brain rot diary

He's no good with words, but in his lips lie a thousand more I love you's waiting to be kissed.

But he does, he really, really does.

You drop down onto the couch, holding back tears and asking ghost why guys don't like you. He rubs your back with his wide palm and draws circles on the inside of your knee with his thumb, wordlessly comforting you. It's innocent, you tell yourself, he's just a touchy guy. That's why he always lets his hand graze your waist as he shifts past you in the hallway, always lets his fingers linger two seconds too long every time you hand him something. You lose confidence in that conviction, though, when you end up in his lap as the tv screen darkens with the end credits of the movie he had been watching (really counting down the seconds until you got home from your date). His big arms are wrapped around you and your head is buried in his neck, tears eventually turned to a steady warm synchronization of your breaths together. As you shift your weight, hips dragging up his leg, you suddenly feel him between your legs. His whole body tenses as the warmth of you presses on his hard cock over his sweatpants. You roll your hips again, this time pressing harder against him and he all but fucking moans, a low broken sound escaping his throat. His hands come to your waist and squeeze as you do it again and again and again, not stopping until he whispers the dirtiest things you've ever heard in your life against your skin while you come for him. Not stopping until his mask is somewhere on the floor, his lips finally opening up to you in all the ways he has just been waiting to show you.

Still, he's barely turned his body, about to make you come without so much as a glance. And when he does, he just places his sticky fingers in your mouth to suck on, leaving you spent but aching as you reach for the outline of his hard cock through his sweatpants.

some other servant girls pull you away, quickly adorning you in a golden poppy crown and a garland of braided wildflowers before pulling you to the center of the field to dance. He watches you perform the well worn steps with the other women, summoning a good omen for the upcoming harvest and thanking god for the longest day of the year, your eyes sparkling as they crinkle with joy. Soon the music slows to something low that vibrates through ghost as you approach him, dragging him up to dance with all of the other couples, this time pulled close together and moving in one current around the field as the air thickens with the implications of the dance's origins. An ancient fertility ritual, the perfect excuse as he practically kneads into your hips, working his grip down to your ass. You keep one hand firm on his chest in a pathetic attempt to reach his shoulder while the other is on his jaw, tracing the strong lines that surround such a soft mouth. Eventually the heat of your heavy breaths against each other melts into kissing as your bodies inch impossibly closer together between leather and linen. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and he actually almost cries when you finally reach down to faint traace the outline of it. You run together in the encroaching darkness, recklessly flying downhill to the castle, laughing with your hands entwined until you crash throuhg the door of his quarters. Half of you lands on the bed so he manhandles you all the way up to the pillows, big hands desperately searching under your skirts. When he finds your dripping heat you gasp, blood pounding as he finally reveals that devilish smirk. He quickly licks his fingers clean before succumbing to your pleas, thrusting into with one harsh motion that splits you open. He has to wrap his lips around your tongue to quiet the sounds you make, but eventually he gives in as his heavy grunts turn into panting moans. Before you can even register, one sharp push into the deepest part of you sends you burning over the edge. He fucks you through the eternity of it and then some, shushing you teasingly when it becomes too much. After countless waves of ecstasy you can feel his bulky arms start to shake, so you tell him you love him and he immediately comes, spurting hot into you as he grits curses in your ear. "Fuck, love," is the only thing you can make out as he rolls off of you and mumbles into your shoulder. Breathing hard, he finds your hand beside his and squeezes it without looking up at you, but you know what it means.