivers a firm kick upward, temporarily robbing you of breath. He or she squirms within you, pangs of discomfort radiating as their head settles low. Patting them through your skin is the only thing that quietens them down when they are like this, and so you set up a soothing rhythm along the expanse of your middle. Agreeable as the babe is, it is not long before they will greet the earth, and room is sorely lacking.

You pointedly ignore the lord’s stare, gesturing casually to the focus of this outing. “Are you satisfied with your findings thus far?”

“I should like to speak to the boy,” Olyvar says, turning away. It is not the first time he has needed to pretend he had not been looking at your belly. “My niece is most interested to hear of her betrothed’s disposition. And of her future goodmother and… goodfather.”

The latter part of his statement arouses your suspicion. When you follow his line of sight, it is easy enough to understand his meaning—he no longer peers down at Jace, but instead at Ser Harwin, another sly smirk playing upon his face.

Your response is sharp.

“The Princess of Dragonstone and her consort, Ser Laenor”—you take care to emphasise his name just as much as is necessary, for it would not do to let him think this is a point of weakness—“are indisposed. But I am sure you will have occasion to meet my nephew properly later.”

“Ah.”

Sufficiently rebuked, his expression flattens to neutrality once more. You release the stone parapet and step back, wordlessly signalling your intent to depart. There is no need to await his notice, for he moves beside you almost instantly, a half-step behind so that you may lead him. Further back come the heavy footsteps of Ser Lorent, ever vigilant but hardly obtrusive as he tails you both through the halls of your home.

You walk in silence, mostly to preserve your own strength. Your back aches with the weight of the child, but this meeting had been a necessary one—and with the state of things as they are, you had been the only one able to deliver upon it.

“Perhaps I will encounter them later, also,” Lord Olyvar says, somewhat abrupt. You search your mind, trying to recall the context of such a comment. Your confusion must show, for he clarifies. “My esteemed hosts.”

Rhaenyra and Laenor.

You tip your chin. “Perhaps.”

A lie. The likelihood of seeing the pair in the same room together is doubtful, not since the almighty row that had reached its boiling point during supper the other night. You have never seen either quite so wroth with one another.

“… and you must be sure to show off all your exemplary qualities when he arrives,” Rhaenyra says firmly.

Jace nods, trying and failing to conceal the apprehension from his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

It is mayhaps not the best occasion for your sister to prepare her son for the Dornish party’s upcoming visit. Neither is it the worst, you suppose. With Baela and Luke engaged in spirited conversation at the other end of the table, and with Rhaena and Daeron listening intently, there is enough diversion that the other children are not paying attention.

How startling, you think, then. Jace no longer is a child, is he? He is near full-grown.

Your nephew is earnest and thoughtful, ‘tis true, but his recalcitrance this evening is uncharacteristic. Previous delegations had been of minor consequence, mere messengers dispatched to discuss the finer points of the contract initiated moons ago. This time, they come for one purpose and one purpose alone: to decide once and for all if he will make a suitable husband for their beloved Princess. Now that she has flowered by all reports, preparations must begin, and they will only do so if Jace is deemed worthy. No wonder he is afraid.

“Do not let your thoughts trouble you, Jacaerys.” Your uncle’s voice is resolute, warm and reassuring. He does not smile, but there is a confidence in his regard that even you feel heartened by. “Jordayne is cunning, but he wants his niece to be your queen. You have as much right to take your measure of him as he does of you.”

“Yes, nuncle,” is Jace’s reply. He takes a deep breath, placing his cutlery down. The pallor of his cheeks and the compulsive manner in which he swallows is telling.

From beside Laenor, Harwin grunts. “You’ll do well, lad. You’re a… fine young man.”

It seems all the adults have taken it upon themselves to impart some kindness to your nephew. You have no wish to exclude yourself from proceedings.

“Just be yourself,” you say gently. “That is enough to make any one of us proud.”

Jace’s answering smile is wan, and you note the reflexive clench and release of his fist as it rests on the table. Words cannot ease the tension, no matter how much anyone present might wish it.

Rhaenyra lifts her cup to sip her wine. When she places it back down, her lips are red. “Laenor?”

The man in the seat next her does not acknowledge the utterance of his name, staring steadfastly at his empty plate, his eyes glazed over. If not for the fact his own cup has been left untouched, you might presume he is drunk.

“Do you have any words of wisdom for your son?” your sister asks, an edge to her tone.

She does not look at him. Not once. You have noticed the mutual refusal of husband and wife to take so much as a single glimpse of one another, but prudence has stayed your tongue thus far. It has been like this all evening.

Laenor scoffs, a subtle sound.

“Of course.” Then, he schools his expression, turning to Jace with a familiarly encouraging disposition. “You are the captain of your own ship. Do not let anyone else take the wheel.”

You frown, perplexed. From across the table, you can see Rhaenyra twist her rings over and over again. Her posture is stiff, shoulders back in a pantomime of courtesy. Still, she does not turn to him.

“Unless the captain’s judgement has lapsed,” she says, “in which case it is wise to stand aside and let another steer.”

Unease roils within you. Something tells you this is not a conversation that ought to take place here and now. “I don’t think—”

“And who decides if the captain’s judgement has lapsed?” Laenor asks. “One might call that mutiny.”

Civility has been near wholly cast away, it would seem. There is no mistaking his indignation. Before you can even attempt to discern the meaning of this strange double-speak, your sister fires back.

“Mutiny? Is it not mutiny for a captain to abandon his crew before the journey has ende—”

“It is not up to you to decide my doings, Rhaenyra!”

You still have no idea what is going on. Neither do the other occupants of the table, all of whom have fallen silent. Rhaena and Baela vacillate between watching the calamity taking place and glancing at each other; Luke openly ogles, an expression of great alarm on his face; Daeron has shrunk himself to nothing in his seat. Harwin and Jace appear to be pretending to find some minute detail on the wall interesting. The only person with no reaction of note is Daemon, who seems quite content in nursing the contents of his own cup, brow raised and mouth curled in wry entertainment.

Whatever is the matter, you know it is serious enough that it warrants considerable hostility from your goodbrother. Finally, he has given up all pretence, staring incredulously at his wife. But Rhaenyra is not one to yield.

“Who else will temper your folly if not me?” she demands.

“Oh! It is folly now to come to another’s aid, is it?”

“When it means deserting your family, then yes!”

“He is my family, too!”

“Do you not think I wish to be in King’s Landing right now? But I have duties here, I understand that there are sacrifices to be—”

“You may believe it acceptable to forsake your father,” he snarls, “but I will not forsake mine!”

With a rattle and a screech, Laenor all but shoves himself from his chair, rising so quickly it is almost as though he bypassed action entirely. He seems to freeze as he takes in the occupants of the room—the children, wide-eyed and silent; the servants shrinking into the walls; the remaining occupants of the table, avoiding eye contact as best they can—and then, without a word, nudges the seat out of the way and storms off, the door banging behind him.

Rhaenyra had followed swiftly, their shouts loud enough to be heard even from an entirely new floor of the Keep. It had been up to those remaining to shepherd the children to bed, for no evening well-wishes would come from the Princess of Dragonstone or her husband that night. And, ever since, there had always been one or the other absent from convivial gatherings.

Thoughts of this—the fight, your sister, how angry she had been—fuel you to seek her out once you have delivered your farewells to the visiting lord. He returns to his chambers and the company of his retinue while you take the familiar path to the nursery, where Rhaenyra has been spending her spare time as of late.

The room is filled with sunlight. Dust whorls like dragons in flight, spiralling down to blanket Corwyn and Joff’s heads as they bend together over their model of the Keep. There is something synchronous about their interactions, reminding you starkly that, despite appearances, they share a father. They move in harmony, waving about wooden figurines in facsimile of whatever battle they have conjured up.

Your sister murmurs to them, laughing at whatever it is that Corwyn replies with, though her smile is weak. It is not often that she looks so disconsolate, so beaten. A part of you wishes to scold Laenor, to defend her, but you know he too is unhappy with the present state of things. He too has cause for melancholy.

She is startled when she notices you.

“Sister!” she exclaims, standing. “You ought to be resting!”

“I have too much to do,” you say, grumbling good-naturedly as she ushers you to the lone settee beside the rug on which the boys play. You grunt as you adjust yourself, obligingly accepting Rhaenyra’s fussing over the pillows supporting your neck and shoulders. “And if I lay about for too long, this babe sits on my bladder.”

“I remember that all too well.” Her hand touches her middle, quickly and away, memories held in the cradle of her palm.

Motioning vaguely toward her, you say, “Soon it shall be recollection no longer, but reality. How are you feeling?”

“Whomever this is to be”—once more her fingers glide to her belly, and she looks down at herself—“they are far less agreeable than their brothers were. I spent much of my morning bent over a basin.” The words themselves are remonstrative, but the tenor soft, pleased. Her ease in hardship is enviable. “And then I was positively ravenous.”

You grin. “A girl this time?”

“Possibly. Visenya or…” She hesitates. “Or Viserys.”

Papa.

No.

You do not think of him. You cannot think of him.

Instead, you test the flavour of the name upon your tongue, the name of the child-to-be and not the man lost to you. “Viserys Velaryon.”

“It has a ring to it, does it not?” she asks.

“Hm.”

Truthfully, it sounds a little bizarre to you. Then again, her youngest son is named Joffrey. Perhaps she simply wishes to return to tradition with a tried-and-true Valyrian name. There is battle enough in persuading the lords of the Realm that her boys are her husband’s ilk. Bestowing another common moniker may be tantamount to a declaration in the wake of that night on Driftmark.

Speaking of Velaryons… Days have passed, and you are no closer to learning of Corlys’s affairs in the Stepstones.

For moons after Laena’s passing, there had been no word from the Lord of the Tides. Communiques to and from the Velaryon seat were either ignored or would bear the seal and signature of Rhaenys in his stead. He would brood, silent and sorrowful, whenever his lady wife deigned to force him from his desk in his chambers and away to Dragonstone to see his grandchildren. Baela and Rhaena had always seemed to pain him, for he would turn away at the merest sight of them. He bore the loss of his daughter hard, and none could blame him for his behaviour. Then, abruptly—or so you have heard, for your association with Laenor’s father has thus far been mostly limited to tourneys or feasts—those days at his chair were revealed not to have been mere musings over quill and parchment but active plans to set out to sea once more, to recapture the territory your uncle had been victorious over many years ago, the same territory that had not long stood free before the forces opposing the Seven Kingdoms had regained control of it. Rhaenys had barely been afforded the opportunity to row with him before he had taken the fleet entire and sailed off, away, gone.

And that is how it had been for close to a year, the occasional letter tracking the progress of his war efforts with nary a sign of triumph nor defeat. At least, until recently. Until word had come to High Tide—to Rhaenys, and by extension her son, your goodbrother—that the tide has turned against the Sea Snake.

You see no reason to vacillate. Turning properly to your sister and loading your words with weight, you ask, “How bad is it?”

For a second, she appears not to have heard you. She watches Joff and Corwyn, unblinking, expression carefully neutral, the pads of her fingers twisting at her rings again and again. Then, she opens her mouth, prepared to speak.

 Interruption comes in the form of her son, who stands and presses the wooden figure in his hand into her grasp as his free fist winds tightly into the skirts over her knee.

“Tyrakee,” he says with all the seriousness a child of near three years can muster. The pronunciation is unfamiliar, wrong. Whatever he means by it, you know not.

“Yes, my love,” his mother coos, moving the miniature dragon about in the air as though it is flying. He stares, transfixed, deep brown eyes gleaming. “It looks just like Tyraxes, doesn’t it?”

Of course—it is the very same shade of red as his mount. At her words, your little nephew nods enthusiastically, inciting a chuckle from Rhaenyra. She hands the toy back.

“We shall go see him later. How about that?” she asks.

“Fost!” Corwyn shouts from the floor, smacking his own carved dragon into the topmost tower of the replica fortress before him. It collides with a sharp thwack, emphasised by his imitation of a roar. There is such glee in it that you cannot help but be roused to jollity, yourself. “Fost, too!”

“Yes, sweet boy. Skyfrost, too. We will go see them both.”

“Yeah!”

With what can only be described as a mad cackle, little Joff patters away with unexpected speed, and Corwyn hoists himself up to follow. The nursemaid rises, pursuing her charges with a pleading entreaty to slow down, to stop, to return. Lost in their shared fantasy of some great quest, neither child heeds her demands, instead leading her on a merry gallivant throughout the room as they split off in separate directions. If it were not for the great encumbrance of your babe nestled in your womb, you may well be tempted to assist in herding them back to some semblance of quiet.

“The situation is… grave.”

You snap back to attention. Your sister’s gaze remains fixated upon a point past you, her lips curled into a slight scowl. She looks tired—if not in appearance, in disposition.

“The Triarchy’s forces have withstood siege for longer than Corlys anticipated,” she continues quietly, mindful of the small eavesdroppers in the room. “Munitions are low. Rations, even poorer. If he flees, the enemy’s fleet will pursue him, and he is more like to perish than not. Neither can he remain without aid.”

Your heart sinks. She is apt at downplaying things. The situation must truly be grave.

“What will you do?” you ask. “Will you let Laenor go?”

She shakes her head, sighing. “His sons need him. I need him.”

It is not a ‘no’. Indeed, it is true that she has always relied on him far more than he had ever relied on her. Their marriage had brought Rhaenyra security in her tenuous position as heir and solidified the support of one of the most powerful Houses in the Realm. Their arrangement had ensured she could produce sons that would be recognised as legitimate, their true parentage irrelevant in the face of her husband’s assertion that they were his by blood. Their friendship had provided her with a steadfast ally through the summers of rising tension between the factions at court, a source of succour when she had thought all the world against her. Even you. In contrast—what gain is brought to Laenor’s feet? Without her, he would still inherit his father’s titles. He would remain prominent and powerful by virtue of his Valyrian ancestry, his own Targaryen claim. He would arguably be freer to act according to his whims, uncaring of plots and schemes that seek to destroy his influence and destabilise his proximity to the Iron Throne.

You have long considered your goodbrother to be an exemplary sort of man, an invaluable source of humour and conviviality and affection. Of family. But his loyalty has not yet been paid for, not in a way that truly counts. Perhaps it is time he receives what he is owed.

“He wants me to give him leave to fly off to battle. How can I?” she whispers, more to herself than to you. “But how can I not?”

You wish you could reach out and take her hand, but doing so would rob you of more effort than you possess. She sounds afraid, more afraid than you recall her being in a long time. It is different than any other occasion in which she has rightfully found distress, for even the most fraught moments had seen her carry on with admirable fortitude in the face of danger. She has always been a warrior in spirit and in deed, rising to every challenge with her head held high. But this? She shrinks upon herself like a beaten youth, or a hare trapped and waiting for the wolf’s jaw to close over its neck. It is as though the walls are closing in on her and she is helpless to stop it happening.

“Laenor has lost a great deal,” you tell her gently, thinking of Lonmouth and Laena. Even his liberty.“He is not ready to lose his father. Not yet.”

Her chin bobs absently, a far-off look in her eyes. “I worry.”

Such a simple turn of phrase, though her meaning is not lost on you. She worries for herself and her status should she birth a child he is not present to once again claim as his own. She worries for her sons, absent of the man they call their father, no matter the truth. She worries for Rhaena and Baela to be without their beloved uncle, the last truly tangible link to their mother left to them. And, mayhaps greatest of all, she worries for Laenor himself, someone who has become her dearest and closest companion. A soulmate, of sorts.

“We all will,” is what you finally say, just barely audible over the squeals of the boys in the background. “But we cannot despair what has not come to pass.”

Not yet, anyway, you cannot help but think.

When you return from the privy, you find quite a sight to take in.

Aelys has pulled herself up to stand using the cabinet beside the bed and rifles greedily through the plate upon which her father’s rings lay. You note dourly that Valnissar appears poised to assist, his body extended from where he sits on Daemon’s pillow and his neck craned to inspect their shared prize. Naturally. Where one falls into mischief, the other is sure to be following. Meanwhile, Rhaenar is crawling about the room in naught but his underthings, laughing hysterically as his father trips up after him while attempting to pry Azorion off his leg.

“Fucking thing,” Daemon mutters to himself, hissing in pain as he is nipped on his prying fingers. He bops the creature on the head with a snap of, “Rȳbās!” Obey!

“What—what is going on?” you ask, torn between amusement and bewilderment. You think he might have better luck commanding his son, who sits and waits eagerly for the chase to resume. “Where’s Freda?”

In a thoroughly vexed tone, he says, “She fed the twins pudding. It’s all over them, so she’s gone to get fresh clothing. I undressed him and tried to put him in the cradle”—he makes a noise of triumph as he finally extricates the dragon from his skin, holding it aloft by the base of its tail—“but this little shit sabotaged me.”

Azorion screeches and bares his teeth when he is released back to the floor, skittering across the stone to return to his future rider’s side. You find it exceedingly difficult to fear him, however much he wishes for it.

“Ah.” Nodding, you bite your lip and glance back to Aelys. She is utterly absorbed in the sound of rattling metal that comes from each flex of her pudgy fingers. “You… do know what your daughter is doing, yes?”

“In a moment. I’ll deal with these two”—he stares down at the pair immediately before him—“first.”

Unfortunately for your boy, he has allowed himself to be distracted by your arrival, mumbling “mama mama-ma-ma” while flexing his fists towards you in a plea to be lifted into your embrace. You wish you could give him what he wants, but your belly prevents you from such things now—and you do not wish for another occurrence in which your elder two spar with your youngest through the layers of skin that separate them. You wince at the memory of it, of the bruises that had blossomed afterward.

Rhaenar does not see it coming when Daemon snatches him up, growling and pretending to bite at his cheeks. His father’s mock-menacing voice chides him through his squeals, saying, “Kōz taoba iksā.” You are a wicked boy.

That familiar ache in your chest grows stronger as you watch the display, so wholly untethered from the notions of propriety and distance you had been raised with. Here is a father and son who love one another, who know one another. You never truly could say the same of your own.

“Mama?” Aelys grabs your attention, face alight with inquisitiveness.

“Issa, dōnītsos?” Yes, sweetling? you ask her, twisting inside as you look upon her dear little features, innocent and pure.

She does not make further attempts to babble or elucidate, simply stares and continues to clutch at items that do not belong to her. You clear your throat, staring pointedly at her and her mischievous companion.

“Bonyz renigon avy sytilības?” Should you be touching those?

She does not understand you, but that is not the point. Your unsmiling expression and the deepening of your voice are enough to ensure that she glances uncertainly between you and her hand, almost as if pondering upon what the best course of action is.

“Daor,” you emphasise. No.

Her hand withdraws, demeanour decidedly put out from being scolded. Valnissar chitters, neck craning even closer until you click your tongue warningly. No doubt he had been intending to steal something for himself, the naughty beast. Having lost his chance, he slinks from the mattress to the floor in a tangle of limbs and wings, bowling full-bodied to knock against Aelys’s legs. She giggles when he growls, untwisting himself and shaking himself out like a waterlogged cat. With a soft thunk, she plops onto her bottom beside him, gumming at the scales on his head as he twines himself around her.

“And you—”

Daemon’s solid frame enters your line of vision as he strides forth to hoist her off the ground, tickling her belly to make her squirm. “Ñuhor līr renigon daor, turgītsos,” he says, a poorly concealed quirk to his lips. Don’t touch what is mine, little worm.

It is straightforward enough for him to divest her of her soiled dress. He casts the offending item upon the table carelessly on his path, placing her down beside her brother and nudging Azorion out of the way to make extra room. Not one to be left out so easily, Aelys’s dragon scales up your uncle’s leg and into the cradle in a flurry of movement, heedless of the pained grunts it elicits from the individual he had climbed. Azorion screeches as Valnissar lands on him, wings flapping in his outrage. Before the creature can scrabble over the side and away from all those expertly entrapped within their wooden enclosure, Daemon pushes him back in.

“Ah-ah. Umbās.” Stay, he commands, lowering a finger to Aelys so that she might take hold of it. With his free hand, he taps Rhaenar’s nose. “You two are fortunate that I’m your father—otherwise, I would throw your lizards off the balcony.”

You roll your eyes. Nudging one of the chairs into place with your hip, you pick up your daughter’s discarded outfit and drop it into the nearby basket for the maids to take care of later. “No, you would not. Dragons are sacred, and there are far too few of them for you to risk such a thing.”

Almost instantly, your twins have quietened down, and with them their winged beasts. You would not be surprised to venture over and find them yawning and tilting to the side, starting to ready themselves for an afternoon nap.

Meanwhile, Daemon ambles over to you, a weary smirk on his face. “Yes, yes—but the little fuckers need to think I’m a threat, do they not? How else will they learn?”

“You are incorrigible,” you say with a shake of your head, nudging him playfully when you feel a wandering touch ghost along your rear. “Our children will have the very worst manners, and it will be all your fault.”

He levels you with a hooded stare, the curve of his mouth relaxing. “You flatter me, niece.”

A warm palm settles on your middle, and he glances down to follow the path of tiny ripples along firm flesh. The babe has awoken at the sound of their father’s voice, it would seem.

Impossibly softly, he asks, “How are you both?”

You try to conceal your wince at a particularly hard kick from within your womb. “This one seems to have developed a particular fondness for playing about with my insides. I cannot go an hour without needing to make water.”

His nostrils flare, lips twitching. “Not long now,” he says.

“Hm.”

You study him, abruptly noticing streaks of filth accumulated in the lines on his forehead, ash darkening his hair and mouth. Come to think of it, there is dirt all over him—spattered on his jerkin, blackening his nail beds, smearing on your gown.

“Why… why are you so filthy?” you ask, frowning. “What in the heavens have you been doing?”

He grins widely, demeanour shifting to one of almost childish excitement. ‘Tis animation you have not seen in him in an age, if ever. He does not even have the wherewithal to look apologetic for the mess he has no doubt trekked in.

“I’ve brought you something,” he tells you. “Come.”

No question, no prompting—he takes you by the hip and by the arm and steers you to the hearth, and you find yourself reliving a scene from moons ago. But this time, you are the one to be led to the brazier in which a dragon egg is kept safe and warm, awaiting the arrival of its intended Targaryen.

Beside you, Daemon looks unbearably proud of himself. “Syrax has laid a fresh clutch. All good, by the looks of them… though this one caught my eye.”

It is not difficult to see why. Though the scaled pattern is always iridescent in some fashion, the colouration of each egg is usually distinct and uniform. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, white, black. This egg does not seem to know which hue to choose. In fact, it appears to fluctuate so much so that you could not possibly tell what underlying colour it is meant to be. Perhaps it is all the colours of the rainbow, or maybe none of them.

Even so, its mere presence is confusing—not that he has deigned to select one for your child, but that he has gone to such effort unnecessarily.

“The hatchery already has eggs to choose from, though,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach forth and trace the shimmer flickering upon the hard shell. You refrain. Your uncle likely would not appreciate any reminder of that unnatural trait of yours. “And the Keepers usually retrieve them from the nests.”

A noncommittal sound reverberates through his chest. It seems a little too casual. “There’s nothing wrong with a little adventure.”

There it is.

You had been waiting for a sign, an inkling. Something to suggest that all the talk of battle and glory about the Keep as of late might have left its mark upon his thoughts. Might have started to settle in the back of his mind like rust, tainting the fulfilment has found with the allure of bloodshed, of power—of freedom.

Growing up, you remember hearing that your uncle was a creature of violence, a monster, a rabid dog frothing at the mouth for the chance to revel in carnage and slaughter. Though knowing him as you know him now has dispelled many of the tall tales told at court, it does not fully exculpate you from the lingering notion that, for all his many qualities that you admire and cherish, he is not exactly made for peace.

He loves you, yes. He loves your children, yes. He loves the life he has built, yes. But is all this enough for him? And will it be enough for him forever? These are questions that trouble you fleetingly from time to time.

At this moment, however, Daemon does not allow you to linger upon such things.

“Do you like it?” he asks, full of restrained eagerness.

You do what you do best and imagine your worries as trinkets you can lock away in a chest, out of view, to be confined in the dark until you forget they exist—or until they fight so fiercely that they are released in an explosion of uncontrolled emotion. On the surface, you smile to hide your discomfort, praying that he does not notice the beads of sweat collecting on your temples or the frenetic pace of your pulse racing to an unknown finish.

“Of course I do,” you say, because you really do, even if any gladness is secretly marred by what he cannot see. Taking a silent breath to steady yourself, you turn away from the brazier, from the egg, from the reminder that it serves as.

“Now”—your brow arches as you look upon your husband critically—“go take a bath. I cannot believe you touched my children with those hands.”

He snorts. “I suppose I won’t convince you to let me touch you, then? Alas.”

You know exactly what he means by that, and it has little to do with tickling or innocence of any kind. Thank the gods that the room is silent, which means the babes are asleep. One day, they are sure to overhear something thoroughly untoward.

Pointing toward the door, you level him with your best attempt at a command. “Go!” you exclaim.

He heads to the door to call for a servant who will help him do your bidding, chucking all the while. The ash from his lips is bitter on your tongue.

Days later, you find yourself in the Great Hall, doing your best to stand tall and unaffected as the Dornish delegation makes their official farewells. In truth, you wish you had pleaded illness so that you would not need to stand so long. This child within you is pressing so heavily upon the mouth to your womb that you are concerned they will birth themselves onto this very floor. Sharp twinges spread throughout your lower body, and you just barely master the temptation to reach beneath your belly and lift to seek some relief from the pressure forcing down and down. It is most difficult to pay attention to proceedings, though you are by no means the only one paying little heed to the careful conversation taking place between Olyvar and Rhaenyra, and Jace by extension.

Daemon shifts on the balls of his feet, angling his head to the side so that you may see his mouth as it shapes his words. His eyes wander aimlessly, but you know his primary focus has been you.

“Yne gūrogon dēmavos jaelā?” he whispers, gaze meeting yours fleetingly. Do you want me to get you a chair?

You shake your head minutely. Even now, you cannot afford to look weak. The alliance that has been built is still tenuous at best, and Sunspear must believe that the price they pay for a tie to the Throne is worthwhile. You must be as stone. You have no choice.

“… pleased.” The Jordayne lord dips his chin, bending forward at the waist just enough to pay the barest of respects to his hosts. “Prince Jacaerys is a sensible and solicitous young man. You have… much to be proud of, Your Highness.”

To you, the praise seems forced. You wonder if it curdles his stomach to admit it aloud.

Rhaenyra is disinclined to give him quarter. Her response is positively haughty, spine as straight and proud as ever. “I agree. He will make for a fine husband, and even finer king.”

You can almost hear Olyvar grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Your sister carries on, unaffected.

“I presume I will be looking forward to my gooddaughter’s arrival in due course?” she asks.

“As agreed,” he says, and then, much louder, proclaims, “When Princess Alliandra reaches her majority, she will make the journey to Dragonstone, where she will be wedded and bedded, and our pact sealed.”

The nobles who have deigned to take temporary residence on the isle—now congregating as an audience in this echoing space—applaud, though you do see several tense faces among the crowd. Distrust runs deep in Westeros, and enmity is not soon forgotten. Still, what has occurred here is a great achievement, one that had taken many meetings and countless compromises to arrange and concur to. Negotiating the terms of the treaty had been largely out of your hands, but you were the one to have initiated it. The thought brings you great pride.

 Lord Olyvar steps closer with a funny twist to his lips. It is only your relative proximity that allows you to hear him say to your sister, “For the first time in our shared histories, the blood of the Rhoynar and Old Valyria will unite as one. Curious, how the winds change.”

A single nod of acknowledgement. “Then it is done?” she asks.

“It is done.” He glances at Ser Harwin in the far corner of the room, something you feel certain only you notice. “Barring any… complications, of course.”

“Naturally.”

Rhaenyra steps back. You admire how she takes her space without it seeming like a retreat. On the contrary—it is nonchalant, an act of consideration, almost, like she is doing the other some great favour by releasing them from the spell of her immediate nearness.

“Safe journeys, my Lord,” she says, smiling pleasantly. It does not reach her eyes.

Finally, he bows, forced by common courtesy. She outranks him, after all. “Until we meet again.”

And, with a final flourish of spears and the fading sounds of accented voices barking orders from the shore, the Dornish depart once and for all.

The collective atmosphere in the Keep automatically improves. For days, it seemed that every move you had all made was assessed and somehow found wanting. Nothing had been good enough; not the climate, not the accommodations, not the food, not the entertainment. Certainly not the people. It had taken all your courage to forge on ahead with every sneer, every whisper, every calculated remark that your visitors had levied as a weapon against you. But all you had to do was outlast the contempt. Now, you are free of them. You already feel it is easier to breathe without the shadow of old enemies darkening the doorstep.

What better time to finally begin your lying in?

It is a relief, in truth, to close yourself up in your chambers, to know that you need not mind anything except ensuring you are well-rested and strong enough for the labours ahead. You sink into the familiarity of it almost instantly: the heat of the air around you, the constant readiness of the baths you sink into, the frenetic burst of energy that compels you to arrange your haven just so before you sink once more into fatigue, curled around yourself with a possessive hand on your belly, waiting, waiting. Others surround you—Ūlla, the maester, your ladies—but they seem unimportant compared to what is happening within you. Even Daemon, always present, always watching, full of anticipation, fades from the forefront of your thoughts as your mind and your body prepare to shift to that strange realm where life and death hang in the balance.

Less than a sennight passes—at least, you think so, though time has begun to melt together in your confinement—when Laenor arrives to your rooms, shoulders stiff and arms behind his back. While not out of the realm of possibility, it is certainly unusual to see him venture in search of you without the company of at least one of his sons.

“Can I join you?” he asks at the door, hesitant.

You think it is a moot point, for he has already let himself in. Still, you smile from where you lay, gesturing at him to enter properly.

He sits himself on the mattress beside you, scrutinising the room. You allow the silence that lingers. Sometimes, there is no need to force words from the mouth of one who clearly has something to say. It is merely a matter of patience. And, with Daemon in the nursery with the twins, you have as much latitude as you wish in exercising it.

After further prevarication, he murmurs your name. He stops. His mouth opens and closes. He will not look at you.

You make it easier for him. You had known this was coming.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” you ask quietly.

“Yes.” Laenor exhales in a shudder, wilting as he hunches over. Then, he schools himself, turning his head to stare down at you from the edge of the bed. “Take care of your sister, won’t you? She is rather cross with me at present.”

An understatement.

“She loves you.” It seems inadequate, but it is the best way you can describe how she feels for him. “She does not wish to see you harmed.”

He closes his eyes. “I know.”

A hush falls upon you both once more.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

‘Are you angry that I am abandoning you all?’ is what you hear.

“I am… disappointed,” you say carefully, trying your best to convey the tumult in your head. “Not in you, or anyone. More so that you must go at all. But I understand it.”

Of course you do. If it were your family in danger, would you not muster every ounce of courage and vigour to strike down the ones who threatened them? If it were Rhaenar or Aelys or Daemon or Rhaenyra or Daeron, would you not seek to remedy any wrong done unto them? Or, if your own father faced death—even now, when you and he are so at odds and there seems to be no recourse to bridge the gaping maw that has grown between you—would you not rally to his aid?

You would. You would, and so too would Laenor. To you, there is no choice, not really, not when it comes to what one does for love.

“If I die…”

You shake your head, tensing full-formed at the mere thought of it. “Don’t.”

“I must,” he insists. “If I die, Rhaenyra will be in danger. The boys… my boys. They will be in danger, too.” He trembles as though his words will bring the gods’ wrath down upon your nephews. His jaw tightens in resolve, demeanour suddenly as steel and begging with his eyes. “You and Daemon—you need to protect them. Promise me you will.”

It reminds you of a time long ago when he was just a lord’s son and you a little girl, side by side in a hall in a Keep you know not if you will ever see again. How ironic that so many years have passed, and you still find the hurt in a simple ‘goodbye’.

“I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves,” he had said that night, full of hope and a desperate desire for the approval of his bride’s sister.

“I will,” you had told him then.

“I will,” you tell him now. Reaching across the mattress, your hand finds his. You hold onto the warmth of him, committing his face to memory. “I promise.”

Eventually, he departs as he must, a gentle farewell accompanied by an even gentler embrace. You try to temper your despair with the knowledge that Seasmoke is sure to protect him as hotly as any dragon protects his rider. This does not stop the river of tears from falling when the door closes. It feels like an ending.

 As you listen for the faint sounds of his convoy sailing further and further out to sea, you wonder if you will ever see him again.

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#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x you #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction

[ghoulsbounty]

can you make a fic abt baby billy and like being one of his wives or like when he's on the run from tiff idrk depends on what you want to do

A Fall From Grace

Uncle Baby Billy Freeman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Baby Billy comes seeking comfort, and you are always willing to shoulder the burden.

Warnings: smut (18+), backshot, cum eating (kinda), p in v, alluding to an affair, mentions of religious beliefs relating to the show, angst, alcohol, smoking, emotional hurt/comfort, reader pining for baby billy, dejection.

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Anon and anon, thank you for requesting that I write for this emotionally stunted baby man. I love him, I love the show, and the world needs Baby Billy fics! This is set before he is with Tiff (because I love her.) I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

You longed to utter the words, to express disbelief at finding yourself in this familiar game of cat and mouse once more. But honesty was a luxury you couldn't afford, not when your conscience was already weighed down by a litany of sins. Each lie added to the burden, and you couldn't bear to heap more upon your soul.

There was a time, not so long ago, you walked the path of life with a sense of purpose and righteousness. Like any devout believer, you diligently carried out God's will, spreading His word among the neighbours of Pumpkintown. But then, on a scorching summer's day, destiny led you through Freeman's Gap, where you found yourself standing at his doorstep. From that moment, everything changed.

Baby Billy, with his irresistible charm and captivating fa��ade, swiftly drew you into his intricate web of deception. His presence cast a shadow over your once-virtuous existence, blurring the boundaries between right and wrong. In his company, your convictions faltered, and the very essence of your faith began to erode. Slowly but surely, he transformed you from a devout Christian into a mere echo of your former self.

No matter how many times you had promised yourself that this would be the last time, that you wouldn't let it happen again, it all amounted to more lies to add to the growing list. When he reappeared in your life after an eighteen-month absence, you were poised to slam the door shut in his face. But he possessed a silver tongue that could persuade the sun to set twice.

So here you were, pressed face down against the mattress, your skin glistening with sweat as he drove into you from behind. This was your preferred position; it prevented him from gazing at you with adoration, as if you were the centre of his universe, while he consumed every inch of your being. It made it easier to bear his departure after he was done with you, when he didn't linger. The ache in your chest always remained, but your time with Baby Billy had made you realize that you were nothing if not resilient.

Your gaze lingered on the half-empty bottle of gin perched on the bedside table. It was his customary offering, always referred to as your favourite. Whether it truly held that distinction was a matter of uncertainty, but you always accepted it. Flowers and chocolate might have softened the edges of your encounters with him, but they could never dull the sharp pang of inevitable loss you’d feel when he returned to whichever-number wife he was on.

"I'll accept the bottle, but not the intent," you would murmur each time he presented it, extending the gesture like an olive branch. His eyes would gleam with anticipation, tinged with a hint of apprehension, as he waited to be welcomed in. How many lies had you accumulated by now?

More than you cared to count. This self-proclaimed righteous man of God would lead you to the depths of hell itself if it meant avoiding solitude, and you would willingly follow. That was the truth.

"Haven't lost you now, have I?" His voice snapped you out of your trance, his hips grinding against your backside with a fervour that seemed desperate to anchor you to him.

Clutching the sheets tightly, your knuckles turned white as you shook your head. "I'm here, Baby Billy."

He chuckled, his hands gripping the flesh of your hips as he pulled back slightly before thrusting back in with force. Your walls tightened around him, drawing out the most obscene moans from his lips as he maintained an unfaltering rhythm.

"You're always here for Baby Billy," he remarked with a hint of satisfaction. "You're a good girl."

The words ignited a surge of conflicting emotions within you, sending sparks flying through your mind. Somewhere deep within, a wire seemed to short circuit, and you found yourself instinctively grinding your hips back against him, matching his movements.

"Damn," he sighed, his voice heavy with gratification, as one hand dropped to your front. His fingers traced along your wet folds until he found the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a high-pitched wail from your lips. "Well, if that ain't the prettiest thing I've ever heard."

His other hand released your hip, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you against his sticky chest. The new position drove him deeper, your head leaning back against his shoulder in the crook of his neck as he slowed to a heavy grind. His fingers continued their expert ministrations on your clit, tracing familiar circles, while his other hand left your hair to grab harshly at your breast, pinching your nipple just as he knew you liked.

"Let me see you now," he panted. You hadn't realized you'd squeezed your eyes shut until he slapped your clit with an open palm, causing you to flinch against him, and when you opened them, he was looking down at you with those hazel eyes that sucked you in every time. "There she is. Tell Baby Billy what you want from him."

He always did this, despite your attempts to bury your face into the mattress to hide from what you were doing with him. He always found a way to make you look at him, to confront your demons and tell him what you desired most from him. It was as if he couldn't let you come out of this unscathed, regardless of his claims that he needed you right there with him.

He didn't truly need you, not in the sense of wanting you for anything more than warming his cock and easing the burden of the life he had created for himself. You were a distraction from the suffering he had caused, never once caring for your own.

You wished you could refuse him. In every other aspect of your life, you were strong, but when it came to Baby Billy Freeman, your resolve wavered with just one look. Perhaps it was the underlying desperation he always seemed to exude, making you feel sorry for him, as if you were providing a service by temporarily alleviating his misery. Eventually, you stopped trying to make sense of it, allowing it to happen and taking from it what you wanted, what you needed.

"I want to cum," you breathed against the skin of his neck, then remembered what he always liked to hear. "Please, Baby Billy."

The familiar tightening in your stomach signalled your impending climax, and he seemed to sense it too, his movements growing more urgent as your walls fluttered around him, drawing him deeper with each thrust. His fingers worked faster against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing against his as you cried out into the silence of the bedroom.

He grunted, continuing to thrust into you through your orgasm, your walls milking him as you pulsed around him. Your body went limp as the last surge of electricity shot through you, and he tossed you back onto the mattress to reach his own release. A few more thrusts, then you felt the tell-tale stutter of his hips before he withdrew completely, leaving your pussy feeling empty and used. The sound of your juices squelching around him filled the room as he used them to pleasure himself, pumping once, twice before finally cumming hard onto your ass with a shout of release.

You laid there, your sweaty face pressed against the sticky cotton sheet as you slowly grounded yourself back to reality. He panted above you, running a finger over the curves of your ass, scooping his release from you before bringing it to your mouth. You accepted it, your tongue swirling around his finger, lips closing around him as you sucked the salty mixture and swallowed it down. It was a habit he enjoyed, claiming that if he couldn't cum inside you, he at least wanted to ensure you received what he was giving in some way. It had become a routine you found yourself needing more than you cared to admit.

He withdrew his finger, delivering a sharp slap to your ass before rising from the bed. The mattress groaned with his movement, and you lay still as he carried out his next habitual task. Moments later, he returned, a lit cigarette between his lips and a wet cloth in his hand as he gently cleaned off the evidence of his release from your behind before tossing it onto the bedside table with a wet thwack. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned over you with an arm resting on the mattress. You turned onto your back underneath him, running your fingers over his forearm as he looked down at you.

"Don't look at me like that," you said, tracing patterns through the hair on his arm.

"Like what, angel?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he brought the cigarette to your lips. You took a drag before he reclaimed it, exhaling slowly as your eyes met his.

"Like you might love me," you whispered.

He chuckled, briefly glancing away before returning his gaze to you. "Maybe I do."

Once, you believed you loved him, back when you were still innocent to the manipulative games he played and your part in it all. But that belief didn't last long; you soon learned to shut it out, along with the company of men who weren't him.

"Right girl, wrong time," he had once told you, but you quickly learned that the right time would never come.

For Baby Billy, love wasn't in the equation. It soon became clear that he merely enjoyed the possession of you. You were like an old toy to him, tossed aside until he desired to play with you again. Your emotions, your needs, they were secondary to his whims, serving only to satisfy his fleeting desires.

Baby Billy Freeman didn't love you, he loved having you.

He would depart soon, leaving you with uncertainty about when you would see him again. Yet, deep down, you knew he would return. He always did, seeking refuge in your presence to distract himself from the harsh realities of his life. And you would be there for him, as you always were.

Because unfortunately, somewhere along the way of Baby Billy using you like a drug, you had become addicted yourself.

#uncle baby billy #uncle baby billy x reader #baby billy x reader #the righteous gemstones #walton goggins #baby billy freeman #baby billy freeman x reader #fic request #uncle baby billy smut #baby billy smut

[spnrs]

aeon lust

pure smut, warnings/tags: spencer x fem!reader, shy spencer, rough sex, glasses reid my baby, penetration, riding, creampie

spencer thinks your shoulders are probably the most beautiful part of you. he looks at them through the lens of his glasses, the smooth golden skin, the delicate subdued plum of your bra strap. the swell of your breasts cupped by the sheer lace makes him swallow, his own hands trailing up your legs, settling on the generous curves of your thighs. outside, the summer rain splatters lazily but in your shared room, between your bodies, there's a shimmer clinging to you, an overheating feeling burning straight to spencer's cock. your hair falls over your shoulder, pushed to one side, eyes meeting his and then in a shameless flicker, fall at the hard rigid line of his dick. standing proudly between the two of you, your small hands press against it, pushing it flush against spencers stomach. he twitches, causing you to smile as you ride your palm up the underside. it's glistening, spencer can't help but notice, from seconds ago, when you had wrapped your fingers at the base, guiding the tip into your mouth, going down inch by excruciatingly inch. every little bob, swallow had done nothing but drive him crazy.

he watches, mesmerized, as you shift, feeling the cool air hit where your wetness had pressed against his thighs. delicate hands push the lace away from your wetness. you rise, on your knees, shifting until you're hovering right over the tip. palm pressing down against spencer's shoulder, you sink down slowly. you're so wet, he watches the easy slide of it. your other hand goes to his other shoulder, using the leverage to push yourself down, impaling yourself onto the delicious feeling of being full. spencers voice catches in his throat, a sound like a strained sob as your weight settles down onto him. it doesn't take much for you to bottom out, abruptly dropping flush against spencers hips. you clench around him and the feeling makes his eyes flutter close for a second, muscles tensing at the anticipation. "spencer," you say, voice soft, a whisper, "you feel really good." spencer groans, throws an arm over his eyes, unable to keep looking at such an erotic sight.

"i'm really wet," you continue, shameless. spencer whines your name, shifting with impatience, "stop saying things like that." you laugh a little, swiveling your hips in more of a tease then intent, "how is that worse than what we're doing right now together?" "it's embarrassing," spencer mumbles. you don't answer and he opens his eyes at the silence. your gaze is stuck on him, and it distracts him enough to miss the way you rise, and then drop back down on him. the impact is paralyzing, he kicks himself for not looking at the way his cock leaves and enters you. his eyes snap down, watching in silence as you begin to rise again, until spencer is almost completely out of you and then slams back down, almost painful, the slap of skin ringing loudly.

your cheeks are slowly painting pink with the exercise of it, the heat of your movements, and spencers own face begins to heat up with the lewdness of the sounds coming from you two. the wet slick sounds of your pussy sheathing him over and over again, tight and wet and so willing to eat up his entire length. spencer can't do anything but lay on his back and let you use him. rising and falling, bed creaking with the motion of it. your breasts bounce along, threatening to spill over your bra. the idea of getting to touch them is enough to tempt spencer into reaching up, pushing away the cups until your breast are bare, nipples hard with pleasure. he presses his thumbs against the the hard nubs, rubbing tight circles. you cry out, a soft moan as you keep riding him, hard and fast and unrelenting. the room is getting too hot, your hips start a small roll, spencer's own hips twitch at the feeling, hands cupping your breast, thumbs pressing painfully against your nipples. you shift, his hands drop from your chest for a second, before he reaches upwards, mouth half open, tongue out.

you stare at spencer the entire time, he gives a quick, kittenish lick, flickering the tip of his tongue against the already hard nipple. you sigh at the feeling, and he takes it as a sign to wrap his mouth around you, suck hard, your moans soft and pleased. "ah, spence.." you whimper, his mouth still sucking, licking, "i love how you feel inside me," you breathe, shuddering when spencer flattens out his tongue, gives a slow lick, your nipples now wet and hard. he starts saying your name then trails off, wanting to ask you to do something but he knows he doesn't have to say anything when your smile edges on devious. "what is it, spencer," you ask coyly, rolling forward just enough for his eyes to faintly roll back, "don't i look pretty just sitting on you?," you stop moving, chest rising and falling, bra more off than anything, "aren't i just the prettiest little cockwarmer?" your vulgar choice of words making him thrust deeper into you. you can't help but find the blush on his cheeks spreading down his neck, his disheveled hair, and the way he lips are barely parted cute. spencer feels the way his skin burns hot at those words, and you do nothing but look at him, still deep inside of you.

"i've been good, right?" you ask, voice low, "don't you want to come inside me?" he bucks up, jostles you with the force of it, he raises his hands again, pinches and pulls at your nipples as he starts thrusting. your moans get louder, bed creaking as his hips keep snapping up, until you're crying out, high pitched, whiny. "does it hurt?" it almost pisses you off the way he can ask a question like that sounding so genuine then follow it by saying your name in the filthiest tone. spencer grunts, his pace bruising, unrelenting. his thighs are starting to hurt from the movement. but the noises, the wet, slide of his cock, thrusting deep into you, the way he can feel just how wet you are, can see how it runs down your own thighs. his mouth waters, wanting to taste you, but that will have to be for another day.

he grabs you by the hips, pushes you down against his dick, holding you flush as he grinds up, the bed sheets rustle with your movements, your body rolls with it, reacting, oversensitive, but it's all spencer allows you to do before he lifts you off him, then drops you back onto him. the slide is smooth, you're that wet, and then spencer keeps you still as he just drills into you, over and over until the bed starts thumping and all you can do is hold on, fingers digging into his shoulders. you're not making any sense, coherent words gone as you whine and moan, little sounds that make spencer even more desperate. he rolls you over, he slips out of you with a wet sound, cock wet from you, dripping with it.

spencer wastes no time arranging you on your back, your hair fans out, and he is quick to enter again, easy. he lifts your legs, holds them together as he starts pounding into you, watching with eager eyes as your cunt eats him up, every last inch, greedily. "you take it so well," spencer breathes, mesmerized, "it's almost like you just want to be like this forever." you turn your head to the side, eyes fluttering as he keeps thrusting into you, body inching further up the bed, "i always want you inside me," you moan, cheeks red. spencer picks up his pace, out of desperation, a need to feel you come. he lifts you higher, until only your torso is still on the bed, fingers gripping the soft curves of your hips as he pulls you away from his cock, watching as it becomes visible again, slick with your wetness, tip catching at your opening. your body is pliant in his hands, letting yourself be pushed and pulled whichever way spencer pleases.

he straightens, knees digging deeper in the bed. "oh," you cry out, it's more like a punched out sound, surprised, as spencers hands push you back onto his dick, the wet sound of it does nothing but make him want to hear more of it, your little pants, hear just how wet you are around him. he does it again, pulls you off and then with forceful hands pushes you back against him, chest heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed as he makes you take him over and over again, his thighs tightening with the effort. your moans are loud, sounds of breathless pleasure, sighs as spencer makes you fuck hard into him. "spencer please," you whine, breathy, desperate, "ah, spencer," you start again but don't finish your thought, instead your mouth drops into a soundless moan, hands gripping tight at the bed sheets, now all twisted, messed up, under him. your body arches, until your shoulders and head are the only parts still on the bed, body desperately wanting more of spencer inside of you. "i'm-" you try again, but again spencer doesn't get to hear the end of it, feeling instead how you come, the muscles of your stomach, your hips, thighs, going tight, rippling as your insides clamp down harder, hips raising impossible high, still in his grasp. he pushes you flush, still inside you, until your thighs are sticking to his hips, then he comes. your hips start twitching again, body slumping, trying to get away.

spencer shifts, and the feeling of his impossibly hard cock, dragging inside you, is enough to have you whine, eyes fluttering close, tired. he pulls out slowly, more of a tease as he feels the slide of it, sees the way your stomach tightens at the feeling. your wetness combined with his cum slicks down your own thighs, glistening, connecting to the tip of spencers dick. his fingers go to touch, rub it against your folds, fingers entering you easily, crooking. "do you want to clean me up, spencer?" you murmur and he stops his movements. the image of you, hair rumpled, dark lace still on you, disheveled, pushed aside to get to him. "they're ruined," spencer says, "they were so pretty too." it sounds way more sad than it should and you laugh at it, "you will buy me more, right?" you ask, playful. spencer nods, smiles softly, "i think white would look nice against your skin." your eyes finally look at him properly, mouth turning into a teasing smile, "i'm glad you liked them as much as you did." he gets up, face red as he searches for his boxers laying on the floor, slipping them on. you turn to look at spencer, arms reaching to him, pulling him down into the bed. the rain outside has slowed to a splatter and your body is still warm.

"you didn't really have to send me pictures of you wearing them," spencer says softly, eyes flickering to his phone, where pictures of you in the lacy underwear are saved, "i would have believed you were using them either way."

"you said you wanted me to model them," you say playfully, eyes closing again, "was this a gift for me or you?" you giggle arms going limp with sleepiness. spencer presses a kiss to your hair, stares out the window for a bit before he gets up again, his hands roam up your body. with gentle movements he unhooks the bra, peels off the ruined matching panties and goes into the bathroom to start the shower.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #cm smut #spencer reid x reader #glasses reid

[everlastingspring143]

Heartbeat

Pairing: Lee Know x reader Genre: angst/comfort A/n: THIS IS SAUR EMBARASSING TO POST WAAHH (>///<) But I hope that if you do decide to read it, you'll enjoy it. I'm trying to improve my writing skills, so feedback would be greatly appreciated hehe~

The cool summer night breeze messes up your hair, playfully teasing you, but you can't find it in yourself to care. You're lost in your thoughts, feet wandering on their own with no destination.

The streets are quiet. It's no surprise - most people are asleep by now. 2AM is not the time to be wandering around the sleeping neighborhood, with dangers lurking at every corner.

But falling asleep seemed impossible - your thoughts were too loud - keeping you tossing and turning, not letting your body to get some much needed rest. Your room became suffocating. So you decided to take a walk outside. Maybe the thoughts will take up a physical form and stay in your house, like a lost ring or key.

But you can't run away from your own mind. As much as you try to calm the chaos happening inside you, it only seems to get worse. You need to cry, but not a single tear forms. It's like you've lost the ability to cry - an action that's so simple, yet seems impossible to do.

It's strange. Babies are born crying, that's the first thing they do when they enter this world. So why can't you? Crying is a part of being human. Does that mean you're broken?

You pull out your phone, taking a picture of the shimmering stars in the sky. Your finger hovers over the send button before you press it. Maybe a distraction will help...

Three dots pop up not even a minute later.

"What are you doing up so late? Where are you?" Not the message you expected.

"I just went out on a walk, I'm near the ice cream shop. But aren't the stars so beautiful tonight? ^ ^" Your fingers type fast. The phone battery shows 3%. You curse under your breath.

"Of course they're beautiful, but you shouldn't be out so late. It's not safe" A sigh leaves your lips.

Your phone dies right when you were typing out a response. A sardonic laugh escapes your lips at the ironic situation. It seems like the world itself wants to make you drown in your own mind.

You walk up to the ice cream shop. It's abandoned now. Three years ago a tragedy happened to it's owner and the shop had to be closed. What was once a place filled with joyful laughter of kids and the heartwarming presence of people is now just an empty building with broken windows.

You sit down on the pavement, pressing your back to the cold exterior wall of the building. Isn't it funny how a building resembles you so much? What once was such a happy child, turned out to be an empty broken adult. Where did it all go wrong?

It's getting cold. Your thin T-shirt does little to warm you up. You close your eyes, giving in to the darkness of your mind.

"Y/N!" A loud voice startles you, but before you can register it's owner, a sudden warmth envelops you. "You idiot! Why didn't you answer my messages?! I was worried!!"

Wrapping his arms around you is none other than Minho. His hair is a mess and he's out of breath.

He stiffens up a bit and pulls away from the embrace to look at you. Something shifts in his gaze. You notice his eyes glisten like the stars.

"Is... Is everything okay?" His voice becomes soft and quiet, a soothing whisper like the warm summer breeze. He treats you like a fragile vase. Unfortunately for him, you are already broken. The tears that spill out at his simple question prove you right.

You clutch onto Minho, his hoodie catching your tears. You feel his hands gently rubbing your back as he lets you cry.

"Shh... Everything's going to be alright. I'm here for you..." His hushed whispering feels like a band aid to your bruised heart.

And then you hear it. The beating of Minho's heart. It's consistent.

You sniffle as his hand gently pats your head.

In the silence that surrounds you, another sound reaches your ears - your own heart's steady rhythm, echoing in sync with Minho's.

Your heart is beating, and a sudden realisation dawns on you.

You're not broken. You may be tired, or bruised, hurt, lost... But you're not broken.

You're alive.

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids fluff #han jisung x reader #han jisung #skz #han jisung skz #hurt/comfort #skz angst #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids angst #comfort

[apomaro-mellow]

Family Planning 3

Part 2

Eddie was being led down the hallway by the scruff of his jacket like an unruly pup by Coach Williams while Steve was being led by the shoulder like he was somehow more delicate. They were sat down in a familiar scene in the principal’s office while their parents were being called and Woolsley cleaned up as best as he could.

Still, when he got to the office and took his seat, he had red staining his suit. Both boys gave valiant efforts, trying to hide their snickering behind wobbling smiles.

“Laugh all you want, boys. We’ll see how funny it is when your parents arrive.”

“What exactly are we being charged with?”, Eddie asked, crossing his legs.

“Let’s start with classroom disruptions. And let’s continue with disorderly conduct. And how about we include theft from the theatre department. Oh and let’s not forget inciting a riot.”

“We didn’t incite a riot!”, Steve argued. He was still wearing the fake stomach and thanks to Gareth’s prowess, only had a bit of sauce on his jeans.

“Watch your volume”, Woolsley pointed a warning finger at him. 

“Their families are here, sir”, the secretary announced.

They were waved in and now it was both Mr. and Mrs. Harrington and Eddie’s uncle Wayne Munson. Steve’s parents gawked at the sight of him and Wayne only shook his head.

“What’ve you gotten up to this time?”

“Just a being a showman”, Eddie shrugged.

“Steven Arthur Harrington! What are you wearing?”, his mother gasped.

Steve was at a loss of words. It had all seemed like a good idea in the beginning. Actually, it still did. He didn’t know why they were acting like he and Eddie really pulled a baby from his womb. It was just a joke.

“It was just a joke.”

“This”, Richard pointed to Steve’s stomach. “Doesn’t look like a joke. It looks like some upstart alpha has forgotten himself and is making your forget yourself.” Then he pointed to Eddie. “You better stop sniffing around my son-”

“And you better stop pointin’ your finger at my boy”, Wayne said.

“He needs to quit while he’s ahead before this becomes a real problem.”

Two alphas filling the room with tension and not even bothering to hide their scent about it made Steve’s shoulders hunch up a bit. How did a stupid joke turn into all of this? Then his mother spoke up.

“Our son has never done anything like this, which leads me to believe that your nephew-”

“Why does everyone assume it was all Eddie? That I had nothing to do with it?”, Steve accused, standing up. “I’m the one that put this thing on and I’m the one that got up on the desk and shot the sauce.”

“And that’s because of his bad influence”, Richard nodded his head at Eddie.

Wayne put his hands on his hips. “That’s funny because I see two young men here in the hot seat, not just one.”

“Alright, gentlemen”, the principal finally spoke up before looking to Eddie and Steve. “Boys, go and wait outside. As a matter of fact, you can take that back to the prop storage”, he jabbed a finger at Steve’s belly.

Thoroughly dismissed, they did just that, walking out together. Feeling a little humiliated, Steve took the fake stomach off. He could only imagine what they were discussing behind the door. His dad would probably fight tooth and nail, if not for Steve’s sake for his reputation at least. Unfortunately, it had to be said that he didn’t have such high hopes for Eddie.

“Well, that reception could’ve gone better”, Eddie said.

“Understatement of the century”, Steve grumbled.

They got to the theatre department and Steve put the stomach into a box after checking that it was all good. Eddie could smell the bitter undertone in his scent, even in the musty storage room.

“You know, worst case scenario, we need to do a little summer school to make this up.”

“Some of us like having a free summer, Munson.”

“Oh, Munson now is it? What happened to my sweet little mama-to-be?”

Not in the mood for jokes now, Steve just rolled his eyes and turned to walk out. Eddie didn’t need to get a whiff to know that his joke had landed flat. He followed Steve out, tripping over something feathery in his haste to catch up to the omega. He didn’t know what Steve was more turned off by, having to continue the project together, or having to call it quits here and do some other make up assignment.

“Hey, hey, I know I’m not like your idea of a perfect alpha or anything.”

Steve stopped in his tracks and turned to lean back against a locker, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. Give yourself a break. You’re not that bad.”

Eddie put a hand to his chest. “My word! That almost sounded like a compliment!”

“Keep it up and I’ll take it back”, Steve said, grinning a little now.

Feeling welcomed, Eddie came to stand next to him, their shoulders almost touching. Steve smelled a little sweeter now and his body wasn’t as tense.

“You really are hot and cold. Can’t you be a little warmer to your baby daddy?”, Eddie batted his lashes.

Steve leaned over and into his space. “A good alpha would put in some real effort to warm me up.”

Eddie hesitated for only a moment before he leaned in a little as well. Steve smoothed his cheek over Eddie’s and breathed in deep. No one had scented Eddie besides his uncle and he stood stock still as Steve did it.

“You smell really good, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever told you.” To be honest, Steve had never taken a moment to savor in Eddie’s scent. But now that he was taking his time to do so…

“Steven Arthur Harrington!”

Eddie jumped back like it was his own name being shouted down the hallways. So hard that the sound of the locker slamming echoed in the mostly empty hallway. Steve’s parents collected him and carted him out so quickly that Eddie got whiplash. Wayne came up to him much more calmly and patted his shoulder. 

“Do I gotta to the full name treatment for you?”

“If you say my middle name out loud I’ll run away from home”, Eddie threatened.

“Son at your age, it’s just called ‘moving out’.”

Both walked out, shoulders shaking with chuckles and that was when Wayne told him what was what.

“We managed to get you both a deal. You can do the project as intended, new sack of flour and all. Just no more funny business.”

“That’s it?”, Eddie asked as he was walked to his van.

“No funny business at all. No causing trouble for yourself or that other boy. Think you can keep your hands clean for an entire year?”

The Harringtons had already left, probably sped out of the parking lot to keep from running into the Munsons again. But even so, it was easy to remember Steve’s fleeting smile and the scent that wafted off of him when he was feeling content or even happy. 

“I think I can do that”, Eddie said, resolute.

Part 4 coming soon

Taglist

@marklee-blackmore @aol19

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

[mappingthesky]

short sequel to the angst prompt please! the moment jane finally says “i love you”

after ' i know baby, no attachment', i think our girls deserve a lil sweetness, yes? here's this <3

fuck it, i love you

“Thank you,” Nymphia says when Jane starts the car. “For doing that with me.”

Jane looks over to the passenger seat. They’re just leaving Nymphia’s friend’s apartment, and the sun is just setting, and there are so many things Jane loves about Nymphia.

She loves how the golden hour is hitting her face, turning the brown of her eyes blood orange and beautiful. She loves what she finds there - that knowing glimmer in Nymphia’s gaze, the one that says so much more than words can, a secret language just for them to know. She loves how patient Nymphia is with her, even when Jane doesn’t deserve it. She loves that Nymphia has been willing to give her a chance, that she trusts Jane enough to let her hold her heart. She loves that Nymphia makes scary things feel less so, like meeting your girlfriend’s friends when you’re the last person who should ever be brought home to meet anyone. Jane loves that Nymphia wanted to bring her anyways. That she made it so easy. 

“They like you.” Nymphia’s smile reaches her eyes. Another thing Jane loves. “I can tell.”

“Yeah?” Jane asks. She loves that Nymphia is so obviously adored, that her friends spent the last two hours interrogating Jane thoroughly, loves them for caring so much. “I like them too.” Jane smiles, takes Nymphia’s hand as she drives.

“I’m glad you came with me,” Nymphia chews on her cheek. She’s speaking softly, tenderly, and Jane knows she means it. “I, um. I know it was a big step. For you. So thank you.”

 “You don’t need to thank me.” Jane brings Nymphia’s hand to her mouth, kisses her knuckles. “I’m glad I did too.”

Summer in the city is killer. The sun has just set and the streets have not yet cooled, and the breeze from the passenger’s side is just barely a relief. Jane would turn the air on, but Nymphia is leaning out the open window, and it's such a beautiful moment that she doesn’t have the heart to end it. She’s too busy, anyways, noticing more things she loves. She loves Nymphia’s laugh; loud and twinkling and just for Jane, like everything she says is actually that funny. How she throws her head back and her eyes squeeze shut, full lips pulled over bright, beaming teeth, how she laughs and somehow Jane is laughing too. She loves how touchy Nymphia is, how she’s always finding her way back to Jane even when they’re inches apart - locking their pinkies together, tracing her jawline, still holding her hand while she floats the other through the open window. The wind flutters through Nymphia’s hair, and Jane can smell her perfume. She loves that too.

They pull up to a red light and the slowing of the car reduces the breeze to nothingness. Nymphia whines, mumbles something about the heat. Jane loves that she doesn’t want any of it to end - not this car ride, not this perfect night, not her and Nymphia. She looks at her and knows she needs this to last longer, much longer.

“Want ice cream?”

Nymphia turns, beams. Jane loves this too - making Nymphia happy. She likes to think she could be good at it. She wants to be. 

Nymphia is giggling around a spoonful of strawberry ice cream. They’re sharing a banana split on a bench beside the ice cream shop, sitting criss-cross applesauce across from one another, bathed in the glow of the streetlamp overhead. Jane loves Nymphia’s insatiable sweet tooth, which sends them in search of bubble tea or strawberry shortcake or malted milkshakes at odd hours of the night. Jane loves that these escapades are becoming something like a routine for them, that Nymphia has a way of turning everything into an adventure. Jane loves how Nymphia fills up her days. These hours didn’t feel empty before, but Jane never wants them back to herself ever again. It’s much better this way.

Jane watches Nymphia dip back into the sundae, spoonfuls of strawberry sauce and whipped cream and peanuts. The same side, over and over.

“You’re not eating the pineapple.”

Nymphia answers plainly, like it's obvious. “Yeah. Cuz’ you like the pineapple the best.”

It’s nothing really. It's just an observation, but there’s something about it that leaves Jane a little awe-struck, because Nymphia is absolutely right about pineapple being Jane’s favorite, and Jane has never mentioned it once. Nymphia just knows, because Nymphia pays attention, even to the things Jane doesn’t say. Jane loves that this is what it comes to; she loves that someone cares this much about her, and she loves that that someone is Nymphia. More than anything, Jane loves the thing that shines through every one of Nymphia’s actions, a bright and undoubtable glow - that she loves Jane, loves her like it's easy for her to do.

“What?” Nymphia tilts her head, eyes glittering, sucking on the plastic spoon. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Jane smiles. It comes out easily, because it’s meant to. “I just love you.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and Nymphia’s eyes go wide. Everything is quiet for a second. Nymphia’s spoon floats, forgotten. 

“Jane” she says. It’s almost a whimper, Nymphia’s voice strained with feeling. Her eyes are starry with what could be tears but aren’t yet, and Jane is suddenly a bit nervous.

“I mean it,” Jane goes a bit concerned in the eyes, searching Nymphia for any indicator of where she might’ve misstepped. “You know that, don't you?”

“I know,” Nymphia sputters, laughing and sending a meteor shower of happy tears streaking down her cheeks. She smiles and it’s like the sun is setting all over again, beaming bright and golden and warm at the edge of a perfect night. “I know you mean it. That’s why I’m so..” she waves her hands, gesturing at some emotional grandeur she can’t name. It’s not just her; there aren’t words for feelings this big. 

She finally lands on, “Happy.” It’s nowhere near close to the enormity of the feeling, but it’ll do. “I’m so happy,” Nymphia repeats, this gleaming smile on her face like she’s lit from within. It sort of makes Jane want to cry too. 

“Me too,” Jane says, and it's still nowhere near enough, and it doesn't matter because they both know. “I’ve never been this happy.”

And then Nymphia is cupping Jane’s face in the glow of the streetlight and kissing her, every word on the tip of her tongue more tangible in this kiss than they ever could be out loud. Jane just barely pulls away, just enough to make room for words:

“Was it worth the wait?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia says, already pulling her back for more. Later, more breathlessly, “you’re worth every wait.”

#do u see how i continued the 'so many things...' scheme. tell me its good. or else..... #i’m sorry if this one is choppy I HAD STUFF GOING ON #also. take a a shot every time i describe nymphia as some variation of ‘twinkly’ in my fics. black out guaranteed. #i loved this. thank you anon :) #she writes #hc #prompt #planymphia