#SQUARE FUCKING BUSHES
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people dont know what liminal means anymore. im gonna stab someone. an empty parking lot is not liminal THERES SO MUCH SPACE EVERYWHERE AND NO WALLS TF YOU MEAN
#nvm im wrong#but still the post i saw didnt seem liminal at all#i dont count outdoor spaces as liminal unless everything is perfectly pristine and trimmed#maybe im thinking of hell actually#grass trimmed under an inch#perfectly clean roads w no cracks or bumps#ROUND FUCKING TREES#SQUARE FUCKING BUSHES#nevermind the lack of biodiversity#bricks that look like they havent aged and have no chips or EVEN bird poop or ANYTHING.#nothing worn or weathered by time#yeah thats hell#mayeb i could consider that liminal. but like. just a regular outdoor place? naw...#and the above description i gave is physically impossible (and should remain that way death and decay is natural fuck immortality)#so thats kinda why i dont agree w wikipedias desc of liminal w the image of a playground w/o kids bc the grass isnt Perfect#so therefore it looks more natural#the episode of spongebob where everything is chrome in the future? liminal#empty playground but the grass is still different colors? das just a haunting image reminding the viewer of the state of our world#n capitalism n stuff#u know what im sayin dhfsafdggfsd.#there should be kids yes. but thats not the 'liminal' aesthetic (which i hate btw idk if i made that clear)#thats making you think about how there SHOULD be kids but instead they're inside all day on tiktok or being radicalized by the alt right#sometimes both#and that ppl are scared to bring their kids outside bc of so much propaganda out there about being in public spaces in general
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Budapest pride 2022
#It's Bush senior#The march ended on the square near the American embassy#And there's a Reagan statue as well as a Bush senior#Fucking American embassy keeps putting up these
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finish line | rafe cameron
masterlist (one shot)
pairing rafe cameron x maybank! female reader
summary when your little brother has to forfeit a race against rafe, he seeks your help to replace him and win. what he doesn’t know is your own relationship with the kook prince, and what it means if you win.
— reader type bitch(!), bike-savvy, intelligent, protective of jj, head-strong and stubborn, uses a dab pen!
content (10.0k words) 18+, smut, dominance play, handjob, cockwarming, oral (female receiving), spitting, face riding, unprotected p in v sex, position(s): cowgirl and doggy style, creampie, edging, bulge + size kink, lots of banters and arguments, lots of moments between jj and reader!
dedication to @sadfury for inspiring me with ur maybank! reader <3 sorry this took me ages 😭
lıllılı If We Being Reäl by Yeat and ONE CALL by Rich Amiri
You were painting your nails when JJ barged into your room.
"What?" You look up from your desk, the cherry-red polish dripping from the brush to the bottle, while your little brother fills the entryway. He's wearing a white tank top, the fabric stained with oil grease because of how much time he spends tricking out his motorcycle.
"I need your help."
"Not surprised." You hum, resuming your paint job as you reach your pinky finger.
He lets out a groan. "I'm serious."
"Heard that one before."
"Come on." JJ pouts. "You're not listening to me."
You turn, your brother slumps his shoulders and puts both hands in a prayer. "I am. Have you ever heard of multitasking?"
"Since when did you learn to do that?"
You grab the nearest object—your expired dab pen—and chuck it in his direction. It hits him square in the chest, which is odd considering he often dodges your attacks, before falling to the ground with a small thud.
"What do you want, you little bastard?" You snarl, finishing off the last coat of your polish. When you do, you twist your focus back to JJ, giving him your undivided attention.
He lets out a boyish grin. "Y'know how you're my favorite sister?"
"I'm your only sister."
"Y'know how you love me?"
"On my good days."
"Can you just be agreeable for once?"
"Spit it out." You let out a growl of annoyance, waving an impatient hand in his direction at his pathetic attempt at beating around the bush. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything."
"Classic."
"I mean, I'm not in any trouble. Yet."
The yet is worrisome. JJ is notorious for landing himself into trouble, more times than you can take him out. You gave up on telling him not to get involved in stupid activities because it's in the Maybank bloodline to gravitate towards drama. But you told him that if he continues to do so, he has to handle his own. To not rely on you too much. He listened—begrudgingly.
The first couple of times after your warning, he would contact you for any misdemeanors he caused with the local police and when you stopped answering the calls, he got the message. The only time he asks for your help is when it comes to your father and that's the only exception you make.
"I entered into a race." He begins slowly, running a hand through his blond hair, which has gotten lighter from his time spent under the sun.
You consider his words with caution. "Right."
"And y'know how they have those stupid fees for entry?"
"You mean to make a profit?"
"Yeah, that," he nods, rolling his eyes at you as if you were the dumb one. "Well, I took Luke's stash in order to do it."
"You did what?"
Standing from your chair, your brother flinches at your abrupt motion, hitting his back against your door. It's so unlike him.
There's a rule when it comes to money: don't mess with Luke's. He uses it for whatever self-mediating bullshit he can get his hands on: drugs, alcohol, even the occasional gambling bets. However, one good thing about the bastard is that he leaves you alone. Let you do whatever you want if it doesn't involve his money.
But if it does?
You're fucked.
"'Swear I was gonna win it back. He wouldn't even noticed it was missin' in the first place."
You inhale a sharp breath, staring daggers at him while you devise a solution. You could pick up an extra shift at your job to pay the difference, but it depends on the amount.
"How much?"
He hesitates before answering. "$750."
"Seven hundred—" You had to turn away. You were going to strangle your brother to death if you looked at him any longer. There's absolutely no way in hell you would be able to cover that. Not before your father notices the missing dent in his stash that he weekly partakes from.
"The payout was gonna be triple that amount. And you know how good I am with a bike, I was gonna win—easy. I thought it was a good idea."
You give him some leeway. He is a good racer, as much as it pains you to admit, and he entered in a couple of smaller bets before which he won in a landslide.
"So what's the problem?" You ask with an edge to your voice. If JJ had this entire contingency plan, the only reason he's coming to you isn't the money. Or Luke. It's something much worse.
"I can't ride."
Your expression breaks. Your first instinct is to scan his face and figure, checking for any bodily injuries. To make sure your little brother is okay. When you don't discover anything other than surface-level scratches, you turn back to him with a raised brow. "Why not?"
"I haven't gotten off my high."
"What?"
You cross the small room in two strides before grabbing his face, tipping his head backwards, and pulling his eyelids open with your thumbs. There you discover the problem: his pupils are dilated, pitch-black. “What did you take?”
“Something new at the Chateau with John B. 'Thought it was just another blunt, but it hit much harder. I can’t balance and my vision is shot. I can’t drive tonight.”
You inhale a steady breath, letting him go. “It’s tonight?”
"Yeah, and I know you don't do that anymore, but I need your help. Dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I lost his money."
"I'm gonna kill you."
"Can it wait until after you save my ass?"
A few hours later, you find yourself on an empty road with the other contestants, adjusting the headset the organizer gave you. You scan the layout of the familiar course: surrounded by dense mangroves, the road is mostly flat, layered thick with moisture from the nearby marsh, with discarded branches and leaves scattered across the ground.
You're using JJ's signature bike, helmet and donning a similar attire to what he wears whenever he races. A black jacket that cloaks your figure, dark-washed jeans and fingerless gloves that allows you to have a better grip on the throttle.
The helmet is on, hiding your hair, and the visor is tinted with a thick coat that forces you to adjust for the loss of light. You've ridden before, but each motorcycle is different. Shifting your weight on JJ's bike, you try to remember the exact curves of the machine and stabilize it as an extension of you—rather than you and the vehicle.
"Hey, Maybank!" A familiar voice calls out over the roaring engines churning out clouds of thick smoke. You turn to find Rafe Cameron—Kook prince, entitled asshole, and someone you hooked up with, once, drunk, at a party.
You hate to admit he was one of the best lays you ever had.
"Surprised to see you here. Didn't think you could afford the cover." Rafe greets, his tone dripping with condescension.
You hum thoughtlessly, adjusting the gloves over your palms. Rafe huffs at your lack of response, rubbing his upper lip with his own gloved hand.
"I saw you rocking on your bike; you scared or something?" He jeers, attempting to catch you in a moment of relapse. "I mean, your bike's a piece of shit, so I'm not surprised."
You say nothing, scoffing into the headset where you know Rafe can hear. Since the track is long and wide, it can't connect everyone on the same frequency and is mainly used to connect you to the nearest player.
Without sparing Rafe any more attention, you move closer to the start of the line.
You do a mental headcount to tally the payouts. These things vary by race and entry, but each person has to pay the same fee. The person organizing the event takes a 30% cut out of the pot, which makes the stakes heighten with more competitors. With a brief overview of the crowd, you recognize there's more than what JJ anticipated. It isn't triple. Fuck, it could be six times the amount of your initial entry.
"Don't tell me that little comment already got under your skin. I haven't even gotten to half the shit I wanna say to you yet." Rafe announces into the fuzzy audio of the headset, coming up to the empty lot beside you. "How's your sister, by the way?"
You roll your eyes. Of course, Rafe would resort to you when it comes to pissing off your brother. It's good ammunition for getting him off his game.
But you're not JJ.
You had a retort on the tip of your tongue, but you decided to play it smart. Rafe thinking you're JJ could be an advantage for you.
A girl with a checkered flag steps in front of you. She sashays across the road, earning some wolf whistles, before holding up the banner, counting down. The moment she descends into one, you speed off.
The thing about riding is that you have to know your leans. More specifically, your physics. The goal is to reduce air resistance and friction—that's what slows you down. The best way is to tuck closer to the bike, tilting at an angle that minimizes the amount of contact your wheels have with the surface, thus removing the airflow hitting your profile.
You do just that.
Despite a shittier bike in comparison to your competitors, you ride past a couple of drivers, inching closer to Rafe leading at the front. He's utilizing the edge of the curve, another trick in the books, and when he discovers you on his tail, he turns in shock.
"How the fuck did you get here?"
You stiffen a laugh, shrugging your shoulders and sparing him a short glance before you accelerate. You admit, Rafe's bike is better—a sleek red model with stronger engine power and gear shift, but you had other conditions in your favor. You had your physics, the memory of the roadmap in the back of your hand, and a riveting spite that refuses to let Rafe gain victory.
Accelerating around one of the turns, you drive closer to Rafe to gain control of the edge, tilting your bike at a dangerous angle. You knew it would be a risk that could get you injured—especially on this specifically slick road—but it cuts off your surface contact by a significant amount, allowing you to speed up ahead of him.
You hear a muffled fuck over the reception.
That's how the rest of the race works. Rafe picks up on your little tricks and tries to mimic them, but they don't replicate well because he doesn't know the foundation. You speed ahead. He speeds ahead. It's a neck-and-neck contest that can be anyone's game.
"Come on, Maybank, you know you ain't gonna win," Rafe sneers with heavy breaths through the shared audio. "You're gonna fuck up your bike at the rate you're going."
You want to talk back. Desperately. But you hold onto your anonymity.
"You really think you're gonna win against me, Pogue?"
Silence.
Rafe's goading you, but you're not taking the bait. Your concentration is sharp, your focus paid straight. He'll never admit it, but it makes him nervous.
Ditching the vocal approach, Rafe decides on action. He leans closer, hoping to cut you off. You have since taken the edge from him, utilizing it with your mechanics, and he made it his next mission to push you off the tracks.
You aren't blind, you noticed. It's not illegal in the game—since this is an illegal race itself—but it's a dirty trick. Something you pull out when you're desperate.
That gives you a reading.
Rafe's so focused on making JJ lose, he's not even trying to win anymore.
Instead of chasing a direct route to the finish line, you decide to go off-road into a thin strip that can skim a few seconds off but is more dangerous. The construction site is still up, with scattered loose asphalt and split rock thrown across the narrow path, marked by a caution sign that reads slow down.
Tough luck.
Rafe concentrates on your wheels, trying to predict your next moves. When you change routes, he barely questions it and follows. You pull to the edge of the restricted path, luring him with an opening, and just as he's about to cut through—you tuck inwards and accelerate, twisting your bike in a quick curve that leans into your centripetal gravity.
This causes a torrent of loose pebbles, gravel, and rocks to be thrown at Rafe's direction, deflecting off his helmet but forcing him to slow to a stop. You take a few seconds of respite to increase your speed and turn back around, moving out of the tightly-wounded spot and onto the original path.
The more you ride, the larger the distance grows between you and Rafe until you cross the finish line.
Pulling to a halt, you park. While you wait, you check your nails to see if anything messed up.
Not a scratch.
The familiar roar of a strong engine closes in and the red motorcycle announces its arrival with a glaring headlight. Rafe crosses the finish line—second place—and does an awful parking job before throwing off his helmet, marching over to you.
"What was that, Maybank?" He snaps, closing the distance as he reaches for the collar of your jacket, lugging you towards him till you're face-to-face with your helmet still on. His hot breath fans against your visor. "Think you could pull that bullshit and not have to pay the consequences?"
You scoff, unfazed by his aggression and move to release your strap, his steel blue eyes following your every move.
He sees your nails, the recognition dawning slowly, before you pull off your helmet.
And the look on Rafe's face is incredible.
"Wrong Maybank," you correct with a smirk while his grip around your collar loosens. You set the helmet on your seat. "And next time, if you don't wanna play dirty, don't start something you can't finish."
"It's you."
His voice is indistinct, and his expression is unreadable. You don't know if his observation is a good or bad thing. Sure, the last time you two saw each other, you didn't exactly leave on the greatest terms. You left in the middle of the night after your one-night stand. He didn't call. You didn't try either.
"Yeah?" You challenge. "And what about it?"
He doesn't answer, the only show of emotion is the subtle tick in his jaw.
"Speechless, Cameron? Come on, you were talking my ear off during the race. What happened to that guy?"
You're taunting him but it feels good to deliver him a taste of his own medicine. Does he know how many good quips were lost during your race?
He doesn't say anything, his jaw wired shut.
"Don't tell me you're a sore loser," you tease, tipping your head up to meet his hardened gaze, lifting your hand to brush a strand of his hair—when he catches your wrist. A warning. Your smirk broadens. "Don't be like that. There's some consolation in watching my ass."
He doesn't answer, and you laugh, pulling your arm from his grip. The rest of the racers make it across the finish line, the murmuring of their engines signaling their defeat. You divert your attention to the organizer, who is declaring the winner.
"Gotta go, Cameron. Have to collect my prize." You say, hopping back on your bike.
Before you leave, you glance over your shoulders to Rafe, who hasn't moved from his spot, his piercing eyes following you.
"A little word of advice, next time, you should pay attention to the hands." You declare, flashing your nails to reveal the cherry-red polish. He says nothing, not even a compliment. "Watch what they can do."
With those parting words, you ride off, flipping your middle finger as you return home with your winnings.
The following day, you replace the stolen cash in your father's hidden canister and pocket the rest. While you thought it would be the end of it, JJ's trying his hardest to convince you to split the loot.
"Come on." JJ whines, sliding into a booth in your section. You're lucky there's barely any customers today, saved for a couple of locals in the middle of their lunch. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even have the money."
"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have almost killed myself trying to win." You retort, claiming the seat in front of him.
He scoffs. "Tell me about it, you cleaned out my tires."
He's referring to the fact that due to the advanced techniques you used during the race, his bike wasn't able to handle the pressure and smoothed out the ribs of the tread pattern.
"It’s your fault you didn’t invest in better wheels."
"Maybe with the money I can,"
You scoff, pulling your dab pen from the pocket of your work apron and taking a long hit, exhaling the strawberry-flavored smoke.
JJ says your name with a pout.
"No." You declare firmly, irritation bubbling in your chest. "I won it. I keep it. It's as simple as that."
"You're such a bitch," he slumps back against his seat, toying with the salt-and-pepper shakers on the corner of the table. "No love for your baby brother."
Even though he's guilt-tripping you, a part of you is considering it. Not because you want to concede to his manipulation, but rather because you do have an obligation to take care of him, no matter how annoying he can be. Before you reach a decision, the bell dings to signal the arrival of a new customer.
Rafe surveys the diner before he lands on you.
"Why is one of the Powerpuff Girls coming over here?"
You shrug, unable to provide him with a sufficient answer, when Rafe stops just in front of your booth.
You raise a bored brow, exhaling another puff. "Table for one?"
"Like I would be caught dead in a place like this."
"Yet, here you are." You wave a hand out to the open diner. "Would you like to try our takeout option?"
JJ stiffens a laugh behind his closed fist and Rafe glares at him. "Don't you have someplace to be, Pogue?"
Your brother clears his throat. "Yeah, actually, haven't you heard? I was with your mom last night—"
"Hey," you snap your fingers in front of Rafe, dragging his attention away from entertaining your loose cannon of a brother who's itching for a confrontation. You know topics about Rafe's mother are a hushed topic around the town, and you'd rather not deal with it. "That's enough. What do you want, Cameron?"
Rafe's objective was to talk to you alone, in private, but seeing as you won't be willing to move, he had to settle on the open discussion.
"I want a rematch."
"Really?" You pretend to consider the offer. "No thanks."
"It wasn't a fair race."
"For me or for you?" You turn your body to him, tilting your head. "If I remember correctly, you tried to push me off the road."
"And you led me astray and drove rocks at me," he retorts, flicking his eyes to catch a subtle peek of your short work attire. He grits down on his teeth, returning his focus back to your face. "Look, it doesn't matter. I just want another race with you."
You shrug. "I don't care."
His jaw ticks.
You would consider the deal if there were any appealing proposals he could give, but there are none. You have no skin in the game. You have no reason to engage. You chalk up Rafe's reaction as his inability to accept a no once in his life.
"Anything else?"
He doesn't respond.
Without anything substantial to add, you turn back to your brother. JJ sends a look across the table, one only a sibling can read, and you return a silent gesture that says later.
Rafe says your name.
Another customer enters the establishment and this time, it means you have actual work to attend to. With a reluctant sigh, you stand from the booth, raising a brow at Rafe's refusal to step out of your way. When he doesn't move and you're about to walk around—he grabs your arm.
"Don't ignore me."
"It's not like it's the first."
Irritation seeps through his chest. "God, why are you being so difficult?"
Your nostrils flare at the accusation, meeting Rafe's gaze head-on. "Let go."
He doesn't listen.
"If I had known you were in the race, it would've turned out completely different."
"So, what? You're saying you would've been worse if you knew you were racing a woman? Such a gentleman, Cameron." You announce, sarcasm dripping from your tone.
"That's not what I said."
"No, it's what you're implying."
He groans. You're twisting his words. Riling him up in a way that makes him incapable of explaining himself. "Don't be a bitch, Maybank."
Your brother lets out a protest from the insult but you remain unaffected. You heard worse and you learned to take pride in that label.
Rafe exhales a heavy breath, trying to regain his composure. Especially with you. "Listen—"
"JJ." You call, hearing him shuffle from his seat. Rafe glances at the blond, standing obedient and tall behind you, and once he determines your brother isn't about to ambush him, he turns back to you.
"It doesn't have to be much. We can settle for it."
"I don't want to settle. You lost. There's nothing else to be said."
Frustration creases his features, and he snaps. "Do you have no sense of integrity? Is this what it's like for all you Pogues?"
Now you're getting annoyed. "You talk a lot of shit for someone who won't accept defeat. Did daddy see you come home empty-handed and remind you of what a disappointment you are?"
Rafe doesn't respond and you knew you took it too far when his grip around your wrist tightens to a painful exertion of force. You push through the sting, refusing to give him a reaction.
"JJ." You hum in sing-song.
Rafe cuts another look to your brother, his expression unnerved by his inactivity. "Why the fuck do you keep calling out for him? He's not going to help you with this; he's too much of a little bitch."
That's enough.
"Jay." You confirm, swiftly dodging to the right as your brother comes up from behind and shoves Rafe back—hard. He surrenders his grip and Rafe knocks back against a couple stowaway chairs, startling nearby customers.
Rafe recovers and attempts to swing when JJ ducks, grabbing his midsection and tackling him to the ground.
When the brawl reaches a limit (as in you had enough), you grab your brother by the shoulder and haul him off the Kook, forcing him back on his feet. Rafe quickly rises, about to charge forward for another round, when you step in front of JJ.
He stops centimeters from your face, heaving with staggered breaths, anger darkening his expression while his sharp gaze lands on you.
"That's enough." You assert coldly, your skin pricks with charged electricity from the closeness the two of you share. You should step back, but you refuse to be the first one. "You got your little fight. It's time for you to leave."
His voice is low. "I'm not done with you."
"It doesn't matter." You declare, moderating your apathy. But when you tip your head to meet Rafe's awaiting stare, you falter slightly. "Leave before you make a bigger fool of yourself."
Rafe glances around the diner, at the terrified group of customers watching the commotion from the back, and knew it wasn't in his best interest to continue his behavior. Not in public anyways. Even if he still needs to talk to you, this isn't going to be the place to settle.
Rafe steps back.
"This ain't over, Maybank." He huffs, and this time, it isn't referred to your brother in scorn. It's you.
You wave it off, watching his figure disappear out of the exit.
When you turn back to your brother, you hold your fist out in camaraderie. JJ bumps his roughened knuckles against yours.
"You gonna explain now?" He asks, pulling a couple of chairs back on their hind legs. "Or did I just get into a fight with Rafe Cameron over some petty shit?"
You scoff at his melodramatics. "Don't you always?"
Eventually, you settle down and reveal to JJ what happened during the race, detailing everything from top to bottom. When you conclude, your brother reminds you of Rafe's closing remarks but you brush off the threat as an all-talk, no-action situation.
That appears to bite you in the ass the following weekend.
JJ decided to enter another race, with the money you sponsored to help upgrade his bike, and he made sure not to smoke anything the day of. Since you had an early shift, you decided to swing by after work to watch.
The track is different from the last. It's an open arena, barren of any trees and moss, stripped down to a dusty, dirt path with mountains of solid soil sectioned off at different areas. The only addition, made by the organizer, were heavy floodlights that marked the circuit, illuminating the way for drivers.
While you're paying a small viewing fee at the entrance, Rafe notices you. He should be running through his final inspection for his bike, but his eyes stray to check you out: from the fabric of your miniskirt that barely covers your ass to your top that leaves little to the imagination. The only consolation to the entire outfit is your racer jacket. If it wasn't there, he'd bet all the guys here would be giving you an eyeful.
He didn't need that.
Feeling the heat of a stare, you twist your head in search of the source before connecting your gaze with Rafe. It's been a couple of days, and you've since cooled off from your last interaction. Enough where you merely raise a brow in his direction, and he juts out his chin in greeting.
You roll your eyes, ignoring the little flutter in your stomach. It's such a fuckboy move and you're falling for it.
The race begins with the blow of a whistle. Your eyes follow your brother's bike, the blue-and-red motorcycle decorated with an assortment of stickers and scratches, zooms across the path by tucking into his vehicle, reducing his air resistance.
You gawk. He actually listens to you for once.
Engrossed by JJ utilizing your techniques, you didn't even notice Rafe trailing dangerously close behind. Despite having good openings to pass, Rafe forfeits them for a chance to cause trouble, roughly slamming into JJ's taillight.
The viewing crowd releases a gasp, reacting to the aggression played out on the course. You knew the organizer wasn't going to do anything about it—if anything, it ups the stakes and increases the entertainment value—so you could only hope JJ takes the time to play it smart and move out of the line of danger.
He doesn't.
He reacts—driving the side of his bike against Rafe's.
"Fuck." You mumble, leaning against the barbed fence that separates the audience from the race. The prickly edges weathered down to a dull touch and you thread your fingers through the gaps.
Rafe draws back to add distance and falls a few seconds behind JJ. You can only assume it's to regain his control over his engine power and you were proven correct when Rafe takes the last shot and revs against the back-half of JJ's bike.
It knocks him over.
The audience lets out a startled shock as you cling onto the fence, digging your palms painfully into the spikes. JJ doesn't move, his body and bike rolled out on the ground while the rest of the racers maneuvers around.
No one is going to help. He has to do it himself.
"Come on, JJ." You mumble with a bated breath. "Get up."
As if he could hear you, he wills himself off the ground and rises to his feet. A sigh of relief escapes you when JJ goes to retrieve his abandoned bike and hops back on to continue the race.
But you already knew the results.
By the time everyone crosses the finish line, you march down the racing course, heading straight for the arrogant Kook leaning against his bike. A satisfied smirk plays across his face when he spots your incoming figure.
You shove at his chest. "What the hell was that?"
Rafe feigns nonchalance. "That was me finishing shit you started."
You recognize your words being used against you. It's aggravating. You can handle it when it comes to you, and you alone, but when he puts your little brother in danger, he crosses a line.
"You son of a bitch—" You're about to lunge forward but JJ quickly grabs your waist and holds you back. You stare daggers in Rafe's direction.
He remains unaffected by your emotional outburst. Rafe can't help but revel in the fire behind your eyes, the anger coursing through you; no longer able to dismiss him with your icy demeanor.
Stepping closer to you, Rafe shoves his hands into his pockets. "Let me tell you something, Maybank. That's gonna be the least of your worries. I can always do worse."
Your jaw tightens. "Goddammit, Rafe. You're rich; what the fuck do you need the money for?"
"I never said anything about the money. I said I want a rematch."
You're heaving. Adrenaline pulsing through your veins. You haven't been this riled up since, well, the last time you spoke to him. He always manages to push your buttons, make your heart race. Even if you try to maintain your cool, Rafe always breaks it.
JJ's mumbling something in your ear, informing you he's fine, that there's barely any damage to him and the bike, but you know that's not the issue. You know he'll bounce back, he always does.
This is a whole separate conversation.
Once you calm, JJ releases you.
You consider every possible scenario. You couldn't ask JJ to stop racing, it's his pride and joy, and you don't want Rafe to hold that power over you. But, god, is that man an irritating piece of work.
Rafe watches as you mull over the finer details, your brain working overtime to produce a move. It's not going to work. Not when he has a chance.
"Come on, Maybank." Rafe challenges with a smug look, knowing he has you where he wants. "You scared?"
You scoff, refusing to stand down. "That's cute. Next thing you're gonna do is goad me into thinking I won't win against you when we both know that's not true." You scowl. The corner of Rafe's lips curves into amusement. "Stop it."
"I'm just waitin' for you to give me an answer."
He knows exactly what you were referring to but Rafe refuses to give you the satisfaction of acknowledgement. You purses your lips together. His eyes flick down to them.
"What do I get?"
The fact you're negotiating means you're willing. "What do you want?"
Your eyes glaze over to his motorcycle. "Your bike."
Without hesitation, Rafe agrees. "Deal."
"And you leave JJ alone."
He rolls his eyes at the add-on clause. "Fine, whatever."
You suck on the inside of your cheek, contemplating the meaning behind all of this. What does Rafe want from you? Why is he so determined to get this rematch? Is it pride, ego? Or something else?
It's a puzzle you can't seem to solve.
Rafe clicks his tongue, drawing you back to reality. "Not gonna ask me what I get when I win?"
You merely shrug.
Rafe scoffs and approaches you, stopping a breath away. He gives you an opening to step back, to back down, but you refuse—as he predicted. His dark blue eyes meet yours and you smell the faint scent of his cologne waft in your direction. "I get one night with you."
JJ's behind you, firmly shaking his head, refusing the deal on your behalf. "No fucking—"
"Shut it, JJ." You silence your brother before turning back to Rafe with veiled curiosity. "Why?"
He shrugs, not revealing anything, mimicking your mannerisms in a way that adds onto the allure. Fuck, now you have to take it.
"Fine," you nod, taking JJ's helmet from him and exchanging it for your jacket. A couple of wolf whistles are heard around the course, especially from the other male racers watching the interaction, but your attention is set dead on Rafe.
His eyes trail over your body, unabashedly taking you in. When Rafe hears the catcalls aimed at you, his expression sharpens, and he rubs his jaw with the palm of his hand.
"You can keep it on."
"Why? Can't handle a little skin?"
You hop on JJ's bike without another word and Rafe shakes his head at your comment, the ghost of a smile plays on his lips. As you admire the new screen your brother installed at the front of the motorcycle, which tracks your progress, a headset piece invades your vision.
"Don't forget this." JJ reluctantly offers.
You turn over to Rafe, who's since gotten on his own vehicle, adjusting the strap of his helmet under his chin. "Should I use this or am I gonna hear you bitching in my ear again?"
Rafe shouldn't tolerate the amount of disrespect you're giving him right now, especially in public, but he's too worked up with the adrenaline from you accepting his deal. He doesn't worry too much, knowing he can always punish you later.
Instead, he flips you off, and you smirk, putting on the headset.
When you pull up to the starting line, a thin strip etched across the dirt, you rock against JJ's bike to find your position. Rafe slides into the slot next to you.
"Ready, Maybank?" Rafe asks over the static channel. "You can talk. You don't have to pretend to be mute now."
"Maybe I wasn't pretending." You declare, cutting a glance over him through your helmet. "Maybe I don't like talking to you."
With a small smile concealed under his headgear, Rafe counts down. You flip down your visor, and when he arrives at one, you bolt off.
You use your tricks; Rafe takes the edge. You discovered the improvements JJ made to the bike allows you to switch lanes with fluidity, granting you the power to swerve left-to-right with little effort.
This is both good and bad because while you can maneuver better with a slight tilt of your handlebar, the dirt path of the circuit is something you're not used to. It's JJ's forte. The ground has less traction, especially with the wheels JJ owns, which means you have to be more cautious with your leans.
Rafe uses the cut of the edge to propel forward, but once you angle your bike to a safe degree, tucking in, it allows you to bypass him.
You exhale a deep breath. It felt like you almost tipped over.
"You got some good moves." Rafe compliments, just as you sprint past him.
A smile curls on your lips. "You could do better."
He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he twists his throttle to increase his acceleration.
Rafe tries to mimic your techniques, tilting his bike, but it leans a lot more than he intended, and he has to quickly pull back to flat surface. You notice the earnest attempt from the corner of your peripheral vision.
"You good?" You ask, sparing a glance over your shoulders as you make a wide turn.
"You worried about me?"
"Never mind."
Rafe chuckles into your headset, saying something you don't pay attention to. You know you could win this, without a doubt. Rafe is a strong rider, with a stronger engine, but he lacks confidence in his moves. He uses mediocre turns to match and, with a larger central gravity mass, it's harder to control his tilts.
The bike would be an honorable prize you can give to JJ. Or, you could use it yourself. You haven't decided.
Yet, the what-ifs hang thick in the air. You can't help but wonder why Rafe wants to spend the night with you, what drove him to make this deal, and what could happen in the quiet, intimate space shared between the two of you.
If you win, you'll never find out.
To you, your curiosity outweighs any materialistic possession.
Rafe uses a narrow opening to circumvent you, speeding ahead with the obnoxious roar of his engine. By the time you catch up, he made it across the finish line.
You park, throwing down the kickstand as you pull off your helmet and headpiece.
"Don't get too cocky." You say to Rafe, who got off his bike to approach you.
"I'm not. You will, though."
You tilt your head at him. "Still talking a big game? Remember the last time you tried that?"
Rafe scoffs but he can never say he's not entertained by you. Intrigued by you. It's one of the reasons why he wanted this bet so badly. His hand circles your wrist, gently tugging you along. "Let's go."
You don't move. "Don't you have to collect your prize?"
"I am."
Butterflies spread through your stomach at the implication, even if it's possession. You say nothing in response, sucking on the inside of your cheeks, before glancing over to JJ.
"I gotta get my jacket first," you say, hauling yourself over the seat, noticing your skirt has hitched up over your hips. Before Rafe receives a free show, you tug it down over your ass and stroll over to your brother, taking your jacket in exchange for his keys. A silent interaction shared between the two of you, knowing what's about to happen next.
“He has a faster bike.” You explain simply.
When you're about to follow Rafe over to his motorcycle, JJ catches your bicep.
"Don't fuck him."
Despite being younger, JJ still reserves a sliver of protectiveness over you. At times, it can be irritating but you knew it came from a good place in his heart. So much so, you couldn't lie.
You merely shrug.
Arriving at the familiar red bike, Rafe extends his helmet for you. You doubt he kept a spare, so since there's only one, you push it back into his chest. "You're driving. You'll need it."
You always push back on him for everything. A tick of frustration flashes through his expression. "Don't be difficult and take the fucking helmet, Maybank."
You truly despise that label. Snatching the helmet from his hands, once you adjust the strap under your chin, you wordlessly mount over the seat and wrap your arms over Rafe's waist, squeezing tightly as a form of rebellion.
When you arrive at Tannyhill, you hop off first and Rafe leads you into the empty estate. He informs you that his parents and sisters are gone for the night and he has it all to himself.
"Is that supposed to impress me?" You ask, raising a brow.
He shakes his head, dropping his keys on the designated bowl. "No, it's to let you know you can be as loud as you want."
You flush at the crude suggestion, but you don't let him see. Instead, you ascend the flight of stairs to reach his bedroom and, when you slip through the cracked door, it hits you how long it's been since you were last here.
Everything remains the same but there's an air of difference. An edge you can't put your finger on. You decide to separate yourself from the memory, taking a seat on his desk.
When Rafe walks in afterwards, he scoffs upon noticing the seat you've chosen. "You know there's a bed right there."
You shake your head, crossing your legs while you shimmer out of your jacket. The room is oddly hot. "No thanks. Don't want you to get any ideas."
"Yeah?" Rafe pulls out the desk chair from underneath you, flips it around, and takes a seat on it backwards, his legs straddling the backrest. "What ideas would those be?"
"You tell me, Cameron." You say, taking a hit from your dab pen, needing something in your system to loosen you up and calm your nerves. "What am I doing here?"
He shrugs, keeping you in the dark a little longer. It's driving you crazy, but your skin prickles with anticipation, eager to see how it unfolds.
"I expected more." You admit, leaning back against the back wall, uncrossing your legs. Rafe catches the sight of your panties underneath your skirt and he swallows hard. "I thought this would be more satisfying."
He ignores your comment. "You're doing that on purpose."
"Doing what?" You glance down, following his line of vision before a smirk rises to your lips. "Oh, that?" You spread your legs further apart, inviting the space, and causing Rafe to inhale a sharp breath. You snap a finger in front of his face, forcing his gaze up to yours. "Eyes up here, Cameron."
His jaw flexes and you notice the small tent in his pants.
"Stop teasing me."
"I'm not doing anything." You raise your hands in defense, the motion exposes your cleavage a little more. This time, it's intentional. "I'm here because I lost a bet."
Rafe stares at you, needing some sort of a distraction. With your presence in his bedroom, he can't help but remember the last time you were here. When he was inside you and how perfectly your cunt wrapped around him; he'll never admit he's been fisting himself to that image. You splayed out across his mattress. The sounds of your needy moans.
Fuck, he wants you.
And you knew that too.
"Where'd you learn to race like that?"
You chuckle to yourself, taking another hit, the weed slowly taking effect and making you feel all woozy. "You took me here to ask for some tips?"
Rafe lets out a low groan. "Can you be serious for once, Maybank?"
"Can you be honest?" You remark, closing your legs and leaning forward on the desk. "Why did you bring me here?"
Rafe stands from his seat, kicking the chair aside. He closes the distance between you, tucking a hand under your chin to meet his gaze. His voice is low. "What do you think?"
You hum in consideration, blowing out a small ball of smoke from your pen. It bursts upon his face. "I think you have terrible negotiation skills."
"Wrong." His free hand slides up your exposed thigh, tracing absent circles on the inside of your legs. "Try again."
You swallow hard, his gaze piercing and demanding. You keep your voice steady as you come up with the next excuse. "You're terribly lonely at night."
Rafe scoffs, amusement ticking at his features. His hand closes in on your aching core, brushing a knuckle against your dampened panties in a way that causes a small whimper to escape you. "I think we both know what I want." He murmurs. His lips graze against the open curve of your neck, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. "Do you remember the last time?"
You pretend to rack your brain for the distant memory, but you knew exactly what he was referring to. A shuddered breath leaves you as Rafe plants a phantom kiss against your neck, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut.
You need to remain in control.
"Oh, yeah. It's been a while." You muse, your voice softer than intended. "I almost forgot. How big is your dick again?"
Rafe scoffs again. He knows you're messing with him, pulling at any strings to strike a blow to his ego, but he decides to entertain you. His hand departs from between your thighs to catch your free hand on the desk, guiding it up your exposed stomach before stopping just below your naval.
"Here."
Warmth flushes your entire body and the ache between your legs is getting harder to subdue. You are close to admitting defeat but you can't let him win. You're enjoying this little game too much.
"Hm," you lower your hand down your belly, his hand sliding along. "I remember it being here."
"You're wrong again." He shakes his head with a tsk. "We have to do something about that memory of yours."
"Yeah?" You tilt your head up, realizing how close Rafe's face is to yours. "Maybe I need a visual reminder."
Rafe smirks. "If you want to see me naked, Maybank, all you gotta do is ask."
He's giving you an opening.
"Okay."
His brows knit together. "Okay, what?"
"Take off your pants. I don't have all day."
Rafe laughs. He can't believe he's with someone like you right now; blunt, rebellious and thrives on the adrenaline of playing mind games. His type usually follows along the line of submissive, willing to do whatever he likes, whenever he wants, but he loves this cat-and-mouse game he has with you.
And only you.
He unbuckles his belt and slides down his pants and boxers, his cock springing free. "Enough?"
"No." You shake your head immediately, salivating at the sight of his perfect cock. Truly, it's been a while and you cannot believe you've been missing out. "I forgot I'm more of a hands-on learner."
Spitting in your hand, you lean forward and wrap your manicured fingers around the base of his length. Rafe lets out a low groan as you stroke him, feeling all the thick veins underneath your palm, pumping him with increasing speed.
You feel good. Too good. The way you're touching him, he could come right there. His dick twitches beneath your hand and Rafe lets out a little shudder, squeezing his eyes shut. When you lower down to cup his balls, a bit of precum spills at the tip. “Fuck, baby.”
You could no longer handle it.
You draw back, leaving the emptiness of your pressure and his eyes snap open. Brows drawn together in confusion. "What happened?"
"Back up." You slide off the desk, placing your hand on his chest, pushing him back. Each step of yours is met with a backward step of his. When he falls onto the bed with a soft thump, you haul him into a sitting position.
Before Rafe gets a chance to question, you push your panties to the side and sink down on his cock.
"Oh, fuck," you moan, feeling the sheer size of him stretch you apart. Rafe releases a thick groan when you straddle him, the new angle allows him to push in deeper, and your walls wrap around him with a familiar pressure. Just like last time. "God, I feel so full."
He grins. His hand lowers between you and presses down on your lower stomach, feeling his bulge. You whimper, your head spinning. "Don't do that."
"Just remindin' you."
You're tight is what Rafe realizes. He doesn't know if he's imagining it or because the last time you hooked up felt like a dream but it almost feels as if no time has passed. "Do you keep this pussy tight for me, Maybank?"
"God, Cameron, do you think I revolve my entire life around you?" You ask, throwing your arms over his shoulders, connecting your gaze with his. "Do you think I sit around waiting for you?"
His answer is immediate. "You should."
You scoff, looking away. The loss of engagement irks Rafe, so he does it again, pressing down on your lower stomach, causing his bulge to press against your sensitive walls and you arch into him in response.
Your breath shudders. "I told you not to do that."
"I guess we both don't listen to each other."
It's true. You're always arguing, bickering, doing something that rivals one another. It shouldn't work. You shouldn't be here to begin with, but the consolation has always been physical. The sex is just so much better.
Rafe's breathing is heavy, his body aches for some friction. "Are you going to move?"
You bite your bottom lip, contemplating your options, before shaking your head.
His jaw ticks. "What are you doing, then?"
"Being difficult."
Rafe recognizes his words coming from your pretty mouth and, judging from the tone, he realizes it's not meant to be a good thing. You look at him with a raised brow, challenging him to speak. And he's not one to back down.
"You are difficult."
You huff in indignation, expecting a different outcome, especially when you have his dick in a vice grip. You decide to raise yourself off his cock, inch by inch, as punishment. But Rafe's hands are quick to grab your hips, slamming you back down with a moan. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
The sudden motion leaves you lightheaded. You try to keep it together. "Thought I was too difficult for you."
"Stop putting words in my mouth." Rafe commands, frustration flashes through his handsome features. He can play your games but when it comes to an unreasonable attitude, that's when he has enough. "Why'd I put this much fucking effort to get you here if I didn't fucking want you?"
You turn away again but Rafe grabs your face. "Look at me when I talk to you."
You try to will your defiance but something in his expression makes you falter. Step back. His fingers dig into your cheeks, not to a painful degree, but as an act of dominance. "You think I forgot about all the times you mouthed me in public?" He scowls. "At the diner? The race course? You think I'm gonna let that shit slide?"
You gulp, your body flames at the way he's addressing you. The way he's handling you. You don't refute in opposition, allowing him to hold control. "Move."
You roll your hips on command, guided by his hand on your hips, and the pleasure is instantaneous. Rafe releases a moan, dropping his hand from your face to steady your movements, while you tip your head back to feel how good his cock is inside you.
"Come on, Maybank, go faster." Rafe instructs and you nod with compliance, quickening your speed. Your hands clap around his shoulders for stability. "That's my fucking girl."
While you rock against him, Rafe plants wet kisses against your open neck, sucking on the sensitive skin in a way that draws out your needy moans. The moans he's been thinking about ever since he saw you at the first race. His hand slides down between you, rubbing your swollen nub with his thumb.
"Oh, fuck, Rafe, fuck," you whimper, arching into his hand when Rafe finally captures your lips and swallows your little sounds with a drawn-out kiss. His tongue swipes over your tender bottom lip, making your head spin.
"You feel so fucking good, baby," he groans, as you rise closer to your peak. "I'm close, I'm so fucking close."
You pull yourself off.
It was with reluctance, but you knew what you needed to do. Your pussy is aching, dripping, but the look on Rafe's face almost made up for it. The loss of contact infuriates him, and as he's about to grab your arm and drag you back, you shake your head. "Take it off."
You're referring to his shirt. "Are you fucking serious right now?"
"Take it off or you're not coming."
Rafe shakes his head. "You first."
You don't protest, knowing it'll slow down the process and you're throbbing too much to let that happen. Your fingers hook under your top before pulling it over your head, exposing your perky tits. Rafe's eyes follow your movements as you remove your skirt and panties next.
Rafe easily tugs his shirt off his body, throwing it across the room, before impatiently leaning forward to grab your wrist—pulling you right back to him.
You push him onto his back. Rafe obliges as you crawl over him, your legs straddling either side of his torso, your wetness dripping all over his chest. He doesn't understand this new position, but before he gets a chance to ask, you lower yourself to kiss him.
Your hand draws up to cup his jaw, nails digging into his cheeks as you leave bruising and demanding kisses against his swollen lips. When you pull back for air, Rafe's eyes are hungry, desperately needing more.
Your lips against the shell of his ear, you ask. "Do you wanna taste me?"
He nods.
"Stick out your tongue."
Rafe does as he's told and you spit in his mouth, the string of saliva connecting you to him. "Don't swallow." You declare, rising to your knees as you hover over his head, your dripping cunt just centimeters from his face.
You try to go slow, descending down, but Rafe grows impatient and hooks his arms over your thighs, pulling you down on his face.
"Shit," you moan out as Rafe laps over your slit, sucking on your swollen nub like a starved man. Your legs tremble at the act, holding onto his headboard. "Oh, fuck, Rafe, that feels so fucking good."
Rafe Cameron can eat pussy, and you struggle to hold yourself together as you shake under the pressure he's giving you. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you're so close to coming, and Rafe recognizes that. Before you can reach your peak—and just like you did to him—he pushes you off and flips you over.
The change in position surprises you, your profile digging into the mattress while your wrists are pinned behind your back. Your thighs shaking, your cunt needy.
"Ass up." He commands, as you will your knees to follow orders, lifting your cheeks in the air. His hand admires the firm curve of your ass, before his fingers finds your sensitive and still-aching clit, teasing you with a pinch that causes you to flinch out of his touch.
You let out a pathetic whine.
"Do you wanna come, baby?" He taunts, his cock is red and swollen, aching for some release. Your entrance is dripping and welcoming, but he refrains from doing anything until he gets some words out of you.
"Yes, yes, please."
He fucking loves that word.
Rafe lines his slick cock against your wet folds before pushing in with a hard thrust. You let out a little yelp at the intrusion, clenching around him in a way that leaves him groaning at the sensation.
He thrusts in hard and fast, pacing himself to pump out all the desperation he needed for the past hour. You moan and whimper against his sheets, slobbering at how rough he's going into you. The room echoes with the sound of skin-on-skin, the squelching of your wetness from the continuous pumps.
"You feel so fucking good, Maybank," Rafe grunts, his hips snapping against yours, skin bruising. "This is why I wanted a rematch with you. I couldn't stop thinking about this fucking pussy."
You warm at the confession. With a labored breath, you proclaim. "Fill me up, Rafe. Make me feel like it's worth my time."
He scoffs, shaking his head as beads of sweat form against his brows. "Such a fucking slut."
"Yes,” you moan, “now use me like one."
His pace is brutal, his cock sliding in-and-out of you, while you can do nothing but moan and claw behind bounded wrists. His free hand holds down your hips, keeping you still as Rafe pushes you towards your climax.
The familiar tightness coils inside of you, and you mumble your upcoming release to him, which does nothing but increase his ferocity.
You come with a scream, his name rolling off your tongue like a god. Rafe continues to abuse your sopping cunt, using you until he finishes inside, his hot cum spurting between your walls, filling you up as promised.
When he releases your reddened wrists and pulls out, you immediately slump against the wrinkled sheets, fucked out. Rafe drops to the space next to you with heavy breaths.
You take a minute to gather yourself. Your legs are shaky and sore, his cum leaking out of you, and your eyes flutter close from exhaustion.
When you finally will yourself to get up, on wobbly knees, you move around to find your things. Once you spot your underwear, you slide your panties over your hips, searching with more confidence for the rest of your clothes.
"Maybank, where are you going?" Rafe props himself by the elbows, watching as you spare a glance over your shoulders.
"I'm going home." You say simply. "You got what you wanted."
"I said the night."
You stop, facing him. "I assumed that was just sex talk."
“Yeah, but,” fuck, Rafe rubs under his jaw, unable to explain himself once again with you standing there, naked, waiting for him to answer. “I meant the night too.”
You raise your brow at him. "You want me to stay the night, for real?"
His jaw clenches. "Is that not what I just said?"
"Why?"
Rafe shrugs. He doesn't answer. He doesn't know if he even has an answer for it. All he knows is that he didn't work that fucking hard to win a race just for you to leave after sex. Not again.
"Cause you lost a bet."
You roll your eyes but abandon your search for your clothes. They’ll turn up eventually. You saunter over, straddling his lap as your hands cup the underside of his jaw. You tilt his head, forcing his gaze to meet yours.
“Don’t tell me you’re in love with me.” You tease. Rafe rolls his eyes.
"With that attitude, it's hard to."
You feel a bit more secure. "Good. I like our fights a little too much to lose them."
"Yeah?" His arm wraps around your waist, "does it get you hot and bothered?"
"Yeah, actually," you tilt your head, brushing your thumb against his jawline, his breathing slightly hitch under your touch. "One of my favorite parts of our interactions."
"Better than the sex?"
"Nothing's better than the sex."
You end up staying the night, falling asleep in Rafe’s arms as he cuddles you. That was a surprise. By morning, you took the opportunity to use his ensuite, showering and cleaning yourself up. When you finished your routine, Rafe’s awake and offers to drive you home.
It’s still early when you arrive back at the Maybank house, so you didn’t expect anyone to be up. Luke was knocked out on the living room couch, nursing bottles of beer, and JJ’s bike was nowhere to be seen. You assumed he spent the night at the Chateau but when you slipped through your bedroom, you were surprised to discover your little brother camping out on the middle of the floor.
He wakes up when the door creaks.
"You're back."
“Yeah.” You hum noncommittally, shrugging off your jacket and hanging on the back of your closet. “What are you doing in my room?”
You knew the answer was because he was waiting for you to arrive home safely. But it went unspoken. JJ shrugs, rising to his feet as he announces he had something important to share with you.
“I checked the monitor on my bike.” He begins, as you cross your arms over your chest. “And it was… interesting.”
“How so?”
“Well, it tracked your race with Rafe.” JJ explains, which you knew already. “But it recorded you going under the bike’s speed limit. Like, you weren’t maximizing your accelerations.”
You press your lips together, saying nothing.
“Did you let him win?”
Your eyes connect with JJ’s blue ones, and he discovers the answer without you offering your words. “Why?”
Then, it finally hits him.
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
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Azalea - A Lucien Flores One Shot
Summary: A man from your past shows up at a party and leaves you on the cusp of making a life changing choice. Do you stay, or do you leave with him?
Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader has hair long enough to be brushed over their shoulder and wears a dress.)
Word Count: 4.8k
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶 “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me”
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral F recieving/mild ass play/kissing/infidelity/mentions of past issues with alcolholism and addiction/toxic relationship traits/unrequited love and longing/Lucien's chains come with their own warning
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: I get the sense (from the little clips we've seen of Lucien so far) that he's in love, and probably loves hard, and is messy and complicated with a turbulent past, and isn't a bad guy at all. So here he is, my version. I hope you like him. 😘 (I've used some of his lines from the clips we've seen too.)
MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
As guests mingle and laughter fills the air in the grand house, you can’t shake off the heavy feeling of discontent grinding sharply around your teeth.
As you stand invisible amongst the cluster of your braying friends, you can't help but cast a wistful gaze back towards the brown eyes staring at you from across the room, loitering casually with a hand in his pocket and lips wrapped around a cigarette.
It makes your skin itch and pickle that he's here.
How is it that he’s fucking here?
He’s like a ghost haunting the hollows of your bones. A constant white noise that only you can hear.
He looks good, well. Better.
He has colour in the capillaries of his cheeks again, and the way he stands is different, he seems taller somehow, a little more grey and wispy, but still handsome. He’s put on a little weight, a small paunch evidence of that. He appears more foreboding with those squared-off shoulders in their thick broadness.
He smirks at you, he never smiles. Just smirks, crookedly and you look away immediately. Those itches and prickles melting into warm heat that floods down your spine.
Fuck, why is he here?
You turn your attention to Mitch, basking in the spotlight of adulation. His animated gestures and booming laughter echo out through the open windows, mingling with the soft strains of music drifting from within the dining room.
Guests cluster around him, hanging onto his every word; their faces alight with admiration and respect. And it makes you fucking sick.
You slip away unnoticed, carrying a bottle of open and warm champagne, seeking solace amidst the blood red azaleas in the expansive garden.
You’re drinking from the bottle of flattening fizz bitterly, leaving your partner toasting his fortune and parry, and there’s tension swirling around your gut that hasn’t died down since the vicious verbal spat you endured the previous night with him.
Your jaw still aches from clenching it all night.
As the celebration in the house continues, the siren call of the garden seems to provide a contrasting haven for you amidst the vibrant azalea bushes that grow plush and full.
An immediate sense of relief washes over your clammy skin, being away from the pomp and grandeur of the party inside, where Mitch holds court with his characteristic charisma. Mitch is a man of stature, exuding an air of confidence that borders on total arrogance.
Tonight's gathering is, after all, in honour of the recent success of his book - a testament to his hard ambition and callous drive. You have no idea what it’s about. You’ve not read it, tiring of your opinions and input being constantly quashed.
Mitch moves through the crowd with ease, regaling guests with anecdotes of his success and achievements, which doesn’t care to highlight the months of patience and suffering you’ve endured whilst he wrote it; his crackling laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the hum of vibrant conversation.
Despite the outward display of celebration, you can't shake off the underlying tautness swirling in your gut, lingering from the fight that still hovers between you both. Mitch's ego often overshadows the relationship, and controls it, leaving your own feelings and desires overlooked and unappreciated.
And as you find welcome loneliness in the garden, a fucking moment to just breathe, you can't help but wonder if Mitch has even noticed your absence amidst the ass-kissing bestowed upon him.
Well, it's all about having the right mindset, you see. I've always been driven by success, and I refuse to settle for anything less than the best...
You roll your eyes at Mitch's self-congratulatory tone that follows out the windows and berates you further. It’s moments like these that remind you of the growing chasm between you, feeling a pang of disconnection, a sense of longing for something more profound than the superficial trappings of hollow success.
You find yourself retreating deeper into the shadows of the garden, seeking pause amidst the fragrant blooms with the champagne bottle as your only companion.
And then, startled by a familiar voice, one that grates on you for completely different reasons, you find yourself vis-a-vis with your ex-boyfriend, Lucien Flores, who’s unabashedly shown up uninvited.
Somehow inserting himself back into your life in blocks of time to taunt you further no doubt. The tension between you is palpable as you exchange awkward looks amidst the blossoming flowers under the moonlit sky.
His molten brown eyes are soft and deep as he smirks in your direction as you cast an aloof glace over your shoulder at him that is anything but. You swig on the bottle like his presence hasn’t jangled your nerves tenfold, but you both know that it has.
You can feel his eyes wandering and burning holes across your body framed in a cascade of vibrant crimson fabric; its rich hue contrasting beautifully against the wild backdrop of the garden. With every step, the hem of the dress brushes against the dew-kissed grass as you turn from him and head further into the darker recesses of the plush oasis.
Lucien follows, checking behind him to make sure you’re both still alone.
Lush greenery envelopes the space, with vibrant bursts of blood colour provided by the clusters of azalea bushes in full bloom, their delicate petals casting a gentle fragrance into the air. He watches as your fingers brush through their leaves and velvety heads as you pass.
Stone pathways wind their way through the verdant landscape, leading to secluded alcoves, where you find yourself now with Lucien’s presence engulfing the small space.
“This isn't really a good time for your bullshit, Lucien." You say, as you drink from the bottle again, feeling a trickle of its nectar within roll down your chin.
“I wanted to see you, amante," (lover) he says, nonchalantly.
You wince at the endearing nickname he used to shower you with, whispers of it keening from a set of explorative lips as they inked the affectionate moniker under your skin.
“Really.” You snort rather ungraciously. “Why are you even here?”
He drags on the last of his cigarette, smoke billowing from pink lips, before flicking it away, its embers dying in the night. “Can we talk?”
You shake your head adamantly. “We never just talk. You know I'm with someone else now."
“Yeah. Mitch.” He nods over to the house, the party still in full swing. “Quite the catch.” He slurs with a strained hiss, then smirks.
“He wants kids,” you scoff.
And Lucien’s face softens. “You’d be a great mom.”
“I don’t want to be a mom.” You confirm and he nods.
“I know. That's why I got the snip.” His eyebrow flexes in sympathy. “Remember that summer in Tuscany?”
You shake your head again. “We never went to Tuscany.”
He thinks for a second through the haze and frowns. “No, that’s right. That was Annabelle.” He corrects with a dip in his cheeks. He simply clicks his tongue at his mistake.
“Right. Annabelle.” You bristle. “How is she these days?” Although you don’t really care.
“We should go.”
“To Tuscany?” You baulk.
“Yeah, let's go. Right now. Slip away.” He suggests with a warm seriousness.
“Lucien-”
“Kiss me.” He steps in gently and you place a palm on his chest; the silk of his shirt like fluid under your touch.
Your eyes trail over the shiny watercolour of it, the way it hangs flimsy and baggy at the hem before you brave yourself to trail upwards over the familiar shape of his chest and exposed collarbone, shiny with sweat in the hollow. A duo of gold chains knotted around one another twinkle at you before your eyes find his own.
“You are so unfair.” You shake your head despondently.
“You’ve wanted to kiss me since you saw me tonight.” Lucien states, casually. You feel him take the bottle from your fingers and he drinks a mouthful of it for himself.
“I thought you were sober.” You frown.
“I am, but I still drink.”
You roll your eyes as he clears his throat and puts the bottle down.
“I don’t even know why you’re here tonight. Who invited you?” You question with a knitted brow. You’re pretty certain he doesn't know anyone here. Except you.
You he knows really well. Too well.
He looks at you for a moment, head dipped and cocked to one side as if taking you all in.
“You’re not happy.” Lucien says, brushing your hair over your shoulder and it lingers there, his fingers in your roots gently massaging.
You turn, your nose brushing the inside of his wrist and inhale the scents there. The sun, the natural salt musk of his skin, cigarettes. You close your eyes just basking in the innocent feel of him. He was always so generous with his touch.
“No, I'm not.” You turn your face up to meet his. You can't lie to him, not when he sees you - really sees you. “But I wasn’t happy with you either.”
“I am sober.” He reassures, dropping his hand. “Eight months. I have control of my life now.”
“Right.” You fold in on yourself. You can’t go there. You refuse to go there.
“I came here to apologise to you.” Lucien says, stepping back and casting his glance down the pathway back at the house and its design.
“Is that what your sponsor suggested you do?” You remark.
“Is it Venetian?” He asks.
From the outside, the house exudes an air of opulence, with its intricate facade adorned with ornate columns and graceful archways reminiscent of palazzos.
You shrug, watching him carefully as he frowns.
“I never knew Mitch had such exquisite taste." Lucien smirks with a sneer.
“He doesn’t. It’s his parent’s second home. We’re renting it for the summer. His stupid book tour.” You mutter.
"Pshoo. Fancy." He shakes his head. “No, my sponsor didn’t tell me to come here to apologise to you.”
He turns back to you, his features soft and moulding into concern at your watery eyes looking back at him.
“You seem... melancholy." You feel his thumbs stroke either side of your face and this time you don’t stop him. Just helplessly letting those rough, calloused pads swipe over the skin under your eyes.
“You’re all glittery and sad,” Lucien says, looking at the metallic shadow brushed delicately over your eyelids.
“Why are you doing this?” You query, deflating. Surrendering.
“Doing what?”
“Torturing me.”
“You think this is torture?” Lucien asks, stroking your cheeks delicately. “It got dark. I wanted to see the sun again.”
Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.
A phantom sensation dances across your skin - a gentle caress, feather-light and tender in its hesitation. In that brief, ethereal moment, you feel transported back to a time when what you and Lucien had was untarnished by the shadows of addiction and betrayal - a time when his touch had been a balm to your weary heart.
And you missed the sun too.
He walks with you, guiding you backwards to the craggy, stone wall encased in the curve of the dark. You can still see his eyes as they drop to your lips and you remember the taste of him, choking on the smoke of him as he draws nearer to your face.
A hushed conversation stirs your attention from the other side of the wall. A faint, muffled voice drifts through the thick stone wall, and your heart clenches as you recognize Mitch's unmistakable tone.
Lucien covers your mouth gently with an engulfing, warm hand as he ghosts his nose gently over the skin of your neck.
It's hard to focus as you inhale a faint remant of his heady cologne, but on the other side of the wall you can hear your partner Mitch on the phone; his voice dripping with honeyed affection that he hasn’t used with you for a long time.
Lucien pulls back as you push against his chest, standing straight, his palm flat against the wall above your head as he listens out curiously with you.
I can’t stop thinking about you either, darling…
Lucien’s eyes drop to yours, his smirk dipping. “He’s fucking someone else?” He mouths.
You nod. You’ve suspected it for a while now and are only more confounded as to why you haven’t left him yet.
"Pendejo." (Asshole/idiot) Lucien bites in a growl.
As he’s speaking beyond the wall to his clandestine lover, Lucien pulls back, standing upright and shaking his head.
Your hands clench into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as Mitch waves his infidelity around the garden so casually.
His voice eventually fades out and Lucien takes one of your fists, unkinks your fingers, and brings your palm up to his mouth where he kisses it gently, eyes lancing at you, deep and entracing.
“Fuck him. Come with me to Tuscany.” Lucien drawls.
You wrinkle your nose. “What about Annabelle?”
He shrugs. “It didn’t work out.”
“Why am I not surprised?” You snort.
“Wasn’t the drinking.” He says, shaking his head and cupping your hand in between both of his ginormous ones. “Sober, remember?”
“You just drank from the champagne, I'm not an idiot.”
“Proof.” He says. “Proof that I can control it now.”
“You’ll never be able to control it.”
He nods. “Yeah, not without help. And I have help.”
You sigh and he looks at you earnestly pressing your hands to his chest. You can feel the ribbing of his heartbeat underneath them.
“I ended things with Annabelle ages ago.”
“Why? She was good for you.”
He breaks off with a garbled sigh amd swallows. You watch as he stares intonthe distance, and then he smirks.
“Do you remember when you threw my keys over the fence?”
“Don’t change the subject. Why did you leave her?” You say, fearing the answer.
“She’s not… you.” Lucien kisses your palm again and you can only watch him. Watch, rooted to the spot, heart thudding as he kisses slowly up your wrist and arm.
"I can't be with someone I don't love." He says simply.
You know it’s empty promises and hollow words as he paints this fantasy of a forever with him on your skin with his hot tongue. And it’s an illusion you’ll happily let yourself fall into for a while because it seems almost better than your current reality.
So you kiss him back. Pulling him by the lapels of his thin shirt until his lips are felt against yours, desperately.
He kisses you like the first time, when he was unsure and flighty. Before he became the man who broke your heart and left you walking barefoot on the shards of it.
His hands roam your face, cupping your cheek, thumbs stroking again as you feel his body crush against yours. Hips winding into your belly as he gasps around the taste of your lips.
You both part, panting and wanting, his deep eyes searching you out. He knows you’re in there somewhere, knows you’re better than this life, and also the one he tried - and failed - to give you.
Amidst the confusing turmoil, you can't ignore the unspoken longing lingering between you both, a palpable undercurrent of tension and desire on both parts.
He’s crushed tightly against you, bleeding into the shadows of the stone wall propped up behind you and your skin alike. You can almost feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, aquiline nose brushing up the side of your jaw inhaling the sweet scents of you that make his mouth water and his cock stiffen into your gut.
His hand pulls at the silk of your belt and your dress falls open, cascades of rich velvet and silk opening for his hands to roam gently over your naked skin.
You feel a rush of warmth flood your body despite the cool breeze puckering your nipples - warmth at the way Lucien looks at you, marvelling at you.
At the way he touches you, reigniting the sparks that you ensured you snuffed out a long time ago. You shudder at Lucien’s tender touch, the way his fingertips barely glide across your exposed skin, your weak heart fluttering in response to the raw vulnerability you see reflected back in his eyes.
You find yourself leaning into Lucien’s touch, finding solace and comfort in the unspoken connection that has always lingered between you both, despite everything. In that moment, amidst the fragrant blooms and the moonlit shadows, that small nagging thought mutates, that perhaps the love you’d always been searching for had been right here, in his stacked arms all along.
You shake your head, quickly gathering your wits and wrapping the dress around your body.
“We can’t do this.” You croak, trying to convince yourself of it despite all the blood in your veins rushing towards your centre and throbbing like a jungle drum.
“Yes we can.” Lucien assures. “I’ve fucking missed you, amante.”
It stops you in your tracks.
The words hang in the air, sharp and raw, teetering on the edge of a dreamy possibility that you’ve only allowed yourself to relive in the dark corners of your mind in quiet moments of a self-loathing masochism you allow yourself to harbour.
You feel his thick fingers on the tips of yours, a delicate yet invading touch that spreads its poison quickly and renders your resolve to crumble at your feet.
Any thoughts of regret are pushed aside as you wrap your arms around him and kiss him again.
Lucien worships your body as he trails his mouth over your naked breasts, sucking nipples into his mouth as he pushes you back against the wall. You gasp, already squirming and clenching as his lips leave more devastation.
He makes out with your stomach, dipping his tongue lavishly into your belly button as he sinks to his knees. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging gently as you wind fluffed, messy curls around them.
Lucien turns you with ease in his large hands, gathering your dress to the side, and kisses across your butt, biting the pert cheeks of them softly into his mouth as his hands pry them apart and his tongue makes lewd discoveries that make you gasp into the wall.
He crushes you to him, wrapping his arms around your thighs and forcing his face further in between your cheeks as you reach behind and rake desperately through his hair.
Running his tongue around the tight knot of your skin, and your mind can't help to revisit all the times when he claimed it with his fingers and cock too.
He kisses over the dimples of your thighs, all around them, under them, the backs of your knees - just everywhere and anywhere he can run his scuffed lips against.
Turning you again, he stares at your cunt inches from his nose, that’s soaking through the flimsy, black lace panties you’re wearing.
“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.” Lucien growls, looking up at you. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”
“No, you don’t.” You breathe resolutely. But you pull your panties aside and he gasps as you yank him forward by the back of his head.
He groans out in sweet relief as soon as his tongue makes contact, swiping into your soaked folds.
His hands run up the back of your thighs as he squeezes your ass, pushing your sopping cunt further onto his mouth.
“Yes, Lucien, get in there… get right in there,” you pant as your eyes roll back.
You struggle to stay upright, your body like jelly as you feel yourself slipping against the ragged stone wall against your skin.
He pries you open with his thumbs, licking over the shiny, wet bead of your clit and your thighs shakes uncontrollably. He brutally sucks it, flicking his tongue over and over in his determination to make you unravel.
He won’t stop until you come, you know this. He always was a generous lover in carefree abundance. Far from what you’re used to now - Mitch hasn't touched you in months, and the thought of it makes your skin crawl.
Lucien’s tongue works you up quickly, lapping and gliding expertly as he mouths on you exquisitely. You hear him grunt in hunger and want as he pulls you onto him further; his blunt fingertips pressing bruises into your ass cheeks as he grips tighter onto you, your hips winding into his face.
“Lucien…” you whine as you bubble and brew.
His eyes look up at you, mouth and nose buried into your core as you come; the silvery moon bathing your face in sweet, adoring kisses through its crescent smile as your body heats and your bones shake.
He lets you taste it as he rises up and kisses you, slipping his honey coated tongue back between your lips as you groan.
"Taste so fucking good." He groans.
His fingers attack your pussy, sliding in and pumping fast as you gasp. Clutching onto his shoulders, the silk bunches up around them in knotted waterfalls spilling over your knuckles as you claw and squeeze.
“Come for me again, baby.” Lucien encourages in a low, deep tone. Eyes watching you as the shadows of the alcove play over his ragged face like Rorschach inkblots.
“I’m gonna fuck you right here, amante,” he grunts as you squeeze and contract around his fingers brushing over your spot. “And then I’m gonna take you away from here, away from that piece of shit, and fuck you again. And again.”
“Lucien, please…” you whimper.
“We belong together, baby. I fucking love you.” He mumbles into your lips. “I never stopped. Not once. And I know you didn’t either. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby... come for me, that's it, let go... come... Fuck, you're so beautiful.”
You cry out as your orgasm floods your body and his fingers. Your body shakes beyond your control, eyes glazed over and lost in a tumble of his sweet ramblings and bewitching ministrations.
“Come here.” Lucien reaches to his fly as he kisses your neck. His heady grunts sound like gravel in your ears, breath warming you with the acrid scent of smoke seeping into your pores.
He hoists your leg up over his thick arm, his hand coming to rest on your face again as you feel him run his cock through your folds. He dips his hips low as he breaks on through inside you.
“You feel that, you feel that all the way?” He asks, as he slides all the way in and out again.
“Lucien!” You gasp, your lips nipping onto his as you feel him pack you out. You never forgot the feel of him, so hard and thick.
"That's it, baby. Back where I belong."
His pants are desperate; puffy little breaths that soon grow into laboured whines of lusty need. Drunk off of you completely, sobriety smashed in an instant.
He vowed to stay away, to let you heal and move on, but he’s selfish. He knows he is. He can’t abstain, can’t ever quit you. It’s why he’s here, fucking another man’s woman because he’s selfish. Sabotaging every relationship he’s had since you, trapped in that cycle.
Basking in the addictive feel of your cunt squeezing around him as you come, watching as your eyes soar into the sky, howling his name into his mouth as he tastes your tongue and sucks on it greedily.
"Fuck, you feel so good." He grunts.
He comes inside you, filing you full, but he still keeps pumping, still keeps himself buried inside of you, fucking deep and slow. Unable to pull himself out of you, unable to be parted from you now that he has you back inside his hands.
You clutch on tighter to him, not wanting this to end; wanting to indulge in this secret shame in the back of the garden you've allowed yourself to wallow freely in.
He feels so good, so warm and thick. He peppers your face with kisses, the silk scruff of his jawline smooth against your cheeks. Your fingers coil in the curls behind his ears and the back of his bronzed neck, damp with sweat.
They tangle in the chains, one that you're pretty certain in your cock-addled haze that was a gift from you that he still wears - you pull him closer to you still.
“Come inside me again, Lucien,” you whisper as he pecks over your face gently.
“I wanna spend forever coming inside of you,” he whispers back, voice breaking.
And you know he means it. He always means what he says, it's just the follow through is often lost in translation. He’s not a bad man, you know this in your heart.
You spent days convincing your reflection in the mirror that he's not a bad man; he was just weak when you needed him to be strong - an unravelling mess. But he was your mess for time.
And now that he’s inside you again like this, so uncouthly unperturbed that anyone could venture down here and see him claiming you, you know a part of you still loves him too.
You believed it when he said he loved you and you suspect he probably hasn’t loved anyone else like he loved you.
It was raw, unfiltered. Intense. You know it because you felt it too. It hurt, viscerally. Consumed you both and spit you out.
A gaping wound that you’ve not been able to stitch up and every day you’re bleeding out. You wanna tell him how much it fucking hurt to watch him willingly drown, inadvertently pulling you under with him.
You want to lash out and scratch at his beautiful face, slap him and bite and bruise him like he bruised you.
But instead you kiss him, you hear him falter and become weak inside your ear and he groans and whimpers your name as he comes once more.
You let him flood you again, feel it dripping down your thighs, thick and warm as he stains your skin with him all over again.
In the afterglow of your post-coital bliss, your hand traces the contours of his weathered face, running lightly through the wiry greys along his jaw.
Lucien nestles into your palm, lips finding the skin to press in a kiss.
You want to believe it, you want to believe he’s changed and grown and learnt. That he's spent time reflecting, healing.
But you're still marred with the splinters of hurt that’ve lacerated your heart.
Looking into the rich, warm browns of melted chocolate, flecked with golden hues that dance like sunlight on water, you allow yourself to remember the days when Lucien was your everything.
When his gruff, nicotine soaked laughter was the sound that filled your days, and his touch chased away any fears you could harbour.
The ways he would fuck you for hours into the night; his sweat soaking into your skin, as you gnawed on his shoulder, like perfume you’d wear for days without showering him away.
You remember the first time you noticed the signs - the subtle scent of hard liquor on his breath, the empty bottles hidden away in the depths of your home in the most unusual of places. At first, you’d dismissed it as stress or a passing phase, but as the weeks turned into months, the truth became impossible to ignore.
You’d watched helplessly as Lucien spiralled further into the grip of his addiction, his once-charming demeanour giving way to bouts of anger and despair that would paint your bathroom in plumes of his vomit. You remember the sleepless nights spent drowning in tears, the ache in your chest that refused to relent, the biting emptiness that hollowed out your soul into a pair of unblinking eyes and a heart cemented over.
You wonder if that’s why you’re with Mitch now. Wonder if perhaps that this is all you deserve; that you’ll never be happy, so what's the point in trying to fight for it?
The nights had become endless cycles of fear and uncertainty, each day a desperate struggle to hold your crumbling world together. You’d become withdrawn, adept at hiding the truth from your friends and family, plastering on a smile to conceal the pain.
But amidst the chaos and despair, there had been moments of hope - fleeting glimpses of the man you had once loved, the man buried beneath the weight of his addiction and trying to swim out of it.
And though you had often questioned your decision to stay as long as you did, you can't deny the flicker of love that still burns within you for him, the belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there’s still a chance for redemption.
And you hate yourself for allowing your mind to go there.
Lucien reaches to the bush and plucks an azalea off the stem and combs it behind your ear.
“Beautiful.” He says with a smile. Not a smirk, a smile.
“I can’t go back to that place, Lucien.” You say, shaking your head.
You stare out at the house and the sounds of music and chatter still tinkle down the pathway towards you both.
“I know,” he says, running a hand through his hair listlessly.
You untangle the flower from your hair and look at it resting in your palm, the velvety petals smoothed out under your thumb as you stroke.
“But you can’t stay here, either.” His voice pulls you from your swampy thoughts.
"No," you agree. You turn to glance back at the house.
“Come with me,” Lucien pleads softly, deep eyes searching yours out. "What's stopping you, baby?"
Fingertips on your chin tilt you towards him. You tuck the flower inside his breast pocket and he looks forlorn as you do, eyes sinking and any trace of a smile vanishing.
You wrap your dress around your waist and he watches you belt it up into a messy bow on your hip. You can still feel him pooling between your legs.
You take in a deep breath, a steadying one that seeks clarity through the confusion, and inhale the familiar, swarming fragrance of the azaleas one last time.
My first time writing for Lucien and I'd love to know your thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog too so others can read and enjoy. Thankies! 🖤
MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST
Tagging @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @linzels-blog @avastrasposts @trulybetty
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#lucien flores#the uninvited#lucien flores x reader#lucien flores x you#lucien flores x f!reader#jett's writing
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jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist
wc. 2.9k
tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, bondage, toys, blindfold, edging, temp play, nipple play, handjobs/frotting, sir kink, size humiliation
you've gotten daring. it feels as if he's constantly in wait for a wolf to jump out of the bushes to attack him in the kitchen, the dining room... or even actual bushes. and it wasn't just the sex that had his skin burning under his clothes. it was the way you shifted your arm casually around his waist, over his shoulders, claiming him as yours – it was the way you looked at him differently, eyes dark and dangerously playful. it was the way a corner of your lips twitched up and pride glittered in your eyes whenever anyone mentioned how cute he was, tucked into your side like a doll.
it excited him, doing something so dirty in the shadows and having it leave its mark on him so visibly that others picked up on it.
when you greet him in the morning with a fruity breakfast-in-bed of your famous pancakes with a bundle of red bamboo-silk rope on the side, he picks up the rope first.
he twists the soft ends between his fingers, admiring the nylon-like sheen to the vibrant fibres. he turns the bundle over in his hands, admiring the contrast against his skin. "so pretty," he whispers, taking his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes sparkle up at you ardently. "do you know how to use these?"
"i've been doing some light reading," you tease, kissing his cheek and throwing open the curtains to let the morning light in. "got them on tuesday. been waiting for a time when i can really let them shine as a centrepiece."
"you should've gotten a blindfold, too," he laughs, giving the rope a harsh tug. it barely moves, holding steady. he blushes. if you decide you don't want him moving a single inch, these will certainly get the job done.
"would you like one?" you ask liltingly, moving towards the wardrobe. "you have all day to pick one." since the beginning of the week, he'd grown more comfortable with giving up control over the little things in his life – like now, allowing you to pick out a nice, casual outfit for him.
"mm... maybe i would." he sets aside the rope, his chest already brimming with anticipation, and picks up the fork. delicately, he pierces a dewy blueberry with a single silver tine and drags it against his teeth with a soft hum. the syrupy glazing gives the tartness a tingling rich weight.
his eyes widen at the outfit you've thrown on the end of the bed next to his feet. you close the wardrobe. "that's just your hoodie. where's the rest of it?"
you smirk, scooping up a familiar pair of fishnets folded into a neat square, a loop of leather clinking on top. you lift the pair of polished black heels in your other hand and they glint sharply in the light. "here's the rest of it."
flames engulf his face. "h-hyung! i can't wear that!"
"why not?"
"it's not – it's so suggestive," he whispers. you smile; there's your sweet boy. "aren't you worried people will stare at your boyfriend?"
"no. i know they would – that's why i chose them." you set them down, perching on the edge of the bed next to him and taking the fork gently from his hands. you carve a bite out of the fluffy pancake stack and lift it to his lips, humming when he wraps his lips around it with more of a pout than usual. "you love the attention, my darling. i'm just giving you what you want."
he shivers at the familiar sentence, which sends a twinge of arousal up his spine. he just woke up, too – maybe you'll help him with his little 'problem' if he asks nicely. "i think i should wear pants. what if the wind picks up the end of the hoodie? i'd get in trouble for public indecency – you'd have to fuck me in a jail cell."
"fine," you huff, pushing another mouthful of pancakes into his mouth as you stand. "jeans, then. your black calvin klein denim, maybe? let's go for an all-black look today. you can cuff the hems to show off your shoes."
with a laugh, he spears half of a strawberry and waves it towards you. you accept it, teeth dragging lightly against the silver. "you have to go change, then. wanna match with you, baby."
"i made you a cute breakfast and you're still ordering me about..." you sulk. "okay. but that's the last thing you can ask of me. i'm in charge, you little minx."
"yes, daddy," he drawls, rolling his eyes as he giggles. "big man pays for our dates and gives good kisses. what else to i have to want for?"
"oh, trust me. tonight, you'll be wanting."
—
it's hot. it's cold. your thumb tweaks his nipple and he flinches at the suddenness of it, swallowing his groan of pleasure.
"mmnh... oh, fuck, fuck you..." he jolts as the wet heat of your tongue circles his pebbled nipple, your teeth dragging against the soft, cold skin. it's fascinating, really – you can feel his heat, his red-blooded muscle, simmering beneath his skin, and yet what you take between your lips is arctic. the zing of cold tastes sweet with his bitten moans.
"what did you say, darling?" you drag the ice cube down along the defined edge of his apollo's belt, teasing it up and down the place where it smooths out – right at the junction of his thigh.
he whimpers – really whimpers – and bucks his hips feebly, arms flexing against the red bamboo-silk blend. you made sure to tie them nice and tight, framing the swells of his delts and biceps. he whips his head left and right, trying to find the source of your voice. it's coming from all around him, enveloping him, drowning his senses, bubbling in his tummy like a glass of mellow, nutty champagne.
the bullet vibrator, discreet and black, has been buzzing away inside of him for what feels like hours. it's shorter than your fingers, thinner than your cock, and barely brushes that sweet sport two inches inside of him. he grinds his ass against the bed, fighting desperately to rub it against his prostate for some proper pleasure. the used fleshlight knocks his hip and he shivers as your fingers brush his side while you pick it up and set it aside.
"nothing, sir," he says between clenched teeth, his chest arching into your mouth as your tongue flicks and rolls against his sensitive chest. his stomach tenses and you drag the flat of your tongue down the split of his chest and trace the dips of his toned muscles, lips firm and warm and wet and—
he cries out as the searing ice presses against the underside of his throbbing cock. you wrap your hand entirely around him – his heart flutters – and the heat of your hand and his shaft have the ice dripping down your first knuckles, sandwiched unflinchingly as you lazily shuffle your palm up and down, up and down.
he whines tearfully and his hips jerk away, writhing as he tries to pull away from the numbing cold and shattering heat. it's so slick. "n-nothing! i said nothing!"
the icy water drips down his balls and constant sticky precum bubbles from his tip, pooling on his tensing stomach. his hands flex behind his head and he tilts his mouth against your neck when he feels you bury your face in his shoulder, humming softly as you jerk him off so terribly sweetly. the pulsing rage of heat, the steady glacial chill that hums at the base of his cock...
"'m sorry," he cries out against your skin, pressing his lips to your jaw quick and messy. he's frantic. you smile. "i – mmh! – didn't mean it, please, just wanna come, please... s'hard, so hard, i wanna see you... wanna touch you, wanna feel you against me, in me, i don't care anymore!"
he sounds almost broken. granted, you've never toyed with him like this before – you're not usually one to play with your food too much before you eat. but this week, his words, his cute little smiles when he teases his hand across your crotch... maybe you're less of a square than you thought.
"you didn't mean it?" you tilt your head, middle and index fingers brushing against the rim of his asshole, nudging the vibrator. he spreads his legs wider, thighs hooked over yours, and you smirk. "it just... came out, right? ah, i understand... but that doesn't mean that you're forgiven. you'll have to earn that."
he keens, nodding so hard his head's in danger of falling off. he humps your fist, his cheeks dark pink. "yes – yes, sir. i'll do better for you, hyung."
"hm." you sit back on your knees, stroking his body. he shivers under your touch, flinching and gasping softly at each cold twinge. his fawn nipples are swollen and dark. "you will."
"i will," he parrots softly, a tiny breath of dazed acquiescence. his head tips back – your hand, god, he'd been trying to ignore it, focus on your voice, but even that got him all worked up. he can barely remember what the bedroom looks like. all he remembers is you.
"that's right, darling," you croon, tugging faster on his cock as he judders and moans, grinding into your fist and against your bulge at the same time. you glance down at his cock and can't help the soft huff of laughter that escapes you at the sight.
he clenches around nothing at the sound. "w-what?"
"mm, nothing," you jest, "just admiring how pretty your little cock looks in my hand."
his gut zings with deep, hot pleasure. he can't steady the wobble in his voice. "i-it's not little...!"
"really? can't you feel it, baby?" you wrap your fingers tight around his length one at a time so you can truly appreciate the look of it, snug in the tunnel of your palm. "my hand wraps around it entirely. you can't even see it anymore. i've never realised how dainty you truly are. doubt you could please anyone with this."
you tug sharply and his moan snaps in the middle. his pulsing, leaking red cock dribbles onto his stomach and runs down his sides with all of his writhing. you squeeze slowly on every upwards stroke, as if milking him, and a thick spurt of precum drools over your knuckles.
"'m not dainty," he nearly sobs, yanking on the red ropes caging his arms and chest. they hold strong; he's powerless against you, his heels digging into your lower back in a feeble attempt at getting you to grind on him. "nngh – 'm not..."
"no, you say?" your fingers circle his asshole and you admire the way he grips that little toy like a vice. he whimpers, grinding down on your fingers in a desperate bid to get them inside of him and to fuck him good. "then what are you, my darling?"
he jerks into the mattress as he feels a hot, heavy weight slide along the prominent vein of his cock, slipping in beside his in your loosened fist. you rock your hips and heat engulfs his cock as he trembles, feeling your balls pressed against his in the filthiest kind of intimacy.
"take a look, baby. i want you to see it for yourself."
your fingers hook under his blindfold and toss it somewhere into the darkness to be picked up in the morning. he blinks, disoriented, up at you, his pupils swallowing his irises and his expression loose and wanton.
you take his chin, angling it down, and his eyes travel down his flushed, messy body to the big prize... and was it big.
"don't come." your hand tightens around your cocks. you drag your hips back, then push forward, watching his expressions closely as his mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut. "good boy. now, watch."
you grab his jaw and tilt his gaze to yours, eyes hungry and ruthless. your hips pump faster. your cock dwarfs jungkook's as it slides over it, the thick head catching on his, and he shuts his eyes tightly, unable to swallow the rapid, ceaseless, embarrassed moans you're yanking out of his guts by the handful. you increase the speed of the vibrator from minimum to maximum and he wails.
"open your eyes, sweet thing. i told you to watch."
he babbles half-words and pleas for things he doesn't know. your hips quicken, the hot drag of flesh on flesh almost deviant. a thick spurt of his precum smears your cock and you groan softly, pumping you together as you thrust against him.
the quick wet smack of your balls against his brings him close to tears. each jostle and rub tugs the string out of his thoughts, unravelling them like a stray thread. the white-hot coil tightens.
nervously, between hiccups and cries, he cracks his eyes open, hands flexing into fists behind his head. the warm pad of your thumb rubs his wet, icy nipple, flicking and pinching erratically. he keens your name, arching his back into the radiating heat of your palm against his ribs.
he feels so small. your hand wrapped over his upper ribs, cupping the softness of his chest. your body, looming above his. your cock, rutting against his like a beast...
he can't help it. his eyes roll back into his skull and he comes.
everything tightens. it's as if his whole body is a spring loaded with a single high-calibre bullet, and in that flash of sun-surface heat, everything slows down. everything is more: your touch, your body, your love. tingling white pleasure bursts in his core, bleeding out to his fingers and toes like blazing petrol trails.
his head spins. his lungs ache.
what's his name, again?
you release on his stomach and cock, making more of a mess of him. his own glazed cum drips down his sides and pools on the soft hotel towels he stole from somewhere he definitely shouldn't have been. you shift your grip, fisting his cock rapidly as he sobs, his chest heaving and tears glittering along his lash line.
you milk him dry until he's a twitching, gasping puddle of cum on the bed, thick trembling thighs pinning you in place. his unfocussed gaze trails over the ceiling. he whines softly through tears as your fingers glide against his sensitive asshole, popping the still vibrator out of him. he clenches around nothing and rolls his ass against your cock – it's sloppy, needy, and tired.
it's always been hard to say no to him, especially when he gazes up at you with a slick swollen pout and those huge, glistening eyes, but you have to. the rope's made pink indents into his skin where he's pulled and pushed against him, and you're glad that you splurged a little on the rope. he wouldn't be able to wear short sleeves for a week if you got him something coarser.
you hush him gently as your fingers work deftly at the knots. when his hands are free, thumping softly to the bed, they're immediately up again, snaking around your shoulders and yanking you down to his chest.
he buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent shakily. his fingertips glide absently up and down the middle of your spine; you can feel the tremors wracking his body, muscles tensing and relaxing as often as he breathed.
you kiss him softly. he moans into it, lips moving hungrily against yours, and he arches himself off of the bed in an effort to get closer to you. you hold him up with an arm over his shoulders, your other arm braced against the bed.
when you part, gasping for air, he moans softly, chasing your lips. you indulge him one last time, and when you pull away, you move to his throat, sucking a dark hickey into his skin high above where any t-shirt collars might fall. he doesn't bruise easily; you have to put special care into it.
his ankle slips down around the back of your knee as your teeth sting. you kiss the reddening bruise – one day you're going to make it a heart just to embarrass him – and his throat bobs. you give his adam's apple a chaste kiss – he giggles, dazed and airy, and presses his cheek to yours as he comes down from his high, still panting softly.
he opens his mouth and coaches himself on how to talk again. he feels loopy. "don' want this week to end, hyung..."
"i know." you stroke his side. "just ask me to play mario kart with you again. you've incensed me to try harder."
he coos, giggling softly through deep, shaky breaths. "ah, but it won't matter. i'll beat you anyway – it's genetic. i'm a natural winner."
"winner?" you lift a brow. "just now, you did the one thing i specifically told you not to do, gold star. i don't think that's 'winning'."
"anytime i get to see you naked is a win for me, hyung," he teases, pecking your lips. he tucks his hands behind his head, mimicking the shape you made with the ropes, and spreads his legs. "let's see if you can beat the 'high score' you won tonight."
#top male reader#x male reader#male reader#dom male reader#bts x male reader#dom reader#top reader#bottom bts#bottom jungkook#jungkook x male reader#kpop x male reader#bts x reader#kpop x reader#bts smut#jungkook smut
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Gross Childhood Best Friend Soap
Word Count: 1.6K
Alternate Endings Here
Warnings: The tiniest smidgen of angst but it ends nice so you better not complain, not super proofread
A/N: Yeah I dunno, came up with this last night and just crammed it out today in a sort of word diarrhea in which I blacked out and woke up naked and alone in the middle of the bush with this on my laptop screen. Make of that what you will
Contrary to his callsign, Soap is, and always has been, a gross little goober of a man
He’s been gross since you were kids, going digging for worms, collecting hermit crabs to take home from the beach in his pockets, rolling around in the dirt and coming home tracking mud on the carpet. Of course, it wasn’t all bad. He’d always offer to kiss your scrapes and bruises better, even if they were bloody or muddy. He’d always find pretty seashells to give you amidst his hunt for the largest hermit crab. He was gross within reason.
You had many a fond memory of going off to the creek at the back of your neighbouring houses with him. You'd climb up to what felt like perilous heights in your child minds, to sit on the highest point of the creek. From there, you would watch as Johnny dug for the perfect stones for you both to skim, watch him build dams and change the currents of the water. Watch as he would lunge at bugs, fish, tadpoles, lizards, and present them up to you from below, the squirming creatures clutched in his mud covered hands.
At the end of the day, just before your parents would call you back home for dinner, Johnny would climb up on the rock with you, just to sit and hold your hand. If he was feeling particularly bold, he would plant a kiss on your hand, and tell you he was going to marry you one day. You called him gross for that too, but latched onto the idea all the same.
Your early teen years, where puberty had begun for the both of you, was plagued with a myriad of varying smells and odours. Forget sweating like a pig, Johnny sweat like a boar; walking home from school with him after P.E. was a nightmare for your nasal cavities. You didn't mind though, he made good enough conversation that you ended up getting used to the stink.
For the amount of afternoons you spent in his room, you'd think you would eventually get used to the sight of his dirty clothes and mugs littering his floor and desk. You never did, always scolding him for not keeping his room clean knowing he had a lady coming over. He would always laugh, even as you threw his pillow at him, copping it square in the face.
So many nights were spent laying side by side in his bed, talking late into the night, curious hands too scared to do more than brush pinkies with the other laying inches away. You always felt as though you could feel him staring at you in the quieter moments of those nights, but you never caught him.
You spent your later teen years feeling bitterly towards him. You went from thinking you'd be best friends forever, to being an afterthought for Johnny. You did try, of course, to keep close to him.
In his late teen years, Johnny was gross in the sense that he’d go off to parties just to see how many people he could make out with. Would have sex with anyone who offered, just for the hell of it. Accompanying him to parties was a nightmare.
"You promise you won't abandon me this time?" You found yourself asking this more than once, each time slightly less optimistic than the last, but never losing your faith in him.
"Of course not, lass," he would always say. "Yer ma' girl! I'll stick right by yer side this time, lass. I promise."
What shallow promises they were. You were always demoted to the third wheel, the one who held the drinks while he went off to flirt with someone new he hadn't fucked yet. You found yourself leaving early and alone most nights, walking home and hugging your sides to keep yourself from falling apart, kicking stones imagining they were Johnny's face. Cursing yourself for thinking this time would be different, and that maybe he'd look at you for once. Going to bed cold and bitter, knowing just next door, Johnny would be waking up with someone else next to him in his bed. You just hoped he remembered to keep his room clean for them.
You both graduated, with Johnny leaving to join the military and you leaving to go to university. You kept in scarce contact over the years, occasionally calling to catch up, Johnny telling you where he was stationed, you telling him what you were working on at uni, apologising for missing birthdays, missing holidays, promises to call again soon, promising to catch up when he's home, all shallow. At least, that's what it felt like to you.
Until one night, when you were out at a bar with you friends, celebrating your recent graduation. You were all discussing with great vigour what you would all get up to with your newfound freedom from studies, when you felt the familiar feeling of eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. A little unsettled, you took a look around the bar, trying to see who could possibly be staring at you so intensely, but you couldn't quite catch their eye. You sipped at your drink, a frown furrowing your brows for a moment, before you brushed the feeling off altogether.
An hour passed and you'd forgotten the feeling in the haze of the alcohol. You were ordering yourself another drink, and as you reached into your wallet to grab out your card, another hand swooped in front of you to pay for your drink. You looked up, startled, before you met his gaze. Johnny. Staring down at you with a smile that could melt glaciers.
"Johnny, you didn't tell me you were in town," you murmured, eyes greedily taking in as much of him as you could in this moment of reunion. Scars on his chin covering the one he got from splitting his chin riding a bike for the first time. Stubble covering his jaw. The corniest mohawk that he had always talked about getting, sitting on top of his head. Your face flushed beet red when your eyes dragged over his built form; apparently that childhood crush you'd had on him all those years ago hadn't quite faded as much as you'd thought it had.
"You didn't tell me you'd graduated university, lass," he replied, the sound of his voice—finally in person again and not over the phone—sending shivers down your spine. "Had to find out myself from yer mum."
You hid your guilt behind the drink you tipped back into your mouth, averting your gaze as he watched you with dark eyes. "Thanks for the drink," you breathed, and he laughed.
"Don't even mention it, 's the least I can do. Why don't we go sit down somewhere 'n catch up, aye? Come on, lass."
You found yourself being guided over to a booth, Johnny's hand on the small of your back, sending ripples of warmth through you and into places the alcohol couldn't quite reach. You sat down first, with Johnny shuffling in close beside you, your shoulders brushing, electricity coursing through your veins.
As you sat and spoke, catching up on what you've missed in each other's lives, you found yourself noticing something. Johnny was using all the moves he used to use on people he fancied in high school, the ones he used to get them all flustered, to get in their pants.
You had to admit, you could see why so many people slept with him; he was charismatic as all hell, that boyish charm spawning those all too familiar butterflies in your gut, and he was quite literally always in contact with you. Whether it be the arm resting behind you on the seat of the booth, his knee gently nudging yours beneath the table, or a hand tucking a hair behind your ear, it seemed Johnny had turned the charm up to the max.
It was nice to be on the receiving end of it for once, but there was a certain bitterness that still lingered behind like a foul taste in the back of your throat. Was this just meaningless flirting to him, were you just another girl on his list to fuck and be done with? With all the alcohol in your system, you were well and truly past the point of caring, but you knew that if you woke up tomorrow morning in an empty bed you'd not only be cursing him, but yourself as well.
You let him lean in closer, tracing a finger down your cheek, and you let yourself be giddy, blushing like a schoolgirl when he winked at you. You let yourself swoon when he kissed you, cradling your face in his calloused palms. You let him take you back to his parent's place, nestled just next to your own home. You let him take you upstairs and into his room, holding your hand and shushing you when you both laughed a little too loud.
You let yourself feel like teens once more as you stumbled into that all too familiar room, hit with the smell of Johnny, the smell of home. You felt guilty, ashamed, as you let yourself savour the taste of him, the feeling of his naked body pressed against yours, his hands raking along your body as if you'd disappear if he let go. You let yourself fall asleep in his arms, smiling as he carded his fingers through your hair and pressed kisses to your scalp, whispering incoherent things into your skin.
You awoke the next morning, expecting to find Johnny's bed empty. But it wasn't. And neither was it the next morning, or the morning after that. In fact, the pair of you spent a lot of time waking up together.
This is where you find yourself now, lying in the early morning light in Johnny's bed, the man in question sprawled out next to you, snoring with his mouth wide open, drool leaking on his pillow.
"Gross," you murmur to yourself with a fond smile, tucking yourself into his side and closing your eyes once more.
#john soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#soap call of duty#soap cod#soap x reader#johnny soap mactavish#john mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#childhood best friend x reader
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Baizhu x Reader (Arranged Marriage)
I know this is a bit (lot) different to what I normally post on this account, but I am a SUCKER for arranged marriages in fanfic, so I am choosing to disregard my sagau roots (not permanently dw) It’s a bit out of my comfort zone, but I really hope it comes out well :)
Contains - You getting injured, you and baizhu having beef (enemies to lovers fr), you and baizhu not realising that you are engaged to each other, arranged marriage (duh) your dad kinda sucks tbh
It took you rolling your ankle to realise how bad an idea climbing a mountain unprepared was. Granted, when you had started climbing the mountain, you had thought you were prepared. Your clothing was (somewhat) practical, you had stolen a pair of your father’s shoes that he used when hiking and you had found a nice leather satchel to hold your snacks and hand shovel.
It had been fine at first, nothing more than a pleasant hike, with bird chirping and a soft breeze whistling through the trees. But with every step you took, the path became steeper, the sun became hotter and the god-damned shoes you bothered from your father hurt more. They had seemed a bit large when you first put them on, but now it felt like you were going to trip over them with every step.
Your clothes weren’t faring much better. Your good, practical clothing had caught on nearly every single branch and shrub you passed. You would have to hide them when you got home, because you did not want to have to explain to your parents exactly how your clothing got so tattered and torn. The only things that hadn’t let you down was the satchel and your snacks, although the snacks were long gone now, despite not even reaching the top of the mountain.
Looking back on the moment, it seemed almost like one of those comedy performances, that wandering artisans performed in the town square. It was ironic, truly, how quickly everything fell apart. A single stone in your path, that you hadn’t even noticed until you were stepping on it. Your father’s shoes skidded off it, causing your ankle to twist painfully and send you careening into a nearby bush, your shirt tearing even more as the branches scraped your skin.
And there you lay, facedown in a bush in the middle of nowhere, close to the peak of a nearly abandoned mountain trail, with nothing but a satchel and a sprained ankle.
All of this for a fucking flower.
It was silly, you were aware of that. Your mother had told you stories about a kind of flower that only grew on this particular mountain, whose petals formed a distinctive heart shape, and which was said to bless whoever received one with true love. It was cheesy, yes, but that didn’t stop many young men and women from climbing the mountain in order to pick them for their fiances. But as the years passed, the flowers became more and more sparse, thanks to the droves of hopeless romantics picking them all. And now, they are said to only be found at the very top of the mountain, where the lovers were too scared to climb.
You didn’t even know if Baizhu liked flowers.
You’d never met him, which was surprising considering how long he’d been a client of your father. Your father, a renowned supplier of medicinal herbs, was thrilled when Baizhu first began working with him. Prior to that, all his business had been to local doctors and healers, but having a client in far-away Liyue Harbor excited him, especially a doctor of such a stellar reputation.
You almost felt like you did know him, with how much your father talked about Baizhu. Every shipment of goods that was requested meant another long monologue over the dining table about how fortunate he was to have such a consistent and well-paying client. You almost asked your father if HE wanted to marry Dr Baizhu, but you thankfully refrained.
You knew your father had been dropping hints to Baizhu for a while now, about how he hoped his child would be married soon, about how Baizhu surely must be so lonely without a spouse, about how Baizhu really just felt like he was part of the family already. What you hadn’t expected was for Baizhu to accept.
And now, here you were, a week out from your wedding and nearly passed out on the side of a road, trying to get that god-damned flower.
There was no way that the situation could get any worse.
“Oh dear! Are you alright?”
Or maybe it could.
You truly had the worst luck. How was it that during the most embarrassing moment of your life, a person had to appear? This was an abandoned trail!
“Please … just leave me here. I’m already contemplating my life choices and regretting the actions I’ve taken to get here, my pride can’t take another hit.”
“I really… can’t just leave you here, you know that, right?” The voice, which you could now identify as male, sounded like it was trying to hold back laughter, while also truly sounding concerned.
“I assure you, you can. Please do. Keep continuing on your way.”
There was silence for a moment, and you almost allowed yourself to hope that whoever this man was had left, until you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders and pull you out of the bush, depositing you in a rather undignified heap on the ground.
“My sincerest apologies about your pride. Are you injured?”
You sighed and made your best effort to fix your hair, attempting to look less like you just fell into a bush. Your saviour had the audacity to look perfectly put together, with barely a hair out of place, despite having just hiked the same distance as you. Though he also looked far more prepared, with shoes that actually fit and an entire bag filled with supplies.
“Only the aforementioned pride and my ankle,” You sighed, looking down at the already bruised and swollen skin, then up at the nearly vertical path ahead of you.
“I truly hope you don’t plan on continuing to climb with that ankle of yours?” He questioned, squatting down to get a better view at your injury, laying a gentle hand upon it.
You chose to ignore the question, still hoping to find a way to get to the top of the mountain, instead taking the opportunity to stare at the man. He had the most intriguing golden eyes, with slitted pupils like a snake, which were sharply fixed on your ankle.
“Your lack of a response speaks wonders, so let me rephrase. You will not be continuing to climb with that ankle of yours.” His eyes met yours, looking for any argument.
“And how do you plan to stop me?”
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For a man who initially seemed so polite, he sure had a way of getting on your nerves. You’d spent the first 10 minutes of him carrying you back down the mountain (over his shoulder!) trying to convince him to put you down and when that hadn’t worked, you’d settled on silent treatment. But even that was testing your patience, you’d become tired of watching the sun creep towards the horizon, of listening to the birds singing up above, of resisting the urge to ask him what hair products he used to make his hair so silky.
“So…”
“Oh, you want to make conversation now? Finally given up on ignoring me?” He laughed at you, making you grit your teeth.
“Alright, I get it! You’re acting in my best interests by not letting me continue climbing the mountain, you don’t have to act all high and mighty about it!” You cut your angry tirade off with an annoyed huff, turning your face away from him.
“Why were you even climbing up there to begin with? It’s certainly not a beginners trail.”
“Oh, uhm, you know…”
“I certainly don’t know, which is why I’m asking you, but I appreciate the faith you have in thinking I can read your mind.”
You smacked his shoulder once, then a second time when you noticed he was laughing.
“But seriously… why?” He turned to face you, eyes searching your face for some sort of answer, before sighing and turning back towards the path.
You were silent for a long moment before remembering that this man had seen you half-knocked out in a bush on the side of a road. Your dignity was long gone.
“Don’t mock me for it, but I was going to try and find one of those flowers…”
“The True Love’s Bloom?”
“Yes and don’t you dare make fun of me for this, I get married in a week and I’m emotionally sensitive.”
“I wouldn’t dream of hurting your feelings and anyway, that’s what I was looking for as well.“
It took you a moment for it to sink it, before you turned to look at him.
“Really? I didn’t take you for the romantic type. Which poor soul got roped into marrying you?”
“I could say the same to you. Here I was, being nice to you and you repay it by insulting me? I’ll have you know, I was the one who got roped in. I think I would’ve had assassins sent after me if I refused one more time.”
You laughed and turned back around, but as you did, a small alcove in the nearby rock caught your eye. It was becoming darker by the second, but even with the fading light you could make out the shape of…
“Over there!”
The man paused and gave a sigh.
“This better not be a ploy to get me to put you down, so that you can do something potentially life endangering again.”
“The flowers! Over there!”
He turned his head and gave a small laugh of surprise as he spotted them too.
“Well, what do you know? Maybe being forced to carry you back down this hill was a blessing in disguise?” He wandered over to the sheltered patch of dirt, where, hidden from most prying eyes, were two perfect flowers.
He placed you down next to them and began rummaging through his bag, pulling out two shovels.
“I’ll have you know that I actually brought a shovel, I don’t need your equipment!”
“Really, how surprising. Did you bring a pot as well?”
“...”
“...”
“... can I borrow one of yours?”
“Well, I’ll have YOU know…”
And as your bickering echoed across the mountaintop, bringing life to the abandoned trails of a once vibrant mountain, the flowers almost seemed to grow just a little bit more.
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“Baizhu, what’s that flower sitting over by the window? I’ve never seen anything like it before?”
“Ah Traveler, you have a good eye! It’s called True Love’s Bloom. However, those are actually two flowers. My spouse and I planted them in the same pot when we got married all those years ago and they have grown together over time, becoming so intertwined we can’t separate them. I like to keep them close to me at work, to remind me of my dearest.”
“Your spouse? I didn’t know you were married!”
“You didn’t? I could’ve sworn I had mentioned it? Well then, I shall have to tell you the story of how we met. It all started with them stupidly trying to climb a mountain…”
Guys, this was so much longer than I intended wtf. This was supposed to be a SHORT STORY to go with two other arranged marriage stories. I seriously need to throw my plans out the window at this point. Anyway, I love writing sassy characters, even though im shit at banter, so hopefully this is good/funny?
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𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐫. 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.
pairing:: eren yeager x fem!reader (black coded)
word count:: 2.7k
warnings:: mostly smut, sexual roleplay, pre-decided stuff, rough sex, eren has a fat dick, black coded characters, eren is ghostface, chasing, spitting, oral sex (f recieving), use of 'girl' and 'bitch', established married relationship, semi-public sex (in their home's backyard), fingerfucking, light choking, eren is sweet, i love yall.
notes:: i actually really love this😭comments and rbgs much appreciated, i love making eren nd his s/o black coded so they are.
"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭'? He laughs a little, "Fuck, they definitely did, oh my god," You cringe and press your hands against your face. "Shit, when'd you get yo' nails did?" His eyes widen a little in surprise, noticing three nails had already popped off and he hadn't seen this pattern yet.
You're sprinting past the bushes in your front yard, the dark sky engulfing you with only the full moon illuminating the path as the lights planted in your garden were switched off. Heavy booted footsteps clambered down behind you and with a hard swallow you forced yourself to speed up.
In only a pair of loose, soft shorts and a long t-shirt belonging to your husband on, you slapped a hand over your breasts to hold them down as you bent around the corner of your house. The rain from throughout the day made your tiled pathways slippery and your breathing, so heavy, began to sound like desperate whimpers as you grew tired.
Dashing through the backyard and around the pool, you briefly remembered the perfect place to hide. A small, gated nook hidden in the rose bushes with comfy pillows laid on the concrete floors. Your husband created the space for you, well used as a place for you to ground with nature and relax during a sunny day.
Your thighs smacked and rubbed against each other as you scurried up to the golden gate and unlatched it, slamming it a bit too hard behind you and replacing the latch. You silently wished you'd had the key for it on you, ready to lock it. Hastily scampering among the pillows, nestling yourself in the corner of the square nook and squeezing a pillow to your chest. A hand of yours slapped against your lips as you attempted to slow your breathing.
You could bite off your acrylics right this second, the tips prickling at your cheek and making noise as they rubbed together. You heard the booted steps again, one, two, one two, pressing on the tiled floors around the pool. The boots making crunching noise against the dirt you tracked on the tiles, your breath caught in your throat and you held it. Closer and closer it sounded out before a black gown ghosted past the gate.
The footsteps seemed to dissipate, and you released distressed sigh, relaxing your tensed body for just a moment. "Hmm, where's that pretty girl," The voice rumbling out deeply cutting through the silence. An owl cooed in the distance and you froze up like a block of ice just as quickly, and the air became similarly cold.
"Is my pretty girl hiding from me?" The footsteps came back slowly and you frantically grabbed pillows to brace yourself, nibbling at your fingers anxiously. The boot clad feet appeared at the gate entrance again, black gown falling down in the cool night's breeze to cover it. Slowly, you gulped, and as you looked up the body of the figure, your mouth dropped open and let out a sharp shriek into the night. His face was covered by a white mask that was twisted into a ghastly look; eye holes cut out and an elongated mouth.
With a quickness his black gloved hands rattled at the gate, and you strained your eyes to see beneath the mask, a pair of blue-green eyes filled with intensity stared at you. Taking a deep breath, you scooted up to the gate and smacked at his hands, scratching at his fingers as they tried to open the gate with force.
"No! Stop, leave me alone!" You wrangled with his arms as he overpowered you, pressing a hand near your throat and throwing you back against the pillows. In your moments of shock, you heard the gate's latch become undone; your heart pounded and you thanked every god you knew that your back was facing the tall man's direction. You were spared the suffering of seeing the threatening man come upon you while you could only be frozen to the floor in fright.
He was teasing you, heavy footsteps sauntering up behind your back and he squat down wide. You flinched as long fingers cascaded along your waist, slipping under your- your husband's shirt and caressing the pooch of your tummy. His long hands grazing against the swell of your boobs that hung naked beneath the shirt. You pressed your face into a pillow and he pulled his hands away.
"My pretty bitch won't look at me?" You could hear him biting back a cocky smile beneath the mask, "Fuckin' lea'me alone Mr. Ghostface!" your face burned and if your skin were pale, you'd be bright red. "Ah, so is that what they call me, pretty thing?" He mumbled, large hands back onto your lower back, playing with the softness of your skin idly as he spoke.
"Look at me, girl." He demanded and you closed your eyes tight, "Ah! Shit!" you yelped at the resounding smack he swatted against your ass, exposed under your night shorts. "I said look at me, honey."
Adrenaline rushed tears into the corners of your eyes, and slowly you shifted against the pillows, pulling the one covering your face down and staring him the face with a pout. Your glossed lips were halfway done now, the gloss rubbing off in your rush and your brows furrowed as you peered at him.
You didn't break eye contact either, when his hands came up to squeeze at your jaw, pressing your cheeks together to puff out your lips and make the stick out.
He lifted the mask and hood part of his outfit, not too much though, just for you to see pink plump lips and the short stubble of what could be a beard. He pressed his lips against yours, releasing the hold he had on your chin and dragging his fingers down to rest comfortably around your neck.
He gave it a testing squeeze, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you both moaned into the kiss, drawing back to hear the sound of released suction before pulling you back in for a deeper one. Your tongues molded against each other and by habit you suck intently onto his, eyes shut and melting into him.
Your hands held your body up to him, palms pressing into the pillows and his other hands pulling you closer by your waist. With another moan, he pulled back and your eyes open slightly, entranced by the string if saliva still connecting you both then glancing back up at him as he'd begun to desperately push his lips to your neck.
Then to your breasts where his impatient hands shoved up your husband's shirt, tongue spread wide and licking at the tattoos on your lower waist. He bit at the skin above your pussy, sliding down your panties and shorts together before rushing back up to your lips. You both groaned at the eager kiss, lips moving quickly but simultaneously; the patterns of your makeout already seeming practiced and memorized. The moans erotic and your kiss deep like an unholy dance.
He slipped a black glove off his right hand, pulling his lips off yours reluctantly and asserting his attention onto your cunt: sticky with need. Gently, spreading the dark lips apart to see pink, his fingers played at the entrance, staring where the slick gathered. Collecting it onto two fingers, he ran them through the folds of your pussy, ever-so-lightly and almost hesitantly pressing the wetness against your clit.
You clasped a hand over your mouth immediately, a starved, throaty moan dropped from your lips at the needed touch. He pushed your legs back, and you let your other hand grab at the back of your thigh to hold it up. You breathed hard behind your palm as his face drew nearer your cunt, mumbling, "What- watchu g'nna do t'me Mr. Ghostface?" You knew the answer, but asked anyways.
You couldn't see his eyes as he looked up at you, the heat of his breath making your cunt get drooly, "G'nna eat yo pretty pussy," He pressed a kiss to your clit and you could almost sob, "Then, m' g'nna fuck the shit out you," He gives your cunt a long lick and your eyes spring fresh tears, "N' I'm g'nna make you love every second of it. Got it?"
You only nod, and he pushes the mask further up, careful not to show you his face but you could just see the shape of his nose. It pressed against your clit as he engulfed your pussy in his mouth. Eagerly sucking and licking at your cunt like he were making out with it.
"Oh fuck! Gh- ah! Shit," the hand from your mouth now grabbing at a pillow below you hastily while the other struggled to hold up your left leg, the man between your legs used his hand to keep it elevated. His tongue flicked at your clit and he sucked the fleshy mound into his mouth like a pacifyer, letting the spit that builded in his mouth to pour all over it and your folds.
Your back arched up and your left hand, having forgotten holding your leg up, grabbed at your fat breasts and played at your nipples. The strong wet muscle of his tongue, fucking into your pussy while his fingers rubbed sopping wet circles around your clit. "Mmm, ah shit, Sir," His fingers unintentionally press hard onto your clit at the last address, and he moaned into your pussy.
Switching his attention, his lips encased your clit and two long fingers invaded the plushy, velvety walls of your cunt, well-kept nails scratching softly against it; he finds the chubby mound inside you with a quickness. Your going insane: a sharp nailed hand grabbed at your breasts with the saliva that dropped from your mouth. The mouth that was sucking and spitting and slobbering all over the three fingers of yours you'd stuffed into your attention seeking mouth, moaning like a bitch.
Your tummy starts to tense up and you feel pressure building near your clit, legs twitch and you begin to shuffle away from his lips on your cunt, large hands grabbing the fat of your legs and ass. He pulls you into his face, you see white and begin to whimper and whine, "No, no, no, no, no! Ahh, shit, shit!" He kissed your cunt deeply, "C'mon, pretty thing, cum all over m'face."
Legs stiffening up, you squirted thick ropes of cum on his face, chin and directly into his mouth as he continued to suck and lap at you. You lay back, fucked out as he licked up the mess you made.
Your eyelids hung low, but you could see him pull his mask back down over his face, long dark hair appearing over his shoulders with slight waves in them. He smacked his hands against your thighs and you remembered what he listed to you, 'Then, m' g'nna fuck the shit out you.'
Letting his smacks flop you over onto your tummy like he wanted, you perked your ass up, letting it jiggle in his face as he ran his hands over the crevices of your cellulite. Lifting your ass further up, he pressed a hand into the arch of your back and then spread your cheeks before molding your ass in his hands.
You felt him shift to stand up, eyes looking at nothing but the rose bush before you and darkness, you hear a belt and a zipper from under his outfit and shuffling; you flinch at the smack of his left hand on your left ass cheek, spreading 'em again. He shifts forward, hand on the base of his cock and rather than spitting in his hand to lubricate his dick, you feel him press the meaty muscle between your pussy.
He slides his cock up and down your cunt, letting the remnants of your orgasm coat him before he pulls away and pumps it in his hand. Your hands are crossed below you and your chin rests on them, restlessly sucking at your bottom lip. You fantasize and imagine what his cock looks like or— what it would look like although you already knew.
Its girth between your cunt felt like entirely too much. Regardless of him spreading your ass, when the base of his cock reached your pussy, the rest of his tip and shaft struggled to fit between your ass with it's size.
It wasn't too long, just about average or an inch more but it surely did seem thick. You were drawn from your thoughts when he pressed the tip against your entrance, not before he let it run circles around your clit. Instinctively, you pushed your hips back against him, yelping as you earn a slap to the ass. He was circumcised.
He pumped the tip in and out, stretching you out slowly to the point where you could easily suck in the tip; this doesn't take very long. After five times of pumping it in and out you realize what he's doing.
"Shit," you whisper, fuck it, "Eren— shit! Wait, no– Ah!" He hammers his cock into your cunt from the minute you fucked up and said his name in panic, grinning behind the mask as your pussy suckles on his cock with every stroke.
He's got a slight curve in 'em, feeling it poke and prod at your insides with every thwack of his hips against your ass. Together with it, came your ah, ah, ah's, moaning out loud and desperate to have your clit played with. You're sucking and slobbering on your fingers again and he reads your mind, his fingers quickly find your clit and relentlessly torture the nerves while his cock bullies into you.
White streaks run down his cock from your pussy, a creamy ring forms at the base of his dick and makes sticky strings when your cunt connects with it. He fondles with your clit, biting his lip behind the mask when he feels you dripping onto his fingers.
All ideas of the little cat n' mouse roleplay have gone out the window, all you can think about right now is how your husband pauses for a second, rests his heavy leg onto yours to hold you down and to gain leverage before he drills his cock back into your cunt to feel you deeper.
You only chant, "Eren, eren, eren!" and squeal into the night while he grabs your hair like it's a saddle and rides into your ass like it's nobody's business. A mouth full of pillow and some of your hair, becoming a mess beneath him.
"Oh my god," You feel your clit throb hard, "Oh my god, oh my god, 'Ren— slow down, fuuuck!" He doesn't slow down, his thrusts become erratic and you hear his low moans beneath the mask that he's now pulling off as he becomes increasingly hot and sweaty.
He leans over you and the hair that hasn't stuck to his face sticks to yours, he presses open mouthed kisses at your temple and you legs convulse. You let out a loud, broken cry, clenching on his cock as he slows and cumming hard for a second time. He groans openly into your ears, following it with a kiss while spurting his hot, white cum into your cunt.
You both remain in that position for a long minute, breathing heavily with the chirps of crickets coming from somewhere in the backyard. He pulls out slowly with a duetted hiss, softly grabbing you to lay down onto the haphazardly assorted pillows.
"Holy fuck, Eren," You look up him, he's sitting back on his heels and he's tucked his dick back into to his costume. "Yea, holy fuck," He offers a slight smile.
"You think the neighbours heard all dat',? He laughs a little, "Fuck, they definitely did, oh my god," You cringe and press your hands against your face. "Shit, when'd you get yo' nails did?" His eyes widen a little in surprise, noticing three nails had already popped off and he hadn't seen this pattern yet.
Looking down at them, you scoffed, "I got 'em done yesterday, boy. N' now they look crazy as fuck, she gon' see me twice this week. I got a story to tell her too!" You looked at him accusingly and he put his hands up in innocence.
You tug down his shirt that had rolled up around your neck and shoulders and he picked up your panties and shorts, grabbing your waist to help you up as you both made your way through the back door to freshen up; then, you'd lock up the house and go to bed.
— masterlist.
#attack on titan eren#eren yeager smut#eren yeager#eren jeager#ghostface smut#kinktober#eren is ghostface#attack on titan#aot smut#eren yaeger x reader#aot anime#eren aot#shingeki no kyoujin smut#eren smut#anime smut#black coded characters#black coded reader#eren x reader#﹒﹒﹒💗 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦: 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 💌 𓂃 !
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Hope you feel better soon! 💌 I keep thinking of trying and failing not to get on Raider!Joel’s nerves but you just keep pissing him off and watching the look in his eyes get a little darker and less held back by the second like my god do I want him to tell me off 🥵 and I mean…the punishment fuck would be god tier!
my goodness, yes! the punishment would be severe once he hit his limit. i'm working on adding this bit to a fic atm but i'll give you a sneak peak!
18+ mdni - dark! - raider!joel
He'd wrestle you to the floor and tie your hands in a messy knot in front of your chest. Watch you struggle for a bit before yanking your leggings and underwear off and circling rough rope around each of your ankles.
His boots scuff the wood floor as he grabs one length of rope and walks with it, stretching your leg to the side before tying a knot to a link bolted into the floor.
"You brought this on yourself. Just remember that." he states as you stare up at him with watery eyes.
He yanks the other rope and walks a few feet to another link, pulling the tendons in your hips and thighs until your limbs are spread eagle, and seals your fate by knotting the rope to the floor.
“This’ll help stick in that dumb head of yours not to test me again.”
You've never felt more exposed as he stands over you. He leers down at your cunt, making you feel the smallest you've ever felt since he took you. A wad of spit lands squarely on your bush, making you jolt and tug against your binds.
"Squirm all you want," he says, crouching down and rubbing his spit into your skin. He lands a brutal smack to your uncovered thigh. You shriek and wiggle despite the binds keeping you locked in place. "I’d be careful of splinters. They'll tear you right up."
He roughly tugs the hairs covering your mound. “Look at me.” He snarls, words dripping with hatred. You narrowly hold his freezing stare. “This cunt is mine. Say it.”
“This cunt is yours.” you croak, hands shaking against your chest.
“S’right,” he says before slapping a harsh hand against your folds. Your legs instinctively move too close, but the rope keeps them splayed for his assault. “And what I say goes.” He bellows over your anguished cries as he lands five severe swats to your core.
👀👀👀 who wants to ride shotgun with me to hell?
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head... shoulders, knees, and toes
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
Warnings: This is smut so be warned <3 MDNI. Oral, M receiving, reader is more sexually experienced than Aaron, established relationship
Word Count: 4.5k
A/N: The way I set out to write pure smut and instead fuckin'... George W. Bush shows up? Idk man. Hope it's good
You watch Aaron as he sips his martini. There's something about his casual confidence that makes you want to lock yourself in a room with him and throw away the key. He's not normally into martinis, too dry for him, but the black tie occasion called for something a little more elegant than his typical scotch.
"He's so delicious," You murmur to Penelope. It takes her a second to follow your gaze across the room, landing squarely on a tuxedoed Aaron. There's a quick expression across her face that reads something like 'Oh, of course.'
"You're so perfect for each other," She smiles, touching your arm affectionately. "It's incredible that we can look at him and see two completely different things."
"What do you mean?" You ask bemusedly, finally tearing your gaze from your partner so you can look at Penelope.
"Well, what do you see when you look at him? And I'll tell you what I see afterwards."
"The love of my life," You say quietly. "The man I want to spend the rest of my life with. It's cliché, but he's my rock. The rest of the world can be..." You trail off, gesturing vaguely at the room around you. "Fucked, but it's alright if I'm with him."
"See, when I look a-"
You hold a finger to Penelope's lips, quickly apologizing for cutting her off.
She rolls her eyes playfully. "Proceed with the monologue."
"I'll spare you the monologue," You tease back, letting your voice drop into an even lower volume. "But when I look at him tonight... I want to take his clothes off, and watch as he insists on folding them carefully, and then I just want to do crimes to his body. Crimes up and down."
You look back over at him, shaking your head. "He knows what the suit and the polished shoes do to me. He looks so authoritative."
He's absorbed in conversation, so he doesn't notice that he's the sole object of your attention, which is probably a blessing. If he caught you looking at him like this, you'd never hear the end of it.
"What do you see?" You ask, glancing back at Penelope.
"I see my boss," She chuckles, taking another sip of her long island iced tea. "He looks less stressed than he usually does. He looks nice tonight, but I'll leave the crimes to you."
"Speaking of crimes, do you think he'll get in trouble with Strauss if we leave early?"
Penelope looks at you like you've grown a second head.
"You know he was invited by the President, right?"
You sigh into your hands. "Fuck the President. I want him so bad, Pen."
"Go ask him," She says cheerily, egging you on. "Maybe he'll say yes. But you have to tell me all about it if you do leave early. We're having a bit of a dry spell."
Your brow furrows and you look over at Derek. Fortunately, he's also engrossed in conversation. It looks like he's talking to someone from the CIA. "Is everything okay between you two?"
Penelope nods. "I don't want to be TMI but..."
"No pressure," You reply. "But I won't tell anyone."
"He has a yeast infection," She whispers.
You cringe, quickly moving your hand to your mouth to obscure your reaction. "No judgement. Just... ow."
She nods. "And I don't want to get one, so it's been two weeks since we... you know."
You stand up and excuse yourself. "I'm gonna go ask him if he wants to go home."
Pen shoots a quick wink at you. "Fuck the President, right?"
"Right," You reply, blowing her a kiss as you walk away.
You look fucking hot, and you know it. Aaron knows it. Everyone knows it. There are heads turning as you walk across the room. You wait for your movement to attract Aaron's attention.
Someone with an earpiece approaches him, murmuring something in his ear. Aaron looks confused for a moment, looking over at you with a quirk in his brow. He says something back, quietly, and the man with the earpiece walks away.
"Have you been making undemocratic comments about the leader of the free world again, sweetheart?"
He kisses your cheek sweetly, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"Can we talk? Somewhere private?"
"Not yet," He replies, a hint of humour in his voice. "I need to go and explain your comments to the Secret Service."
"Seriously?" You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, the man who'd talked to Aaron was watching you with a steely gaze.
"Did you really say 'fuck the president' in a government building?"
"Yes," You can't suppress a smile. "But I think you'll like the context."
"You know he's technically my boss' boss' boss, right?"
You gesture for him to come closer so you can whisper in his ear.
"I want to take this dress off, get on my knees, and wrap my lips around your-"
He clears his throat, leaning back. "Right. And this resulted in a threat to national security because...?"
"Because I want to get out of here. So," You mouth 'fuck the President'. "Right?"
"He's not even here yet," Aaron chuckles. "Don't you want to meet him?"
"Bush?" You give Aaron a look, and he has to hold back laughter. "I don't want to get you in any more trouble, but you're asking if I want to stick around for a few more hours in the hope that I might be introduced to Bush?"
"Honey," He murmurs, full of mirth. "I don't think it'll be hours. If his bodyguards are here already, he'll probably be here soon."
"Baby," You respond, echoing his tone. "If I don't get to suck your cock in the next five minutes, I am going to become a threat to national security."
He laughs wholeheartedly at that, tucking his face into your shoulder.
"You're going to get us kicked out. It's like making a joke about a B O M B in an airport," He smiles. "And besides, I don't think I want you to... do that. Down there."
You stroke his cheek affectionately, trying not to pout. "We've been together almost 6 months and I haven't. I really want to, but it's okay if you don't want to."
"Why are you so set on it?" He looks genuinely confused, more than offended.
"I get pleasure from it," You reply earnestly. "I like doing it."
"You have a clit in the back of your throat too?" He teases, his voice low enough that nobody else can hear. Fortunately, the music is pretty loud, and nobody seems to be paying attention to the two of you. Except that one secret service agent, apparently.
"When did you see Deepthroat?" You ask, intrigued.
"Irrelevant," He says quickly. "But honey, seriously, do you... Does it turn you on to see me in pain?"
Your brow furrows even more deeply at that. "Pain?"
"You know... With the..." Aaron trails off as someone walks closely past the two of you.
"Canapes?"
"No, thank you," He says with a polite smile, and the waiter steps away, giving you space. "Teeth," He whispers.
Your facial expression turns into one of complete confoundment and horror. "Teeth? Aaron, there shouldn't... It shouldn't hurt, and there definitely shouldn't be teeth," You whisper back.
"But the last time I had one..." He shudders slightly, his nose scrunching.
"Oh, you poor thing," You say, your face softening. "Do you want to try again? I promise I'll stop if it hurts. But I think I can make you feel good."
The look in your eyes is more than convincing, and it only takes a moment of looking at you for Aaron to nod.
You send Pen a quick text: success! text me if POTUS arrives pls
And quickly see her response: YES! go do your crimes ;)
You smile at your phone and tuck it safely back into your purse.
____
You've never been more glad for Aaron's familiarity with government buildings. He walks you over to a more private wing, and leads you to a bathroom with marble countertops, leather armchairs, and most importantly, a lock on the inside of the door.
"What is this place?"
"The executive bathroom. For when dignitaries visit."
He eyes you nervously. "Are you sure?"
You nod, pushing the hem of your dress up, over your knees, so you can kneel without kneeling directly on the fabric.
"Are you sure? Say the word and I'll stop."
He nods. "I'm excited."
He looks around the room, quickly tugging a towel off the (heated) towel rail. He tosses it to the ground, and when you look up at him from your position at his feet, he almost loses it.
You fold the towel under your knees and smile at him gratefully.
"If my phone dings and it's from Penelope, we have to go," You say, passing your phone to him. He nods and places it on the chair behind him.
You reach up to undo his fly, tugging his pants down alongside his briefs. He unbuttons his blazer and the last two buttons of his shirt, holding up the fabric so you have some room to work.
"Can I touch your hair?"
You shake your head. "On any other night, yes, but this style took forever to do."
"That's fair," He breathes.
Wrapping your hand around him, you take a moment to gauge his size. You've fucked before, but this is the first time you've been so close to his cock. You lick a stripe up the underside appreciatively.
"You're thick," You say quietly. "So if I use my teeth, let me know, okay? It'll be hard because you're like this," You use both hands to indicate his girth. "And my mouth is like this," You drop one of your hands, making a circle with your thumb and forefinger. It's an exaggeration, but only slightly.
He nods solemnly.
You slip all of your rings off, letting them clatter to the floor beside you. Starting slowly, you tease his head with kisses and short licks, graduating to longer licks as you stimulate more of his length. Once you've warmed up, you take his head into your mouth, especially careful to sheathe your teeth behind your lips. You press your head towards his pelvis in earnest, taking as much as you can.
Without meaning to, you moan as you sink down. You're taking almost half of him, so you wrap your dominant hand around his base, stroking the part of him that doesn't fit in your mouth yet. For now, you rest your other hand on the side of his thigh affectionately.
You take a deep inhale through your nose and lean even further forward, swallowing as his cock fills your throat. For a moment, you panic, but soon take a deep breath and remind yourself that you're okay. You move your head ever-so-slightly from side to side, willing your throat to open up for him. You want nothing more than to press your nose to his pubic bone, and to see his reaction when you do.
A throaty groan leaves him, and you feel a heavy twitch in your mouth. Keep going, you think. Almost there... With another deep breath through your nose, you close the distance between your lips and his base, overcome with pride when you do. Look at you, fucking champion. You've got this.
You stay there for as long as you can, using your tongue to stimulate him near his base, and swallowing so you can stimulate his head. With both of your hands now free, you use them to gently pry his legs further apart, and he does so with your slight encouragement. One of your hands slips between your legs, and you tease your clit through your underwear, moaning softly, your eyes falling shut with pleasure.
Aaron lets out a string of curse words, and when you open your eyes to look up at him, his eyes are glassy, his mouth ajar as he watches.
"Am I... Do you need me to do anything?"
You indicate a shaking head with your fist, and he nods, understanding what you mean.
You bring that hand to his balls, looking at him for permission. He nods again. You cup his balls softly, feeling the weight of them in your hand. For a moment, you calculate whether you'll be able to do what you're thinking of doing. You extend your tongue and gently bring his balls towards your mouth with your hand, so that the tip of your tongue is pressing against his balls while the rest of his cock remains in your mouth and throat.
He groans deeply. "How... Where...?" He decides against asking, giving into the pleasure instead.
You slowly draw your mouth off his cock, needing to give your jaw a break from being stretched wide open.
"Is there anything you want me to do? Different pace? Depth?"
You press your underwear to the side, running your fingers through your slick. Without meaning to, you buck into your hand, moaning softly from the unexpected stimulation. While Aaron considers his answer, you grip his bare hip with your wet hand, and gently tongue at his balls.
He almost comes just thinking about the fact that the warm, wet spot on his hip is from where you'd been touching yourself. He wants to suck on your fingers.
"You can... fuck, this feels too dirty to say out loud," He laughs to himself. "You can suck on them, if you want."
You hum and quickly oblige, taking them into your mouth, sucking lightly and running your tongue over them.
"What you're doing is perfect, and I love seeing my cock in your throat-" He gasps suddenly as you start to jerk his cock with your hand, making sure his cock and balls are both stimulated.
"Fuck, I'm going to come if you keep doing that."
You continue your movements, not wanting to stop if he is close to his climax, but you want to know that his first real blowjob is everything he imagined it could be, if not more.
You settle for continuing your movements on his cock, but pulling away from his balls for a second.
"Do you want to come, or do you want to try something else?"
He checks your phone. "We have time. Is there something else you had in mind?"
"Some of my other partners have really enjoyed a faster pace, so I thought I'd try that," You say, punctuating your sentence by nuzzling into his thigh.
"Yeah," He breathes. "That sounds good."
You nod and get ready to take his head in your mouth again, when he touches your shoulder softly.
"Wait, just in case I... I can't give you a warning, where do you want me to...?"
"To come?" You smile devilishly up at him. "If we were at home, I'd want it all over my face, my tits," You run your hand over the features as you name them, just to tease him. "But here, either my throat or a towel, so we don't make a mess."
He nods, encouraging you back towards his cock with the hand on your shoulder. "Please suck my cock, honey."
You smile, satisfied with the effect you're having on him, and take his cock back in your hand, making sure there's plenty of spit on the lower part of his cock so that you don't accidentally hurt him.
This time, you focus your attention on flicking your tongue from side to side on the underside of his cock, taking only the first third or so. You're able to refine your technique now that you're not calculating how to take your next breath.
He moans loud and long, and you're vaguely aware of him grabbing a clean hand towel to press into his mouth. When you look up at him, he looks wrecked, almost desperate, white-knuckling a towel as his eyes follow your every move.
You match the pace of your hand to the pace of your mouth, and use your spare hand to cup his balls, teasing the tips of your fingers over them. Determined to make him come hard, you hollow your cheeks and suck hard, creating a strong suction.
His thighs twitch, and his hips jerk forward, pressing his cock further into your mouth. You swallow around his cock, and you hear something that sounds almost like a scream. When you look up at him, the edges of your lips quirk up in a smile. His eyes are squeezed shut and sweat is dripping down his forehead. His face is flushed and his hair is losing its sharp definition as the gel starts to melt.
He drops the towel unceremoniously.
"Fuck," He moans. "Fuck."
He gently eases you off his cock, and you're slightly surprised.
"Did you come?"
"Are you fucking joking?" He chuckles darkly. "Yes, I did, honey."
"I didn't feel it," You say slowly.
He takes your chin in one of his giant hands and tugs slightly. You scramble to your feet as he pulls your face towards his.
He immediately presses his tongue into your mouth, tracing your tongue with his own. It's almost like he's trying to-
With a small pop, he pulls away, a grin tugging at his lips.
"So that's what my come tastes like."
There's a flicker of recognition across your frontal lobe.
"You came so deep down my throat that I didn't even feel it," You say, slightly shocked. "Oh my god. Aaron, that's so hot."
He reaches between your legs, running his fingers between your labia.
"I want to make you feel good," He says. "You've been so good to me."
You pull away slightly. "Check the phone first. Just want to make sure-"
Aaron picks up your cellphone, smiling to himself as he turns the small screen toward you. "I'm guessing POTUS!! POTUS!!, and EAGLE has LANDED are Garcia's codes?"
"Shit," You murmur, bending over quickly to pick up the towels and put them back into place. "Sorry, Aaron. I hope he's still around so you can meet him."
He leans into your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth briefly, and whispers, "Fuck the President."
___
You and Aaron take a moment to clean up, making use of the luxury amenities to ensure both of you look put together. You pop a mint into your mouth.
"Normally, I wouldn't mind the taste of your come on my tongue," You tease him, reaching down to cup him through his trousers. "But I think your team might not appreciate it."
In return, he gives your ass a squeeze. "I'm going to fuck you so hard when we get home."
___
When you return to the ballroom, you notice that almost everyone is seated, facing the stage.
"Maybe he's going to give a speech," Aaron whispers to you, shrugging.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner?" An aide comes up to you as you're about to take a seat near the back.
You look at Aaron for guidance, but he just nods at the aide. "Yes?"
"Would you mind taking a seat on this side, near the front? The rest of your team should be seated there."
"Of course," Aaron replies coolly, resting his hand on your lower back so he can lead you to your seats. Sure enough, the whole team is seated in that row. That's nice, you think. They seated us together.
You sit down, reaching for his hand, and he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. He takes your hand in his and rests your intertwined hands on his knee.
"Where were you?" Gideon chides Aaron from somewhere behind you.
"She started projectile vomiting," Aaron replies matter of factly. "She's okay now."
You flash Gideon a brief thumbs up.
"Oh," Gideon says, looking over at you apologetically. "Hope you're feeling better."
You nod warmly. "Thank you. I think there might have been some seafood in one of the canapes."
"Shrimp," Gideon nods. "Never good for me either."
The room fell into a hush as the announcer walked to the lectern.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the recipients of the Presidential Medal of Freedom."
Your eyes widen and you look over at Aaron. He presses his lips together to silence a laugh at your reaction.
"Ruth Johnson Colvin." Applause.
"Norman Francis." Applause.
"Penelope Garcia."
You fight hard to keep your expression neutral, but allow yourself to clap when the rest of the audience does so.
Once you've made eye contact with Garcia and sent your best non-verbal vibes, you elbow Hotch and raise your eyebrow at him. He shakes his head at you, careful to keep the movement subtle. He has no idea either. When you look up at the stage, you see Penelope is just as shocked.
"Elle Greenaway."
There's another polite round of applause, and Elle shoots you a panicked look as she stands up. You nod at her encouragingly, and watch as she straightens, turning her attention to the stage.
"Aaron Hotchner."
You have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from exclaiming with excitement. Aaron lets go of your other hand, placing it safely in your lap before standing up. A boyish grin comes over his features as he maps his path to the stage. You clap animatedly, grinning widely.
Twelve more names are called, but your attention is undivided. You beam up at Aaron as the national anthem plays and the President enters the room. Laura Bush greets Dick Cheney with a kiss on the cheek, and moves to stand beside her husband. You feel like you're floating, and barely take in the speech until you hear a familiar acronym.
"We have a number of agents from the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI with us tonight. Agents Garcia, Greenaway, Hotchner, Jareau, Morgan, and Reid. You may not know their names or their faces, but they work hard to keep each and every one of you safe, in this great country we call home. Their unit includes some of the best and brightest minds in the country. Although you probably haven't heard of these agents before, you've probably heard of the cases they've solved. Most recently, they tracked down the Illinois sniper, and saved actress Lila Archer's life."
There was a round of applause. Blurbs for the rest of the recipients were read out in turn, and soon enough, they started handing out the medals, with even louder applause for each individual as they posed for photos alongside the President.
You feel yourself glow from the inside out as Aaron's name is called, and you can't help but cheer as the President clasps the medal around his neck. He looks so handsome with the blue ribbon over his tuxedo, and the white and gold medallion hanging just under his bow tie. Gideon taps your shoulder, and as you turn, he passes you a handkerchief. You realize that you must have been crying, and dab lightly at your cheeks.
The rest of the night passes more or less as you expect it to, with the President giving short closing remarks and champagne served at the reception afterwards.
You've been at the reception for maybe five minutes when Aaron makes his way over to you, finally free from the sea of handshakes and introductions.
"Do you want to go home?" He says quietly, his breath warm on your neck.
"No," You lie, your voice higher than normal. "You should celebrate. This is a big deal. You can only ever get one of these." You tap the medal gently, and rest your palm against his lapel.
He raises an eyebrow at you, and clears his throat lightly before leaning back towards your ear.
"Don't make me a liar. I'm going to bend you over the kitchen table in the next hour. And if I can't help myself, we might just have to pull over near Alexandria..."
"Aaron," You breathe.
"Do you want to meet the President?"
You laugh quietly and nod. "Sure."
He takes your hand in his.
"Mr. President, this is my wife."
"Mrs. Hotchner," The President says happily. "I'm so glad you and your husband were able to make it. I was speaking with Gideon just before the ceremony and he said you were nowhere to be found."
You nod politely, trying to find something to say that wasn't:
"Yes, Mr. President, I was on my knees in one of the White House bathrooms. Lovely towels by the way!"
Or,
2. "Yes, Mr. President, unfortunately your world class chefs served bad shrimp so I was barfing my guts out."
The First Lady joins you, standing beside her husband. Fortunately Aaron, ever-smooth, ever-charming, saved the moment.
"She wasn't feeling well, so we went to the first aid room to get some ginger tablets."
"Oh! Congratulations," The First Lady says. "The country will be lucky to have another Hotchner."
Your expression of confusion gives way to a wide smile. Play the part.
"Thank you so much. We'd love to invite you to the baby shower..." You add.
"Oh, we won't be able to make it, we're afraid, but please send along your registry if you have one," She replies. "We're not allowed to attend civilian events unless they're family."
You nod.
"It was a pleasure to meet you both, and thank you so much again for tonight. It's a great honour and a pleasant surprise," Aaron smiles, offering a final handshake before he leads you to the exit.
"They think we're married and pregnant?" You laugh, hitting Aaron's arm playfully. "Oh my God, Aaron! You lied to the President!"
He laughs too, opening your car door. "Technically, he assumed."
Once you're both settled in the car, you pause for a moment, leaning across the centre console to give Aaron a kiss. You pull back for a moment, smiling.
"Presidential Medal of Honour recipient, Aaron Hotchner."
You kiss him again, but he pulls away, smiling too hard to kiss you properly.
"You really had no idea?"
He shakes his head. "No idea. Gideon organized the whole thing. I think he turned down his medal, though."
You run your finger over the deep blue ribbon. "It suits you."
He starts the car and settles his hand on your thigh.
"You might want to call in sick tomorrow," He says, merging onto the highway.
"I'm okay," You smile. "The projectile vomiting was a great cover up, but I feel fine."
He sucks his teeth and looks over at you briefly. "Oh honey, I'm not worried about your imaginary food poisoning. This is your heads up that if I do my job right, you're not going to be able to walk in the morning."
___
And that's the story of the medal framed on your mantelpiece, and the small card beside it, which reads:
Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner,
Congratulations on your firstborn. Wishing you all the best.
Proverbs, 17:6 - "Grandchildren are the crown of the aged, and the glory of children is their fathers."
Best wishes,
George & Laura
And safely tucked away in the back of a drawer somewhere is a baby onesie with a little American flag on the front, and a set of pastel Ralph Lauren washcloths.
#aaron hotchner/reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#criminal minds#reader insert#fanfic#aaron hotchner one shot#hotch x reader#hotch/reader#hotch smut#my writing
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New Dimension, Who's This?
honestly writing this cuz I saw @gin2212 's comment and made me teary, so were gunna finish this bad boy! not today but you know... it will happen
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, part 5, part 6
Explicit mentions of death (but of characters that are currently living) Kind of OG version of their deaths
Danny had only walked through the Wayne’s home adjacent gardens once, in a direct route to the barn. Batcow was a highlight of that little excersion.
Now, however, they were actually looking at the shrubbery shaped like boring spheres and rectangles.
He felt Jason become distant and floated back a bit, he’d turned left into a very small opening.
Inside were three unmovable cement benches that curved slightly into one circle. The well cut bushes were wilder in here, making it cramped and impossible to see over the hedge.
“This spot used to be my favorite, when the weather was nice. I’d come out here with a book and whatever drink Alfred had decided to make that day.” Jason looked down at a square of cement in the middle, probably where a table had been. The indents on the side of the seats, likely from the mold it was made from, had moss growing in it.
“This seems like the perfect hideout.” Danny smiled and sat on the bench opposite Jason.
Jason hummed in agreement, he coughed awkwardly even for Danny’s standards and spoke up again. “So, you’re the god of death?” Jason was probably really good at looking casual and intimidating to most people, but Danny could sense the tension emanating from his core as he sat near a branch mere inches from his face with his hands in his pockets, probably wishing he could lean against something to look nonchalant.
“Nope, I’m the king of the dead. They aren’t the same thing.”
“So, you’re not Hades?”
“I hope not, I’ve met him and he’s kind of a dick.”
Jason laughed softly, he liked how it sounded “Okay, cool, so the Greek gods exist.”
“All of the gods do, technically.” He waited for Jason to look at him. “I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but the infinite realms isn’t really a dimension on its own. It’s the space between all dimensions. When you die you have to pass through it to get to your destination. Some people don’t have a place and they end up part of my realm, some get lost, some sell their soul, others forget their lives entirely and are part of my people from the second they pass over. Then there are the never-borns: souls that form from pure will of the infinite realms. All that is part of my domain.” Danny floated up a bit to try and catch a glimpse of the stars, the smog from Gotham blocking everything. He looked back at Jason and his stomach did a little flip that he decidedly did nothing about. “But just so were clear; hell, the underworld, and all those other things are in the infinite zone. They aren’t all the same thing.”
“Okay. So, you rule over those too?”
“Again no, once a soul gets into the correct dimension, I don’t really have anything to do with it.”
“Wait so if someone who believes in an afterlife sells their soul what happens?”
Danny slouched in the air and grunts, “That’s where all the fucking paperwork comes in. I really want you to imagine the most bureaucratic way to possibly move to a new country, but you have none of your documents. Being stuck in this dimension was a fun break at first, but now all I can think of are the stacks of A-13 forms that are probably covering the castle floors.”
Jason shifted and with it came a wave of uncertainty. “If someone was killed and brought back, what then?”
Danny has seen how ghosts in the zone get when they talk about their deaths. For many it’s all they remember of their life. If a ghost with years to think it through reacts explosively he’s not sure how it will go with a newbie. “Well, a few things. The soul could come back to a place without a body in which case you have a true haunting. If the death was quick, it could have flash formed a core, that’s like a soul that has died fully, and then shoved back into the living body. That’s how you get halfas like me.”
Jason still looked cool and collected on the outside but there was unbelievable turmoil seeping out of him. ���What if the body was dead for a while? What if a soul or core was shoved back into a body on purpose?”
“I’ve only seen one revival before, but there was a lot of time warping there. The necromancers I’ve met who were trying to bring someone back didn’t have access to ectoplasm which had results that are very different to… having it.” Danny breathed out to calm himself, letting that calm wave wash over Jason as well. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s alright.” Jason shuffled his leather jacket, “You call it ectoplasm.”
“Yeah.” Danny answered with a lilt in his voice.
“The green goop filled pools you said you emptied, you mentioned they were corrupted.”
“I did yeah.”
“What would happen if someone was exposed to that?”
“Honestly, it’s not the first time I’ve come across it but never that much. For ghosts it can leave them sick and weak for days. Not like polluted water, more like if you switched out the water a healthy person drank for soda exclusively. It won’t kill them, but it will have a negative effect.” Danny thought for a second and remembered the one-time Sam got covered in a mix of good and contaminated ecto during a fight with Undergrowth. “I saw how a diluted version of it affected a living person, her mind was warped and she had the same sort of tunnel vision a ghost has if they have a particularly strong obsession.”
Jason took a breath, he’d been going strong so far. Danny may come to regret this, but he put a hand on his shoulder and floated where they’d be face to face, letting his bottom half fade away into the ghostly tail. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to, but I can subdue your emotions a bit if you want to talk about it.” Jason looked up quickly and Danny scrambled to correct himself. “I haven’t been doing that! Well, like not in a controlling way, more like the ghost version of calming down a friend who’s freaking out. If you pushed past it I wouldn’t hold you back.”
“You should.” Danny couldn’t help the questioning noise that came out of him, “The first year I came back, I don’t remember it well, but I tried to kill Tim… and possibly Damian. If I do go too far hold me back.”
Danny nodded, “Back in the hall, when Tim was taking an unorthodox amount of coffee cups out of his room,” Jason snorted a bit and smiled, “you didn’t fight me stopping your emotions from bubbling over. I think, with even a little help, you do in fact make the right decisions.”
Jason’s hand came up to hold on to Danny’s forearm, “I went out to stop the top villain at the time, the Joker. I really did think I could beat him so I turned off my coms. He… He beat me to an inch of my life and left me to die in the explosion he’d rigged up.” Jason’s body was hot to the touch and he was obviously timing his breaths. “I can still feel the damn crowbar he used whenever I fall asleep. Batman had never been late before; he’d never let something like that go past him. My plan B was him, and he didn’t make it.”
Danny hummed. A benefit of their shared ghostliness in needing not to use his words, he pushed through waves of camaraderie and understanding.
“I had dug myself out of my own grave. I don’t remember much other than pain for months. Then Talia, Damian’s genetic mother, threw me into a Lazarus pit. The first thing I remember seeing was looking up at her terrified face, tinted in green.”
There was anger as he spoke her name, Danny controlled the waves of corrupted ecto that were threating to turn those emotions against Jason’s true wishes.
“I was fifteen, how does someone let a child do that. I was a kid!” Jason’s emotions were switching around and Danny could hear the forming core start too fuss. “I was just a kid.”
Danny came closer and wrapped all four of his arms around Jason, squeezing him just enough to feel a weight on him, but not so much it was restrictive.
Jason still seemed tense so, Danny did the only thing he could think of, he talked of his own death.
“My parents built the first ever physical portal to the realms. I was messing around with friends and they dared me to walk into the useless frame. My parents always had a tendency of forgetting lab safety and making just one mistake in every build. I’m not sure how they managed to put the on button inside it, but I tripped, hitting it on my way down. I could feel every bolt of electricity ripping me apart as the link between worlds opened directly on top of me. I died separate to my body and ended up like this.” Danny moved back and looked down at himself without letting go of Jason. “I tried to tell my parents at first, but they were always busy.
They spent the day I finally gave up trying to trap my sister; thinking she was the ghost their devices we’re picking up.”
Jason rested his forehead on Danny’s, sighing against the cold touch. “How old we-“
“Fourteen.”
“We were kids.”
“Yeah,” Danny kept his forehead against Jason’s. Two arms he left at Jason’s shoulders, the other two caressing his arms.
With a wave of confidence and fear Jason grabbed Danny by the waist and pulled him in for a real hug.
They held each other there, hidden amongst the foliage, until it started to drizzle.
“We should-“
Danny cut him off, pulling back to show the tears running down his face. “Can we go to your room?”
“Yeah, come on.”
They didn’t touch on the walk through the garden, or at the entrance, or in the hall. No, it wasn’t until the door was closed behind them that Danny came forward and just barely touched his arm.
Jason grabs him and pulls him in again, this time resting his chin on the top of Danny’s head. The attempt to calm Danny down just as he had for Jason made him start to cry again, this time much happier.
The surge pushed his kingly nature to shift into something more human. His arms went back to only two, his skin became that of a pale human’s (for the most part), his ears shrank down and his pointy teeth rounded out. And, surprisingly, his form gave him pajamas.
The ecto the change required didn’t accept the contaminated ecto that Jason had sent and Danny sagged into Jason, his knees buckling.
“Hey, hey.” Jason hushed, “I’ve got you.”
He sat Danny on the bed and went to get pajamas for himself. Once changed he laid down beside Danny and curled around him.
Danny was laying on his back, his legs bent over Jason’s thighs, who was laying on his side up against Danny. Creating a cocoon to hold Danny in.
They fell asleep quickly, Danny held Jason's hand on his chest throughout the rest of the night.
Neither of them had nightmares.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
@bjurnberg, @skulld3mort-1fan, @akikkobara @undead-bi-dinosaur, @amyheart19, @phoenixdemonqueen, @not-your-average-url, @seraphinedemort, @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @kyrianclawraith, @i-always-say-yea, @gin2212
#dpxdc#danny phantom#danny fenton#dead on main#so this was the first time i have ever dealt with tumblrs stupid character limit#It's s limit on paragraphs not on the whole post. however. that means i have to manually reformat the entire post of over 2k words#that i have already done the editing for#this is not important to the story i am just a little annoyed#death#bad parents jack and maddie#I use that tag so often just wrote a b and it popped up hahahah
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The Family Left Behind
Natasha Romanoff X Reader
Prompt: It’s post snap and Yelena finds a strangely familiar little girl cleaning her sister’s grave
WC: 593
Yelena sees a little girl hovering over the grave. She eyes her intently, observing her actions. At first glance, she would’ve thought it had been a member of the public, a child who managed to sneak into the site to mangle with her sister’s grave. Yet, it seems the rumors were true judging by the number of familiar features that the child possessed. She had Nat’s green eyes and your y/h/c hair. It was indeed her sister’s child and her niece for that matter. The little in question was gently pushing away the leaves that were piling the front of the grave, gently mumbling some song under her breath as she does. A small pit grows in Yelena’s stomach at the sight of watching the child clean her mother’s grave.
As the child cleans, a familiar tune leaves her lips through a whistle. Yelena instantly lights up, and without hesitation, she fills the void of the tune. A smile forms her lips realizing you or Natasha must’ve taught the child the tune. The child jumps at the sound, instantly averting her eyes to the source. There, her familiar eyes meet Yelena’s.
“Aunt Yelena?” The child asks.
Yelena jumps in surprise. “You know who I am?”
The child smiles, jumping happily before running straight into her aunt’s arms. A dumbfound expression glosses over Yelena’s eyes, but nevertheless, she melts into the child’s grip, squeezing her back gently. “You came back! Momma said you would come back!”
Words get caught in Yelena’s throat. “Mo-wha-”
Before Yelena could move another muscle, a familiar voice echoes from meters away from them, calling for what seems to be like the child’s name. “Lena! Lena!”
You emerge from the bushes only to stop once you see the blonde being hugged to death by your child. “Oh! Hi!” You say happily but surprised. “Lena come over here and please don’t bother the nice lady,” you lightly scold. Only the child giggles before running into your arms, jumping happily.
“Y/N?” Yelena asks with raised eyebrows.
You furrow your eyebrows, “Yes?”
A lump forms in Yelena’s throat as she tries to maintain her own composure. This was her, the person that Natasha had been speaking about with so much life in her eyes, the person that Natasha would talk about nonstop if there was someone who would listen. It was you, Y/N, Natasha’s light. “I’m-uh- I’m Yelena.”
It takes you less than a second for things to click together and your eyes soften. “Nat’s sister.“
Yelena nods weakly, “yes. Yes, that’s me.” She begins stumbling on her words, “sorry, I-I’m just.”
She looks as if she was on the verge of crying as her bottom lip begins to quiver and her hands begin to shake. Without warning, you walk up to her only to wrap your arms around her frame. “It’s okay.”
Truthfully you had known plenty about Yelena, too. Natasha would talk about her family all the time to you and you had always wanted to meet them in person. Preferably with Natasha by your side to introduce them to you, but it seems the world was not that generous with happy moments.
“Why don’t you stay for lunch and we can catch up?” You suggest.
Yelena could only muster a nod as she watches you begin to lead the way. When it takes you one second too long, Yelena only feels a small hand grabs her’s, dragging her along behind you. “Come on, Aunt Yelena!” Lena says happily.
The small gesture almost made Yelena’s soul combust.
_______________________________
Thanks for reading! It’s currently fucking 9 in the morning because my window won’t shut and some bitch decided to blast music from their car. I will square up with the asscrack later. So excuse me for this impulse :) Nice to see you again. Have a great day/night and may you always stay safe!
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#black widow x reader#yelena belova x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#black widow imagine#yelena belova imagine#fic: short#fix your window idiot
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Family Formations - The Portrait
Request: @theourconah hi!! for family formation – I was wondering if you could recreate this video I’ve seen circulating a few times on the internet before. A child attempts to draw a picture of their mother, but it’s so hilariously bad that their dad instantly bursts out laughing. The kid is confused and becomes sad, realizing it’s bad, but the mom says smth like, “It’s so amazing! I’ve never looked better!”, basically comforting the child
I can see Megumi doing smth like this and being very embarrassed being caught drawing Gojo or mc - and Gojo not being able to hold back laughter
If it doesn’t suit the series, it’s okay, but haha I thought it could be cute :) also omg I LOVE all of the parts of family formation sm!!
A/N: this was so fun also I love those tiktoks so I loved doing this - just a lil Drabble of sweetness and teen parents Y/N and Satoru.
A calm Saturday afternoon was on today’s agenda in the Gojo household, Tsumiki was helping you plant some new rose bushes before she lost interest and went to play with her doll house, Satoru was sitting in the sun lounger near you and Megumi was at the table, reading and drawing.
Just as you’d finished helping a few wilted buds on your newest peony bush Satoru asked if you wanted a glass of lemonade and wandered inside. After a minute, you followed him in – you needed a break from the sun and hot air.
You sat at the table beside Megumi as you drank your icey lemonade.
Peeking at his drawing made from the myriad of crayons Satoru had insisted on buying last weekend, you saw a slightly familiar figure on the page.
“That’s a lovely drawing ‘Gumi, can I see?” You ask, smiling.
“Um, it’s you.” He says, blushing.
At this, Satoru is staring over at the drawing and you flash him a warning look.
Kindly put, the drawing looked closer to a praying mantis than you.
“That’s Y/N?” Satoru asks, voice cracking from barely restrained laughter.
“Yeah – see, you’re in the garden.” He replies as if Satoru was the stupidest person ever and his flowers didn’t look like triangles.
“Wow! That’s, really wonderful! Thank you so much sweetheart! It’s beautiful.” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek. This kid was so reserved you couldn’t afford even a tiny slip up that might make him even more shy.
Satoru is behind you now, arm around your shoulders and you can see the shaking of his chest as he tries to not laugh – heeding your warning.
It lasts 3 seconds.
Satoru is nearly sobbing in tears beside you as Megumi begins to look like he wants to hide away forever.
“He’s only laughing because he’s so bad at drawing! Don’t worry ‘gumi! It’s such a great drawing, I love it! I’m gonna hang it up in my classroom at school.” You try to reassure him with what might be the worst excuse as you elbow Satoru in the ribs.
“Totally kid, she’s never looked better – no jokes.” He bites back his hysterical laughter as you fight to not join him after examining how awful you look in the picture.
“Why don’t you do Satoru next, ‘gumi? Or Uncle Nanamin?” You ask, trying to encourage him.
He smiles at little – which from Megumi is more of a lip twitch and then shrugs but drags more paper towards him and grabs a light blue marker and begins making circles which you think might be meant to be your boyfriend’s eyes.
I’m
You walk into the kitchen, pressing a kiss to the top of the child’s head.
As you get behind closed doors, you almost collapse into Satoru’s chest and he falls apart again.
“Holy shit, why the fuck did I have a square nose? Is my head really that big? Oh my god, how the fuck did I not die laughing?” You choke out as tears of laughter stream down your face.
“Honestly princess if you don’t get a huge green dress like that, I’ll be heartbroken – honestly sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The giggles only get worse after seeing his portrait of Gojo.
#submission#jjk#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#anime#dad!gojo#gojo smut#pixie writes: family formations#family formations drabbles
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Can you do Randal x !escaping from an aggressive(attacking) stranger reader
ppleease
*Technically takes place in the 'pep in your step' video. Not proofread
The sound of rapid footsteps can be heard. You were running away from a stranger that just approached you and became aggressive so suddenly. You are now running away from them and they're chasing you. You cursed out the stranger mentally for ruining your day. When you're not paying attention, you accidentally stepped on a crushed pepsi can and slipped, "FUCK!"
You land on your knees and you hiss through your teeth as you can feel tiny sharp rocks leaving small cuts on your knees. Suddenly, you heard the bushes beside you rustling and you look towards it in anticipation, waiting for the stranger to popped out. However, instead of the stranger that you were running away from it's... Another stranger but with square glasses and medium length (orange-ish brown) hair.
"Eh?? It's a human!" He giggles insanely as you are still on the ground, this time confused at whoever he is. "What are you doing on the ground?? Do you like the taste of dirt too??" He continues on and he smiles at you with a big grin as he leans closer. You hesitated before you respond in quite desperate, "Uh no? Listen, I'm trying to get away from someone and I need to call the police! Do you know the nearest phone or station?" The boy laughs again weirdly and shook his head. "No~ but I got a better idea! Come to my house instead!" He offered.
Everytime he says something, he just makes you even more confused with his bizarre mannerisms. "Uhm why?" You tried asking as if that's gonna help. "You'll be safe I promise! You can be my new friend, plus Sebastian might have another human friend!" He offered like it's somehow a great deal. You are getting pretty annoyed by his shenanigans that you agreed. For some reason. I guess when you're bleeding out, you can become disoriented to think it over.
And that's how you got stuck in this situation. You have met Sebastian and both of you agreed that you both are currently unlucky. You also met Luther who immediately tells Randal to hand you some of his clothes because of how dirty you look but he also tries to show some sympathy. Not in a human way, more like in a pet kind of way. After all that, you're in a new set of clothes and are now laying down in a coffin as your 'bed' besides Randal's. You almost doze off until you felt Randal holds your hand. You know he has a cat-like smile while staring at you but you didn't because you had quite a long day.
"Heyy~ you never told me your name."
"It's [name]."
"Well, you are going to be my partner to play with from now on~"
"Great." You sigh in exasperation before laughing it off as you feel yourself slowly losing your mind. You both continue to hold hands in your sleep because he's not letting go that easily.
#i can't write randal well#he's an unpredictable rabid animal#ranfren#randal’s friends#ranfren x reader#x reader#randal ivory#ranfren randal#randal von ivory#request more if you like#Sincerely sewer rat#this was rushed I'm sorry
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ᖭ༏ᖫ Knives and Pens ᖭ༏ᖫ
Ellie x Female Reader
MDI 18+
Word count: 5836 (14 pages)
A.N: This is my first fic. Takes place within the TLOU2 universe, with some slight changes.
Any songs used in this story were released prior to Breakout Day; September 26th, 2013.
Warnings for this episode: angst, cursing, violence, gore, nudity, lesbian sexualism/erotica, mentions of murder, pregnancy trauma.
NEXT EPISODE ➸
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Character Summary:
Name: Aria Rose
You have been trained at a very young age to be a doctor at the Buffalo QZ in New York, following your mother's footsteps. At 16, your mother passed away and it encouraged you to escape into Canada and head West. You stayed in a settlement called 'Orion' in Alberta, Canada where you grew into a proficient neonatal surgeon. Even though you mainly focused on mothers-to-be and infants, you were also well versed in neuro as that was your mother’s specialty.
At 20, you were tasked with a mission to deliver a pregnant 18 year old across the border to a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming where her remaining family stayed. It was discussed between the two settlements that you would also come to Jackson and teach new doctors as you have done in the Orion settlement in Alberta.
When you reach the border of Wyoming located on the map, we will have three of our own to escort you the rest of the way. -Maria
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Episode 1: Entering Wyoming
You and a small group from Alberta have made it down through Montana. This is where things get tricky; you were 10 miles away from the border and had to bring Hannah, the pregnant 18 year old, there alone for the rest of the way.
"This is where we leave you," one of the men said while taking out some extra ammo and handing it to you, "When you reach the border they will inspect you for infection. Good luck out there."
You nod at the men and thank them. Hannah, who is wearing an oversized black T-shirt looks over at you with doe eyes and she grips her pistol with two hands. She's 8 months pregnant and it shows. This whole trip has been on foot and you know how tired she must be.
Hannah watches the three men walk back and you slide your beige backpack off. "Here eat this for energy," you say and hand her your last granola square that you made for the trip. "If we keep a steady pace we can be there in about 2 and-a-half to 3 hours." You smile at her encouragingly. She sheepishly smiles back.
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The sun was still high in the sky. There were about 5 encounters with infected thus far and you had handled it with the team, but now it was just the two of you. Two hours had gone by walking through a forest. You take Hannah's hand to help guide her through the bushes and over large tree roots. That's when you heard it.
You and Hannah froze. Was it a click? The sound started then stopped. No. "Get down and watch your back, there's a Stalker.."
When there’s one, there’s usually more when it comes to Stalkers. Your pistol was ready and you scanned the area for any movement. You two continued to walk forward slowly. You grabbed a good sized rock and threw it at a tree where it broke on impact.
It was early spring, but the green vegetation was high enough to cover the three crawling Stalkers going towards the tree. They haven't spotted you or Hannah in the tall ferns and bushes. You both aimed and took out two. The third one screamed and ran behind the tree. You stayed low, crouching and going towards it. Then an unexpected scream came from behind. Two more Stalkers running towards you and Hannah. You two shot and killed one. The other was still coming in fast and the other emerged from out of the tree. "Fuck Hannah run!"
She sprinted ahead of you. You needed to create more space between you and them to attack. Then you saw a clearing of tall grass. You two emerged out of the forest and ducked into the field. "Stay behind me." you looked over at Hannah who was out of breath and on her knees. You looked back at the forest and got your pistol ready and flung open your knife.
One Stalker emerged screaming as it dove towards you. You shot it in the fucking head and it dies mid air. The second emerges and you miss, shooting it in the shoulder. It grabs you and before you can stab it, a distant shot goes right through its head and it falls to the ground.
"That.. wasn't me.." Hannah says through breaths. You turn around and see three figures at the end of the field.
The grass almost reaches your waist when you stand. The sun is lower and the sky starts to become orange. You take Hannah's arm and put it around your shoulder. You sigh in relief, "We made it."
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You walk to the end of the field while carrying Hannah. The three figures turn out to be two grown men and a girl around your age.
"Stalkers huh?" the brunette man says with a southern twang.
You start to move Hannah's arm off your shoulder so she can rest on the ground. "Yeah." You aren't much for words with strangers, especially after the adventure you just endured.
"Last one was a sonofabitch, I saw you going for your knife but I figured I give ya a friendly hello." The other man says, also with a southern accent. He's holding a sniper. "Sorry about all the blood on you though."
You looked down and didn't realize the amount of blood that was on your gray tank and arms. It was splattered on your face too. "Well this is the friendliest hello I've ever gotten."
"Heh- Well I'm Tommy and this is my brother Joel and this," looking towards the dark auburn haired girl, "is Ellie."
You looked over at Ellie, she wore her short hair half up and was wearing a black T-shirt. A strand of hair framed her face. She was unexpectedly pretty. Your eyes tried to scan her face from a distance. She must have been either in as much awe of you as you were of her, or terrified of the amount of blood on your face, because she only managed to blink at you.
As a doctor, and a young one at that, your personal life suffered. You kept friends to a minimum and mainly interacted with colleagues. You managed to have blips of relationships with women back in Alberta- nothing that stuck. The only real relationship you have ever had was when you were 16. You escaped the Buffalo QZ with your best friend, Emily. Your mother had died under mysterious circumstances due to her affiliations with the Fireflies, but before her passing, she had given you hope. A light that flew around you in the dark and illuminated a path to head west. During your journey across Canada, your relationship with Emily became romantic. For 2 short, passionate months, it was bliss. It all ended when she saved you from a hoard. She was bit and still fought off the infected. After a final goodbye, you gave her the ultimate act of mercy and shot her in the head. Your light went out. That is how you made it to Alberta; a shell of your former self. You dove into your studies and teaching and helping the settlement. Distancing yourself from others made you a stronger doctor, but in reality you couldn't become the unshakable stone that you wanted to be, you were just good at hiding the hurt. Now 20 years old, a successful doctor, and traveling back to the states, the flicker of hope was coming back. Hannah was one of those few friends that knew of your sexuality and the only one you told about Emily. Hannah was an open bisexual and had many relationships. She was your opposite and often encouraged you to keep looking for "amour"(love).
You didn't realize you were holding your breath until you snapped back into reality. "I'm Dr. Aria Rose and this is Hannah Moore, she needs food and rest," You directed your attention back to Hannah, your patient- your friend- the only person who you should be concerned for.
"The sun is going down, we'll check if you're clean, then we can make our way back to camp. We'll reach Jackson tomorrow by noon," Joel says.
You help Hannah up to her feet and she continues to hold your hand as Joel comes over to her. She eyes him with scared, blue doe eyes and stiffens up a bit. Joel notices and pauses.
"Ça va aller," (It’ll be okay) you say to her softly and squeeze her hand. You brushed up on some French while being in Alberta. Hannah was a native to Quebec and spoke French fluently, she also needed a lot of encouragement. She looks back at you for reassurance and lets go of your hand to let Joel inspect her.
Joel looks back at Ellie and nods her over to inspect you. You remove your backpack and feel the fatigue in your shoulders. You roll back your shoulders and watch Ellie come over to you, her eyes already inspecting you. You suddenly felt small under her gaze as her eyes traveled down your jeans to your black combat boots with red laces. You held your head low to let the few wispy hairs fall over your splattered face. A failed attempt to hide.
She stood next to you and there was a tattoo on her right arm. Your chest rose as you took a breath of... anticipation? She stood at your right and your eyes flashed up to examine her face; her green, almost hazel eyes were looking down at your body. You were like a cat; curious, unexpecting agile, in your movements and in your thoughts. You were captivated by her. You wanted to hide your interest but like a cat, you couldn't hold in your purring.
Her eyes traced up to your face and was surprised when she caught you staring. Freckles danced across her face, a split eyebrow, pouty lips- dry. Your eyes lingered on her lips, then back up to her wide green eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Her eyebrows unconsciously twitched in response to your quiet acknowledgement of her. Her eyelids descended and she was now examining- no searching your face for... something?
"She's clean," Joel concludes after walking around Hannah. Ellie snaps back and scratches her left ear with her tattooed arm. A fern and a moth. She walks around you in the same fashion. Your brunette hair was in a low ponytail. Your locks cascaded down to the small of your back.
"Clean." Her voice was low, velvety.
"Good let's head to camp and don't worry Hannah, we have horses," Joel smiles politely. Hannah grins in relief and takes your arm. She was younger than you and hung onto you like a child, but she knew how to fight and you admired that. You hated to admit it but your motherly instincts were kicking in for her, especially after everything she's been through. You convinced yourself that your protective nature will keep her alive.
Tommy leads the three horses out to the field. Hannah is ecstatic and leads you to the horses. You feel eyes on your back. Your body felt like it was shaking at a molecular level, luckily nothing that can be seen from the naked eye. "I'll lead, Hannah, you'll ride with Joel, Aria, you'll be with Ellie."
You turn to walk over to Ellie who is already petting a brown horse, "Hey Shimmer," she gets on her saddle and extends out a hand to you. You look up and give her smile, taking her hand. She flexes her arm to keep you stable as you get on. You reached past her backpack and held on to her waist. She straightened herself up in response and took hold of the rein. You could smell a small scent of pine coming from her. You did a terrible job of hiding your attraction earlier, which was incredibly reckless on your part, but it was as if you couldn't hold yourself back. Did she pick up on that? Now you were just breathing in her scent like it was a fine delicacy that you had to savor.
Joel leads his horse to turn around and look back at Ellie. "All set?" Ellie nods. Hannah took this opportunity to look Ellie up and down, making it very obvious she was checking her out. Hannah looks back at you encouragingly with a sly smile, "Elle est jolie," (She is pretty).
"Ça suffit!" (That’s enough!) you quickly meow out her, hiding your embarrassment. Hannah responds by laughing.
"Am I going to have to learn French to figure out what you two are saying?" Joel teases.
"Half of what she says is nonsense anyways, I wouldn't say it's worth it," you chimed back. Ellie chuckles at this.
"But you love it," Hannah had a bad tendency of openly flirting with you for fun, as friends do.
"Hm sounds like someone I know," Joel looks over at Ellie.
"Okay easy there old man," She rolls her eyes and smiles.
Joel holds his palms open in defense, "I'm just sayin'."
"Alright, let's go down this way," Tommy leads the way.
The horses were moving and you grip Ellie's waist a little tighter.
"Uh you okay back there?" Ellie turns her head to ask.
"Y-yeah, I've just never been on a horse before. It's kind-a-cool," very smooth.
"You don't have horses in Canada?"
"Limited amount and they're reserved for certain people or missions," You bit your lip in discouragement.
"Well in Jackson there's plenty of horses, and you'll probably be given your own considering you're a doctor," your hands relax from their grip and you smile. "I can show you some pointers on Shimmer when we get to Jackson, she's pretty tame and takes to strangers easily.. if you want."
"Oh, yeah I would like that," you say quietly. You curse yourself in your head for blushing. You look up at the lavender mountains in the distance.
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Song: Bloom - Artist: The Paper Kites - Released: 2011
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A small neighborhood was now coming into view. There were large pot holes in the street and Ellie held her arm out to be a buffer for you as she maneuvered through.
"Small jump ahead," Tommy calls out.
"Hold on tight," Ellie grips the rein again with both hands.
"Okay," you wrap your arms tighter around her waist. Her stomach was toned and moved with every sway and jolt from Shimmer.
Tommy jumped over the break in the road followed by Joel and Hannah. Looked easy enough.
"Here goes," Ellie has a running start and Shimmer jumps. You go slightly airborne and you hang on tighter. Ellie instinctively takes an arm to hold onto yours that are clasped around her. Shimmer lands successfully and your bottom bounces back on her.
"Ah, my ass," you complain. Ellie laughs a bit. "Well I'm happy one of us is laughing, but I'm not trained in antigravity" you say smugly.
"Oh yeah? So no trips to the moon any time soon?"
She was joking with you and you were always up for a good cheesy joke. You consider what she said for a moment. "I'd take a one-way ticket there if I could.. It’s a good place for an introverted outcast like myself. You can say.. I'm kinda out of this world," you can't see it but you feel her grin at this.
Ellie's interest peaked. Even though you weren't sure in what way.
Her arm was still on yours, "An Outcast huh? Are you an alien or something?" she attempts to look back at you again with a raised eyebrow.
"It can feel that way," you responded in a lower tone. Ellie paused her line of questioning. Without you knowing, she slipped into her own mind where she stood on the cold, gray moon, watching the earth turn. She understood exactly what you meant.
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You guys finally made it to the camp. Ellie had held your hand to help you off Shimmer. It was rough; calluses. "Thanks," you said, suddenly feeling shy. Despite this, you still push yourself to look up at her. She gives you a charming side smile and a nod.
The camp was a house that was set up with running water and electricity, unlike the surrounding houses. Food and medical supplies were stashed inside in a safe. There were four bedrooms, each with fresh linens and portable heaters. The horses were placed in the garage.
It was dusk and the air had a chill. You wasted no time in hoping in the shower after checking on Hannah and getting her settled with a bowl of soup in the kitchen. The water was lukewarm and you watched the blood wash off and go down the drain.
"When you're lost in the darkness, look for the light."
"Mom.." You think back to your mother sitting at the kitchen table reading over smuggled letters from other Fireflies. You replay that night in your head like a video cassette tape trying to find the missing details. "What am I missing?" you whisper to yourself.
The water starts to run clear. You stare down for a while and let your mind go blank.
You focus on the water hitting your chest and gliding down your torso. You imagine it to be more than what it was, and like that, your arousal starts. Your hands start to trace your neck, then down to cup your breast.
"Like this baby?" you hear a faint echo of Emily’s voice whispering in your ear. You start to massage your breast.
"You okay back there?" Suddenly, Ellie's voice projected louder in your head, repeating what she had said earlier. Her voice was embellished though, drawled out and huskier. "Oh yeah?...." You bit your lip, grabbing hold of your nipples, and started to sway your hips back and forth.
After about 30 seconds of doing this you caught yourself. 'What the fuck am I doing?' you shake off the arousal the best you could before shutting the water off. You couldn't afford to get sloppy, you needed to be the doctor your mother needed you to be. Ellie was new, beautiful, but the high will pass.
Your beige backpack was stiff on the tiled floor, filled with a few pieces of clothes, weapons, ammo, and mostly personal belongings. Not the smartest thing to do usually, but you were moving and would probably not be back to Alberta in a couple years, or if ever. Luckily, Hannah was fine with filling her backpack with emergency medical supplies. Your backpack was adorned with a medic cross patch and a small wooden buffalo keychain hanging off the small front pocket.
You put on a new set of jeans with a black long sleeve and tied up for red laces. Your hair was down and damp, hovering over the small of your back. You were considering cutting it when you got to Jackson. You grabbed your bag and exited the bathroom.
"Hey uh, Doctor Rose, we have some soup here for you," Tommy calls from the living room. You walk down the hall to see him sitting on the couch setting up a blanket. Joel comes in from the front porch, holding a mug and bringing it to the kitchen.
"Aria, you can call me Aria."
"Aria," Tommy nods with a smile, "well Hannah’s upstairs, there's a room across from her's, figured you'd wanna stay close by," he reclines.
"Thank you," you rub your arms from the cool breeze coming from the open front door. You walk into the kitchen and start to nibble at the chunky vegetables in the soup on the table.
Joel washes his mug and puts it on the drying rack before turning around. "You're pretty young for a doctor," he starts, making his way to lean on the counter almost across from you, "How old are you? If you don't mind me askin'."
You hear Tommy scoff at this. "You're not supposed to ask a lady her age! Not very gentleman-like," he teases.
You couldn't help but smile at the brotherly bickering. Joel looks sore sorry for asking and scratches his head. "I just turned 20, and yes I am the youngest neonatologist and surgeon that I know, everyone else in my field is at least 8 years my senior."
You were sitting at the table by a window, a thick curtain was drawn, but you could still feel a draft. You used the tip of your fingers to open the curtain slightly and peek out the window. A chunk of glass was broken off and you were looking at the back of a half up bun and Ellie's left ear. She was sitting out on the porch with a lamp. You gasped and closed the curtain. You were certain that this fine lady might be eavesdropping in on you. Thank the Lord the kitchen was dimly lit otherwise Joel would have seen the very obvious blush running across your face.
"How does someone as young as you become a surgeon?" You look back to Joel. He had this way about him that you picked up on. He had rough hands, a sad eye, and a stern voice, but when he spoke, his demeanor would shift, he became softer.
"My mother was a surgeon, so I was trained at a young age."
"Was that in Orion?"
"No, Buffalo."
"Up in New York? So you're American?"
"Yeah, are you familiar with the Buffalo QZ?"
Joel scratches his beard at this, "Yeah you can say that."
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Ellie watches Joel go inside after his cup of coffee. She takes her journal from her backpack and starts to scribble away in her journal on the porch bench. She sat with legs criss-crossed and close to the kerosine lamp.
One way ticket to the moon,No one's home,Where do you go?When you're all alone.
She wipes her left hand on her thigh and rests her head on her other hand on the arm rest. She stares at the page. She flashes back to earlier in the day; Brown eyes looking up at her lips, her face, half lidded, feral.
She closed her eyes and licked her lips, "..Fuck."
She slams her journal closed, she knew once she starts getting lost in thought, it would be hard to calm back down. The truth was, you peaked her interest in more ways than one, and it was something she thought she wouldn’t be able to handle, again. Not after the rejection she received from her first and only crush since arriving in Jackson.
She looks out into the darkness, her brows furrowed, eyes dark. Her chest rose with every deep breath she took to calm herself.
“Hey uh, Doctor Rose, we have some soup here for you," Tommy calls out from inside. Ellie listens through the broken window as Joel starts talking to you. She finds out that you're a year older than her and some kind of prodigy. She thinks it sounds lonely.
"It can feel that way." She remembers what you said earlier.
"Yeah, are you familiar with the Buffalo QZ?" you ask.
"Yeah you can say that," Joel responds.
Ellie starts to get annoyed at Joel for asking so many damn questions, but thinks she got away with learning more about you.
She stuffs her journal in her backpack, gets up, and takes the lamp to go inside.
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You hear the front door close. Ellie walks in the kitchen and places the lamp on the kitchen island and shoots a look at Joel.
"Yeah okay I'm goin' bed," he concludes walking off to the stairwell, "Good night."
You smile at him before he leaves the kitchen. Tommy is already snoring.
“G’night,” she says dryly.
She stands at the kitchen island not facing you, waiting for something. You start to nibble back at your soup watching her.
Then footsteps. She waited until Joel was going upstairs before turning around and scratching her neck. Out of all the jokes today, you found this to be the funniest thing.
"So," you start to nibble on a piece of carrot, "is he your dad?"
"Joel? No," she walks to the table and takes the seat to your side facing the covered window.
"But he's like a father to you," you side eye her.
"Yeah you can say that," she tilts her head and looks up at you, smirking. "We both came from Boston QZ a couple years ago."
"What made you guys leave?"
"Uh.. hunger mostly, there was a lot of corruption, people getting killed everyday, asshole teachers... but Tommy was already out here with Maria, they’re married, so Joel and I left," Ellie fiddled with her fingers on her lap then smiled back up to you. She was a bit nervous.
"Sounds similar to Buffalo," you got up to clean your bowl, "my mother was a surgeon so we were high up on the food chain, didn't need to worry too much about starving.. until we had to."
Ellie got up and sat on the counter next to you while you washed your bowl. "What happened?"
You had a dry swallow, "My mother was killed," you turned the water off and patted your hands dry.
"I'm sorry," she regretted asking.
"It's okay, she died for what she believed in.." You stood there by the sink, "that's when my best friend and I escaped into Canada, I was 16."
"Hannah?" Ellie had a concerned look on her face as she tried to figure you out.
"No, uh, her name was Emily," your voice had turned into a whisper. You bit down on your lip and regretted even saying her name. For the first time today, you couldn't bring yourself to look at her. You couldn't even cry for your dead girlfriend.
Ellie hops off the counter, "Hey I uh, I'm sorry for prying," she's playing with her fingers again.
You smiled and shook your head, "It's okay hun, I'm stronger than you think." You finally looked up and she seemed a bit frozen. Even in the dimly lit kitchen, her eyes looked like they were sparkling, again you couldn't tell if in awe or concern.
You grabbed her bicep tenderly and couldn't help yourself from laughing, "Seriously, I'm fine," you reassured. Ellie gave a shaky breath and smiled back. You made her nervous and this was enough confirmation for you that it was both.
Ellie continued to smile but looked away to the kitchen table, "We should probably go to bed," and then looked back down at you.
"Yea okay," you said tenderly before smiling and walking away.
Ellie stood there for a moment watching you head over to the table. She bit her lip, “Damn.” she whispers.
As you go to reach for your bag, you hear Hannah scream in horror, “Oh my gawd, Aria!”
“Hannah!” you respond, running up stairs.
You swing open her door. She was in the bed in shock and crying. “I-I-I don’t know what happened!” You walk over and lift the blanket. Everyone runs in the room.
Joel grips a pistol, “What’s goin’ on?”
You see the amount of blood coming out of Hannah; she was bleeding through her pants. “When did you fall?” you assume sternly still scanning her.
“What? I don’t know, um earlier… Before we left our troop, there were runners and I was pushed out of the way,” Hannah says defeatedly, “I just started feeling contractions right now and I thought my water broke but-” Hannah lifts her hands to show them covered in blood.
“Shit,” Tommy whispers.
“Your placenta detached. It’s causing the bleeding. I need to perform a C-section.” you say removing the bloodied blankets. “I need rags and a bucket of warm water,” you say looking at Joel. He puts the pistol away and runs out the room. “Tommy, a blanket for when the baby is out,” he runs out. You turn to look at Ellie who is already looking at you, “ I need your help to hold Hannah as I inject the epidural. After that, I need you three to stay out of the room, I’ll call you if I need anything else.” Ellie nods.
“No! it’s too soon Aria, it’s a few weeks early, I can’t do this!” Hannah takes hold of your arm and pleads with you.
You lean down to her level, “I have to do this, the detached placenta can not only kill your baby, but you as well. Let me do this and save you both,” Hannah looks up at Ellie, then back at you with doe eyes. “You’ve done all the work until this point Hannah, let me take care of the rest.”
Once Joel and Tommy dropped off the supplies and left the room, you laid Hannah down. You and Ellie placed a fresh blanket covering her. Hannah removed her top and bloodied bottoms which you tossed in a corner. “Okay lay on your side facing Ellie.” Hannah’s full figure went on its side, still covered in the white sheet. You open Hannah’s bag and retrieve a very large needle. “I’m going to inject the epidural, Ellie hold her steady by the shoulder,” Hannah was familiar with some of the procedures you did frequently when delivering babies, but she was still Hannah; young and pure of heart, sheltered by the settlement she grew up in.
Ellie holds Hannah in place. Hannah was nervous and her eyes brimmed with water as she looked up at Ellie, “‘Jolie,’ do you know what that means?” Ellie watches your hands mark where the epidural is to enter the spine. You’re wearing black gloves and using alcohol to clean the area.
“No, is it French?” she looks down at Hannah, her voice is almost a whisper.
Hannah gives an airy laugh, “Yes it’s French- it means pretty.” You pierce the needle through the skin and Hannah gasps.
“Oh yeah, I remember you saying it earlier on the horses. Were you making fun of Aria about the blood all over her face?” Ellie chuckles at this to help lighten the mood.
“Heh no, the truth is I’m good at reading Aria’s mind.. but then she told me to shut up,” she raises her eyebrows insinuatingly. Ellie smirks at her. You remove the needle and Ellie helps lay Hannah on her back.
“Thank you Ellie, I’ll call if I need anything else,” you say and turn to set up your tray for surgery.
“Okay I’ll be across the hall if you need anything.. Aria,” you hear Ellie leave the room.
You sigh, “You don’t have to do that you know.”
“I know, but she likes you I can tell, plus I have a pretty good gay-dar, aaand I talk when I'm nervous,” Hannah is still fighting off tears.
“I know, and you’re lucky you’re getting surgery otherwise I would have hog tied you and stuck a sock in your mouth,”
“Hah, so violent, but effective.”
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Ellie waited in the room across the hall. She laid in the full size bed sprawled out. She already decided to stay up until you were done and told Joel and Tommy to get some rest. She didn’t feel tired and opted for journaling. She sat with her back against the headboard and got her journal back open. The moon was bright tonight and shined down on the bed. Ellie smiles to herself and starts to write:
French 101: Jolie = Pretty
“What are you doing kiddo,” Joel stands in the doorway.
“Nothin’, I thought you were going to sleep,” she closes the journal.
Joel walks over to look out the window where the moon light was bright. “I don’t know much about doing a surgery, but I know the risks are always high, especially in a place like this. This ain’t no hospital..”
Ellie watches him and touches her tattoo on instinct, feeling the uneven scarred skin underneath. She has tolerated him so far for the sake of the mission, but she still considered their relationship to be over. It was almost two years since she learned the truth about that night and the Fireflies. She had almost no contact with him for the first year, and now, she has just tolerated him when she had to. It was hard to completely ignore him, and at times she has glimpses of who they used to be.. But Ellie had succumbed to the final notion that she was completely, and utterly, useless. Her life meant something when she was on the operating table at Saint Mary’s Hospital.. then- nothing.. and she had no way of choosing herself when Joel shot his way through the Firefly hospital and killed the only possible people that could have ended the infection and saved the world. All this and then to be fed lies. She watched the earth spin slowly as she stood on the moon, watching it turn and crumble.
“I’m going to sleep,” Ellie was irritated and just needed him out of the room. Joel turns to look at her but she looks dead pan at the end of the bed just waiting for him to leave. Joel again gets the hint that he has invaded her space.
“Alright, goodnight,” he walks out.
20 minutes go by… 30… 40… She waits…
Then finally a call from the other room, and like a prayer, she is ready to answer your call, to be recognized, to be needed.
+++++++
Song: Dare You to Move - Artist: Switchfoot - Released: 2009
+++++++
Ellie hops out of the bed and opens the door- the sound of the soft cries of an infant baby is suddenly heard. There is a portable curtain rod holding up a teal medical curtain concealing Hannah. “Give me one second, baby is meeting her mommy,” you say from the otherside.
Hannah is crying as she has skin-to-skin, “Hello Sophie Aria Dubois.”
You walk out from behind the curtain holding a small newborn wrapped up in an equally small cloth. You’re wearing a mask but Ellie can see your eyes smiling as you hand her over Sophie. “Keep her warm and watch her breathing, let me know if there’s anything wrong, I’m going to close Hannah.”
“Woah,” Ellie was kind of amazed and looked back at the baby and back to you, “You did say that you were out of this world.”
END OF EPISODE 1
CLOSING CREDITS
All covers and photos were created on Canva.com (it’s free, go crazy)
Ellie Photo Credits
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Choose Your Own Adventure (jan 2024)
I think the problem is that I want to write GOOD things instead of writing anything at all, and I think that's kind of a mistake or at least i think it's not helping me. In any case, I've decided I'm going to write BAD things. Do y'all remember the choose your own adventure novels from the 70s and 80s? No, because so many of your are in class with my daughter fingerpainting, but trust me they were always bad. They were always bad! So I'm writing something like that, and it's going to be bad, or maybe accidentally good, but I don't fucking care which. I'm going to add onto it every month, and you can play along if you like. After every segment it'll basically ask the audience what we do next via a poll. Enjoy. Or hate. I gotta do something and this is something. The perfect is the enemy of the good and the good is the enemy of the accomplished. It's a haunted house story. OKay.
Some houses are histories in themselves. The story is told, complete, before all witnesses, in the lean of a building, a rough and torn roof, or a well-kept garden with an elm grown old, a bench curved around it. You imagine lives for these houses, even moreso than for the people in them. They are the old men in the pub, they are the spurned spinster, they are the young mother. These bricks and stones and lines of wood contain our tragedies and triumphs and turn them to their own. They are the books of our lives that we cannot write for fear of the honesty.
It was, to the observer, such a house.
It must have been grand, once. The knockers bore witness to such a thing, iron and old brass twisted together like snakes into the letter of a family that must have prospered here long ago. The moon shone off that knocker, silvering her like a wilted duchess, her back bowed by the swell and retraction of time’s seasons. The door itself was not one, but two, a pair of twins craved by craftsmen and then by circumstance, the detailing of leaves and acorns in its edging torn away and scratched in places, offering them a violent individuality.
The house branched from those two doors, the twins made mere siblings still echoing each other into an angle on either side, slowly boxing in a sandy courtyard where only a handful of shabbat bushes now grew. Cracks crept up the side of the house, splitting and spreading like a rumor as they dug into the high walls, dipping under the roof eaves. Where the cracks could not be seen, it was only for the veiling of more than half dead vines slowly climbing the stained and sickly yellow paint, pushing out the dark and tattered shutters.
For all its scars, what one noticed at the approach was the sheer immensity of the place, as modest as a whore, as spartan as a pope. The grand doubling of it, rows of windows staring in the moonlight, reflecting a life out into the grit of the courtyard, the house curving at either end in grand octagonal bays, one enclosed, and one free, suggesting a difference that might have been born and not made.
All of it was perfectly bisected by a high tower that rose above the doors, peering over a widow’s walk. It, too, was made with the sharp lines of an octagon, square glass panels neither revealing nor glimmering, only taking in the night, capped with a dome so dark it blended into the night sky, even as the moon looked on. A clock, stopped at three fifteen, adorned the front of the tower, its white paint once stark against the black but now faded to a dispassionate grey. An iron flag atop the dome should have shown which way the wind was going, but stayed it its place, pointing outward to the front gate.
Fog settled over this forgotten ruin like a tender blanket over the dead, hiding it from the world.
Standing in the middle of a great path of weedy grass, a flashlight held in her hand, Lena Oxton gazed up at the house. She was not immune to the human sense of augury in such a house, but neither was she immune to the pouring rain that fell off the edge of her cap and brushed against her chin, nor the bickering taking place in the van behind her. Signs and portents may or may not be real, and ghosts might only be a suggestion, but the rain was very real, she was sodden and cold , and someone was about to die in more than a suggestive way if they had to spend the night in that small van.
She looked back toward the wall where the van was parked, its headlights only just visible over the wall. Even with that being true, she glanced over her shoulder toward the house and considered, just for a moment, bolting back toward that crumbling brick and throwing herself over it. But only a moment. Fear did not get to hold the yoke. She had never allowed it before, and she wasn’t going to start with a house just because it had gone to rack and ruin.
Lena stepped toward the carved and pitted door, took a breath, and knocked.
Who's in the van? <-- I'm a voting link!
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