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pucksandpower · 2 months

Text

Of Roomates and Revenge

Lewis Hamilton x fake girlfriend!Reader

Featuring Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, and Nico Rosberg

Summary: in which your search for a free place to stay leads to helping one half of Brocedes live out his petty fantasy for revenge … and falling in love while doing so

Cat and Apartment Sitter Needed (Monaco)

Compensation: €1500/week plus all the Red Bull you can drink

I’m a world-traveling young professional who is rarely home. My two beautiful and rambunctious bengal cats need someone to stay with them in my Monaco apartment whenever I’m away for work.

The ideal candidate will be an experienced cat person who is prepared to deal with a lot of energy, chaos, and shenanigans from these two little terrors. They knock everything off every surface, wrestle at 3am, and will likely attempt to smother you while you sleep. If you can handle that, we’ll get along just fine.

In addition to caring for the cats, you will need to keep my place relatively tidy (i.e. no crushed Red Bull cans or fast food wrappers everywhere), collect any packages or mail that arrives, and randomly turn a few lights on and off every evening so the neighbors don’t get suspicious.

The position is ideal for a mature student, digital nomad, or someone between living situations who wants an amazing place to stay for free in one of the world’s hotspots.

Drop me a line if you think you can handle the cats from hell and wouldn't mind living in a 230 m² penthouse apartment with a private terrace, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a badass view of the Mediterranean. Preference goes to non-smokers who follow directions well and won’t throw ragers when I’m gone.

Send a brief intro, your experience with cats, and a couple photos attached. Urgently need someone for various stretches starting mid-February.

Do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers.

Live-in Cactus Caretaker Needed (Monaco)

Compensation: €1000/week, free snacks, and you can play my Xbox

I’m a young dude who’s rarely home because of my job that involves a lot of international travel. I have a single cactus plant that I promised my mum I would keep alive until she visits again. The thing is ... I have absolutely no idea how to care for plants. Like, I nearly killed it the first week by forgetting it existed.

What I need is someone responsible who can essentially live in my swanky Monaco apartment whenever I’m gone and keep my tiny cactus friend alive.

Duties would include:

Watering the cactus like ... once a month? Twice a month? I don’t know how often it needs water

Not letting the cactus die in any other way (pretty sure they need sunlight too … I think)

Keeping the place tidy (I’m a bit of a mess)

In return, you’d get:

A sick apartment all to yourself with a stunning view, giant TV, and full kitchen (please for the love of god be careful in there ... I almost burned the place down trying to make a grilled cheese once. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating. I almost went up in flames over a silly sandwich. If you can't even operate a microwave, we may have problems. There’s only room for one idiot like that in Monaco — and it’s me)

Unlimited snacks/drinks from my well-stocked pantry

Free rein over my gaming setup (just don’t break anything)

First dibs on any events/reservations I can’t make

The ideal person is responsible, shows they can follow basic instructions for cactus care, laidback since you’ll be alone a lot, and trustworthy enough not to wreck the place or throw illegal parties. Having a green thumb would be great, but frankly if you can manage not to kill the one plant, that’s good enough for me.

Send a brief bio about yourself and your qualifications as a cactus/housesitter if interested! I’m gone quite frequently starting in February so could use someone ASAP.

No scammy offers or soliciting, please!

Roommate Needed to Drink Wine and Listen to My Woes (Monaco)

Compensation: Free rent in a nice apartment, plus all the wine you can drink

Are you a good listener? Do you enjoy dry red wines and occasional bouts of tears and venting? If so, I’ve got the perfect living situation for you!

I’m a youngish guy with a high-stress job that involves a lot of traveling. When I’m home in Monaco, I tend to unwind by polishing off a couple bottles of nice Bordeaux or Burgundy while complaining about work, my colleagues, and my rival who is giving me really mixed signals.

What I need is a roommate who doesn’t mind a little drunken blubbering here and there.

You’ll get:

Your own bedroom in my spacious 2BR/2BA apartment in the La Condamine district

Rights to my kitchen, living room with large TV, piano, and music recording equipment

Access to the building’s pool, sauna, fitness center, and lounge areas

As much wine as you can drink (and more)

In exchange, you’ll be expected to:

Listen to my periodic rants and rave sessions without judgement

Preferably nod along or offer supportive-sounding feedback like “Yeah, that’s really tough man” or “Wow, they sound terrible”

Refill wine glasses as needed

Maybe rub my back or pat my head if I’m really going through it

The ideal candidate is a decent human being who can empathize with the high-pressure struggles of a young professional trying to make it in a cut-throat career.

You’ll need a decent amount of free time and lots of patience. Prior experience as a life coach, therapist, or sympathetic drinking buddy is a plus.

If you can handle crying guys after a few too many glasses of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, inquire within! Include a little about yourself and why you would make a good non-judgmental wine friend. Merci!

Expand Your Search? Similar Opportunities:

Impartial Referee Wanted for Parking Lot Brawls (France)

Compensation: €400 per event

Two athletic young men in their late-20s are looking for a level-headed third party to oversee and officiate their semi-regular parking lot boxing matches. Yes, you read that right — we’re talking straight-up fisticuffs in the back alley behind the Circuit Paul Ricard.

A little background: We’ve been frenemies/rivals since we were kids — constantly competing in friends, employment opportunities, you name it. There’s a healthy amount of hatred between us that simply can't be resolved through words alone. Every few months, we feel the need to just take out our pent-up aggression on each other's faces.

Up until now, it’s been an unregulated shitshow with no real rules or oversight. We’re looking for someone impartial who can:

Set some fair ground rules around where/how we can strike

Ensure no prop weapons get involved (last time he tried to scalp me with a wrench)

Officiate and declare a winner once one of us is knocked out or quits

Ideally have some basic first-aid skills in case of a nasty cut or broken nose

We will pay €400 cash at the start of each bout. You’ll get a free show of two extremely fit dudes wailing on each other until there’s a clear victor.

Loser exits with his tail between his legs, winner gets to gloat for the next couple months until we run it back.

If you can be a neutral third party and aren’t squeamish about a little blood, send us your info with some details about yourself and your experience resolving conflicts (legally or not). First come first served — our next fight is tentatively scheduled for mid-May!

No flakes or perverts, please. Serious connoisseurs of violence only.

P.S. Don’t be scared to give out penalties (one of us is used to that)

Actor or Actress Needed to Annoy Ungrateful Ex-Friend (Monaco)

Compensation: €2700 per week, free luxury accommodations

I’m a successful guy in my late 30s looking to hire someone to pretend to be my significant other for a few months. Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain ...

I had a major falling out with a former best friend who stabbed me in the back years ago. We live in the same apartment building, just one floor apart.

I’m trying to show him how amazing my life still is without him … and maybe make him jealous in the process.

That’s where you come in. I need you to move into my penthouse temporarily and act as my gorgeous new boyfriend/girlfriend.

Your main duties would include:

Loudly introducing yourself to said ex-friend by knocking on his door and being line “Hi, is [insert my name] here?” Then pretend to be embarrassed and apologize when he tells you that you’re at the wrong apartment

Hang out in the hallway near his place and have very loud fake conversations detailing our imaginary passionate nights together (rated R)

Post cringy coupley photos on your social media of us dressed up going out, cuddling on my yacht, etc

Ideally you’re an aspiring actor/actress or just a really convincing liar. Being somewhat loud and dramatic is a plus. You’ll need to be willing to play along if my petty ex-friend tries to confront us.

In return, you’ll be living in a lavish penthouse with all the amenities for free. You’ll have your own private suite and can hang out on the oversized balcony, by the pool, or in the media room when you’re off the clock. Might also be able to introduce you to some high-profile people if you’re trying to network.

Oh, and my bulldog will provide plenty of cuddles.

If you can pull off a remarkably realistic fake partner act and aren’t afraid of a little light deception, hit me up! Please include a couple photos plus a bit about yourself and your acting experience. Aiming to start mid-April.

I’m an equal opportunity employer — girlfriend, boyfriend, nonbinary partner, you name it. All genders welcome to apply for the role if you’ve got what it takes! Only preference is that you have especially luscious hair … for reasons.

No weirdos please.

Hi,

Okay, I have to admit — your ridiculous request to hire a fake girlfriend to make your ex-best friend jealous is quite possibly the pettiest thing I’ve ever heard. And I absolutely love it.

I’m literally the perfect person for this role. Petty vengeance is my middle name (well, not really, it's actually Y/M/N ... but you get the idea).

A little about my qualifications:

Took some theatre electives in university so I can really sell the dramatics

Lots of experience putting on an Oscar-worthy performance faking ... well, you know ... thanks to my douchebag ex-boyfriend who couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pleasure a woman 🙄

Not afraid to get LOUD and will happily reenact our “passionate nights” at earsplitting volumes in that hallway

Can pull off playing dumb if your friend tries to interrogate me about you (“Oh [whatever your name is]? Yeah he’s just the best at ... stuff”)

No shame in my pettiness game — I once spent my weekly paycheck on a Cameo just so an ex’s favorite celebrity would call him a dingleberry

In terms of looks, I’ve been told I have just the right amount of “hot” to make your poor pal jealous without it being too unbelievable. I’m attaching a few photos for reference.

Let me know if you want to meet up for a glass of wine and we can workshop some juicy storylines for our imaginary romance. Perhaps I was a former fling you rediscovered? A hot younger thing giving you a new lease on life? The possibilities are endless!

I’m a pro at faking it, so selling our relationship will be a piece of cake. Your ex-friend will be bright green with envy by the time I’m through!

Let’s make him regret the day he double-crossed you, babe.

Cheers,

Y/N

r/offmychest

u/NotBritneySpears · 16h

My ex-best friend’s new girlfriend is the WORST!

I really need to get this off my chest. My upstairs neighbor’s new girlfriend is, without a doubt, the most insufferable human being on the planet. She’s loud, obnoxious, and seems to take immense pleasure in tormenting me for some reason.

A little background: I used to be really close friends with my neighbor. We had a big falling out a while back over ... well, it’s a long story. We don’t talk anymore and there’s a lot of resentment between us. Clearly the universe is trying to get back at me now with this new girl.

This chick has made it her personal mission to give me a play-by-play account of every single intimate encounter she has with him. And I mean DETAILED accounts. The other day I was just trying to enjoy my morning coffee and I hear her incredibly shrill voice from right outside my door:

“Oh he was an ANIMAL last night! The things he did with his tongue, I thought I was going to pass out!”

Like, seriously? Keep it to yourself, weirdo! That’s just the tame stuff too. Sometimes she’ll go into pretty graphic detail describing body parts and positions that I really didn’t need a mental picture of.

Here’s the thing — she quite obviously positions herself to be as close as possible to my apartment without actually trespassing — I mean, she doesn’t even live on my floor for god’s sake! So every word comes through crystal clear. I’ve confronted her about it a few times and she just plays dumb, like:

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry if I was being loud! We just get so carried away sometimes, you know how it is,” with this stupid ditzy valley girl voice and hair toss.

I don’t know if my former best friend put her up to this or if she’s just a massive troll in her own right. But it’s like psychological warfare at this point. Literally ANY time I’m home, I have to listen to her yap about their Sex Olympian-level escapades.

My wife even heard them once and thought I was playing porn at an insane volume! She doesn’t believe me that it’s just this deranged lady running her mouth constantly.

I’m half-tempted to start recording her rants and blast them back at full volume to give them a taste of their own medicine. Or maybe start describing lurid details of my own (admittedly not quite so colorful) sex life in retaliation.

I don’t know, maybe I’m being oversensitive. But living under these two insufferable assholes is a waking nightmare. I need to move or something because this is massively affecting my peace of mind. Who knows if they will ever get bored of tormenting me and move on.

Rant over. Thanks for letting me vent about the neighbors from hell.

u/chronicgossiper · 12h

Damn, that sucks man. Your neighbor and his gf sound like immature assholes trying to get a rise out of you. I’d look into noise complaint options or even see if you can get them evicted for harassment.

Reply to u/chronicgossiper · 11h

Seriously? You really think the landlord would evict someone over this? It’s not like they’re blasting music at 3am. Sounds more like passive aggressive pettiness than anything illegal.

u/chronicgossiper · 10h

Idk, having to listen to people loudly describe their sex acts against your will seems like it could qualify as harassment or creating a hostile environment. Worth exploring at least if they won’t stop.

u/NotBritneySpears · 9h

Eviction isn’t really an option here since we all own our apartments and there’s no landlord dictating that. It’s not that type of building.

u/nosyandproud · 8h

Did your former friend move into that building first or did you move in knowing he lived there?

u/NotBritneySpears · 7h

He was there first, I bought my place a few years after him when I could afford it. Never expected he'd pull something this childish.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 6h

So you willingly moved into the same building as your ex-best friend that you aren’t on speaking terms with? That’s just asking for drama, dude.

u/NotBritneySpears · 5h

It’s a great building in an amazing location. I wasn’t going to not pursue the opportunity just because he lives there too. It’s a big place, I didn’t think we’d be running into each other much.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 4h

Still seems like a weird decision to willingly insert yourself into his orbit like that if the relationship was so fractured. Probably should’ve seen some fallout coming.

u/nosyandproud · 3h

Yeah exactly, why would you move somwhere your ex-friend lives if you two clash that much? Kinda put yourself in this situation.

u/NotBritneySpears · 2h

Okay, let me be clear — he and I were best friends for over a decade before we had a colossal falling out a few years ago. We’re not just some casual ex-buddies who don’t get along. We were legitimately very close for most of our lives until things went nuclear between us. When I decided to move into the building, our friendship had been over for a while already. I really didn’t anticipate he’d take things to this vindictive level years later. I’m not going to miss out on my dream home just because of what happened between us.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 1h

This is getting juicyyy, do tell about what caused the falling out!

u/NotBritneySpears

Not really trying to dredge up old drama, that’s a whole other can of worms. The girlfriend situation is annoying enough as is.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 51m

Fair enough, you gave context. Still think you two need to have an adult conversation about boundaries. Purposely trying to loudly narrate their sex life at you is unhinged.

r/relationships

u/yourusername · 19h

I’m catching real feelings for the guy who hired me to be his fake girlfriend to get revenge on his ex-friend ... help?

Buckle up folks, because I’ve got one hell of a tangled situation to unpack here. This is going to be a long one.

About a month ago, I responded to this Facebook Marketplace ad from a guy (let’s call him L) looking to hire someone to pretend to be his new girlfriend. The goal was to make his former best friend/downstairs neighbor jealous after a brutal falling out between them.

I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But the benefits were good and I’d be living in his insane luxury penthouse in Monaco rent-free. More importantly, I really vibed with L’s pettiness and desire to get deliciously pathetic revenge on his ex-friend. My last boyfriend was the actual worst, so I was absolutely here for any slightly insane Karen antics.

Anyway, we hit it off immediately at the “audition” over drinks. L is brilliant, successful, gorgeous, and fucking hilarious in a sarcastic, unfiltered way. We both have a wicked mean streak and frankly get off on emotionally messy situations. It was like looking into a mirror — two beautiful trainwrecks finding each other in the wreckage.

From night one, we had crazy chemistry. The back-and-forth banter was electric, we finished each other’s sentences, etc. I felt so comfortable around him despite the bizarre circumstances. I assumed it was all fun and games to toy with his former best friend.

But over the last few weeks of loudly chronicling our “sex marathons”!outside said ex-friend’s door and doing phony coupley things around the city, I’ve realized my feelings are ... complicated. L and I CONNECT on a deeper level, in addition to just being partners in crime. We’ll be tangled up watching movies and he’ll make some perfectly timed quippy comment that has me cackling until my abs hurt. Or we’ll get deliriously wasted and end up baring our souls about our upbringings, dreams, fears — everything.

I’ve never been so open or comfortable around someone before. Our walls are gone. And the most messed up part? Some small, perverse part of me loves the strange intimacy we’ve manufactured through this farce. How much closer can you get than meticulously co-creating a fictional relationship?

In the beginning, I think we were both just in it for the laughs and pettiness factor. But something shifted for me recently. One night we were drunkenly rehearsing how I was going to describe our latest imaginary tryst to his ex-friend and ... I don’t know, I couldn’t stop staring at his lips while he was talking. His face was so close to mine and I felt breathless. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to ditch the script and really kiss him. I had to physically stop myself from lunging forward.

Later, when I went back to my room, I was hit with a crushing wave of realization — I have actual romantic FEELINGS for this basketcase who hired me to play-act as his girlfriend! What the actual fuck?

Guys, I’m in too deep. How did I let this happen? L is technically still my employer and this whole operation has an expiration date. His former friend is already growing visibly annoyed, so Phase 2 (feign a dramatic breakup, I move out, L moves on with his life) is likely coming up very soon.

Do I just bury my feelings and end this gig without saying anything? Do I risk the humiliation of confessing my heart to someone who was only pretending to want me around? Or should I just go for it and make out with him next time we’re tangled on the couch? I’m spiraling here!

The pettiness that brought us together may also tear us apart. Or maybe I’m just a sad clown who read too much into a fake relationship. Someone slap me with a reality check, please! I need perspective from the outside.

Tl;DR - Developed legit romantic feelings for the guy who hired me to be his fake girlfriend as part of his weird revenge plot. Not sure if I should come clean, keep it professional, or start actually making out with him for real. This was NOT part of the deal!

u/judgingloudly · 18h

Oh honey, you are in a MESS. This is like a bad romcom plot but IRL. I think your only real option is to fess up and tell L how you’re feeling. Contrary to popular belief, the fake dating trope doesn’t always have to stay pretend!

If he doesn’t feel the same way, at least you put it all out there and can move on with some dignity intact. But who knows — from how you describe the crazy chemistry and connection, he might feel relieved you said something first! Don’t let this fire burn out without taking your shot. Oh and definitely keep us updated, I’m invested now!

Reply to u/judgingloudly · 17h

I agree with this take. You already acknowledged you’re in too deep emotionally. Might as well put those cards on the table and let the chips fall where they may. Shooting your shot is always better than letting the “what if” eat away at you forever!

u/livefordrama · 16h

I’m sorry but I simply must ask — how did you land a gig like this? And does he happen to have any more openings for a fake girlfriend? Asking for a friend …

u/yourusername · 15h

Honestly it was a random Facebook ad looking for exactly this — a girl to move in and fake date this guy to drive his feuding neighbor up the wall. I applied semi-joking but he picked me!

As for openings, not that I know of ... yet. I may have to quit soon depending how this all plays out, so will keep you posted if my spot opens up!

Reply to u/yourusername · 14h

Omg please do! I would 100% take on a role like this, it sounds like a total riot.

u/unpaidtherapist · 13h

Girl, I think you already know what you have to do here. Is keeping things professional and never admitting your feelings really an option at this point? You’re clearly enamored with this guy and he seems to reciprocate the intensity at least platonically so far. I say GO FOR IT!

Just pull him aside one day, say “hey this isn’t just an act for me anymore, I really like you and need to know if there’s a possibility for us or not.” If he’s as caught off guard and freaked out as you’re implying, a direct conversation is needed to get those cards on the table. Don’t die wondering “what if?” That’s my advice.

u/everydayopportunist · 12h

This is so wild, I’m living for this drama! Seriously might need to pursue some similar gigs myself, apparently that’s where all the romance happens these days 😂

u/devilsadvocate · 11h

I’m sorry but I have to go against the grain here — please do NOT make a move or confess any feelings! This guy hired you for a very specific job under very specific pretenses. Catching real feels was not part of the deal at all. Selfishly throwing that at him out of the blue would be so unfair after he opened his home to you. I worry he could feel betrayed and violated even if he did secretly like you back.

My advice? Give it a few weeks, see if these feelings persist or if it was just a passing crush brought on by the intimacy you’ve found yourselves in. If it’s still intense after cooling off, then maybe consider looping him in. But don’t go nuclear until you're absolutely sure. You could risk imploding a good work situation and friendship over a temporary infatuation. Tread very lightly!

Reply to u/devilsadvocate · 10h

I’m with this take, OP shouldn’t jeopardize her living situation if her feelings might be fleeting. Taking a step back and giving it more time could provide clarity. It’s easy to get caught up in the fantasy.

The more prudent move is to wait until the “job” wraps up before considering opening that can of worms. If feelings persist minus the contrived closeness, she’ll know it's real. But springing it on the guy now seems wildly unfair and could blow up in her face.

r/AmITheAsshole

u/veganGOAT · 15h

AITA for turning down my fake girlfriend after she admitted feelings, only to want her back days later?

I think I may have tremendously fucked up in a spectacularly messy way. Let me walk you through the tangled web I’ve woven ...

A couple months ago, I (39M) hired this woman to essentially move into my apartment and pretend to be my new girlfriend. I know it sounds batshit crazy … but I was trying to make my ex-best friend/neighbor jealous after a bitter falling out between us.

She was the perfect partner for this ruse — sarcastic and spunky, with a hint of unhinged energy. We bonded instantly over bottles of wine and throwing deliciously overblown “loud sex” performances in the hallway to drive my ex-friend nuts. What was meant to be a transaction quickly bloomed into a legitimately fun, effortless friendship.

Soon after, we started having real sex. It sort of just … happened, albeit very awkwardly at first. Like “well this is weird, want to try it for real just to see?” And what do you know, we had insane chemistry between the sheets too! We were soon sleeping together nearly every night, always swearing afterwards that it was “just for fun” and didn’t mean anything more.

But I started catching feelings. She was hilarious, confident, beautiful — everything I could ever want in a partner. We had connected on a deeper level through the medium of batshit pettiness. And our physical intimacy only amplified that bond.

Cut to a couple weeks ago. We had just finished a particularly athletic round and were cuddled up, spent. Out of nowhere, she pipes up nervously: “Hey … I think I’m really falling for you. I don't want this to just be sex or games anymore. I want to really try being together.”

I froze. The words I had been longing to hear suddenly terrified me in that moment. My throat clenched up as a wave of panic crashed over me (yes, I’m well aware of how stupid this was in hindsight). After an agonizing pause, I managed to choke out: “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. This thing between us was only ever supposed to be fake. I don’t think of you that way.”

I could actually see her face crumble. She quickly mumbled “okay” and slid out of my bed, wrapping a sheet around herself to cover her dejection. I swear I heard muffled sobs through the wall once she was back in her guest room. I felt like a piece of shit.

The next few days were some of the most awkward, brutal tension I’ve ever experienced. She was now acting like a scorned woman just doing her job, no intimacy whatsoever. We could barely make eye contact.

It took seeing her so closed off, so cold, for me to realize how much I desperately missed her warmth, humor, friendship. How much I longed for the easy intimacy we once had, both emotional and physical. I tried a few times to apologize or explain myself, but she brushed me off — utterly walled off to protect herself.

After days of wrestling with my suppressed feelings, I realized that I was in love with this wonderful woman. Hiring her as a fake girlfriend was one of the best things I had ever done because it brought her into my life … and now I didn’t want to let her go. She was becoming my person, even if she had started out as a farce.

But here’s where I really need some impartial perspective — AITA for freezing up and rejecting her confession?

I didn’t meant to tank her feelings so callously. I think I just ... panicked in that moment. The idea of committing to a real relationship terrified me in ways I didn’t expect. My career keeps me constantly on the go, always jet-setting to the next thing. Could I really give a romance the time and energy it deserves right now?

Part of me also felt massively conflicted about the circumstances. I’m literally paying her to pretend to be my girlfriend as a sort of ongoing petty revenge. If I admitted I wanted to actually date her, wouldn't that blur consent lines in some messed up way? Like, is she just going along with it because she’s on the payroll?

I know these both sound like flimsy excuses, but they were very real fears racing through my mind in that moment. Fears that made me impulsively reject her, despite how utterly gone I was.

Now, days later, those same hangups don’t seem so insurmountable. Maybe she and I could make something work, travel schedules and all. And if she reciprocated feelings, it would be a starting point — not her just placating me for a check. We could rip up the old arrangement and start fresh.

But I haven’t confessed any of this to her yet out of gut-wrenching cowardice. She’s still giving me this cold, professional shoulder. I don’t know how to begin recanting my idiotic reaction and opening up about the REAL reasons I panicked — the commitment fears, the moral dilemma, all of it.

Part of me wonders if I even have the right to try and pursue things with her at this point? I absolutely shattered her feelings for my own hangups just days ago. AITA for potentially stringing her along further by trying to retroactively take it all back? Maybe I’ve missed my window and should just let this phase of my life be over before it gets even more painful and messy?

Ugh, I’m rambling now. The crux is — AITA for how I recklessly rejected her in that moment? Do I even have a right to try and make amends after that thunderous fumble? Or should I just take the L, chalk it up to collateral damage of being in the world’s most messy pseudo-relationship, and move on?

u/juryofone · 14h

YTA, but only because you handled the initial rejection in the worst way possible. Your reasons for hesitating are somewhat understandable. But you really dropped the ball in communicating that to her in the moment.

Instead of calmly explaining where your headspace was at, you just blurted out a kneejerk rejection that crushed her feelings. No wonder she went ice cold — that had to sting like hell! If you had taken a breath and talked it through with more nuance, maybe you could’ve reached an understanding.

The good news is, you’ve now realized how much you DO want this woman in your life as more than a pretend romance. I don’t think you’re an AH for having those feelings or wanting to pursue her again, provided you make a sincere, thoughtful effort to apologize for your tactless approach before.

My advice? Explain the real reasons you froze up, how torn you felt over everything, and make it clear you still have feelings. But lead with a heartfelt apology for how horribly you botched it at first. If she’s willing to give you one more chance after that, DO NOT blow it.

Reply to u/juryofone · 13h

I agree with this take. He’s not an AH for the situation, but majorly the AH for the WAY he handled rejecting her. That had to sting badly after putting herself out there. The mature thing is to own up to that and properly communicate where his head was at.

Reply to u/juryofone · 12h

Yeah, going straight for “I can’t do that, I don’t think of you that way” after she bared her soul was so harsh and unnecessary. He could have let her down wayyyy more gently if he was that conflicted about it all. She must’ve felt like a fool!

u/neutralpartier · 11h

NAH — I get that you panicked in the heat of the moment and why this whole situation is heavy with ethical quandaries. The reality is, you two started off pretending but real feelings developed, and that’s okay! It happens. The moral issue only remains if you knowingly took advantage of or manipulated her feelings while she was on your payroll. Since you seem just as confused as she was, I don’t think any lines were really crossed.

The way forward is to rip off the bandaid once and for all. If you have mutual feelings now, figure out if you want to date as equals. If not, it’s time to part ways amicably while you both still can. But don’t keep paying her while catching feels — THAT would make you an AH.

u/glasshalfempty · 10h

ESH ... look, you suck for how you handled rejecting her confession. That was really hurtful and avoidant no matter your internal struggles. She sucks for going into this thinking it was all pretend, catching real feelings, and expecting you to want to be serious too. You PAID her to be your fake GF and made that clear.

My suggestion is to have an honest discussion about whether you can BOTH separate the transactions from reality. If you’re both all-in on trying for real, great! But one of you is going to get burned if expectations don’t align. And please, for the love of god, stop paying her!

Reply to u/glasshalfempty · 9h

This is exactly what I was thinking too! Way too messy ethically to keep paying her as the lines blur between fantasy job and real romance. Either take the plunge and date properly or go separate ways for good.

Reply to u/glasshalfempty · 8h

Agree but like ... is this even real? How does someone end up hiring a fake girlfriend to make their former best friend jealous? That alone sounds like a bad romcom plot.

u/criticaloverthinker · 7h

I’m calling cap on this whole wild story. Childhood besties turned feuding enemies living in the same building? A fake girlfriend who moves in as part of an elaborate revenge plan? It’s all too unbelievable.

u/struggling-with-reddit · 6h

I’ll play along and rate, but no way is this post legit lol. Having a fake girlfriend you eventually catch feelings for while pranking your neighbor? What’s next, one of you is actually royalty or a secret millionaire? Too much happening here.

Reply to u/struggling-with-reddit · 5h

Hahaha I know right, the excessive details and backstory gave it away as creative writing practice or something. No judgment from me, it was an entertaining read at least!

u/struggling-with-reddit · 4h

Next thing you know, OP will be claiming he’s Michael Schumacher or something 😂

r/AmITheAsshole

u/veganGOAT · 8h

UPDATE — I’m the idiot who rejected then realized I loved my fake girlfriend … and she took me back!

When I made my initial post a bit over a month ago about this whole fake girlfriend situation, most of you understandably called it outrageously far-fetched.

Which, fair. How does someone actually end up hiring a woman to fake date them just to make their neighbor jealous? It does sound ripped straight from a Nicholas Sparks fever dream.

Well put on your straight jackets, because this ridiculous saga is 100% real. And I’ve got an update that’s even crazier than the original tale ...

After reading the feedback on my initial post (and getting a whole lot of shit from some friends too), it became crystal clear that I had to make things right. I put her through the emotional wringer by callously rejecting her in the moment, when her feelings were just as tangled up as mine were. I owed her a sincere apology and a proper explanation of why I froze — with no more deflections or excuses.

So I wrote her a long letter. I laid it all out there. How torn I felt about the ethical and emotional complexities of our arrangement. How her vulnerability awoke my own fears about commitment, my transient lifestyle, and whether I could realistically be the partner she deserved. Mostly, I repeatedly owned up to being a thoughtless prick who shattered her trust out of pure pathetic self-preservation.

But above all, I made one thing clear — despite my bumbling, I had fallen for her too. Completely and utterly. She had cracked through my defenses and healing her hurt became the only thing that mattered.

I ended the letter by owning up to the fact that she now held all the power. While she had moved into this arrangement under certain pretenses, I had violated that implied contract. The ball was entirely in her court now. I would abide by whatever decision she landed on — friendship, an amicable parting of ways, or taking the terrifying gamble of trying to make this the real deal.

When she emerged from her room the next morning, I could barely look at her. I was a sweaty, nauseated wreck, steeling myself for the worst. She sat down next to me in silence and unleashed the longest, most blistering dressing down of my life. How I had made her feel so small, so foolish, so painfully vulnerable. Words like “coward” and “asshole” were thrown around. But you know what phrase stung most?

“I wish you had told me all of this up front instead of dealing with it like a child. I could’ve understood where you were coming from.”

It was a dagger — she was absolutely right. My dumb automatic rejection utterly betrayed the openness and intimacy we had built. Still, she didn’t dismiss me entirely. She would need some time to think, but asked that I stand by for an answer.

The limbo period was … not fun.

After four excruciating days, she came to me again. This time, she was almost shy, like her old self. She told me she had thought it over extensively, and ultimately my explanation and full-hearted apology won her over. I may be an idiot, an asshole, and a bit of a mess (her words), but I was an honest idiot with a good heart under all the bravado. And that’s what had drawn her to me in the first place.

So with the understanding that we would both need to work on our communication skills and respective hang-ups, she was in. We would press the reset button altogether, end our old arrangement, and try to make this relationship happen for real — messy origins be damned.

That was exactly a month ago today, and things have never been better. Sure, we still lean into some harmless (and vaguely unhinged) pettiness with my former friend from time to time. Some habits are too fun to quit cold turkey. But ultimately, I’ve never been so grateful for the insane set of circumstances that brought this amazing woman into my life. We may have started as an acting exercise, but we took a leap together into something beautifully real.

And yeah, I still have to hear shit from literally everyone about how our romance origin story is the most unbelievable meet-cute of all time. But I’ve learned to lean into the absurdity. After all, what’s life without a little chaos and a perfect partner to share in the pandemonium?

Thanks to everyone who offered candid advice on my original post. You may have received an update sooner if not for all the people accusing me of faking it! All I can say is … this is my blissfully ridiculous reality now.

u/juryofone · 7h

Well hot damn, I have to hand it to you — this saga is even wilder than the original post let on! I went from being totally skeptical of the whole outrageous situation to being fully invested in this insane romance. Love that she put you through the wringer a bit before taking you back. You absolutely deserved that and more after treating her like you did.

But huge props to you for manning up with that apology and giving her the power to make the next move. That vulnerability and respect for her feelings despite your own doubts is what true partnership is all about. I have a feeling you two chaotic bastards are going to be just fine as a real couple now that all the crazy pretenses have been stripped away. Wishing you both nothing but more pandemonium and pettiness together!

u/neutralpartier · 7h

I’m officially obsessed with this love story. You went from hiring a woman off to punk your neighbor, to breaking her heart over catching feelings, to doing the MOST to grovel your way back into her good graces, to ACTUALLY SUCCEEDING. It’s romcom gold! I need this to get optioned for a movie immediately.

u/glasshalffull · 6h

As wild as this story has been from start to finish, this update has me straight up emotional! The groveling, the way you explained your fears, her roasting you for days before mercifully taking you back … my heart. Love that she cut straight through the bullshit by calling you an idiot AND acknowledging your good heart. That’s the ideal balance.

I’m so invested in this nonsense and need regular updates on how things progress from here. You better not blow it after all this chaos or I’ll be leading the charge to vandalize your apartment!

u/romanticempath · 5h

What a journey! To go from manufacturing a fake relationship purely for petty vengeance, to developing REAL emotional stakes, to breaking each other's hearts quite viscerally, to finding your way back together through sheer vulnerability? Incredible stuff.

I laughed, cried (a little, don’t judge), and cringed throughout this entire saga. Thank you for bringing us all along for the insane roller coaster. I wish nothing but ridiculous happiness for you and her moving forward!

u/fairytaledreamer · 4h

I’m sorry but I still can’t get over the fact that this is somehow a real series of events? You’re a madman and this is truly unhinged (but also incredible). How did ALL of this unfold before your 40s?

Romcoms have been put to bed. Welcome to 2024, where people actually hire fake GFs to get revenge on their scorned former friends, develop legit attachment issues, torpedo everything in a panic, grovel for redemption fit for cinematic history, and somehow STILL end up together in some sort of demented happily ever after!

All I can say is cherish the chaos you've manifested. I can’t wait to see what bonkers plotlines await the two you. Start recording everything for the biopic!

Reply to u/fairytaledreamer · 3h

“Cherish the chaos” is absolutely the perfect sign off for this update. I’m deceased at this whole wild drama, but also soooo invested! Cannot wait for the inevitable Netflix mini series. Thanks for the laughs, drama, and emotional whiplash!

r/offmychest

u/NotBritneySpears · 21h

My ex-bestie’s wedding to his obnoxious girlfriend was a nightmare … and so was their wedding night (unfortunately)

You’ll have to bear with me on this one, because I’m still reeling a bit from one of the most cringey, uncomfortable, and downright baffling weekends of my entire life. I need to get this off my chest before I have a full mental breakdown.

A couple years ago, I made a post venting about my former best friend’s new girlfriend at the time. For those who missed the saga, she was an insufferably loud woman who seemed to take immense pleasure in loudly narrating her sex life with my former friend right outside my apartment door. It was psychological warfare, plain and simple.

Well, I’m sure you can all see where this is going based on the title. Against all odds and reason, this woman and my ex-friend somehow stuck it out … until he put a ring on it last year. Which leads me to the first in a cascading series of mind-numbing events — receiving a wedding invitation from the happy couple!

Now, let’s be clear — I have not spoken to my former best friend in almost a decade at this point. Not since our cataclysmic falling out (a story for another day). We were thick as thieves until our bond was shattered beyond repair. For him to invite me to his wedding with the woman who crudely mocked their intimacy for my benefit was … certainly a choice.

On one hand, why on EARTH would you invite the person whose heart you deliberately stomped on so many years ago? It felt like a cruel joke, rubbing salt in an open wound that never fully healed. A reminder of their domestic bliss and my bitter ostracism.

Yet on the other hand, maybe there was a subconscious part of me that would have felt insulted if he didn’t invite me after so many shared years? As if he had utterly erased me from his life without a second thought? The thought gut punched me too in an admittedly unhealthy way.

Long story short, I RSVP’d yes … half out of morbid curiosity and half out of a deeply unwell desire to not get excluded from such a significant life event. In hindsight, a foolish decision that kicked off a horrifically uncomfortable series of events.

The wedding itself was … a lot. An over-the-top spectacle at an insanely expensive venue. My miserable self stuck out like a sore thumb surrounded by all the adoring couple’s friends and family. I sat through mushy vows reaffirming their “unlikely origin” in the “most unexpected yet fortuitous way” … while trying not to puke.

So yeah, sheer cringe start to finish. Little did I know the worst discomfort was yet to come!

In perhaps the most on-brand grand gesture of the entire weekend, the groom rented out an entire boutique hotel for all out-of-town guests to stay at after the reception. That way we could all keep the party going nearby before he whisked his new bride off to parts unknown on their honeymoon the next day.

Ever the gracious host with a penchant for the spectacle, he let wedding guests draw for their room assignments out of an actual top hat. I somehow managed to get seated right next to his parents who, while cordial enough, knew me as the ex-best friend responsible for so much fractured history.

But wait, there’s more! Wouldn’t you know, the universe is supremely messed up because I ended up with the room directly underneath the newlywed suite. Yes … I spent their wedding night listening to a live-streamed porn broadcast courtesy of the paper-thin walls and floors.

Dolphin sounds didn’t even BEGIN to cover the unholy noises raining down from above around 2am. I’m talking full-on screams of unbridled passion echoing off the walls at maximum volume. Mind you, this woman had become infamous for over-enunciating their coitus for my benefit previously. Now it was a frighteningly real-life rendition that no noise-cancelling headphones could drown out.

I finally had to flee my room to the lobby. I ended up crashing on one of the lobby couches until an employee politely asked me to leave around 6am. Disheveled, disoriented, and officially diagnosed with PTSD from the sounds I cannot unhear.

So yeah … not exactly a therapeutic reunion that could have allowed my ex-friend and I to bury the hatchet. If anything, this wedding was one massive “screw you” that opened up all the same unresolved wounds. I need about 20 years of intensive therapy to move on.

I also need to find a new place to live because I can’t bear returning to that cursed apartment building.

u/chronicgossiper · 18h

Dude, I think you need to get some serious perspective here. Your ex-friend getting married and going on a honeymoon has absolutely zero to do with you. That level of self-centeredness is off the charts.

Why in the world would this guy plan an entire wedding — one of the biggest days of his life — around secretly tormenting you again over ancient history? That makes no sense. He invited you as a polite gesture after years apart, probably hoping to start burying the hatchet. The room assignments were random by your own admission.

As for the … “noises” … look, they were on their wedding night. Maybe overenthusiastic, but 100% to be expected between newlyweds. It’s not some psychological ploy, just poor planning on their part for thin walls. You’re projecting like crazy if you think that was directed at you specifically.

At a certain point, you have to realize the universe doesn’t actually revolve around your grudges or history with this person. They’ve clearly moved on to live their best life. It’s on you to stop obsessing over them and do the same.

Reply to u/chronicgossiper · 16h

I agree, this is just pure paranoia from OP. No newly wedded couple is sitting around thinking “how can we sneakily stick it to your ex-best friend during our wedding festivities?” That’s deranged thinking.

They invited you to be polite, you drew an unlucky room assignment near their suite, and then biology happened on their wedding night. Hilarious and awkward coincidence? Yes. Intricately designed fuck you from the bride and groom? Come on now, that’s giving them way too much credit.

u/NotBritneySpears · 13h

Maybe you all have a point, and I am still holding onto way too much resentment and baggage from our falling out. My intention wasn’t to imply they orchestrated an elaborate sting operation around their wedding. More just a general sense that the universe has a funny way of reminding me about them at highly inconvenient times over the years.

Reply to u/NotBritneySpears · 12h

Even that line of thinking is incredibly self-centered though. Why would random coincidences or them just … living their lives be the “universe’s way of reminding you” about your failed friendship? That makes it sound like they should perpetually be walking on eggshells and avoiding certain life events just because you can’t get over the past.

Look, it sucks that things fell apart so badly between you two. But they have clearly moved on, as you should too. This obsessive framing of their marriage as some universal affront to you is … not healthy, my dude.

u/nosyandproud · 10h

The wedding itself sounds like it was in poor taste for sure, so I can certainly understand feeling aggravated and triggered being there as the scorned former friend.

That said … you’re borrowing A LOT of trouble by assuming any of their private wedding night activities were purposely being broadcast to you specifically. Projection level 1000 there.

At the end of the day, these people have built a whole entire life and future together now that quite literally has nothing to do with you anymore. You looking for “signs” that they’re still fixated on you is just self-involvement. For your own mental health, you have to let go of whatever happened and see them as background characters in the story of your life now.

u/realitychecker · 7h

OP, you need to take a step back and realize that the sheer logistics involved in purposely torturing you at their wedding are just not plausible. Do you really think they were like:

“Alright honey, for our wedding night I was thinking we should make sure your former friend gets the room directly below ours! That way when we really get after it, he’ll be able to hear every excruciating moan and body smacking sound in haunting detail! That’ll show him for being your friend a decade ago! Mwahaha!”

Come on, mate. That’s delusional cartoon villain level scheming you’re attributing to them. Occam's Razor — they just wanted to consummate their marriage in privacy and didn’t account for the thin hotel walls. The world doesn’t actually revolve around your history with this!

Reply to u/realitychecker · 5h

Lmaooo the idea of them sitting around strategizing the most psychological warfare possible on their wedding night is killing me. “Yes honey, we simply MUST reenact scenes from our noisiest adult films for your ex-best friend’s terrible pleasure!”

u/buildingbridges

OP, it seems like you really miss having your friend in your life if I’m reading between the lines here. Getting invested to this level over random coincidences at his wedding doesn’t come from a place of hatred, but hurt and longing for that bond again.

My advice? Use this weekend as a wake-up call to stop obsessing, reflect on whatever caused your rift, and decide if you want to properly reconnect. If not, you need to rip that band-aid off for good and stop torturing yourself over what will never be again. Or the walls between you two will just get thinner and thinner ...

r/ask

u/amateurdetective · 15h

I think these juicy Reddit posts actually interconnect … but I need your help cracking the code

I think I’ve stumbled onto something wild here and I need the Reddit hive mind to help me piece this tangled web together. Are you ready for some batshit conspiracy-level connecting of barely-there dots? Too bad, I’m going in anyway.

So, over the past few years, I kept seeing these extremely juicy, dramatically-written posts pop up every few months that seemed … oddly interconnected despite being in different subreddits.

Hear me out:

First there was the unhinged post in r/offmychest from a guy ranting about his former best friend’s obnoxious new girlfriend. Dude was griping about how this woman would loudly recount the smutty details of her sex life with the ex-friend whenever she was in his general vicinity, seemingly just to mess with the OP. We’re talking legitimately disturbing stuff about feeling “psychologically tortured” by her oversharing.

Fast forward a few months and I stumble across a wild post in r/relationships from the perspective of this same “obnoxious” girlfriend! Except her story painted a whole different, unhinged picture — she was hired on FACEBOOK MARKETPLACE by the former friend to literally move in and fake date him as part of an ongoing revenge plot against the OP from the first post. She rapidly develops legitimate feelings for the guy and it becomes a messy will-they-won’t-they romcom situation.

But THEN there was a follow-up post from the fake boyfriend’s side in r/AmITheAsshole about him realizing he caught feelings too before nearly blowing it, followed by another saga-capping update about them deciding to pursue a real relationship against all odds and absurdity.

Are you seeing the parallels here? These three posters each gave one side of an absolute dumpster fire of a convoluted love triangle situation that seemingly intersected. And based on the intricate backstories, my crackpot theory is they all emanated from the same formerly tight friend group that experienced a bitter falling out.

The insane attention to detail, literary flair, and geometry of it all almost had me utterly convinced these were all fictionalized creative writing exercises posted separately across Reddit … but building on the same unhinged storylines each step of the way.

I’m utterly obsessed with mapping this all out into one cohesive narrative now. My working theory is something like this:

Some guy hired an actress to pose as his fake GF and torment his former friend as revenge for some past betrayal

The two fake partners rapidly caught real feelings amid the ruse, he panics and nearly torpedoes it

Meanwhile, the ex-best friend is losing his mind overhearing the fake girlfriend’s loud performances and comes to Reddit for advice, not realizing it’s all a ploy

After a saga of miscommunication, the fake boyfriend comes clean and the couple decide to actually date for real

Capping things off, the former friend is forced to attend their wedding where he’s subjected to one final night of unholy noises

Does it all track? Or have I completely unraveled the conspiracy and stumbled onto a drastically personal set of circumstances being workshopped on Reddit? If so, that’s some ludicrously elaborate storytelling!

I need to know if I’m onto something here or completely off my rocker. If the former, I’ll burn every last calorie mapping out a master record of events across all the posts. If the latter … someone needs to drop their juicy fanfic writing prompts because these were WILDLY entertaining reads.

Help me connect these dots or point me towards any other potentially linked tales! This has been a public service aneurysm brought to you by pure boredom.

u/scepeticbynature · 14h

Wow, you’ve gone full Sherlock Holmes with this. I’m dying at how insanely detailed your working theory is in tying together these random Reddit posts into one cohesive narrative. This is either a brilliant piece of performance art … or you need your meds adjusted, my friend.

Reply to u/scepticbynature · 12h

Hahaha exactly! The amount of time and brain power OP has devoted to mapping this out is beyond obsessive. I don’t know whether to applaud the commitment to the bit or get them professional help.

u/amateurdetective · 10h

I’m sorry, did you actually read through the posts in question? The intersecting pieces of random, elaborate backstory between all three distinct voices is way too specific and layered for it to be an accidental alignment. There are unambiguous throughlines about:

A pair of feuding former childhood best friends

One hiring a woman off Facebook to pose as his fake GF and torment the other as revenge

Said fake relationship descending into a very real emotional entanglement for both parties

The eventual fallout of the ex-friend having to bear witnessing the real couple’s wedding and chaos that followed

Like that’s such a bizarrely specific plot keeping consistent across three different users’ lenses! So you’re either pointing out the artistry of someone doing an incredibly elaborate creative writing exercise across multiple subs … or these people are just leading unbelievably unhinged lives. And part of me hopes it’s the latter? It’s too batshit crazy not to be true!

Reply to u/amateurdetective · 9h

Or, and hear me out … it’s all an internal dialogue you’re having with your numerous Reddit personalities to work out your own unresolved relationship issues. We’re all just incredibly intricate fragments of your aching psyche!

u/opinionatedtruther · 7h

Lmao you are both nuts, but I have to side with OP on this one. The chances of these being all interconnected fabricated stories is way too perfect to be an accident. All the tiny threads and recurring backstories/character details woven between wildly different subreddit posts? That’s not a coincidence.

I could buy it maybe being some extended Reddit fanfic experiment between a couple of redditors seeing who can craft more engaging characters and drama while world-building off each other’s plot threads. Like a weird form of collabing through the confined lens of Reddit posts. It would be pretty genius if so.

But for it to be entirely real with all the coinciding details scattered across entirely unrelated posts like that? I’m sorry, but there’s just no way. That’s beyond the scope of believability for me. OP may be bungling the conspiracy, but they’re onto something for sure!

u/amateurdetective · 6h

THANK YOU, someone gets it! And to answer your other theory … while I can’t 100% rule out some sort of viral Reddit fanfic experiment, I struggle to believe even the most creative writers would be capable of improvising THAT intricately interconnected of a storyline stream-of-consciousness style like that.

Like each voice and perspective they inhabit remains remarkably consistent across such wildly different contexts (relationship drama, life events, ethical debates, and updates). It would take incredible skill to stay in the headspaces of these distinct individuals and keep their personalities/plot orbits from tangling into an incomprehensible mess. While possible, it seems incredibly unlikely.

That’s what has me believing there’s a remarkable kernel of stranger-than-fiction truth at the heart of this whole saga being teased out piece-by-piece. Or again … I’ve finally been gaslit into being a tin foil hatter of beautiful Reddit fantasies. Either way I’m here for it!

Reply to u/amateurdetective · 3h

All I have to say is please touch some grass and post to r/creativewriting instead 🙄

1K notes · View notes

macfrog · 9 months

Text

mile high sex on fire chapter three

we're going overseas baby! (this is gonna be a three-parter cause i hyperfixated and couldn't stop myself so BUCKLE UP) author's note: i absolutely do NOT condone the use of private jets. they are GROSS and terrible for the environment and just fucking fly commerical ok? but in this ceo!joel ficland, private jets are fuelled by delusion and emit only clean, pure oxygen. thank you for reading. now, with that in mind, please enjoy reader being railed in a plane cabin. i love u all to paris n back 🤍🥐

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you accompany joel on a work trip to paris, to eat good food, drink expensive wine, and…get to know each other a little better

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) environmental crime, plane sex, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, daddy kink, joel being a fucking exhibitionist menace, creampie, more gf representation, showering together, softdom!joel, sugardaddy!joel, heavy on the flirting, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, very ridiculous spending on very ridiculous things, workplace relationship and therefore odd power dynamic yadda yadda yadda

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.” “They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.” “Who?” Joel asks. He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes. “Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”

You’ve never been on a work trip with Joel. Usually, he likes to take them alone. Martha told you once about a time a couple years before you started when Joel took an intern to a conference in Canada, and the kid spent the entire first night in the hotel bar, missed the conference the next day, and only just made the flight home, scruff of his neck between Joel’s knuckles.

He racked up a bill of nearly a thousand dollars just on liqueur and finger food. Joel had sworn he’d never take anybody anywhere with him again.

But there’s this client over in Europe he’s due to meet – an annual thing where they sit on the terrace of some luxurious hotel, drink expensive wine that tastes like piss, according to Joel, and have a cock-off over their money and status.

Sounds like fun, right?

You’ve a pretty good idea why he asked you. And he made a pretty convincing pitch: he’d promised you a relaxing weekend. You didn’t have to sit in on any meetings, he’d let you amble around the city by day, take you for a fancy dinner or two at night. All expenses paid. You barely had to lift a finger.

As per the deal, Martha organized the travel documents. Printed them, collated them, handed them to you in a neat little folder with a paperclip on top and a Post-It note with Have fun! written in red ink. You’d slipped it into your bag and followed Joel to his car, nodding to Rand as you ducked under the starlit ceiling.

Joel’s left hand sits around your thigh – because where else would it be? – his right clutching his phone, thumb scrolling as he absentmindedly reads some document. You’re watching the city soar by from behind tinted glass. Before long, it’s the dark green of trees flickering by, and then, canvased by the clear blue sky, an air traffic control tower in the distance.

The Rolls saunters past the main entrance to the airport. You watch it roll by, leaning forward in your seat.

“Wait, what…?”

“What, baby?” Joel asks, looking up from his phone.

You usually knew every fine detail of the plan by heart. It was your job to. But with Martha being in charge of arranging your flight, you’d missed one crucial speck of information this time. And that is –

You’re travelling by private fucking jet.

The car drives across smooth tarmac toward a pointed white plane, bold against the brilliant blue sky behind it. There are four people standing at the bottom of the steps leading into it; what you assume are the two pilots, and two smartly dressed flight attendants.

“How did I never know you had a…?”

Joel smirks. “Never showed you it. C’mon.”

He gets out, strolls around to your door and opens it for you. You’re still gawking at the jet.

“Jeez…” you whisper, hopping out of the car.

“What is it?” he says through a chuckle, leading you across the tarmac.

“I feel so…Everyone looks so…I’m in my fucking sweatpants, Joel.”

He looks at you under low brows, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Like he doesn’t want to hear one more word of it. He holds an arm out; his pinkie bumps into your tummy.

“I think you look beautiful, darlin’.”

It might’ve stopped you in your tracks. Might’ve crumbled the entire airport to dust. Might’ve made the sun drop out of the sky. You’re not sure. You wouldn’t notice if you dropped dead right now.

His words, his soft voice when he says them, send a pang of white noise through your ears, echoing around and bouncing off the walls of your head.

You swallow. Digest what he just said. And do your best to forget all about it.

Joel takes your hand and leads you to the plane steps, helping you up. He follows at your heels. “Thanks, Jerry, Lisa,” he says. You give both pilots a nervous smile as you pass.

The airconditioned cabin chills your arms when you reach the top, twisting around to look back to Joel.

“Go on.” Joel nods, palm ushering you inside.

You step forward and turn right, standing in the doorway to a pristine, white-walled, wooden interior cabin, leather seats dotted against the walls, dark brown glassy tables between them, soft gray carpet at your feet, vacuum cleaner lines still visible. There’s a long plush couch on the left wall, today’s newspaper on the side table next to it.

You feel Joel’s body shell around yours, his chin dips against your ear.

“Like it?”

“Not really. Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution.”

“How many trees you want me to plant to make up for it?”

You tut. “What are you doin’ in business? You’re so funny.”

You wander off without looking back, heading for one of the window seats.

“Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “there’s a separate cabin up back, too, if you want it.”

“Separate cabin?”

He nods. “’s got a bed. It’s cozy.”

A bed. Of course this asshole has a fucking bed in his private jet.

The pilots file in behind him, dipping into the cockpit. The flight attendants follow, and begin preparing for takeoff. Joel strolls over to the seat opposite yours, giving your legs a nudge under the varnished table when he sits down.

You both click your seatbelts into place, relax, and look out the window as the jet rolls by the airport, heading for the runway. The engine fires up properly, a deep hum you feel rattling up your spine, and then you’re pulled forward, body pushing heavily into the soft leather of your seat.

The plane races down the runway, the grass and trees blurring into a mix of dark and light green, before you’re lifting off the tarmac and into the air, your tummy flipping a little from excitement and maybe some nerves, and…Joel’s gaze on you.

When your eyes meet his, he scans down. Your little black t-shirt, skin tight. The way your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. Down to the waist of your sweatpants, then further down your legs. You know exactly what’s going through his mind.

And, honestly…being on a private jet on your way to a free weekend in Paris, accompanied by the best sex you’ve ever had…? Goes against a couple of your core beliefs about the world, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t on your mind, too.

The flight attendants let you guys know you can unbuckle your belts now, and, like a hive mind, you both unclip them and stand.

“Was gonna go check out that, uh–”

“I’ll show you to it,” Joel cuts in, taking your bag and leading you down the aircraft. He dips his head as he walks, the cabin too small for him to stand straight. You follow like a fucking dog, trying to hide the spring in your step.

Through a door concealed to look like part of the wall is a small room with a double bed, soft white sheets untouched. There’s a little TV on the wall opposite, a small table with another comfy chair by one of the windows, and a rail for hanging up clothes. The shades over the windows are pulled almost all the way down, sunlight splintering through and lining the soft carpet.

Joel wasn’t wrong. It is cozy.

He sets your bag down on the floor and closes the door behind you. You notice he locks it.

The corners of your lips tug, your eyebrows raise. “Might be classier than my bedroom.”

He scoffs, and you turn, falling back onto the bed and kicking your shoes off.

“Alright,” you announce, flat-out on the sheets, “I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”

Joel looks surprised. Almost – offended. “Sh…You’re gonna sleep?”

“’s why you got a bed, ain’t it?”

He narrows his eyes, runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. Steps forward. Sticks a knee between yours. “Not exactly.”

You smile up at him. He’s pulling the jacket from his shoulders, plain white tee underneath. He looks so fucking good. The man always looks so fucking good. He tosses the jacket to the floor and bends down over you. Hands pressing deep into the bed either side of your head, torso hovering over yours. Hips just too far away for you to lift yours up to meet them.

You take hold of his wrists. “Then…show me what it’s for.”

Joel looks from your lips to your chest, then back up to your eyes, grinning like a devil. He lifts one hand and his fingers come down to play with the drawstring of your sweatpants, tugging painfully slow on them. You want to whine, but that’d be letting him win too easily.

He loosens the waist and his fingers find the hem of your tee tucked beneath.

“You gonna show me those pretty tits, baby?”

You nod, biting your lip as he peels your top from your body, your back arching, arms splaying out on the bed. Joel uncovers your chest and slips the top over your head, discarding it to the side and leaning back to take the view in.

You didn’t wear a bra today. Wanted to travel in as much comfort as possible.

One of your wiser choices.

“Fuck, darlin’…” he breathes, eyes set on your perky tits, your round, hardened nipples. His reaction sends a fleet of electricity down to your core.

“C’mere,” you whisper, taking his shirt in your fists and dragging him down against your naked torso. And then his hips are there, right against yours, and you grind up into him, feeling his bulging crotch between your legs.

Your fingers dance along the hem of his shirt and he lifts off of you, letting you tug it over his head before his chest is pressed back against yours. You part your lips and he fills your mouth with his tongue, hands in your hair, body grinding against your own. He’s pushing you further up the mattress until you’re both in the center, disturbing the sheets and shifting the cushions decorating the bed.

Joel’s hand trails down your naked stomach and under your pants, cutting past the lace of your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger daring ever lower. You moan and drag your hips forward to edge his fingers further, until they’re dipping between your folds and your body’s rolling with pleasure.

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, “that’s it, huh? That’s what you want?”

“Uhuh,” you nod, bottom lip between your teeth, eyelashes batting in a plea for him to keep going. Keep fucking going.

His mouth dips between your jaw and your shoulder, teeth picking up your hot skin to suck a bruise while two fingers push inside of you, lifting your back from the mattress and into Joel’s rock-solid body. Some noise escapes his lips, something caught between a laugh and a groan.

“So tight, baby,” he murmurs, drawing a smile across your face.

And then your hands are messing around at his waistband, fingers fumbling with the button. Wanting him in your hands as much as he has you around his own. Needing to feel what you’re doing to him, since he’s well aware of what he’s done to you.

Joel’s hand slips gently out from under your pants and his weight lifts off of you. In the slivers of light streaming through the cabin windows, his silhouette steps back off the bed and shoves the denim down his thighs. His jeans hit the floor and as quick as he left you, he’s back pressing into you again, hard outline of his length nudging against the top of your thigh.

You slip a hand under the elastic of his underwear and take hold of his cock, while he picks up where he left off between your legs. Your lips connect, breathing laughs and pants and desperate moans into each other, hands working to push each other closer and closer…

Joel’s fingers pump in and out, curling just enough to hit your G-spot every time. His thumb’s bumping at your clit, pushing waves of pleasure with each circle. He adds a third finger when you start to gasp, the movement of your fist around his shaft becoming messy and staggered. You’re trying to focus on him, trying to get him there as fast as he’s getting you, but he’s so fucking good at it, and you’re starting to fade out of the cabin.

Your eyes roll shut; head falls back against the bed. You’re still trying to fucking jack him off, as if he’d even let himself cum in your hands before he’s been inside you. But you’re desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of having you unfold on his hand less than ten minutes into this. Desperately trying not to give in to him and his stupid private jet.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel whispers in your ear, pressing a delicate kiss to your hair, “you can cum. Do it for me.”

“F-uck you,” you whisper, and you cave.

Let’s put it down to the air pressure when you’re this high up. In fact, let’s just say: you’re on a plane, and you’ve never had anything remotely close to sex on a plane before, and that’s why, when your orgasm bursts through, you cum harder than you think you’ve ever done before. It’s because of how fucking insane this is.

Let’s just say.

You come to with your face buried in the crook of Joel’s neck. His chest is vibrating, Adam’s apple bobbing. You pull back and notice the dimples in his swollen cheeks, the crow’s feet by his eyes, and then…the wide smile spread across his lips.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he asks through a laugh.

You curse at him again, eyes screwing shut. His hand’s still between your legs, slowly moving in and out, lulling you through the tail end of your orgasm. Your hands have deserted their original job; they’re clutching Joel’s shoulders. You don’t even remember grabbing onto him.

“Got somethin’ that’ll make you feel even better,” he breathes, and before you’re fully awake, his hands are on your hips, flipping you over. He drags your pants down your legs, discarding them to the floor beside his.

You sigh when he pulls your ass up into the air, resting your ear on your folded arms. Accepting defeat, or maybe just…letting him do what he does best.

Joel slips your panties to the side and runs his cock up and down your dripping cunt. You flinch, still sensitive, and feel him slow down.

“Gonna make you feel real good, alright?”

“Mhm,” you reply, eyes closing again as he lines up.

It sounds like a bit of a dumb thing to say. Joel makes you feel good every time his hands are on you, without question. Even that first night, in that dive bar, before he’d ever really done anything. His hands sent electricity through your body that you failed all weekend to rid yourself of. But you hear what he’s really saying.

You haven’t had each other yet without someone on the other side of the wall, waiting for one of you. It’s always been a rush, always been about that race to the finish line just to satisfy your needs, and then return to Earth as soon as you’re done.

There’s no need to rush to that finish line this time around. Nobody’s waiting. Joel can do whatever he wants, can fuck you however he likes, and have you under his hand for as long as he wants. As long as you both last.

The bed makes sense now, doesn’t it?

He pushes inside you, thick, hard, full. You gasp, face burying into the comforter, legs spreading to accommodate his size. Your fingers grasp onto the sheets, nails digging into the soft fabric as he fills you up, pulls halfway out, and rocks back in.

“Fuck, Joel,” you cry, and his hips slam into yours.

“Huh?” he asks.

“Daddy,” you correct yourself, still gasping.

“Better.”

Joel pounds into you, strong grip on your waist, pulling you up and down his cock at a punishing pace. His grunts match your whines. Your hand stretches out to grab something – anything – to hold onto, to steady yourself as your body begins to collapse.

“Daddy,” you mewl again, muffled by the cotton of the sheets, like it’s the only word coming to mind. “So – fuckin’ – good.”

“Louder, baby,” he replies, groaning when you tighten around him.

You whimper. “F-fuck, daddy.”

Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.”

“They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.”

“Who?” Joel asks.

He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes.

“Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”

His hips crack into yours again once, and then halt. You cry out, the sudden feeling of him in his entirety, filling you up, pushing right up against your cervix, too much to bear. Too much to be muffled by the mattress beneath you.

“Let – them,” Joel’s hips drag back, slow, leaving you empty, “hear – you.”

He thrusts forward again, painfully, and you moan. Loud. “Ah, daddy,” you cry out again, and you swear Joel’s chest rumbles behind you with a laugh.

“That’s it, good girl. Tell ‘em how good it feels.”

You feel your mind start to slip, the cabin going with it. Your eyes roll closed, your mouth falls open. The only sound escaping your lips a whine, over and over, shaped just like the word daddy, daddy, daddy.

Joel’s forehead rests on the crown of yours, his voice a soft hum at the nape of your neck.

“See? Sound way too pretty to keep quiet, darlin’.”

He’s panting, words spilling out of his mouth between gasps and grunts. Hips are snapping at a grueling pace. You reach for his wrists again, planted in the bed either side of your head, and squeeze as if it might relieve the building tension in the pit of your stomach.

But he’s going so fast, so hard, fucking you dumb. And you can feel him start to falter, when your walls hold him snug, tightening around him as you reach your high.

He cums when you do. You feel him empty inside you as you hurtle through your own orgasm, rippling bliss all around your body. You both cry out, filling the tiny room with groans of pleasure and release together.

Your hips give, fall flat to the mattress, Joel still inside, slowly rocking back and forth, pushing his cum deeper and deeper inside you.

His elbows sink into the bed at your shoulders, caging you under his body as the remnants of your highs wash away. He’s running soft, wet kisses from your neck down the top of your spine. When your body stills, the pulsing of your cunt a mere flutter, he slips out from between your legs and pushes up off of your body.

Joel collapses alongside you atop the tangle of sheets and pillows, skin sticking, bodies thrumming with energy. You roll over to lie next to him. Chests rising and falling in unison, fingers intertwining at your sides. You’re staring at the ceiling, head tilting to rest on Joel’s shoulder, and he places a soft kiss to your hair.

You glance up to look into his brown eyes, lit by the thin rays of bursting sunlight seeping through the windows. The way the light moves across him as the plane turns, brilliant rays sweeping over the horizon and reflecting every angle of his face.

When he notices you, he dips his chin, and you prop yourself up, pressing your lips to his. Joel holds your jaw softly, thumb grazing over your cheekbone. His other hand scoops around your back, holding your body close to his.

“Sleepy,” you mutter, and he nods.

“Get some rest,” he tells you, but you’re already laying your head down on his chest.

Your heavy eyes blink the jet out of view; Joel’s hand stroking your hair sends you off to sleep.

----------

You wake under the white sheets, still wrapped up in Joel’s arms, to the sound of voices on the TV. Some comedy movie. Sounds like Adam Sandler. Joel mutes it when he notices you stirring.

“Afternoon,” he mutters, voice husky.

“Hi,” you reply softly, and his hand runs through your hair. “How long was I out?”

“Only a little while. They’re probably getting ready for lunch. You want me to head out first?”

You nod, suddenly feeling ashamed…and hungry. “Yeah. ‘n can you…make sure they don’t ask?”

“They ain’t gonna ask,” he groans, laughing as you roll off his body and let him up.

You watch as he dresses himself, toned arms pulling his tee over broad shoulders; tan legs slipping back into neat jeans. He slings his jacket over his arm and bends back down over you to let you kiss him again – slow, deep. Something of a thanks, a you’re welcome, maybe. A marker, anyway. A prelude to this weekend.

And then he slips out front. You lock the door behind him and start collecting your clothes, hopping around the cabin as you pull them on.

Before you leave, you grab a hoodie from your bag, feeling a little more exposed than you did when you first boarded. You toss it over your shoulders and open the door.

“Couple more hours,” Joel tells you as you sit opposite him, propping your ankles on his lap. His hands run over your socks, brows furrowing when he notices the pattern. “Bart Simpson?”

“Comfiest socks I own. Good plane socks.”

“Alright.”

“Go on. Make fun of ‘em.”

“I didn’t say anything. You want somethin’ to eat?”

You smirk. “Sure.”

He pours you a glass of water from the metal jug on the table between you both, and one of the attendants appears as if by magic on your right.

“Got you gluten free stuff,” Joel says as you gulp at the ice water.

You almost choke. “Seriously?”

His face twists, confused. Mirroring your astonishment. “Yeah. You think I’d let you starve?”

You almost laugh before you hear it, and realize how sweet it is. You didn’t even know Joel noticed this stuff. Didn’t think it’d be on his radar.

“Thank you,” you whisper, lifting your glass to mask the blush burning across your cheeks.

Joel nods once. Then turns to the attendant and asks for a burger, side of fries, side of onion rings. “We got sweet potato fries, Len?” he asks.

“Think so,” Len replies. “Want them instead? Or both?”

Joel thinks it over for probably two seconds, before he shrugs and says, “Both. Thanks, man.”

Len turns to you, but you’re still staring at Joel. “Unbelievable,” you mutter.

Joel holds his hands out. “I’m hungry.”

You give Len a smile. “What’s…What can I have?”

“We got gluten free flour, bread, pasta, uh…garlic bread for sides, too. And a couple desserts.”

“What the f…?” You stare at Joel. “You didn’t have to–”

“Just order, baby,” Joel says, palm facing you, stopping you from going on.

“I’ll, uh…You do fried chicken?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll have fried chicken, side of fries, and coleslaw, if you have it, please.”

Len nods curtly and heads back up front, leaving you and Joel on your own again. You finish your thought.

“What the fuck?”

He’s chuckling. “What?”

“You…This is…Nothing, you just…you blow my mind, every time.”

Joel shrugs, grinning. “Blow your back out, ‘n all.”

“Alright.” You snatch your ankles from his grasp – Bart’s toothy smirk slipping from between Joel’s fingers – and sit up straight, looking out of the window to the dazzling sky; bright blue on top and fluffy white clouds beneath.

Your food arrives shortly after and the pair of you eat in comfortable silence. Joel checks through his emails, you sit back in your seat with your headphones in. It’s nice, not having a phone to answer or Joel’s schedule to fix. Nicer, still, having him feet away from you, giving you all the attention you could possibly want at the drop of a hat.

You land in Paris at 10PM local time. Straight off the plane and into another sleek, black car, driven by a gray-haired, sharp-suited man named Denis whose hand Joel shakes before climbing in beside you. He slides into the leather seat and you fall against one another, your head on his shoulder. Partition wound up, though neither of you feel much like doing anything that’d require privacy. Your eyes are tired, heavy, you smell like eight hours’ worth of plane, and you’re basically salivating at the thought of collapsing into a huge, soft, clean bed.

Which is exactly what the pair of you do when you reach the hotel. You’re in some extravagant suite picked by Joel; you manage two glances around the dark place before he’s leading you by hand off to the bedroom, cases still parked at the front door.

And before you know it, you’re sinking into the plush sheets of a king-size bed, limbs entangled with Joel’s, city lights twinkling through the window into your sleep-glazed eyes as you drift off.

----------

Day breaks across Paris around seven in the morning. You wake with the blue glow of the sky, dusty pink on the horizon bleeding upward as the sun rises higher. When your eyes open and adjust to the light, you glance over Joel’s still sleeping body and notice the view behind him, split in half by the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.

The curtains are still pulled back – neither of you noticed nor had the energy to shut them when you arrived. You’re both still in your clothes from yesterday, too. Joel managed to kick off his shoes, and you remember him pulling yours off before he fell into the bed next to you. You didn’t even sleep under the bedsheets.

You push yourself up off the bed, stretching your back and glancing around. This room is fucking nuts. Gold accented – gold handles, gold light switches, gold frames. Pretentious modern art decorating each wall, an upholstered headboard that almost touches the ceiling in front of you. Marble-topped nightstands with spotless silver lamps, glinting in the light.

You roll off of the bed, Bart Simpson socks landing on soft carpet, though his face has been awkwardly twisted around your ankle in your sleep. You shuffle off to a door on the left, leading down a small hallway – past some fancy ornate vase – to the living room: a wide, open space with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the bedroom, looking out to the same view.

Two velvet couches sit opposite one another, a white marble coffee table sat between. Behind them, a dining table with eight chairs. Gleaming varnished wood. And then, through a couple more doors, a kitchenette with modern white cabinets, a coffee machine, a microwave.

Fucking. Nuts.

You hear Joel stirring in the bedroom and wander back through, dazed with sleep and amazement at this place. He’s rubbing his eyes when you walk in and spring down on top of him on the bed.

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, voice thick and husky. His hands fall onto your thighs, sat either side of his waist, and his eyes flutter open. “You’re energetic.”

“Have you fucking seen this place?”

“I have. Stay here every year.”

You press further into him, feeling a swell in his jeans and doing your best to ignore it.

“Can we go explore?”

“Outside?”

You nod eagerly, despite the way his face screws up.

“Baby,” he sighs, “I’m still in my damn jeans.”

“So, go shower. Get dressed.”

He’s not done protesting. “We travelled for, like, nine hours straight yesterday.”

“’n now we’re here and we ain’t here long, so let’s go do something. C’mon.”

You lace your fingers through Joel’s and pull him up toward you, sitting in his lap on the bed. He buries his face in your chest, mumbling something incoherent into the cotton of your shirt.

You giggle. “Huh? Can’t hear you.”

Joel pulls back with a sigh and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Alright,” he says, “go get ready.”

You leap off of him with a quiet squeal of glee.

As you pace around the suite, dragging your case into the bedroom, fishing some clean clothes and your toothbrush out, practically skipping into the marble-tiled shower room, Joel lays back in bed watching your every move. Smiling, eyebrows lifting with encouragement anytime you look over to him. Head resting back in the crook of his arm, sleepy eyes taking in all of your excitement.

You’re rinsing shampoo out of your hair when he slides into the shower behind you, a quick kiss to your shoulder.

“No sex,” you tell him with a pointed finger, squeezing the lemon scented gel into the palm of your hand.

“No, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, dipping his head to let you lather up the suds in his salt and pepper hair. “So, where we goin’?”

You shrug. “Wherever. Lots to do in Paris.”

“Wanna get you somethin’ nice,” he says, eyes screwed shut as he runs his head under the flow of water, “a thanks for comin’ with me.”

“I think maybe the private jet, the hotel room, plus the free trip in itself is thanks enough, Joel.”

But Joel disagrees. Heartily, apparently.

He takes your hand and helps you out of the car on a tree-lined street, tall cream buildings on either side. It looks like a movie set. You’re following Joel’s lead, spending more time craning your neck to look up at the huge, ornate windows guarded by black balconettes while he guides you across cobblestone toward the smoothly paved sidewalk.

You’re not even paying attention to where he’s taking you until you’re stood in the middle of a glistening store, plush rug under your feet, lavish chairs in the center of the room, a rainbow of fashion surrounding you.

“What…? No, Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes scanning the room. He takes a step, and you tug on his arm.

“I can’t fucking afford Gucci,” you whisper, pulling his body back against yours.

He hands you a bemused smile, eyebrows low, corners of his lips pulled. “All expenses paid, baby.”

Your arm falls limp and he drags you through the store, past mannequins in patterned gowns and silk shirts, past shelves of obnoxiously huge purses and accessories gleaming in the spotlights from above.

Your fingers stay locked around Joel’s hand, your head swiveling so much you worry it might fall off, looking from the vibrant floral wallpaper down to the spotless tiled floor, glancing politely at attendants and then dipping your head and wandering by them behind Joel.

“See anything?” he asks, turning to you at the opposite end of the store.

It’s ridiculous. This entire trip…is ridiculous, and you’ve only been here twelve hours. Following around at Joel’s heels like a puppy, watching as he clicks his fingers – no, before he even gets the chance to click his fingers – and everything and anything either of you could dream up just…happens. Right in front of you.

He won’t let up. You know him. If you tried to pull him back outside onto the street, he’d buy you something for the hell of it.

You know him. So, you decide to use that to your advantage.

“Gucci…I dunno…” you muse, squinting at him.

“Not your thing?” he asks, and he seems curious, but – you know him. You know that behind that polite mask is a smirk thick enough to make your knees wobble. He knows what you’re doing. “Where to, angel?”

You lead him out of the store. Feel his shadow behind you, watching as you thank the doorman and take a left around the corner, passing under the shade of the gently rustling trees. Arm in arm, you arrive before a huge archway, pristine windows surrounding the door to…

“Dolce & Gabbana…” Joel looks up at the stone writing atop the arch. “Alright. Classy girl.”

You giggle, pulling him past the wrought-iron fence and inside.

It’s sleeker, moodier. Less in your face. Suits you a bit better, though you can’t quite swallow back the guilt that sticks in your throat as you saunter around, Joel right behind you. It catches you when an assistant touches your arm, snapping you out of your daze, and asks if you need anything.

“No, thank you,” you reply, mirroring her smile. “Thank you.”

She nods and floats off.

Joel’s frame shells around yours, dipping his jaw to lean against your shoulder. “What about that one?” His eyes flit up to a mannequin just past a lit table of purses.

“The black one?”

“Mhm.”

“You like that?”

He repeats, a little more exaggerated: “Mhm.”

You shrug. “I do look good in black.”

“Look better in nothin’.” Joel steps forward and takes the tag between two delicate fingers, deliberately hiding it from you. He turns back, lifts his eyebrows in question. “Buy you it if you promise to wear it tonight.”

You smile. This man knows how to barter. And you take no convincing at all.

“Alright,” you accept, “deal.”

----------

Three hours later, you’re strolling down another cobbled street with an ice cream in your hand. And not much else, by the way. Joel’s taken all the shopping bags back to the hotel. He slapped your hand away when you tried to lift one of them from his clutches.

The wind sifts gently through your hair, cooling your face and neck, toying with the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It flutters the French flags overhead, red, white and blue blowing in the breeze. Cars roll by, engines humming as they weave in and out between one another, horns calling out in the distance.

Joel hadn’t let you come up to the counter to pay with him, had insisted you stay right where you were standing, and when he finished up and laced his fingers through yours, it was like a surge of energy had shot through him.

He led you out of the store and into another, and another, and another…until his hands were wrapped around, what, six bags? All carrying different components of your outfit for tonight.

And then he’d noticed the time – unlocked his phone with a curse under his breath, and kissed your temple. Midday. He was meeting Jean-Marc in an hour.

“You wanna come back with me? Chill at the hotel?” he’d asked, dialing his chauffeur’s number.

“I’m good,” you said, smiling sweetly as he squeezed your shoulder. Then, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you his card.

“’case you see anything else you want.”

“Joel,” you protested, but he’d shut you up by clicking his teeth and walking off, leaving you to follow after him, shamelessly beaming.

He’d apologized another three times before Denis had pulled up, then once more as he loaded the trunk with your bags.

“See you later. Enjoy your meeting,” you teased, laughing at the way his face twisted into a grimace as the car rolled off.

It’d been a pretty nice afternoon. You’d dipped into a couple more stores – though, without Joel to impress, the low-cut dresses and short miniskirts were somewhat less exciting.

That is, until you passed by a lingerie store. You stood outside for a second, peering by your reflection in the window to study what lay behind. Suddenly lace and satin – and the idea of Joel seeing you in them – seemed a lot more enticing.

You’d pieced together an entire getup: bra, panties, garter belt, even a pair of stockings, and a silk robe to go over the top. You handed over Joel’s card, ignoring the way your cheeks began to heat and focusing instead on how smug you felt, and skipped out of the store, bag in hand.

You’d called Denis five minutes ago to ask for a ride back to the hotel. He called you Madame, he said Nonono every time you apologized for bothering him again, and he promised he’d be there in less than ten minutes.

You pace back and forth along the curb, waiting for the shiny black Maybach to pull up. You’ve checked your phone, like, five times already, kinda hoping there’ll be a text from Joel. You swing the bag between your fingers.

A door swings open behind you, giggles filter out into the street, and you turn to see a couple bounding out of a jewelers, hand in hand. She flicks her left wrist up, tilts it in the sun. It’s hard to ignore the light bouncing off of her ring finger. You feel nauseous at the sight.

Suddenly the Parisian street dissolves, and what sweeps over in replacement is a long, empty lawn, maple trees swaying menacingly in the distance. There’s a blur of bright blue sky, sunrays bursting across your vision. Your hand comes up to shield your eyes, and there he is. There he was.

He was on the grass. You told him to stand up; his suit trousers would be stained green. He did it anyway. Trembling hands, expectant stare. You stuttered and stammered your way through a sentence fueled by shock and horror and…resentment.

And then you did it anyway, too.

The crackle of tires coming to a stop on the road in front drags your fraught gaze from the couple, now strutting off down the avenue. You reach for the door handle, but Denis is already out of the car and leaning down, hand on your back as you duck into the backseat.

----------

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1K notes · View notes

sigmoon · 5 months

Note

Hello! Do you have any Jouno hcs? I know you once mentioned him in one post that got deleted

Anyways, how are you doing? I hope your day is going well! ^_^

Jouno Headcanons // sfw + nsfw

cw: dark content; dubcon/noncon, cnc, emotional manipulation, blackmail, prostitution, Jouno being a red flag. // mostly gen. neutral, except for one or two hcs.

author’s note: hi, nonnie! I’m doing okay, some things are stressful, others are going well, so it’s an up and down currently. But I’m happy that I managed to finish a request and answered some asks that have been piling up :) I hope you’re having a nice day.

SFW

Jouno is that person who gets super pissed when there’s a crying baby in public, like on a train, and it just won’t stop wailing. He has to pull himself together to not give the baby that creepy glare of his, though he's probably the reason the baby started crying in the first place. He doesn't have a kind face.

You never know whether he likes or hates you. Whether you and him are coworkers or acquaintances, he’s either really polite and it’s hard to tell if he’s being genuinely nice or not, or he makes a lot of mean, sarcastic comments and you’d have no clue if that’s just his sense of humor and friendly teasing, or if he can’t stand you.

I have a feeling that animals don’t like him. For example, cats and dogs can be wary of people when they’re no good, and although Jouno might be able to deceive other people, it’s not uncommon that their pets seem uneasy and skeptical around him, not wanting to be touched or picked up by him.

I don’t think he would be particularly mean in a romantic relationship with someone he truly loves, and neither would he act like you're the biggest nuisance in the world. That treatment is reserved for people who have no value to him; if he loves you, he will not be sappy and over-the-top affectionate with you, especially not in public, but rather talk shit about people he doesn't like with you. If he asks you to brainstorm some insults with him, he’s head over heels in love with you.

Speaking of affection, he’s usually not the one who seeks it, but he never fails to be surprised when he notices how good it feels to be hugged, have his hair played with or his skin gently caressed by you. Due to his heightened senses, he tends to get overstimulated quickly, so you shouldn’t take it personally when he denies you physical contact. But overall, he likes how it feels and it’s not too rare that he’s the one to kiss you or hug you when you don’t expect it.

His alcohol tolerance is either ridiculously high or very low. He can either drink all night and not be hungover the next morning, or he’s already tipsy after one glass of wine.

I’m so sorry, but he’s the type of neighbor who takes a broom and knocks it against the ceiling when the neighbor in the apartment above him plays loud music after ten pm. It’s so embarrassing to witness, but he stands by it. His ears are sensitive and he hates it when people blast loud music.

Jouno has a very complex and sophisticated skincare routine. See Patrick Bateman’s morning routine from American Psycho. That’s Jouno.

Can’t fall asleep while cuddling. He’ll gladly cuddle with you in bed, but when he wants to sleep, he will curl up into an oddly specific position, a pillow between his thighs, one in his arms, and if the duvet isn’t neatly tucked around him in the way he wants it, he’ll get all grumpy and pouty, adjusting the bedding and blankets until he can fall asleep in peace.

Generally speaking, I think he experiences occasional sensory issues, dislikes specific textures and fabrics and finds certain noises relaxing and others drive him insane to the point where you could call it misophonia.

Talks in his sleep (and denies it).

Jouno is best friends with an elderly lady who lives in his apartment building. She’s always gushing over how handsome and well-mannered he is, but is shocked when he reveals to her that no, he does not have a wife and kids yet. He helps her up and down the stairs and she always brings him food when she makes too much for her to eat alone. Jouno can’t say no when it comes to her, he’s only really soft with her and his s/o if he has one.

NSFW

Jouno’s browsing history is concerning. If anyone, regardless of who that might be, discovers it, that person is as good as dead. He can’t have anyone know about the things he jerks off to, and having a liking for sadism is still the least fucked up thing about him.

He visits brothels from time to time or has a call girl come over and take care of his needs. It’s the most convenient option for him, and he does not have the time or any interest in pursuing a serious long-term relationship, due to his job. He seems kind of emotionally unavailable too, and even if he tried to date to find a long-term partner, I doubt that many potential partners would want to be in a relationship with him for too long. He’s a difficult person, and his sexual preferences tend to be pretty extreme, so he lacks compatibility with many people he would be interested in. Therefore, paying someone to sleep with him seems to be the best option for him. No attachment, no responsibilities, he has a high wage and can afford it, and it’s more likely that someone will let themselves be treated as harshly as he will treat them when they get paid for it.

Praise kink combined with degradation. Being praised while he ruins someone in bed is what turns him on the most. He lives for humiliation, too.

Not a nice headcanon, but I think Jouno regularly oversteps his partner’s boundaries. Firstly, to check if they will resist or not, wanting to know whether they might’ve changed their mind, and secondly, because he gets off on it. Violating their rules and going on with very dubious consent or no consent at all is a fantasy that excites him, though he will likely stop if his partner explicitly tells him to, or strongly resists. But he will be a dick about it, lowkey guilt-tripping them. However, he prefers CNC over non-con, mostly because of legal reasons.

He would never, ever admit it, but being dominated by his partner is his deepest, darkest sexual secret. He’s so ashamed of it, but if you somehow managed to overpower him and took charge in the bedroom, after some resistance, Jouno would be a whiny, moaning mess underneath you.

He takes lots of nudes of you, but not for himself. He has no use for visuals of your naked body, but they serve as potential blackmail so well. Tell someone he came in less than five minutes from you riding and simultaneously choking him, having him cry out your name like a needy whore, and he will leak your nudes. And in case you and him are going through a nasty breakup, Jouno will make sure you think twice about leaving him.

#jouno headcanons #bsd jouno #jouno saigiku #jouno smut #chit chat #anons<3 #bungou stray dogs jouno #jouno x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #🐾#fics📖#bsd smut #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #dark content

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piratefishmama · 3 months

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Fake it till you Make it | Part 21

Eddie wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. Yes. He lived in a trailer park. But he wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. He had money, he made bank on being weird for the women of Hawkins, he’d made an easy quick buck dealing back in his high school years, and he had many marketable skills that could get him some kind of menial labour kind of job.

Barback, auto repair, retail, manual labour, and of course, music among the few.

So he was never really poor enough to see moths fly from his wallet in place of cash, never poor enough to miss meals on purpose to save money, or to worry about where his next meal was going to come from while hunger gnawed at his gut.

But being able to just. Walk through a supermarket, without having to look at the price of things before putting them into the cart?

That was a level of financial security that he’d not yet attained, and yet there he was. After being given a second cart for himself, and being assured that he could get anything he thought he and Steve might want while John would grab things for himself and Lynda in his own cart, he was set loose with the simple instruction to meet at the checkouts, John would wait for him if he ended up there first and vice versa.

Eddie didn’t think he’d be finishing first though. There were options. He had options. He didn’t have to look at prices, he didn’t have to grab the cheapest things on the shelf, or look for things reduced in price cause they were about to expire.

He didn’t even have to do mental mathematics for taxes because it didn’t matter!

The only thing he had to worry about, the only thing that made Eddie completely certain in the fact that he’d be making John wait for him at the checkouts, was figuring out what Steve might want to eat without making it way too obvious that he didn’t actually know Steve all that well at all.

He was really starting to wish that he’d just sided with Steve about the pizza.

Okay so, contrary to popular belief given his whole. Keg King persona back in high school. Steve Harrington… couldn’t hold his drink.

At least not anymore. He couldn’t even do a hand stand anymore.

Before, he’d been a killer at it, he could drink and drink and drink, he was like a fish with it, king of the drinking games, lording it over the popular crowd as if it were something to actually be proud of, as if it were a genuine accomplishment to be able to out drink your peers.

But he didn’t drink anymore. At least not nearly as often as he used to.

Alcohol was expensive, and he worked minimum wage.

The most he could do was a six pack from the gas station that he and Robin would split out on a picnic blanket in his back yard, staring up at the sky with nothing but the glow of the pool lights to dim the stars above, laughing about their failed conquests and making plans neither of them could really afford to see through.

Back to the point, Steve, and Lynda Harrington, had found ol Mags’ stash of cheaper reds.

Not quite the big bucks bottles lining the shelves of the wine cellar which Steve, despite them being his now thank you very much grandparents and their ridiculously generous will, wouldn’t touch, but definitely heavy hitting enough to lighten any terrible lows that may have lingered after their earlier spat.

Which led them to their current predicament. Laying on the rug in the living room in front of a crackling fireplace, two glasses of wine between them, and two half empty bottles.

One each of course, they weren’t going to share just one, what were they? Poor?

Steve, feeling curious about a thing that’d come up once as a small, throwaway thought, now the only thing he could think about as he stared at the wooden beams that made up the ceiling and having zero inhibitions stopping him from asking it, so he asked, “How come you never brought up Robin?”

“Hm?” His mother turned to him, cheeks flushed a warm pink, she never could hold her alcohol, he’d gotten that skill from his dad, however fleeting his use of it had been. “Your friend?”

“Yeah, Robbie’s great, why’d you never… why’d you never try’n set me up with Robbie, wh’ts wrong with Robbie?” He didn’t think she meant to laugh quite as condescendingly as she had, but it definitely sounded like that as she burst out laughing. “Tried every girl but Robbie—s’not funny!”

“Oh, sweetheart, my little baby boy, Eddie… Eddie is lovely. You’re not… not thinking of leaving him for Robin are you?” That slight infliction on her name, what was wrong with Robin?! And then— “B’cause, cause… Jesus—baby, sweetie, you’re not— she’s not—it’s not… hm.” She looked at her almost empty glass as if it’d offended her, then placed it down to look at him again “It’s s’not my place… if you don’t know, s’not my place to tell you!”

“What do you know?” He pushed himself up onto his rear, shaking his head for a moment to clear up the spinny feeling that followed him moving “I—I know everything, Robbie tells me everythin but you… you don’t—what do you know about Robbie?”

“Pfft, sweetheart if you want a chance with Robin then, I’m sorry you’re definitely not aware of everything and that’s surprising, does she know you’re… you know… safe? To talk to I mean? You seemed so close I thought she’d have told you!” Granted, half of the words she was saying were slurred, but not slurred enough that he couldn’t make them out, and they were ringing all the alarm bells his brain could possibly conjure.

What did his mother know, and how had she found it out? “I don’t, I just—I was just wondering why you never—I thought maybe you didn’t think she cut it or something stupid, she’s told me everythin but that doesn’t explain why you know… or what you know, what do you know?”

And now his mother was up, sitting up straight doing the exact same thing as him, shaking off that little spinny spin the world decided to do as she sat up too fast. “Robin is perfect, Steven. Truly a one of a kind, kind of young woman.” The slurring had reduced the more serious she’d become, as if the alcohol couldn’t quite touch the severity of what they were now talking about “she also doodles quite obscene things on her shoes. I saw them in the rack not the last time we were home, the time before it? When she stayed the night? Those ratty old canvas things she wore covered in marker scribbles… most young ladies don't doodle breasts on their shoes, and they certainly don’t write about going 'down' on someone’s sister… I… figured it out. I also know that this isn’t something we should be talking about without her being aware of it.” Or at all, really.

She was right. As usual, his mother was right, he even knew she was right about the pizza, he always broke out a little after Tony’s, a few spots would always appear around his mouth that’d drive him insane, so he knew she was right about the groceries too, but yet…

It was so hard to admit that she was right.

“She uh… she was talking about what you guys were doin before we came out here y’know?” But if his mother knew about Robin then… maybe it wasn’t bad to talk about it. His mom regarded him with a curious expression but didn’t ask him to elaborate, didn’t stop him from elaborating either though “the matchmaking thing? I was complaining about it, cause… y’know… I had someone already” no he didn’t, but the excuse of ‘they all sucked’ probably wouldn’t go down very well. “And she said she wished you’d try setting her up with someone…” it was probably a joke but then…

Robin had been struggling.

The uncertainty in approaching queer dating in a small town like Hawkins was… scary. It was terrifying. They were only getting older, there’d only be so many more chances to experience things and trying to experience things later in life while being a big ol bundle of inexperienced anxiety?

Not fun, Steve didn’t want that for Robin. He wanted her to experience things. To be confident in herself because he loved her. He wanted nice things for her. And nice things involved kissing pretty ladies.

“Really?” Oh that little lightbulb, the devious little twinkle in her eyes, her passion reignited, aimed at a much more deserving and probably receptive target “Oh! Sweetie she should have said, second we get home, give her my personal number, okay? It’s up to her to call me but I would— I have a rolodex of names, an it’ll only the best for—for Robin.” Lynda would find that girl a hot sugar mama even if it killed her.

“You’d do that for her?” Steve put a hand to his chest, touched in a way he couldn’t really describe.

“Oh sweetheart, of course I’d do that for her, she makes you so happy, you just… you light up whenever you’re around her an I know it’s not cause you’re dating her because, unless there’s another conversation we need to be having, you’re really not her type. I know she makes you happy. And I know—I know I don’t say it very often—” her voice was wibbling, and oh boy if she was going to cry, then he’d start crying and they’d be a mess “but I’d—" her voice cracked, oh no “I’d move mountains for—for anything—anyone that makes you happy, sweetheart.”

And that was how Eddie and John found them ten minutes later after shaking the snow from their bodies, grocery bags in hand. The mother and son duo bawling together on the carpet, two bottles into the reds, wondering a very simple “what the fuck...?” voiced by a very confused Eddie.

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #Robbies gonna get HOOKED UP when they get home #i promise

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cyberwulf · 11 months

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Jamie is a Shameless Flirt, pt 2

James took a deep breath and let it out slow, then lifted the videophone receiver and slowly punched in Professor Oak’s number.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“James!” The professor greeted him with a smile. “I was hoping you might call.”

“…Professor Oak.”

“I told you, call me Sam, please,” the older man chuckled. Behind him, Meowth leaped gracefully up on the laboratory bench and glowered in James’ direction.

“…Professor,” James replied. He launched into the speech he’d rehearsed after Meowth outlined all the reasons dating the man was a bad idea that guaranteed a bunch of wacky shenanigans everyone could do without. “Listen – I was a teeny bit sloshed, and I was in drag, and Jamie’s just a character I like to have fun with, so –”

“…Oh.” He winced at Professor Oak’s disappointed look. “Well, that’s too bad. I was hoping to get to know you better over dinner…”

James forced a laugh. “Well, there’s only one place in town, and I work there…”

“I was thinking more along the lines of Viridian City,” Professor Oak continued. James straightened at that. Dinner someplace fancy? Behind the professor, Meowth frowned and shook his head furiously at him. “But since you aren’t interested…”

---

“Are you out of your mind?”

Jessie pulled a face at him across the kitchen table. “Professor Twerp? Isn’t he a grandpa?”

“Sam is a gentleman who sees a lady home safely,” James retorted haughtily, taking a sip of coffee. He arched his eyebrow and gave her a sidelong glance. “Unlike certain rude little boys who unceremoniously eject their guests because they can’t control themselves.”

Jessie turned bright red. “You were the one who made her all sexy!” she hissed. She crossed her arms and scowled. “I can’t believe you’re going through with this. You can’t possibly like him.”

“I don’t have to like him,” James shot back. “He’s taking me to dinner, Jess. I’m going somewhere nice to eat a meal I didn’t cook.” He nodded at her girlfriend, currently folding laundry on the countertop. “Delia knows what I mean.”

“Yeah, where’s he taking you, the Early Bird Special?” Jessie asked sarcastically. “I will bet you ten – no, I’ll bet you twenty Pokébucks you’re home by eight with a cup of hot cocoa.”

“I’ll happily take twenty dollars of your student loan money,” James laughed. “Have it ready next Saturday morning.”

“Jessie? Sweetie?”

Both former Team Rocket members looked up. Delia hadn’t turned around, and when she next spoke, her voice was strangely flat.

“Could you take these clean clothes upstairs for me? I’d like to speak to James alone.”

Jessie and James exchanged glances before Jessie rose and took the basket of laundry out of the room. Once she was gone, Delia turned, leaning back against the counter as she crossed her arms.

“I don’t care what Jamie did after a few glasses of wine,” she said quietly. “And we did kick you out so that we could…” She nodded at the ceiling. “…you know. But if this is just a big joke to you, don’t do it. Samuel Oak is a dear friend of mine, and he’s very important to Ash.” She shook her head at him slightly, her expression putting ice in his veins. “Don’t play with his heart.”

“Delia – I –” James swallowed and had another sip of coffee – his mouth had gone dry all of a sudden. “Look, all that with Jessie…” He wilted under her steely gaze. “Look, I was going to tell him I wasn’t interested, but he wants to take me out. No one ever wants to take me out.” He gazed into his mug. “I know the three of us have wine nights, and now and then we all go dancing, but sometimes I feel…”

He risked looking at her. Delia’s expression had softened slightly, and she was nodding.

“I understand,” she answered. “But – I mean it, James. I’d never look at you the same way if you were cruel to him.”

“I won’t, I promise!” James insisted. “He was nice to me. I’m not mean to people who are nice to me.” Getting up, he crossed the room and placed his arms gently on her shoulders. “And you know that I’d never want to do anything to jeopardise our friendship, Delia.”

Delia let out a sigh. Finally, she smiled up at him. “Okay. I trust you.”

James nodded. “You’ll see. By this time next week, I’ll have had a free – but boring – dinner, Jessie’ll have an extra twenty Pokédollars, Professor Oak will be thoroughly disillusioned, and everything will be back to normal.”

---

Meowth scowled as his human housemate tried on various combinations of shirts and pants, fretting over which ones looked best. “Thought you was only doing this for the free dinner?”

James cast him a sour look. “Excuse me for wanting to look nice in front of your boss.” He settled on a pair of chinos and a white shirt.

“Yeah, he is my boss,” Meowth growled, “and I gotta look him in the eye Monday morning, so no funny business.” James rolled his eyes and applied some cologne. Meowth sneezed as it wafted his way. The doorbell rang and James flinched.

“Get that, will you?” he said, a note of panic in his voice. “I haven’t even decided what shoes to wear!”

Grumbling under his breath, Meowth trudged to the front door, jumped up on the end table, and tugged on the handle.

“Hey there, Prof,” he mumbled, moving to let the older man in. He gestured through to the den. “Have a seat. His Majesty’ll be right out.”

“Thank you, Meowth.” The professor settled himself on the couch, laying the bouquet of flowers he’d brought carefully on the coffee table. He plucked a comb from the pocket of his sport coat and ran it through his hair. Meowth slunk into the den and eyed him suspiciously from behind the armchair. He didn’t like the flowers or the sport coat or the black shirt which looked kinda tight on the prof but in a flattering way. And here he’d done everything he could to try and stop any shenanigans from shenaniganing.

His ears twitched at the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall.

“Yoo-hoo.”

Professor Oak stood up, taking the bouquet with him. James stepped into the den, leather jacket slung over one shoulder.

“Well!” The professor looked up at him. “You certainly look handsome.” He looked down at the flowers. “I, er, I wasn’t sure who I’d be taking to dinner…but I suppose these are for you.”

“Ooh.” James giggled and Meowth frowned. “Oh, these are expensive.” He blushed. “Sam, you shouldn’t have.” He turned to the surly Scratch-Cat. “Meowth, be a dear and put these in some water, will you?”

With a growl, Meowth snatched the flowers out of James’ grasp.

“Shall we?” Professor Oak asked, offering James his arm.

“Let’s,” James answered. He petted Meowth roughly on the head. “Don’t wait up now!”

Meowth followed them to the entrance, frowning again as the professor opened James’ door for him. “I ain’t never gonna sleep tonight.”

---

“Thanks for coming, honey.” Delia glanced up anxiously at the clock again. It was almost time to open up, and there was still no sign of James.

“Oh I’m not missing this,” Jessie replied with a smirk. “I want my twenty bucks.”

“If James doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to need you to be a server,” Delia warned. “I’ll have to do all the cooking.”

“I dunno what to tell ya, Delia,” Meowth remarked from the counter. He had another mouthful of milk. “He was at home this morning and he left before I did.”

The back door flew open.

“Sorry I’m late!” James called. He snatched his apron from its peg and put it on. “Let me just get ready –”

As he made for the kitchen, Jessie leaned over and hooked him by the collar. “Hold it right there, mister. We all want to know how your date went.”

A dreamy look came over James’ face.

“Oh it was a magical evening,” he drawled, resting his chin in his hand. “He took me to this swanky Kalosian restaurant, and then we went for a walk in the park. And then we drove down to Route 21, and the moonlight was shining on the water…”

“Aww…”

Delia glanced at Jessie. She was mirroring her former team-mate’s posture, a goofy smile on her face. Note to self – take Jessie to Route 21 after sunset. Dressed as guy(?)

James pushed himself off the counter and began to saunter back and forth. “And we just talked and talked and talked…”

“Yeah, what about?” Meowth asked sourly.

“Poetry,” James retorted good-naturedly. “And Grass-types. And overly affectionate Pokémon. And Ash.” He scratched the cat behind his ears. “And you.” He crossed his arms and shot Jessie a smug look. “And you owe me twenty Pokédollars, because I didn’t get home till after midnight. No hot cocoa involved.”

Jessie looked to Meowth for confirmation. The cat shrugged.

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” he declared. “Pay the man, Jess.”

“You know, I’m not even mad,” Jessie chuckled, reaching for her purse. A teasing note entered her voice as she handed over the cash. “You’re sweet on a grandpa.”

James giggled. “You know, I think I am,” he admitted. “Did I tell you he brought me flowers?”

“Midnight’s not so late,” Delia remarked. She arched an eyebrow at James, her smile belying her serious boss act. “So why are you, Mr. Sasaki? Explain yourself.”

“Oh, I had to drop Sam’s jeep back to the corral,” James replied. “I wound up driving him home.” He looked away coyly. “He wasn’t really in any shape to.”

“Really?” Delia asked in surprise. “That’s not like him.” She chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since he had a night out, he probably doesn’t know his limits anymore.”

Delia – as most people would, in her position – assumed that the blank look which appeared on James’ face was just one of his many himbo moments. Jessie and Meowth, on the other hand, understood loud and clear, with the latter just managing not to spit milk across the restaurant.

“Oh – yes,” James laughed nervously. “We brought a bottle of wine with us to Route 21 and he had a few too many. That, that is definitely what happened.” He looked past her at the clock. “Is that the time, I’d better get in that kitchen!”

Delia turned to look, jumped a little at the time, and quickly headed to the front door to open up. Behind her, Jessie and Meowth exchanged a wordless glance.

So much for looking the prof in the eye come Monday morning.

We are never telling her.

@yamujiburo

#my fanfic #james/oak #james #professor oak #hanamusa #delia ketchum #jessie #meowth

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angelcent · 1 year

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𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃-𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐌

cw. implied age gap (nothing specific, sukuna is just older and divorced), food, established relationship, alcohol

thinking about big bad older boyfriend sukuna who shows affection with cooking of all things. first, it takes a few months of dating before he even allows you into his personal space; and when he does, your eyes widen at the sheer size of his pristine and expansive kitchen. high ceilings, marble counters, state of the art appliances, an array of culinary knives. like the rest of his penthouse, it's a tasteful mix of traditional and modern design.

your boyfriend is a wealthy and busy man, you had expected him to have a team of chefs who’d be preparing your dinner tonight. instead you see sukuna rolling up his sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms and the twin bands inked around his wrists. the ones in his left hand are partially covered by the watch you recently bought him.

sukuna is deft with the knives, smoothly chopping up vegetables and fresh herbs with ease; then he begins to lightly season the ribeye steak, carefully rubbing the spices into the meat. you shouldn’t find it so attractive, but your eyes are transfixed on his big hands; on the tattoos across his knuckles. only someone like him can make preparing dinner look so sensual. maybe it's the dim lighting, painting the room with intimacy.

you don't notice how long you've been staring until vermilion eyes meet yours, and he smirks arrogantly. “make yourself useful, dove. grab a bottle from the that closet over there. any red.”

the fact that sukuna has an entire small closet filled with wine bottles doesn't surprise you, but it's still impressive. you choose a full-bodied wine, knowing that he has a penchant for the viscous taste.

when you return, the kitchen smells like melted butter and roasted herbs as he sears the steak. "leather for you, right?" he chuckles, referring to how you like your meat cooked.

you snort, setting the bottle down on the dinner table. "sorry i don't like my steak mooing at me like you do." you notice that the table has already been set, and the attention to detail has uraume written all over it. "but yes, medium-well for me, please. it smells so good!"

"normally i wouldn't give a shit how a guest likes their meat cooked," sukuna murmurs, preparing your dishes to perfection. "but you're the exception, little lamb. for you, i'll bend."

butterflies flitter around inside your belly because you understand the weight of sukuna's words; someone like him would never bother saying something he doesn't mean. he's yours as much as you are his. he's referred to you as his spring, a new beginning after the bitter cold of the winter that was his marriage.

my morning light, is what he murmured into your skin when you first confessed your love to him.

the dinner he's prepared for you tops the countless five star restaurants that he's taken you to, but maybe you're just being biased. you realize that you're not though, once you sit sown and bring your fork to your lips. the food is delicious, carefully cooked to perfection and made with hands that hold your heart.

sukuna looks divine, almost regal as he drinks the blood red wine. he swirls it carefully before taking sips every now and then. he doesn't ask what you think of the food or if you like it—he knows. still, you feel the need to tell him, to gush at how talented he is and how much flavor is in every bite. he laughs in amusement, so you think he doesn't mind.

the wine is buzzing in your veins by the time you two are finished, and your limbs are loose as you get up to settle on his lap. his thick arms wrap around you as you litter kisses along the edge of his jaw. you continue up, kissing the lines of his face and you run your fingers through his peach and white hair. slowly, his hands settle lower on your hips, giving your ass a rough squeeze.

sukuna's mouth almost salivates at the thought of dessert, of the nectar between your thighs.

#oh he's so sexy #not edited #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #starring: sukuna

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

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The Apprentice - Part 4

We're back at the dynamic again; bitchy boss and his bratty apprentice. Little bit of angst, lots of groveling ensues.

Word Count: 3,953

Big shout out to the ever growing Mihawk playlist on Spotify, and to song suggestions thrown into my inbox to get the words flowing!

Part 3 back here, Masterlist here.

Amber-coloured eyes bore down from his fixed perch atop his suspended bed within the wooden vessel; honing in on his peaceful apprentice who currently slept soundly atop their suspended bunk in the corner of the cabin.

His eyes were hard and focussed, fixated on each breath you inhaled and exhaled; your chest rising with each silent and serene gasp. He clenched his jaw before his lip began to curl into a snarl. It was typical of you, sleeping so deeply; your face so calm and beautiful. Mihawk’s eyes widened at the thought, narrowing his gaze again at you; a large pit of smouldering coals roaring to life with flames licking at his chest. He scoffed, clenching his fists and rolling onto his back to pull his gaze to the ceiling of the lower-deck cabin; counting the grains that were etched into it.

You let him touch you. Why would you let him touch you? If he had not stepped in, how far were you prepared to go with the Red-Haired pirate? Were your actions purely your own, or did Shanks own your will within his by baring his convincing and intense stare into your eyes? Mihawk knew Shanks would never utilise his ability to convince a potential lover into his bed, but the thought passed the broody warlord’s mind none the less.

“Insubordination,” his mind echoed, his own words rolling around on his tongue as he brought his right hand up to ghost them over his mouth with a brush of his fingertips; the bitter flavour returning once again over his pallet.

He had tried as he might to not break the relationship of mentor and mentee with you, especially since a passionate possession befell him in the alley-way three weeks ago; reciprocating your violent kiss with as much fervour as you drove your body against him. The push and pull coming from you as you managed to sway his will to follow your suggestions lately had a vice-like grip around his throat, the slip in control Mihawk had yet to encounter.

Never had a romantic partner held as much sway over the hawk-eyed sword master, let alone a person he had yet to engage intimacy with completely. Little touches between fingertips as you exchanged glasses with him while sampling vintages of wine, small gestures like offering his embroidered handkerchief towards you to rid the blood of your enemies from spoiling your beautiful features. Again, the warlord growled at the thought of how extremely attractive he had now found you.

Arching your back above the herbal waters in the onsen to expose your breasts playfully to his Red-Haired former acquaintance again whisked over his memory, him closing his eyes as the image branded itself into his mind. He removed his right hand from his lips and balled it into a fist. He steadied his breathing in an attempt to fall into a peaceful slumber as you did next to him, only to find restlessness in his wake.

He heard you stir, prompting him to reopen his eyes and seek you out with his yellow-gaze; only to find you unconsciously shifting in your slumber to fall into more fulfilling comfort with a light sigh escaping your lips. He initially felt relieved that you continued to sleep peacefully, wanting his apprentice to be fully rested for what lies ahead; only for those thoughts to all but flee from his mind as he frowned lowly at you, enraged at how serene you were as you remained blissfully ignorant to the complete hold you had over his heart.

Mihawk had no inhibitions on who he welcomed to his bed; often finding it more practical to engage with hiring partners to tussle with from port to port for the sake of convenience. He enjoyed a pursuit in combat, but often felt his attentions when it came to engaging intimately with another, he found more as a burden to foster relationship. Payment is where that small issue came in handy, as he had no need for coy flirtations before his release.

That completely changed after you collided with him, the dance of tongues against his lips as your hands grasped his cheek in a loving caress; voicing your “hatred” of him as your lord and mentor so tenderly against his lips and body. He had not engaged with another soul intimately in nearly a month and was feeling slightly more riled that he ought to be, in his opinion. The only person to eclipse his mind with bewitching his very soul was the soundly sleeping apprentice in the corner of the room; your hand now laying outstretched and falling from your bunk towards the space where Mihawk was currently residing.

“Yes, sir,” you said firmly, narrowing your eyes, “I’m yours.”

Mihawk softened his intense stare, choosing to bring himself from the sides of his bed and walk over to you. His white sleep-pants hung loosely from his hips as he took calculated and calm strides towards your sleeping form; reaching his hand down towards your wrist and gathering it in his grasp as softly as he could to not disturb your slumber. He expertly brought your hand back to sit atop your pillow beside your head, releasing his grip on you while reaching down to readjust your sheets to pull them upwards over your shoulders. He smoothed over the material to ensure there were no creases to litter you with sleep marks before gently removing his grip from you by dancing his fingertips along the blankets and mattress.

“Mine,” he reminded himself, the response again of “yours,” confidentially spoken through your lips as confirmation of your intentions to remain as his apprentice. His.

He moved his hands away from your body and smoothed his fingers and palms over his face before raking his fingertips through his curled raven locks, clicking his neck and arching his back as he did so.

Off into the distance, he heard cannon fire and roars of battle engaging off the coast. He noticed your brows began to furrow in your sleep, prompting Mihawk to raise his palm up over you in caution in case you wake. Seeing you become restless at the sounds both made the warlord elated he had trained remaining combat-ready into you, but also had the primal need to hit something to release his pent up agitation at somebody.

That somebody was about to meet the steel of Yoru in combat, hopefully they pose a semblance of a challenge for him.

As your eyes flittered open, you immediately searched the cabin to seek out the master leading you through the intricate craft of sword wielding; only to find his perch completely empty.

You creased your brows, fleeing the sheets from your body and beginning to redress in your travel clothes; reequipping your blades and scabbard against your belts as you continued to be perplexed at the current ware-abouts of your warlord.

You halted your actions at the thought: your warlord. Images of complete control and direction from the master swordsman with the firmness in his tone sent a shiver up your spine at the memory; you found yourself shuddering at it with a small smirk adorning your lips.

It worked, he was angry. He was possessive and he held an aura of ferocity as he demonstrated his desire for absolute control. A small pit in began to form in your chest, shying away from the fact that he was yet to utter a word to you from the trip back from the onsen, to the inn you stayed in for two nights, nor the trip back to the boat; his silent brood leaving you with an air of unease.

Perhaps you pushed too far? Or perhaps he was indifferent enough to you romantically that he only wanted to utilise his body to show you how completely you were under his control. Either way, you had a balm for it.

You reached under your suspended bunk and fished out amongst the luggage for a particular wooden box you were itching to crack open. Upon finding it in your hands you quickly brought the object to rest atop your bunk, cracking the box open with the blade you drew from your side and releasing its casing. You smiled as you retracted the lid of the box with a snap, the item completely untainted by time as you expertly aged it. You brought the glass contents of the box outwards, disregarding the wood to the side and now focussing your attention on the bottle you were holding.

Nebbiolo. Expertly aged within the cellars of your uncle’s keep, before you were gifted it in celebration of being accepted into Mihawk’s apprenticeship. The grape variety known for its tough exterior with tart tannin forwardness in its youth, as the wine ages under correct circumstances; it develops complexity, softening its harshness and becoming slightly sweet under the rich dark peppercorn notes.

Before you commenced your apprenticeship, you were a novice wine-drinker; appreciating it but never truly understanding it. Dracule Mihawk changed that as your interests grew outside of the world of swords and dove head-first into the rich and ever expanding world of viticulture.

This bottle you had intended on sharing with the warlord once you completed your apprenticeship under him, sharing it for a night together basking in mutual respect and appreciation for one another. Now this wine serves a new purpose, to hopefully sooth over any bruised egos and humble yourself under his leadership once more.

As he was being exceptionally more broody lately, you had decided this day was as good as any other to enjoy this particular bottle together. You were going to absolutely lay it on thick with the grovelling, hoping he would once again bring his vicious mockery and humour in his own way back to your comradery once again.

Flirting with the Red-Haired pirate was a mistake; one you were absolutely paying the price for with the consequences of your actions demonstrated in Mihawk’s surliness towards you. You rolled your shoulders back, rotating your neck to sooth over any nerves and carried the Nebbiolo carefully to bring above the deck in search of your sword-master.

As you approached the deck, you immediately drew your eyes to the warlord sitting with his legs extended against the wooden countertop of a rounded table; leaning back comfortably in his assigned wooden chair with his hat drawn over his face to shield him from the sun as he basked under its rays. You trailed your eyes over his bare torso, the large jacket remaining open for you to allow your unrestrained gaze to appreciate every curve and muscle displayed to you.

Sensing your approach, the warlord made no effort to remove his hat to address you; simply informing you: “we have a new heading,” muffled slightly under the broad rim of the feathered hat.

“Sir?” you asked him, continuing your approach and reaching into your pockets for a corkscrew, sourcing a decanter with your sights and beginning to bring your body to seek it out.

“Baratie,” he replied in a bored tone, still shrouded from view of his face. You furrowed your brows at his direction, choosing to continue your actions of collecting the corkscrew and decanter, expertly managing to equip yourself with two wine glasses beside them.

Although this was the first conversation spoken since the onsen incident, you could still sense the thick tension within the air; anger continuing to fall from his tone and posture. You looked down at Yoru placed on the ground beside him, noting the blade was littered with blood.

“You have been busy this morning, my lord?” you noted, trailing your sights back to him as he lazily lifted his hat to display him looking through the peripheral edge of his yellow eyes at you.

“That I have, Apprentice,” he said, beginning to place the hat back over his eyes; only to completely halt his actions and stare at the hoard you were carrying so carefully within your arms, “and what do you have there?”

You smiled softly, looking down under his gaze and beginning to assemble the objects on the wooden tabletop to present them to him.

“I have an apology,” you spoke, continuing to hold your eyes to the ground as you did so, “and I also have some wine.”

Mihawk immediately fixed his posture, removing his feet from the table to gawk at the bottle.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, flittering his gaze down to the bottle before falling upwards towards your face in question, “is that a Nebbiolo?” A smirk immediately rose to your lips as you tilted your head to look back at the now almost elated, in his own particular way, warlord as he continued to hold firm the bottle fixed within his sights.

“It is, my lord,” your smirk now warmed into a smile as you brandished your corkscrew in a circular motion to begin to rid the bottle of its cork, “and it’s older than I am.”

“And this is how you offer your apology, is it Apprentice?” he asked you again, narrowing his eyes at you and rising to stand in leu of sitting; prowling over to tower his body over your own; “after failing to follow simple instruction?”

He raised his left hand to place atop your own to halt your steel screw from beginning its descent into the neck of the prized bottle. You furrowed your brows and at the moment your eyes met, Mihawk’s right hand came to clasp your chin within his thumb and four fingers; holding your eyes against his own intense irises: “or something more?”

You searched his eyes for hidden meaning behind his words, finding an emotion foreign to you within them. Adoration, it seemed, but masked with anger; beautiful colour painted on his meticulously manicured face.

“-Something more, sir,” you whispered, your eyes darting from his yellow gaze and falling gently to land on his moustached lip before retreating your boldness to rise once more to his eyes.

“What else are you apologising for, Apprentice?” he uttered, his eyes falling half-lidded as he tore his sights over your face; continuing to be in complete control of every action; “I’m listening intently.”

You swallowed the small pool of saliva that had begun to collect within your mouth. You were completely taken aback by how enraptured he had become under the posed bottle presented to him, although you had hoped he would warm to you; you were not expecting such haste.

“I-I was acting impulsively, my lord,” you stuttered in a hushed tone, completely at the mercy of Mihawk as he maneuvered his head to take your entire body within his sights as he continued to hold firm to your chin.

“Yes, you were,” he confirmed in a low growled-purr of a tone; “I said ‘no Shanks’ and you disregarded that order completely.”

You managed to nod with a small gasped whimper falling from your lips as you felt his lips graze your cheek and rise up towards your ear; “go on, then,” he taunted in a whisper; “apologise.” His breath brushed against your neck, the hairs beginning to stand to attention over each of your follicle as your eyes fell closed under his words.

“I am sorry, my lord,” you whispered through parted lips, holding your eyes shut as you felt him move next to you.

“What was that?” he taunted you once again, feeling him gently shake your chin lightly in his grip as a reprimand for closing your eyes; prompting you to reopen them and look up through your eyelashes at him. His eyes were harsh, baring down on you with the anger you so desperately wished to see behind the yellow-hue once again. You almost melted under his intensity, but chose instead to hold firm to your words.

“I apologise for my disobedience, sir,” you spoke with more confidence, hardening your gaze but remaining true to your humility, “I am your apprentice, and I was not acting appropriately. I was bold, and I am truly sorry for any embarrassment I have brought to you.”

You saw his eyes twitch, barely visible in its switch before remaining hard once more. He moved his index and following three fingers from his firm grip on your chin before smoothing them to caress your cheek.

“Is my apology sufficient?” you asked him, feeling the hold on your hands begin to lessen in his other hand, “am I forgiven?”

“Hardly,” he smirked, caressing his thumb over your lips slowly as his gaze fell to them. His lips was a mere whisper away from meeting with your own, yet he did not bring his moustache-adorned lip towards you further.

“Would the Nebbiolo help?” you whispered, your eyes falling half lidded as you felt yourself drawing in closer to his body. He released his hold from your chin and feathered his fingertips over your cheek to draw upwards and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Perhaps,” he uttered with a small smirk, “but I would rather we save it for another time, Apprentice.”

The title he bestowed to you reminded you of your place under his leadership and your subordination of him, but the tone he utilised as he addressed you seduced your soul; your heart increasing its rapidity as he continued to close the proximity between you.

You heard his breath hitch in a sharp inhale through his nose as he collided his lips firmly against your own, his hand reaching for the wine bottle within your grasp and placing it on the table behind him alongside the other various items you were planning to use to drain its contents together. After setting the bottle atop the wooden countertop, he laced his hand to join the other in your hair; raking through it gently as he inched your lips open further to deepen your collision.

A small whimper escaped your lips as he held you firmly within his grasps, feeling no choice but to bring your hands to fall to his waist and dragging them to settle on his hips beneath his parted great-coat. A groan fell from his lips as he circled his face, his brows furrowing as he continued his passionate display of gliding his lips smoothly against your own.

He trailed his hands down from your hair to rake down your neck and settle to wind around your shoulders as he cradled you against himself. As he drew your torso in to himself, you pulled his hips to align himself completely flush with your own; his bare chest colliding with yours as you felt the pounding heartbeat falling from his chest and harmonise with the rhythm of your own. You shut your eyes tightly as you felt how much your mentor truly felt for you; waves of his frustration falling from his body for each second he held you within his arms.

Stepping forward in long strides, he continued to hold you firm against himself as you felt your back collide with the wooden wall of the lower deck cabin wall; a gasp releasing from your lips as he continued to cling to you as a hawk would take to a meek prey.

But you were no meek prey, you were this hawk’s apprentice: a fast learner in the craft of sword mastery, even faster still in understanding your master’s desperation for you as he expressed it in his own unique way. As you had only just apologised for being insubordinate to the warlord, you chose to behave; reciprocating his affection with as much affection he was displaying against your lips.

He held you in one last deep kiss before breaking away his lips from yours and in turn resting his hatted forehead against your brow with his eyes remaining closed. You shared breaths, his masculine scent casting you within its spell; bewitching your senses as you continued to embrace him in your place against the wall.

“Apology accepted,” he whispered, drawing his forehead away from your own so bare his intense stare against your own.

“Thank you, sir,” you uttered breathily in return, your lips swollen from his intense attack and your eyes looking half-lidded back at him. He smirked at you, nudging his chin upwards and stealing a smaller graze of his lips against your own before drawing himself swiftly away from within your arms, stunning you completely.

He went back to sit atop his wooden chair and reassume his prior position, bringing his hat back down to shroud his face from your view and tilting his head to recline against the chair. He placed his two booted feet atop the wooden table, missing the various glassware and your prized wine bottle.

“My lord?” you asked him, your brows creasing in curiosity and a small hint of desperate longing.

“We’ll be at Baratie within the hour,” he informed you beneath his hat.

“I-I don’t understand, sir-,” you began, only for the warlord to raise his hat slightly for you to view his smirk from beneath it.

“Our next job is to bring in an upstart into marine custody,” he continued to relay to you, “and we’ll be at the job site in an hour.”

You furrowed your brows further and ignored the fluster and prior pooling of heat in the pit of your stomach as you made to approach your boss.

“Your affection, sir. Did you not wish to engage-?” you began again asking him before he cut you off with his own words.

“-We will be at the job site within the hour,” he reemphasised, his smirk now holding firm against his taunting features. You halted your approach as you witnessed a small mischievous glint appear behind his eyes before he continued; “and I require more than a simple hour to engage with you in the manner I desire most.”

At that comment, he placed his hat back over his face as your cheeks and upper ears tinted crimson at his implication. Your eyes widened and you drew your gaze at the ground as you truly processed the words he spoke to you. A warm grin fell to your face as you shook the blush from your cheeks and continued to make your way towards the arrogant warlord.

“What do you suggest be done in the interim?” you asked him, looking toward the decanter and dismissed Nebbiolo; “you shot down my offering of peace, sir.”

You heard a chuckle rumble within the chasms of the bare chest of the warlord, erupting from his lips beneath the hat before teetering off to a small snicker. He took the hat away from his face, baring a grin at you as he suggested; “make some waves with your stance. Your movements are becoming less fluid and I would rather you be at your peak with single combat.”

“Aye, sir,” you said, hardening your stance and rolling your neck and shoulders to make yourself ready to engage in combat with an imagined opponent with your balanced blade within your firm grasp.

“And don’t hold back the lascivious sounds this time,” Mihawk smirked, placing his hat back atop his face; “it will give me something to look forward to once we get to Baratie.”

You stumbled in your stance and widened your eyes at his comment before shaking off his words as water would fall from the back feathers of a hawk. You shook your head with a smile and lowered your stance with your non-dominant hand placed behind your back.

There he was, back again with his lewd comments at your fighting style; only this time you truly appreciated the crass attention he was throwing towards you.

Part 5 (NSFW)

Tag List:

@sapphireonline

#one piece #opla #opla fic #x reader #one piece live action #mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader

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verbenaa · 3 months

Text

venus in furs

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: He’s always imagined you like this in his dreams, he thinks. Naked, dressed in rubies as red as the wine in your silver chalice, blood like pomegranate juice dripping from your lips, staining your mouth to match the red of your blood that colors his own.

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+ only

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.1k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Ascended Astarion, dom Astarion, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, slight degradation, guided masturbation, vaginal sex

𝑎/𝑛: back with another one, friends. I didn't ever think I would really write ascended Astarion, but what can I say?? I hope you all like this one, I definitely enjoyed writing it and getting out of my comfort zone a little bit! Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading!

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

The air of the palace is cold against your exposed skin as you walk through the halls you now own, wearing nothing but an ermine cloak and glittering jewels, your stride confident amidst the darkened hallways.

These halls were once filled with the smell of decay and the leftover dust of ages past, a distasteful reminder of the horrors that had occurred here over centuries. You had made sure upon Astarion’s ascension to rip out as much of the place as you could, making decisions with that of an aesthete’s touch, ideals of what a grand palace should look like for your lover.

Dull red carpets were hastily replaced with elegant emerald green, every oppressive drapery torn away from their rods and transformed instead into flowing brocaded silks, old and rotted furniture sent to be thrown into the river or to burn, it mattered not which end it met. Such matters of what happened to the furniture were beneath you.

You had much loftier concerns to deal with, now.

After all, what use was being His Dark Consort, if not to wile away your now infinite hours doing whatever you so wished, consequences be damned?

You stride towards the ballroom where two thrones of gleaming gold sit side by side on a newly raised dais, not caring whether the servants you passed noticed your state of dishabille. You knew they would turn their eyes from you, they would never dare to look upon you in such a way without his express permission.

At last, you make your way to your destination; chandeliers dimly lit with tapers of dripping wax hang from the ceiling, illuminating the richly woven tapestries decorating the walls. It was a shame you still couldn’t manage to get all of the blood stains out of the floorboards from the battle with those dreadful wolves, but you supposed there were worse trophies than those of your victories. You were content to let them serve as a reminder to all those who entered this place of who it was that had eventually won the battle.

A quick step up onto the dais has you exactly where you want to be, your eyes flitting between the twin thrones, resplendent with whorls of gold crafted into scenes of animals at hunt, the seats plush with dark velvet. With naught but a minute glance towards your own throne, you instead bring your gaze upon that of Astarion’s.

You settle into your lover’s throne and arrange your cloak around you, the blood red of the velvet sliding against your curves as you move to recline, the contrast stark against the milky fur of the oversized collar, dark dots smattered across the expanse of alabaster like drops of ink against a page.

The jewels around your neck and in your ears shift with every movement of your body, the pear-shaped ruby of your necklace—practically the size of your palm—encrusted with crystal clear diamonds heavy as it rests upon your collarbone.

You wait for Astarion to find you, just like this, your body on display for him in the way you know he so likes. Soft curls of anticipation settle deep within your stomach, embers of pleasure eager to transform into a wildfire.

Astarion, thankfully, does not keep you waiting long, his muted footfalls upon the covered floors catch upon your ears soon after taking your desired place. The knowledge he is finally here and so close has you sitting up slightly straighter.

You know he will be able smell the scent of you, the heady aroma of your slow growing excitement will lead him right to where you lay in wait for him. You arrange yourself for one moment more on the throne, a siren’s smile on your face as you await the presence of your lover.

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The last thing Astarion expects to see when he walks into the ballroom is you, lounging indolently on his throne of all places, wearing nothing but the dark red of an ermine cloak and dripping in jewels.

He has to give you credit, he supposes; when he walked in from the city after a series of decidedly droll meetings with decidedly useless patriars, finding you waiting for him like a little treat dying to be tasted did not make his list.

How very lucky you are, it seems, that when he scented your arousal on the stairs he decided instead to investigate rather than moving on to whatever work awaits him in his office.

You had always liked playing these kinds of games, your subtle machinations something he was always happy to bear witness to with a smile on his face.

His perfect, pretty Dark Consort and her quaint little schemes.

“And what do we have here?” Astarion arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you.

His eyes trace your frame, from the white and black of the fur trim that rests against your naked flesh, hiding your peaked nipples from sight as your crossed legs obscure the telltale wetness he knows is forming between your thighs.

You flutter your lashes prettily at his perusal of your body, a coquettish tilt of your head at his interest.

With predatory intent, Astarion makes a slow circle around his throne with inhuman grace, his eyes never leaving you. You feel the intensity of his gaze against your skin, your hair, your lips—every part of you on display for him and him only.

He’s always imagined you like this in his dreams, he thinks. Naked, dressed in rubies as red as the wine in your silver chalice, blood like pomegranate juice dripping from your lips, staining your mouth to match the red of your blood that colors his own.

He completes his circle and his eyes meet your own, his glowing claret gaze darkening and you know with certainty that he is pleased at your offering for him.

“Won’t you bend the knee for me, my Lord?” You feign innocence in your question, eyes roving greedily over his clothed body, taking in the fine tailoring of his intricately embroidered velvet doublet, the skin-tight fit of the finest leather pants highlighting the beginnings of his erection.

“Is that what you would like, dearest?” His eyes bore into your own, a mocking smile alighting his plush lips at such a request.

“It’s the least you can do, don’t you think? To be greeted with such a gift like myself?” Your thighs open for him as you recline further into the velvet, your wetness glistening in the dim candlelight.

“How presumptuous of you, my sweet Consort.” despite his words, a spike of heat works its way through your body at the sight of his knees moving smoothly to the floor in front of the throne you have now made your own.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips absentmindedly as he comes to settle his chest between your open thighs, a wicked smile forming on his lips.

Astarion doesn’t miss the sight of your tongue brushing against your lips, and he can’t help but think of other things that your mouth is capable of. He runs his hands up and down the outside of your thighs with surprising delicacy as his eyes move to your dewy center, now exposed to him.

“I do hope you haven’t been waiting long, pet.” His hands make their way to your waist, thumbs brushing teasing patterns against your skin as he leans in to press a kiss to the softness of your lower belly, breath catching in your throat at the closeness of his lips.

You have but a moment to relish the feeling, the hands at your waist moving to yank you out of the throne upon which you sit. You quickly find yourself chest to chest with your lover, your exposed center pressing against the growing hardness still hidden behind tied leather for mere seconds before your world is turned once more; Astarion moving you onto your knees as you now face the seat of the throne you had just occupied, a spot of your own wetness darkening the velvet cushion as your ribcage presses hard against the golden frame of the throne.

A hand makes its way from your waist to clasp against your throat, the feeling of his fingers pressing in on your windpipe exquisite.

“Because you’ll have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid.” His words fall hot against your ear as he speaks, lips brushing against the tender skin as your face falls at the thought of being denied what you had been so sure he would give you, a small noise of discontent falling from your rouged lips.

You feel the hand still resting on your waist move up to unclasp the fur cloak from your throat, the heavy fabric falling to the floor behind you with a muted thud before Astarion moves to grab and throw it aside. He quickly presses close, eager to replace the lost warmth as his hand makes it way back south, the embroidery of his doublet pressing against your exposed back, every caress of the threads like fire against your skin.

The hand around you neck tightens infinitesimally, the additional pressure drawing a gasp from your lips as his other hand continues making it way lower, sweeping through the curls at the apex of your thighs before coming to cup at your dripping wetness.

“I don’t take orders from you, lover, and it would do for you to remember that.” His fingers slide through your folds, drawing a noise from both of your lips at the feeling.

“Gods, look at you. So desperate already, and I’ve barely touched you.” His words are a whisper against your neck, reverent despite his prior condemnation. Fingers trace at your entrance, their touch light and teasing as he continues his scolding.

“What a little tyrant you’ve become. Daring to sit in my throne and to make such demands of me.” His tone is mocking now as he presses those two fingers at your entrance, pushing in to the knuckle, leaving you no time to acclimate to the fullness. A whine falls from your lips as his fingers move deep, eyes falling shut and head lolling forwards the hand still squeezing lightly at your throat.

Astarion allows the gesture, his hand softening its hold to instead stroke at the graceful column of you neck as your head falls back to rest upon his velvet draped shoulder.

The fingers inside you find that spot deep inside, curling to press into it with relentless intent. Moans fall from your lips as his fingers fuck into your pussy, your wetness aiding their slide in and out of your wanting body.

“Look at how easily you cry for me, my sweet.” His words spur you on, your hips riding his hand as his fingers find their rhythm deep inside you for but a moment before he mercilessly pulls them from of your body.

Astarion’s fingers leave you empty, a whimper filling the air as he drags the hand that had been pleasuring you up your body, leaving a trail of slick across the heated skin of your stomach to the place in between your breasts.

His wet fingers leave your body to hover in front of you, your head coming up off his shoulder.

Astarion’s pulls his fingers apart, shining strings of your arousal clinging between the digits. The sight of it has the both of you entranced as Astarion slowly brings those fingers together again and presses them against your lips.

“Open.” The command is clear in his voice, and you open your mouth without a second thought.

He settles the fingers on your tongue and you obediently close your mouth around them and suck at your own wetness coating the digits.

“Such a good girl, barely having to be told what to do,” His praise is like velvet running across your skin as you hollow your cheeks around the digits in your mouth, your essence heavy on your tongue.

“You taste divine, don’t you think?” You are powerless but to nod in agreement, empty core clenching at the honey dripping from his words.

The taste of yourself in your own mouth like this is downright lewd and you know without a doubt that if the heart that sits in your chest could beat once more that your face would be flushed as red as the roses you now choose to decorate with.

You can feel Astarion’s hardness through his pants, pressing into you from his place behind you, cock twitching with every movement of your tongue. His fingers make their way out of your mouth before reaching down to tweak at a hardened nipple, your saliva coating his digits as they rub circles around the nub.

“Do me a favor, darling, and stay on those knees of yours.” Astarion’s lips brush against the delicate skin of your ear once more, his words a seductive whisper as he rises behind you.

You look over your shoulder as he stands at his full height, your face at eye level with the hard bulge still hidden behind leather. A corner of your mouth tilts upwards as you turn on your knees to face him fully, hands coming up to rest on his upper thighs as you look up into his eyes.

Your fingers rub the leather covering his strong legs, head moving forward to rest lightly against his covered erection.

The sight of you down on your knees is that of sin incarnate, Astarion’s breath hitching slightly before that same wicked smile creeps back onto his features.

“May I, my Lord?” Your fingertips inch upwards with your words, playing with the waistband of his pants.

“It’s the least you can do, don’t you think?” He uses your earlier words against you tauntingly, his haughty smirk deepening at the devilish raise of your brows.

You see fit not to answer him with words, instead letting your hands do the talking as they make their way to the laces covering his erection. With several quick motions of your fingers the laces fall open and you free his aching length, placing a kiss to the tip.

Astarion groans at that first brush of your lips against him, hips jumping at the touch as his cock bobs in response.

You mouth at the crown, reverent brushes of your tongue moving on the soft skin of his shaft have his head falling back with a sigh. Astarion brings his eyes back to your form on the floor beneath him, knees resting on the ground as your nipples pebble in the chilled air, lips and tongue working him with the motions you know he loves.

You lick a stripe up a vein on his cock before taking his heat inside your mouth, cheeks hollowing against him as you suck. The action has him moaning, your lips and tongue moving to work him as you slowly begin to bob your head.

You continue your ministrations, sucking him into your mouth as your hand comes to help you touch what you can’t easily reach with your mouth, pumping him at the base as your tongue caresses the crown of his cock.

The noises Astarion makes is like music to your ears, the sound of his carnal moans only serving to drive you to move your mouth faster and deeper.

“You can take me harder, can’t you?” His words are uncharacteristically breathless as his fingers card through your hair, gathering strands into a makeshift ponytail in his fist as his other hand brushes against the high point of your cheek.

You nod your head as much as you can with your lips wrapped around his cock, humming in confirmation as your eyes look up to meet his own gaze, glassy with lust.

Astarion pumps his hips at your blessing, moving his cock in and out of your mouth with slow motions as your tongue brushes against him. Your lips open wider to accommodate him, hand on his thigh squeezing in encouragement.

Pleasure rushes to your core as Astarion’s hand fists harder in your hair, his hips moving faster now as he sets his pace, your moans around his cock spurring him on as he moves closer to your throat, eyes watering involuntarily with each thrust as he nears the back of your mouth.

He hisses at the pleasure, at the sight of you letting him fuck your mouth however he pleases as your eyes flash upwards to meet his own, the beginnings of tears dusting your lashes as he pushes deeper into your warm mouth.

Few things compare to the knowledge that Astarion is under your control like this, and you know he won’t last long as you breathe in through your nose, relaxing your throat for him to press as deep as he wants with a flutter of your lashes, stray teardrops falling onto your cheeks as you can only imagine the thoughts floating through his pleasure-addled mind.

As Astarion looks down upon your form below him, taking him so very well, he can’t help but think that the deepest and darkest parts of him covet you like this always. Lips wrapped tight around his cock, unable to think of nothing but him as he fucks your mouth, your lips sealed around his cock.

The beautiful blush of your lips, the crystal of your tears, the claret of your blood.

All for him and him only.

He comes on your tongue with the thought, his spend going down your throat in hot, salty spurts. You swallow him greedily, intent on not wasting a drop as the hands in your hair tighten as Astarion’s hips buck into your mouth with abandon as you drink down his seed.

With a sigh the hand in your hair loosens as Astarion comes down from his high, your mouth still moving over his softening cock. You slowly pull off him, tongue licking at him as you go, collecting the remnants of his come off him before you let his length fall from your lips.

With one last swallow, you look up at him from your place on your knees, licking at a stray drop of his come that escapes your mouth. Astarion brushes his thumb against your closed lips, his eyes still hot with lust as your tongue darts out to lick at the fingertip.

With a nod of his head, Astarion gestures to your cloak where it lays long forgotten against the cold floors. With a coy smirk up at him, you bring your hands to the floor and crawl over towards the soft velvet.

Astarion follows your every sway of your body as you move, and when you finally lay yourself down onto the cloak, back resting against the lush material, he follows. He wastes no time to lower himself above you, hovering, as he takes in the vision of you resting beneath him.

His Dark Consort. His blasphemous Queen.

He would do anything for you.

His eyes rove your naked form, burning the memory of the way the deep crimson of the cape highlights the color of your skin, the open yearning in your expression and complete submission to him into his mind to last the entirety of his eternal life.

Astarion finally touches your body, no longer satisfied with a simple gaze, a hand brushing back your hair from your face before making its way down your body. You let your legs fall open for him to continue his exploration, eagerly exposing your wanting center to him as he bends his head down, giving an experimental lick up your slit, collecting your wetness on his tongue.

“Do you want to come, my love?” You nod your head, a whine escaping at the promise in his voice.

“Then I want you to make yourself come while I watch.” He releases your legs, moving to stand before making his way to his throne.

He sits down with the grace of a king, his gaze expectant on your naked body as you part your legs for him once more.

His words are unexpected but you waste no time, not willing to wait lest he decide to abandon your pleasure all together. A hand skates its way down your body, bypassing your aching breasts to go straight to your clit. You rub at your pearl with delicate fingers, your motions second nature as you let yourself fall headfirst into the feeling of pleasure as Astarion watches you from his place on his throne, his cock already hard again.

Your eyes fall shut as you continue your ministrations, head falling to the side as your pleasure drives higher and higher with every motion of your fingers.

“Eyes on me, darling.” His words are hard, the command clear in his voice has your eyes opening fast and landing back on his form.

You watch Astarion where he sits, taking in the sight of him as your fingers continue drawing circles around your clit. He reclines back in his throne, a hand drawing lazy touches up and down his cock as his own eyes are fixated on your fingers at your most intimate area.

With a breath your hand leaves your clit, moving further down to touch at your weeping entrance.

If he wants a show, you will gladly give him one.

Without waiting, you plunge your fingers into yourself, pushing them as deep as you can. Your own are nothing compared to the length and elegance of his own, but they will have to do for now. You fuck yourself on your fingers, quickly adding a third in an attempt to recreate the feeling of Astarion’s own.

Your fingers shine with your wetness, Astarion groaning at the sight of you fucking yourself like this, knowing you won’t last much longer at the rate you are going.

“Slow down, darling,” A smirk plays at his lips as he notes the shaking of your thighs.

“You can’t come until I say so, and I’m not ready for this little performance to be over quite yet.” You whine at his command, but slow your fingers obediently, moving them inside you at a slower pace now.

Your fingers work diligently as your eyes don’t leave Astarion’s from where he sits some feet away. His attention on you only serve to drive you higher, those crimson eyes never leaving you.

Your legs widen so Astarion can better see your motions as your other hand comes up to palm at your breasts, fingers still moving in an easy rhythm that drives your higher and higher with every pass.

You know that he loves to see and watch you like this, and there is nothing you love more than leaning into that yearning, eager to let his dominance wash over you.

“A-Astarion, I can’t hold off much longer.” It takes effort to keep your eyes on him, trying to push off your orgasm as long as possible, thighs shaking once more with impending release.

“Let go, my love.” His permission feels like a balm, hand at your chest coming down to rub at your clit as the fingers inside you speed up their thrusts, intent to bring yourself to orgasm as fast as you can get there.

You had waited so long to finally be allowed to come, to get the pleasure you desired and deserved, and while you wish that it was Astarion’s hands instead of your own, you supposed beggars could not be choosers.

Your orgasm hits, limbs seizing and hips bucking against your fingers, head thrown back as a moan leaves your painted lips, back bowing with pleasure.

“Beautiful.” Astarion murmurs the words low, barely audible over your own moans as you come on your fingers, orgasm washing over you as you writhe on the floor in front of him.

Your body relaxes in the wake of your release, limbs loose against the cloak on the floor. You ease your fingers out of yourself with a slight wince, the digits soaked with your own come. You lay there for a moment, your senses coming back to you as your eyes finally open and glance back at your lover.

“Come to me.” His words are expectant, and you force yourself to rise despite the pleasant exhaustion weighing down your limbs, walking to the throne and standing in between his knees as he spreads them to make room for you.

Astarion’s hand reaches out to grab your wrist, bringing the fingers that had filled your core to his own mouth before he wraps his mouth around them.

He licks at your come, tongue sliding against your fingers in a bid to collect all of your spend, intent on letting none go to waste. The feeling of his tongue on your fingers drives a wedge of heat right back to the spot between your legs, Astarion’s eyes never leaving your face as his tongue glides up and down your fingertips.

With one last motion, he sucks hard on your fingers before pulling his mouth away from your hand.

“Sit.” The command is simple as his hands grab at your waist, pulling you to him.

Your knees land on either side of his hips, his cock brushing up against your empty core as Astarion’s lips finds your own.

His kiss is demanding, passion and control combined into a fiery thing that you answer with the same emotion, mouth opening to his tongue as it sweeps inside to taste.

You’re breathless when Astarion breaks this kiss, his lips moving to press kisses against your jaw.

“Turn around and face the doors, darling.” His smile is absolutely deviant as you obey his words without a second thought, excitement building at whatever he has in store for you.

Your body twists over his own, settling onto his lap as your bare back rests against his velvet doublet. His length presses against your slit like this, your come slicking the shaft. Astarion’s hands caress the curve of your waist as you lean back into him, your head turning to brush your lips over the skin of his neck in a light kiss.

The hands on your waist move further down your sides and over your legs, stopping at your knees to grip underneath each, lifting them up and over the armrests of the throne. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight burn in your thighs as your legs stretch open, every inch of your aching cunt on full display.

He bares you entirely like this, anyone who dares to walk by the open doors and look inside would see every bit of you. It’s a small blessing, you think, that any servants have long made themselves scarce once they realized the debauchery taking place.

“Such a good girl you are, darling, keeping yourself open for me like this.” The hands holding your legs move up to stroke at your thighs, before one wanders higher towards your center. Astarion drags his fingers through your wetness, fingers spreading your folds and collecting the wetness on his fingertips as he circles your clit.

His lips find the tender skin behind your ear at the moment two fingers push inside you, sliding in knuckle deep before pulling back out again.

“You put on such a good show for me, darling. I think you deserve a reward.” He kisses your neck, those fingers pushing in once more to massage at your inner walls.

Astarion is intent on building you back up to a frenzy, his years of knowledge of your body to press and rub against everywhere he knows will only bring you higher.

He will always worship you, you who helped him rise to this new height, assisting so selflessly in handing him such power. It was the least he could do, to keep and covet you so tightly you could never want or dream of anything less than an eternity by his side.

The old Astarion could never care for you the way he does now, could never gift you such unimaginable riches—gowns of the finest silks and tulles, an endless supply of silvers and golds, jewels of unbelievable value.

No, he couldn’t offer you even a fraction of what he can now. His poor excuse for companionship was all that he had to offer you back then.

You deserved better, and better was what he would give you.

“You’re a vision like this, darling, held open for me while I make you come.” He mouths at the skin of your neck, never slowing in his movements.

His fingers hook inside of you, pressing against your g-spot with relentless efficiency, your cries spurring on his motions. You can hear the sounds of your wetness with his every motion, can feel yourself dripping onto the soft leather of his covered thighs beneath you.

Your orgasm hits you without warning, that familiar warmth coursing through your veins Astarion’s fingers still press on the softness of your walls as your cunt constricts around them. You writhe in his lap, hips riding his hand as he presses kisses to your neck as his fingers continue their work. You whine at the sensations, body moving closer towards overstimulation after reaching your peak twice in such a short time.

Astarion grants you a moment to recover as his fingers slide out of you, hands instead moving to bring your legs down from their place over the chair as you pant listlessly against his chest, body still shaking from the pleasure he had given you.

“Please, fuck me.” Your words carry a certain softness in their desperation that has Astarion’s cock bobbing against your entrance once more as you move onto your knees above him, looking back over your shoulder to see him grabbing his cock as he positions it at your entrance.

You lower down eagerly to take him inside you in a smooth glide, ignoring the slight twinge of overstimulation as you press all the way down until your hips meet, a hiss leaving his mouth at the feeling of your warmth finally wrapped around him.

You moans fill the air together, Astarion’s hands finding your waist as you glide yourself up and down his cock, taking him deep with every motion downwards, hips grinding into his own when he bottoms out. His lips caress the skin of your spine and neck, one hand on your hip helping you move up and down him, the other buried in your hair, keeping it out of the way of his roaming lips.

Astarion lets you move above him at your own pace, moaning into your skin as you work yourself on him, your hips undulating above him in a seductive dance as you take him deep on every slide down before gliding back up, barely keeping the head of him inside before you begin again.

Astarion’s grip on your hip tightens as he begins to guide you in harder motions that have you picking up speed, his fingers digging into your skin as the lips on your neck switch from kisses to light nips of his fangs.

“Harder, Astarion.” Your words come out on uneven breaths as he thrusts deep, cries of pleasure falling from you open lips as he takes control.

“Off, darling.” He pants, other hand moving to join the one at your hip as he moves you off his cock, your wetness coating it.

On unsteady legs you move to stand by the throne as Astarion gets up behind you, his hands never leaving your body as he quickly directs you back. Your knees touch soft velvet as you move to kneel on the seat, hands grasping for purchase on the golden whorls as Astarion sheathes himself back inside you, hips sliding home on the first thrust.

The carved gold bites into your palms as you hold on, legs widening for him to fuck you harder as his hands find their way to hold onto your hips, pulling your body back against his own as he fucks you with little delicacy.

Gone is the easy, sensuous pace of earlier, replaced by your mutual desperation for something harder. His cock is impossibly deep like this, hitting what feels like every nerve ending inside you with the pump of his hips.

A hand grips your hair and pulls your head back roughly as his teeth nip at your earlobe.

“Is this what you wished for, my dear?” He whispers the words, hips snapping into yours. “To be fucked like a whore? On my throne, like this?”

You moan at his words, pussy clenching hard on his cock as his skin slaps into your own, the sound echoing against the elegantly carved wood ceiling.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He chuckles into your ear as you gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, his mouth licking a stripe up your neck.

You deign not to answer him, knowing your body tells him everything he needs to know about that particular line of questioning.

His cock hits a particularly deep spot inside you, and you cry out at the sensation, pain and pleasure mixing headily in your veins. Your hands clutch harder onto the throne under you in an attempt to center yourself, efforts in vain as Astarion continues to fuck into that same spot near your cervix.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of him so deep, wanton moans falling from your lips with abandon as pleasure streaks through body, burning brighter than the sun.

“Will you bleed for me, sweet thing?” The words aren’t quite a question, more hypothetical in nature. You know he will take, and you are always willing to give to him, even after all these years. You nod your head regardless, as best you can with Astarion’s fingers still gripping in your hair, never mind his hard thrusts in and out of your body.

His lips fall against your neck, nose nudging against the skin there as his breath is hot where his lips caress the skin behind your ear. The hand in your hair loosens, allowing you to move your head further to side, baring more skin to his searching mouth in invitation.

He bites down, the fragile skin of your neck breaking like it has a thousand times over, your blood dripping down in rivulets as Astarion drinks you in. Your blood stains the diamonds and rubies around your neck, facets dancing with every push of Astarion’s hips against your own in the dim light.

Every suck of Astarion’s mouth against your neck brings you closer, cries falling as you both soar higher and higher towards your peak. His hips continue to move, never slowing in their rhythm as he drinks, blood continuing to drip down over the peak of your breasts before falling onto the gilded throne beneath you.

All it takes is a few more thrusts from Astarion before you come apart, body bucking against his own as he continues to suck at the flesh of your neck, every pull from his mouth bringing the pleasure higher as you crest wave after wave of our climax, white hot heat rushing over your senses. He works you through your orgasm, never slowing his pace as he fucks you through the height of it, allowing you to luxuriate in the euphoria.

Astarion follows shortly after you, the feeling of your cunt clenching hard against his own heat divine as he loses the final threads of his control. His hips press tight against your own as he empties himself inside of you with unrestrained moans as he extricates his fangs from your neck to press his brow against your shoulder, tongue licking at the spilled blood that runs down your body.

Astarion stays inside you, his cock softening as his come leaks from your joined bodies down onto the skin of your thighs, pressing kisses to your shoulder as your breathing slowly evens out.

Finally he pulls himself from your center, helping you off the throne as he bends down to grab your discarded cape from the floor nearby. He settles it back around your shoulders as you lean against him, looking up into his eyes.

“What ever are we to do with you, darling?” He sighs the words in mock distress, a finger coming to lift your chin up towards him as he smirks.

“I suppose maybe I need to be better disciplined?” Your smile answers his own, voice coy as you toy with a button on his doublet.

“Then lead the way, pet, there’s still much I can teach you.” Your answering smirk is all the permission required as Astarion leads you to the bedroom, intent to make good on his promise before the night is done.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #ascended astarion x tav #my writing

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telekineticseance · 11 months

Text

CHEMISTRY

pairing: matt stone x f! assistant reader

summary: casa bonita outing (sixth part to circumstances)

genre: fluff..at first

word count: 3050

cw: legal age gap, uh uh cunnilingus, fingering

author's note: it's happening

if you haven't read the first part check it out here: "CIRCUMSTANCES"

After the plane ride, Matt took you to your hotel and you got your room key before practically running away from him, including making the elevator doors close before he had a chance to enter himself. You walked to your hotel room and fumbled with the hotel key before walking in and shutting the door behind you, collapsing on the bed and letting the tears fall. You weren't even letting out sobs, just letting tears roll down your cheeks as you stared at the white ceiling above. You didn't want to keep pushing him about the situation but you knew it happened. I mean sure you had your moments of imagination before but that..that was REAL.

You wiped the tears from your face as you curled up higher on the couch, closer to the pillows, just taking a minute. At first you thought about taking Matt's suggestion and doing some sight seeing, after all this was your first time to Denver. The flight itself only took about two hours so by the time you arrived at the hotel it was a little after 11, including the travel in between.

The temperature wasn't too different from LA to Denver, which helped since you weren't entirely sure what to pack for in the first place. You let out a deep breath before deciding to get up from the bed, and walking towards the door, as you grabbed your purse and phone, leaving the room.

The hotel was a block away from a place called the 16th Street Mall so you decided to take a walk through there. While walking through, you looked at the people around you, taking in the sights. Even though some of it was the same as home, it was different. A different vibe, different energy. Almost peaceful.

As you walked past the windows at the store, you noticed a dress in the window on a mannequin. It was a mid-thigh length dress in a nice red wine shade, with chain straps and a cowl neckline. You looked down at yourself, and looked back up to the mannequin. The dress you had chosen for the opening tonight was a simple black dress you picked up from Target a few years back and you just consistently wore it to multiple events since then. It was a short black dress with a black sheer cover over it that reached down to your knees.

You thought for a moment before making your way inside the store, being greeted by a few people working at the shop. You asked them for help in finding the dress in your size before trying it on in the dressing room. You looked in the mirror and ran your fingers along the velvet fabric of the dress. The dress fit you just like how it sat on the mannequin, and you noticed a small slit along the bottom where the fabric wrapped over itself.

After looking at yourself in the mirror for just a little bit longer, you decided to buy the dress and wear it tonight instead of the dress you originally bought, picking up some matching jewelry before checking out and leaving the store.

You spent the next few hours, grabbing a bite at a local restaurant and continuing to walk around the streets of downtown Denver, even riding one of those electric scooters that connect to your phone in the process.

Once you realized it was almost 6, you decided to head back to your hotel room before bumping into a familiar figure in the lobby, causing you to drop your bags on the floor. "Oh sorry Y/N," You looked up and saw Trey as he smiled down at you softly, helping you pick up the bags. You smiled at him softly, while thanking him.

You never really talked to Trey much, as most of the time you two saw each other, one of you were in the middle of something and just waved and then went on with your day.

He looked at you softly, "Are you okay? You were really quiet on the plane and I know how you and Matt usually are?" He asked, handing you the bags he picked up for you. You nodded in response, looking up at him, "Yeah I'm fine. Just tired." You were lying to him, but I mean if Matt was going to act like the kiss never happened, you might as well have done the same. Especially if he hadn't told Trey about it. He smiled softly, "Well alright then. I'll see you later tonight?"

You gave him a nod before you both parted your ways and you headed back to your room. You decided to take a shower to start getting ready for the celebration, taking your time as you cleaned yourself, and fixed your hair and makeup as well.

----------

You finished getting ready right before you heard a knock on your door and you opened it revealing Matt in a button down shirt, black slacks, and a blazer. The top few buttons on his shirt were left unbuttoned, revealing a few strands of chest hair poking out the top. You held your bag close to you as Matt stood in the doorway, eyes scanning you, before he looked up and made eye contact, "You look...really good."

Shrugging at his comment you walked past him, shutting the door behind you as you started walking down the hallway. Matt followed closely behind, he came up behind you, lightly touching your arm making you jerk your arm away as you two ended up in the elevator. You pressed the button for the lobby and leaned against the wall of the elevator, crossing your arms across your chest, while trying your best to keep your eyes off Matt.

But in the moments where you struggled to look away, you noticed him eyeing you intently. His eyes narrowed as he took in his bottom lip through his teeth ever so slightly.

His attention was averted when the elevator rang the bell signaling you two had reached the lobby, as you walked out when the doors opened, not even bothering to wait for Matt in the process. He continued walking behind you trying to keep up with your pace, before you two arrived at the car and got in the back, as the driver began driving the two of you to the restaurant.

While in the car, Matt leaned over the back seat, "Did I do something?" He whispered, looking at you. You turned your head, looking out the window, keeping quiet. You noticed a small reflection of him through the window as he continued looking over at you, before letting out a soft sigh and looking out his own window.

You rested your head on the window as you watched the city go by, trying to not look over at Matt. You haven't had a good look at him since the kiss because you struggled to do so, more than usual. You thought of him when you opened the door, the way he was dressed. The way his beard and hair were beginning to grow gray with age and it was a little patchy, but he still made it look good. It was only a little gray, like on the sides of his head and mainly on his chin. He was also letting his hair grow out a little more, so his curls would stick out a little above his forehead.

The drive to Casa Bonita wasn't that long, despite the pretty heavy traffic on the way there. Once you arrived, you and Matt climbed out of the car and walked in together where he led you to a table that had a few chairs, pulling one out for you. You made eye contact with him, before moving to a different chair, sitting down while looking at the menu on the table.

His jaw clenched and he grabbed onto your arm before lifting you from your chair, dragging you to one of the offices, shutting the door and locking it behind him before turning and looking at you, "Okay what the fuck?"

You crossed your arms across your chest, raising an eyebrow as you looked at him from across the room. "What do you mean?"

He rolled his eyes while scoffing letting out a chuckle, "Don't fucking do that."

"Do what Matt? Act as if nothing is happening?" You questioned, glaring at him, feeling the anger rise inside of you as the two of you drew closer together. He blinked, looking away for a minute before turning back to you, "You've been ignoring me since we got on the plane."

You kept quiet, avoiding eye contact with him. You didn't want to talk to him, afraid of anything you might say be from frustration or anger. Because despite what happened, you still liked him. A lot.

"So are we going to talk about it? Or are you going to continue to give me the silent treatment?"

You rolled your eyes at him before looking at him, "What is there to talk about Matt? Nothing happened between us so I have no reason to be mad at you. Right?"

He crossed his arms, looking down at his shoes as he got quiet before you spoke up again, "I don't even care though. I'm going back out there."

You walked past Matt and put your hand on the knob to unlock the door before hearing Matt mumble under his breath. You slowly turned and looked at him, "What?" You asked him, with a hint of annoyance under his breath.

"I said. Fuck. This." He repeated, his voice getting louder, looking at you. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, "Fuck what exactly?"

"This," He sighs, "We kissed. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the door before you felt Matt grab you and push you against the wall next to the door, his body pressed against yours as he looked down at you, his hand firmly holding your waist, "And it's all I can think about."

He pushes his lips onto yours as you take a minute to fight back, still feeling the anger at him before giving in and kissing back. You closed your eyes, reaching your hands up to hold onto the collar of his shirt. His beard scratched at your face as you kissed, but you didn't mind it. He kept your lips attached as he pulled you away from the wall, hands around your waist as the two of you stumbled over to the desk in the middle of the room, where he lifted you up to sit on top.

He pulled away, his forehead against yours as he looked in your eyes, "You look so fucking hot in this dress. I couldn't help but think about ignoring this whole thing and fucking you in that hotel room."

Your eyes widened slightly at his statement, this was a new side to Matt but you weren't going to complain about it. And of course you were still mad about his incident but that wasn't really at the front of your mind right now.

Matt moved his hands to your thighs as he pulled you closer to him, standing between your legs before leaning in to kiss you again. You ran your fingers along Matt's torso, unbuttoning a few more buttons from his shirt as you ran your fingers underneath, lightly scratching his chest with your nails as you did so, causing him to let out a soft moan into the kiss.

He pulled away from you as he began leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline, to your neck, careful not to linger in one spot too long so he doesn't leave marks. Your breathing increased, as he ran his hands up the skirt of your dress, lifting it up in the process, before he pulled his face away from your neck and looked up at you.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want to." He whispered, his hands resting on your upper thighs, as his thumbs continued to rub circles on your thighs. You bit your bottom lip looking into his eyes, "I want this." You assured him, as he nodded in response.

He attached his lips back to yours, the skirt of your dress was now lifted to where your underwear was on display as he continued moving his hands slower up your thighs. He went back to attacking your neck as you let out soft gasps in response, "We should hurry."

He chuckled at you before looking up, "Should we now?" He teased, kissing your chest a he lowered himself more. You nodded in response, knowing that eventually people would be wondering where the two of you disappeared to, especially since you and Matt hadn't been the most secret about leaving in the first place.

He got to his knees, looking up at you as he left kisses on your thighs. You squirmed slightly under his touch, feeling the way his beard tickled at your thighs as his lips moved closer to your core. He chuckled at your actions as he glanced up at you, to see the pleading look on your face. You had been waiting for this moment for months and now that it was finally here, he was taking his time.

"Tell me what you want." He instructed, his thumbs continuing to rub circles on your thighs as he moved even closer. He knew exactly what you wanted, but to hear it come from your lips is what he needed.

"I...I want you," You whimpered out, moving your hand to his head trying to move him closer causing him to stop and look at you. "No no. I want you to tell me exactly what you want." He tsked at you as he looked at the wet spot that continued to grow in your underwear before looking up at you with a smirk on his face.

"I want you. To fuck me." You breathed out and he licked his lips looking up, "Oh what profanity on a pretty mouth," He joked as you rolled your eyes before he blew out a stream of cold air to your clothed clit causing you to gasp, sending a shiver down your body.

He pulled down your panties and left another wet kiss against your thigh, "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Please." You begged him, not sure how much longer you could handle the wait. He nodded with a grin before using his tongue to run it along your slit, as you moved your hips up from his action. He used his hands to force your hips back down, holding them in place as he began moving his tongue around your clit.

You used one hand to keep you propped upright on the desk, while the other you tangled into his small patch of curls. You let out a soft moan as he continued to flick his tongue, the grip on your hips tightening.

He moved one of his hands and began using two of his fingers to thrust into your hole. You tightened your thighs around his head as he curled his fingers inside, closing his lips around your clit. The chuckles he made from your reaction sent vibrations through you, making you let out another moan, this one louder than before.

He pulled his mouth away, continuing to pump his fingers as he watched your head lean back, shushing you in the process. You bit your bottom lip to suppress any moans, as he attached his mouth back onto your slit, teasing his tongue in circles through your aching clit.

You could feel yourself starting to reach your high as the grip on his hair tightened. You buckled your hips up, his fingers continuing to curl as they thrust into your g spot. "I'm so close," You barely whimpered out, as his continued to send vibrations through your core from his chuckles.

He enjoyed seeing you like this, barely able to form words under his touch. His fingers curled one last time before you felt yourself reach your high. You moved your hips, grinding into his mouth as you released. You felt air catch in your throat as you wanted to let out moans, but pushed yourself to stay quiet, letting out whispers of profanities.

Matt pulled his mouth and fingers away before putting his hand up to your mouth, "Suck."

You looked at him, taking his fingers into your mouth as you cleaned them off. He pulled his fingers out, a small string of spit attached as he looked into your eyes, kissing you once more.

You kept your fingers tangled in his hair as he started to unbuckle his slacks before hearing the sound of his phone buzzing on the desk. He groaned as he pulled away looking into your eyes, "Out of time." He whispered.

You whined a little as he pulled his hand from his pants and grabbed the phone, ignoring the call.

He left a small peck to your lips as he cupped your face in his hands, "Fix yourself up. I'll go stall a little." He whispered against your lips. He fixed his shirt and grabbed his blazer from the floor as you looked him up and down, seeing the growing bulge against his pants in the process.

He chuckled as he looked down, buttoning the blazer, using it to cover it to the best of his ability, "Nothing I can do about it now." He glanced over at you as you shakily hopped off the desk, your legs trembling.

You looked around for your underwear as Matt chuckled at you, before holding them out in his fingers, "Looking for these?" You nodded, taking them from him as he grabbed your chin in his hands once again, putting his lips to yours, as if he was reliant on you.

"Okay. Okay," He spoke softly, "I'm leaving now." He told you before pulling away and walking towards the door, unlocking it as he left the room, taking one last glance at you.

You leaned against the edge of the desk, in disbelief of what just happened. Wondering what would happen next.

updated a/n : next part! 🎉

#IT FINALLY HAPPENED #it'll get better i swear #the smut was mid #this is my apology for last chapter #matt stone #matt stone x reader

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comphy-and-cozy · 1 year

Note

can you please do something with “I’m going to ruin you” with the big boy, andrei svechnikov?

bestie, I knew this one had to be extra special for you - so it’s no question why this quickly turned into a mini fic bc what is a blurb anyway? I kind of combined this with a different request I got to make a sequel to sundress szn 😈

enjoy, my love!

Prompt: “I’m going to ruin you.”

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x teammate’s sister!Reader (f)

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Language, brief alcohol use/mention, oral sex (m + f receiving), brief choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

The white tablecloth is thick, almost stiff against your legs. Flickering candles and dimly-lit wall lamps provide most of the light in the room, aside from the glow of the city outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows. During the day, you’re sure it’s probably a beautiful view of the skyline, but at night it’s even prettier, a sea of glittering lights amongst the darkness.

The waiters aren’t wearing white gloves, but they might as well be, their suit vests and red ties adhering to the high standard their clientele demands. The menu is small, prices not even listed — a sign that the bill will be exorbitant.

It’s far more extravagant than you would’ve wanted for a first date, but Andrei was insistent that if he was going to risk his life taking his Captain’s sister on a date, he was going to do it right.

And he did, pulling out all the right stops: arriving 5 minutes early, flowers in hand, opening your car door, offering his arm as you walked into the restaurant. He’s polite, a perfect gentleman, when he orders an expensive bottle of wine for the two of you, his eyes hardly leaving yours the entire time.

“Trying to get me liquored up?” you ask once the waiter leaves, a flirtatious smile on your face.

The glint in his eye that you love so much is back when he glances toward you, dimple exposed as his smile matches yours. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes dip down toward the shadow of your cleavage before quickly darting back up to your own. “Why? You need a little liquid confidence?”

“Why would I need confidence to do something I’ve already done?” you smirk, following his lead and letting your eyes slide slowly and blatantly over the buttons of his crisp dress shirt, already imagining the satisfying sound of them hitting the floor when you rip it open later this evening.

“There’s a few things you haven’t done.” He licks his lips, a subtle hint at what he’s referencing, and you feel a throb between your legs, debating if waiting for your food is even worth it. But, then a waiter walks by with a plate of hot, prime cut steaks sizzling in butter, the scent almost as intoxicating as the man across from you, and you think to yourself that you can wait for a little while longer.

“And you’re going to enjoy every one of them, aren’t you?” you ask with a teasing smile, gently running a hand across your collarbone.

“Oh, baby,” he hums, his gaze purely predatory despite the charming smile he puts on. To anyone around you, you’d look like a happy couple on a nice dinner date, the mounting sexual tension invisible to passersby. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

The waiter interrupts what is about to come out of your mouth, a secret that you’ll keep forever, but his words already have the desired effect. Your legs squeeze together, a desperate throb between them as your heart ticks quicker in your chest, and in some ways, you’re thankful for the interruption, unwilling to let your date know just how much impact he has on you.

Dinner is pleasant, but excruciating, watching the flex of his hands as he cuts through his expensive steak, his large fingers wrapped around the thin stem of his wine glass. It’s terribly sexy, his strength compared to the delicate fragility of the glass, surely some kind of parallel for what you’re anticipating as soon as he gets you home and the front door is locked.

Sure enough, he does, though you admit you aren’t expecting him to immediately pin you to the door you’re in the middle of locking, skirt hiked up over your hips before he’s on his knees behind you with a growl.

“No panties?”

“I’m wearing…” you trail off, your sentence punctured by a gasp when he rips the flimsy fabric in question from your frame.

“You call these panties?” he asks, though your terminology is hardly a concern now that there’s something far more tempting in his sight.

There isn’t much room for any retort, not with Andrei roughly tugging your hips backward in order to press his face against your center. He groans at the contact, the vibration traveling straight through your clit and into every single nerve ending in your body, heightened when his tongue begins to stimulate your dripping folds.

His voice is muffled by your ass, but you can make out a distinct fuck as he tastes you, the way he’s been dying to from the moment you opened your front door looking sinfully beautiful. It’s your eyes he loves most, but your legs are a close second, the skirt you picked for the night teasing him just enough to drive him insane. He couldn’t deny that he’d spent half of dinner dreaming of pressing his head between your thighs underneath the table, remembering the all-too-brief taste he had of you, wondering if he could get away with it — ultimately he’d decided against it, but having you in your entryway is a pretty close second, he thinks.

Andrei doesn’t let up until you’re two orgasms deep, legs shaking as you clutch desperately at the door for support. Offering you some reprieve, he sits back on his knees and sucks your essence off of his fingers, the ones that brought you to your latest demise, a dark glint in his eyes.

“Taste extra sweet when you’ve got some wine in you,” he jokes.

“As good as that expensive steak you bought?”

“Better,” he hums. “It doesn’t even come close.”

It isn’t long before he’s got you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, your discarded panties long forgotten near the vase by your door. His lips are attached to yours, giving you a taste of yourself, and you’re so distracted that it takes a moment before you realize he’s walking blindly, no idea where your bedroom is located.

With a giggle, you detach yourself from his lips and give him instructions, down the hall and on the right, and his bashful smile has your heart melting. The butterflies whoosh away the second he plops you onto your bed, looking down at you with a look that’s hungrier than before. Something tells you that the sight of you on a mattress is something he’s been dying to see.

You move to tug your knee-high boots off, stilled with a quick hand and a dark glance. “Leave them. Been thinking about fucking you in nothing but these boots all night.”

His words, as always, make you shiver, the lustful promises from his lips something you’ll never grow tired of. Normally, you might make some kind of quip, a snarky comeback, but you’ve been dreaming of having him inside of you from the moment he slipped out weeks ago, leaving you leaking his cum in the middle of your brother’s half bathroom. It’s all you can do not to rip his clothes off along with your own, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion like he promised.

Andrei’s hand wraps around your throat, engulfing it with ease, pulling you up to kiss him again. Blindly, your hands fumble with his dress shirt, working it open until he’s taking matters into his own hands, tearing it down the middle and sending buttons flying across the room. You barely notice your prophecy come true, instead captivated by the cut, stark lines of his muscles, like he’s been carved out of fucking clay, sculpted like a piece of art that you’d find in the Met.

“Like what you see?” he teases, muscles flexing as he shrugs the tattered shirt off his form.

“Didn’t get to appreciate it in full last time,” you say, cheeks hot from the call out — but how can he blame you? — before your eyes drop a little lower, to the expensive-looking black slacks that hang on his hips. “Just like something else.”

The sight of you on your knees, your tits pulled haphazardly out of your top as you work on his zipper is a sight Andrei knows he’ll never forget. But the feeling of you taking him in your mouth, your eyes gazing up at him while brimming with tears, pressing further and further until he touches the back of your throat? A feeling he’ll spend chasing for the rest of his life.

With a curse in Russian, his hand threads through your hair to clear your way, not wanting anything to impede his view of his cock sliding between your wet, pretty lips, disappointed he can’t see the way your tongue works sinful magic on the vein that’s throbbing on the underside. But goddamn if he can’t feel it.

He waits until he’s twitching in your mouth, body thrumming with desire and desperate to spill into the back of your throat before he ends your experiment, unwilling to release the contents of his balls anywhere but inside your cunt. Because as good as your mouth feels, he also knows what it feels like to have your snug, warm walls milking him for all he’s worth, and it’s something he wants carnally.

As promised, he rids you of all of your clothing except for your boots, though he is tempted to leave your skirt bunched around the swell of your hips because of the way it makes you look so slutty, so needy for him you couldn’t wait a second longer. But, he thinks, there’ll be another time for that, instead wanting to see you bare, fully, since he didn’t get the pleasure the last time.

“Andrei,” you whine when his strong arms pin your hands over your head, settling himself between your legs. Your body arches into his, desperate. “Please.”

“Such gorgeous legs,” he groans, ignoring you, moving one hand to nudge your thigh up over this hip, then the other. “Perfect fucking body you have.”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna ruin me? Seems like all bark and no bite.”

His eyes, normally so warm and kind, darken at your sass, and he smirks. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he loves that you can match him step for step, challenging him with your attitude that intrigues him like no other girl ever has.

The sound you make when he presses into you is near enough to make him bust right then and there; similarly, the groan he emits once he’s buried to the hilt makes you gush, feeling yourself clench tightly around his length. He’s warm, and you swear he’s bigger than before, stretching you entirely around his delicious girth. Every movement he makes is perfect, starting slow and building his pace, different from before now that he has time and space to truly ravish you. You don’t have to ask him to keep going, to move faster, to go harder, because he knows exactly what you need before you do.

You’ve lost the ability to speak, though if you could, you’d only be able to moan out his name. His pace is brutal, hips slapping against the back of your thighs, and the rough movement of his body has the cross hanging around his neck brushing against your chest with his rhythm. It’s a filthy thing, the desire to have his chain hitting your face, an inexplicably sexy detail that somehow cranks the temperature up to scorching levels.

When he lets your hands go in favor of cupping your face, your hands slip around his muscular shoulders, clutching onto him as you hang on for dear life. He wants to kiss you, to get his mouth on you, but he can’t bring himself to stop looking at your face, in awe of the way your brows scrunch together and how your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot just right.

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs, his accent thicker now that he’s exuding more effort with his hips instead of his English, determined to stay on pace and bring you to your high. “So pretty.”

This time, when you come, you’re in the comfort of your own home and don’t have to stay quiet for fear of your brother walking in at any second, so you’re free to cry out his name when your legs shake as your climax hits you like a fucking train. A white hot blur of pleasure blinds you, taking over every single cell in your body with everything Andrei.

He’s not far behind you, shooting thick ropes into your eager and waiting center, greedily accepting everything he has to give you. His head falls in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, hair tickling your jaw as he pants, breath hot against your already molten skin.

“I’m never gonna be able to look Staalsy in the eye ever again,” he says. He’s joking, of course, but there’s a part of him that knows everything is different now, and not just because of the pussy that he’s pretty sure was crafted in heaven specifically for him.

Andrei Svechnikov is falling in love with his captain’s little sister, and there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop it.

#c does requests #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov blurb #andrei svechnikov smut #andrei svechnikov fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic

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griseldabanks · 2 months

Text

Maybelle and the Beast

My contribution to the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This was my back-up idea for last year, so I was excited to have an excuse to finally write it out! Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, and I have a feeling I may revisit this particular version again in the future, because I could definitely turn this into a novel ;) I'll admit to taking a lot of inspiration from Robin McKinley's retellings of this fairy tale.

Maybelle stared at the tall, imposing mahogany door. She felt just as reluctant to open it as if it had been the barred portal to a dungeon—like the cold stone chamber she'd explored early on in her stay here, which she expected had been a dungeon once but was now a wine cellar.

More to stall for time than anything else, Maybelle brushed off her rust red skirt and straightened her collar. It was a nervous habit, but in a way it also served to remind her of why she was here, because of who had given her these clothes. Days, weeks, months in this huge, empty mansion, alone except for one companion. The companion who had slammed this very door not half an hour ago.

Taking a deep breath, Maybelle knocked firmly on the door.

“Go 'way,” a muffled voice growled out to her.

Letting out her breath again in an impatient huff, Maybelle crossed her arms. “Are you still sulking, Agnes?”

“I am not sulking,” the voice insisted sulkily.

“Right. You're lying in bed at three in the afternoon, glaring a hole in the ceiling, for your health.”

After a heavy silence, a loud click told her the key had turned in the hole. Taking that as an invitation, Maybelle opened the door and stepped inside.

The heavy drapes had been pulled closed, leaving the bedroom in a stuffy half-light. The only illumination came from the embers of the fire dying in the fireplace. She could barely even make out the silhouette of a large bulk lying in the huge four-poster. It was like stepping into a sickroom.

Rolling her eyes at the drama of it all, Maybelle closed the door with a snap and made a beeline for the window closest to the fireplace. She pulled the curtains aside, letting a band of lazy afternoon sunlight stretch across the carpet, revealing the twisting patterns of vines and roses. After a moment's consideration, Maybelle decided not to open the curtains of the other window nearest the bed. Best not to annoy Agnes any further with a sunbeam in her eyes. She would probably just wave her hand and make the curtains close, then stick together so Maybelle couldn't open them again. Instead, Maybelle contented herself with throwing the window open and letting in the delicious scents of flowers and the buzzing of bees from the gardens.

“There,” she said, drawing in a deep breath of the fresh smell of spring. “Much better.”

With a grunt, the huge lump on the bed rolled over.

Maybelle walked up to the foot of the bed and stood there with her hands on her hips, just waiting. How strange, to remember how frightened she had been the first time she'd ventured into this room. Or how her knees had nearly given out the first time she'd dared to meet the gaze of the terrible Beast who was to be her captor.

It had been months since she'd ceased to be the Beast, and became instead...simply Agnes.

“Well?” Maybelle said, when it became clear Agnes wasn't about to break the silence. “Aren't we going to at least talk about this?”

The long tail lying on top of the blue bedspread flicked irritably, like a huge cat's. “What's to talk about?” Agnes retorted, her voice grumbling like a motorcar in her massive chest. “Clearly, you don't care what happens to me, as long as you get to go have fun without me.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Maybelle sent up a silent prayer for patience. “Well, for starters,” she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she'd intended, “you called me an awful lot of horrid names, and I thought perhaps you might want to apologize.”

A long, pregnant pause. Finally, with a long-suffering groan from the bed, Agnes rolled over onto her back, her arms tucked up against her chest almost like a dog waiting for a belly rub. The long, black skirt did little to hide her bowed legs ending in sharp claws, and from this angle, her long saber teeth and curled goat-like horns were no longer hidden in her mountain of pillows.

Agnes sighed in resignation. “Sorry for calling you a selfish, bird-brained floozy.”

Maybelle nodded. “Apology accepted. And...I'm sorry too. For calling you a heartless, hairy pig.”

Their eyes met across the room. Agnes let out a snort, followed by a loud guffaw, and suddenly Maybelle found herself laughing as well. The tight coil of anger and bitterness loosened in her chest as she tipped her head back and let her higher-pitched laughter harmonize with Agnes' deep, hefty chuckles.

Still giggling, Maybelle crossed over and flopped onto the huge bed beside Agnes. She felt so tiny in this bed, like a doll. And yet, even though she was sure Agnes could snap her like a twig if she so desired, Maybelle didn't feel a shred of fear to lie a mere foot away from her.

For a couple minutes, they merely lay there, staring up into the canopy over the four-poster. Maybelle had just realized the stars embroidered there formed constellations and was looking for Orion when Agnes broke the silence.

“You were right, you know.” Her voice was a low, sad rumble like a locomotive rushing past in the night. “I am a pig.”

“Oh, no!” Maybelle raised herself on one elbow, looking over in alarm. “Please, forget those awful things I said. It was very wrong of me to call you that.”

Agnes turned her head aside, but Maybelle thought she caught the sight of a tear glistening in one eye. “You were only speaking the truth. Like you always do. I am heartless. Because I care more about not being alone than I do about you getting a chance to see your family. Even when all you ask is to go to your sister's wedding...I'm too selfish to let you go.”

Slowly, Maybelle lowered herself to her pillow again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. “I wasn't thinking of you either. I'm sorry, Agnes. I know...I mean, I can imagine how lonely it must get here, in this huge mansion all alone. But it would only be for the weekend. Just enough to meet Edward and see Adeline off. I'd be back before you could miss me too much.”

“You...would come back?”

Agnes' voice sounded so hesitant and tremulous, Maybelle looked over in surprise, but she couldn't make out her friend's expression past the horn and the unruly mane of hair. “Of course I'll come back. That's part of the deal.”

The silence seemed to congeal between them. Neither of them had mentioned the deal Agnes and Maybelle's father had worked out, not since...Maybelle couldn't even remember. During the past several months, it had become easy to forget how all of this began. When Maybelle had first arrived at the mansion, she'd shut thoughts of home out of her mind as much as possible, to make her dreadful fate a little more bearable. If she weren't constantly thinking of the little cottage or trying to imagine what her father and sisters were up to, perhaps she could carve a small measure of contentment out of her exile. It was a small price to pay for her father's life, after all.

But it had been months since Maybelle had seriously believed that Agnes would have eaten her father. Not after she'd seen the delicate way Agnes handled the gardening tools when she tended to her enchanted rose bushes. Not after the way she'd cradled that finch's body in her enormous hands, huge tears rolling down her hairy face as she muttered spell after spell that fizzled out, unable to bring the tiny animal back to life.

Not after scores upon scores of cozy evenings by the fire, laughing together as Maybelle tried to teach Agnes how to knit with two iron pokers, or taking turns reading from one of the books in the huge library.

For the first time, Maybelle tried to imagine what life must have been like for Agnes in all the years before her father had shown up on the doorstep. Sitting alone in front of a guttering fire. Pacing the dark, dusty hallways, with nothing to hear but the echoes of her own footsteps. Wandering the grounds, able to turn the seasons at a word and the weather at a glance, but with nothing but the birds and bees to listen to her words. A library that magically seemed to provide exactly the book she wanted to read, but all the stories of friendship and adventure only serving to mock her solitude.

“I promise I'll come back,” Maybelle said firmly. “Deal or no deal. I won't leave you alone forever.”

A strange, strangled sound escaped Agnes, quickly disguised in a clearing of her throat. “Well,” she said gruffly, “good. But if you don't come back in three days, I'll die.”

Maybelle rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic.

-----

It was raining when Maybelle returned to the mansion. Since it was midsummer out in the rest of the world, she hadn't thought to pack a coat, so she just ducked her head and hurried up the gravel walk to the great front doors. This wasn't a summer rain, either; the chilly breeze cut right through the thin sleeves of the flower-patterned dress Violette had made for her.

The front doors seemed heavier than usual. Normally, they swung open at the first touch of her hand, but this time Maybelle had to throw her shoulder against one to open it. Perhaps Agnes had left a window open somewhere and there was a draft. Though that seemed strange; surely Agnes would have either closed the window or shifted the weather instead of letting all this cold rain blow in.

Maybelle turned back to glance out the door. It looked like Agnes had fully committed to a dreary late November today. The bare branches of the trees clacked together while the wind howled through them, cold raindrops splashing in puddles that turned the walkways to mud. It made her wonder if the rain had kept up the whole time she'd been away.

Shivering, Maybelle heaved the front door closed again, picked up her bag, and started towards the stairs. “Agnes!” she called, her voice echoing around the huge entryway. “I'm home!”

She was halfway up the stairs, struggling with her free hand to unpin her hair and wring out some of the water, when she realized the lamps were dark. Her feet slowed to a stop in the lush carpeting, and she frowned up at the huge chandelier that hung over the open space. Every time she'd set foot in this hall—or anywhere else in the house, for that matter—candles lit themselves and lamps burst to life. At first, she'd found it frightening, especially when she would walk down a long, straight corridor with the candles flaring up in front of her and winking out behind her, leaving her in a bubble of illumination.

But after all these months, she'd grown used to such things. Doors opening at a touch, lamps lighting on their own, plates of food and cups of tea appearing on tables right when she wanted them, a bath drawn and waiting for her without even the hint of a servant in sight. It was all part of the magic of this place. Agnes' magic.

In the cold darkness and silence, Maybelle suddenly remembered what Agnes had said before her trip. If you don't come back in three days, I'll die.

A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with her soaked dress. Surely Agnes had just been exaggerating, the way she so often did. Like that time she'd said she felt like she'd been alone in this mansion for a hundred years. Or when she said she lived under a curse.

But still...where was she? After all the fuss she'd made when Maybelle had first asked to leave, why wasn't she waiting for her? Was she sulking in her room again?

“Agnes!” Maybelle called again, slowly climbing the rest of the stairs. “I'm back! Where are you?”

Nothing but silence to welcome her.

Her footsteps slowed as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right, heading for her room. The corridor was wide enough that there wasn't much danger of bumping into things, but it was all so eerie without candles lighting her way. She paused at the corner, where a tall window offered a bit of cold illumination.

Shivering, Maybelle looked out at the darkening grounds, still lashed by the driving rain. The rosebushes looked like they were taking a beating, magic or no magic. Even as she watched, the wind stripped leaves off the branches, and most of the brightly-colored petals were already gone. What on earth was Agnes thinking? Even in her most fickle moods, she would usually relent if she realized it would endanger her precious roses....

Maybelle frowned. What was that dark lump in the middle of the path? She hadn't noticed it as she rushed up the front drive, but from this higher vantage point, she could see it clearly. Was it a tarp caught under a wheelbarrow, knocked onto its side in all this wind?

No. Those weren't the handles of a wheelbarrow. They were horns. Two horns, curled like a goat's, rising from a big hairy head lying in the mud....

Dropping everything, Maybelle grabbed her dripping skirts and raced back down the corridor. She hopped up onto the banister as she'd done so many times before and slid expertly to the bottom. Laughing as Agnes tried to imitate her and toppled over the side in a heap.

She ran to the front door and heaved it open, letting go as the howling wind gusted in and slammed it back against the wall. “Last one inside's a rotten egg!”

The rain almost seemed to be falling horizontally, the wind was so strong. Holding up an arm to shield her face, Maybelle splashed along the muddy path as fast as she could. Walking along the path, crunching through the snow, leaving behind a neat row of shoe prints and paw prints side-by-side.

“Agnes!” Maybelle screamed, the wind stealing her voice, as she turned down an aisle between the rosebushes. “You were wrong when you said there was nothing beautiful about you, Agnes. Just look at your roses!”

There she lay, like a mound of dirt, one arm flung around a rosebush as if to protect it, the other curled tight against her chest. She wasn't moving.

“Agnes?” Maybelle dropped to her knees in a puddle by Agnes' side. Throwing her weight against Agnes' huge shoulder, she managed to roll her onto her back. But how would she ever drag her up into the house?

A weak groan escaped Agnes' lips, and her eyelids fluttered, then slid open. “May...belle?”

Hot tears stung Maybelle's eyes. “Thank goodness!” she cried, grasping Agnes' hand in both of hers. “I thought you were....”

Agnes slowly opened her hand, and Maybelle saw that it was cupped around a small, bedraggled red rose. Most of the petals were gone, and those that remained looked wilted.

“Last one,” Agnes grunted. “Not much...time now.”

“It's all right,” Maybelle said, trying to give her an encouraging smile. “We can replant. Once you're feeling a little stronger, maybe you can turn the weather back to spring and—“

“No.” A shudder ran through Agnes' whole body, and her face twisted in a horrible grimace of pain. “No starting over. No...No use.”

“What are you talking about?” Maybelle patted her friend's hand. “Of course we can start over. We can always start over.”

“But...we sh-shouldn't.” Agnes' voice grew fainter by the minute, and Maybelle had to lean closer to hear. “Just...go back home...Maybelle.”

Icy fingers of dread closed around Maybelle's heart. “What? No! I made a promise, remember? I'm to stay here in my father's place—“

“I release you.” Her big amber eyes rolled to meet Maybelle's, bloodshot and exhausted, but crystal clear. “It was...wrong. I...was wrong. To make you stay...against your will. So...I...re...lease...you....”

With that final whisper, her eyes slid closed, and her head lolled back onto the ground. A shiver, like a tiny electric pulse, ran through Maybelle's whole body, and she knew that some sort of spell had just ended.

“No, Agnes!” Frantically, Maybelle chafed Agnes' hands, patted her cheeks, loosened her collar. “Agnes, you don't understand! I'm not here against my will! We're friends, Agnes! I want to be here!”

The huge beast didn't move. This wasn't like the times Agnes sulked and refused to talk to Maybelle. She couldn't even tell if Agnes was breathing anymore.

Desperate to do something, Maybelle tried to heave Agnes into her arms, but the most she could manage was to cradle Agnes' head in her lap. Tears mingled with rainwater on her furry cheeks.

What if she were dead already? What would Maybelle do then? Go back to her family? But there would be no more strolling through the gardens in the evening, no more reading by firelight, no more long conversations or teaching each other games or trying to braid each other's hair or teaching Agnes how to dance or listening to her wonderful singing voice or laughing at each other's silly jokes or....

“Don't be stupid, Agnes!” Maybelle sobbed. “You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. No one knows me like you do. No one cares like you do. If I knew this would happen to you, I never would have gone away.”

Maybelle rested her cheek against Agnes' forehead, in between the horns, and rocked back and forth, holding her best friend close. “I'm sorry, Agnes...I'm sorry.... I never wanted to lose you. I just...I just wanted to keep being your friend. Always. Forever.” A painful sob ripped out of her chest as her best friend's body lay cold and still in her arms. “I love you, Agnes.”

Faintly, Maybelle was aware that the wind had died down, and raindrops no longer pounded down on her head and shoulders. The realization of what that meant only made her cry harder. Her fingers tangled in Agnes' mane of hair as she mumbled over and over again, “I love you, Agnes...I love you....”

“Love you too.”

Maybelle looked up at those gruff words, then gave a great start as she realized she held a complete stranger in her arms.

The woman she held was large, with broad shoulders and a squarish jaw. She was no great beauty, especially not with disheveled brown hair straggling all over the place or her body swimming in Agnes' oversized dress, but there was something comfortable and familiar about....

Wait. “Ag...nes?”

Moving stiffly, the woman held her own hands up in front of her face and turned them around, as if she'd never seen them before. Slowly, a wondering smile crossed her face, and Maybelle noticed this woman's front teeth protruded slightly.

Not too unlike the huge fangs that had curved from Agnes' lips.

Then she raised her eyes to meet Maybelle's, and there was no doubt. Those were the amber-brown eyes of her best friend.

“Agnes!”

They threw their arms around each other, and they were crying, but they were also laughing, and Agnes was trying to tell her something about a fairy and a flower and a curse, but Maybelle was too distracted by how small Agnes was in her arms. How high Agnes' voice was.

“How?” she gulped, pulling back and holding Agnes at arms' length. “How did this happen?”

“It's all you, silly!” Agnes laughed, swiping her sleeve over Maybelle's cheeks to dry her tears. She still moved carefully, as if afraid of accidentally swiping Maybelle with nonexistent claws. “True love breaks any curse, don't you know that?”

“True love?” Maybelle sniffled.

Tears spilled out of Agnes' beautiful amber eyes and rolled down her round, rosy cheeks. “What love could be truer than this?” she said with a shaky laugh. “That you'd still want to be friends with someone as beastly as me?”

“Oh, you're not as bad as all that.”

Agnes raised her eyebrows. “Really? Even after all those nasty things I said to scare you on your first night here? Or when I threw a chair at you and screamed when you went exploring in the west wing?”

“Well....” Maybelle didn't know how to deny it without completely lying, so she hastily changed the subject. “I don't regret anything, though. I don't regret coming here. I don't regret deciding to be your friend.”

With a watery chuckle, Agnes rested their foreheads together. “I don't regret it either.”

#inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale challenge #theme: philia #story: complete #beauty and the beast #fairy tales #set in vaguely-victorian era #maybelle #agnes

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