#// Oh this turned out so much softer than I thought it would I cry

[noyasmashing]

Between Lines

Sub!Kenma x Fem!reader

CW: caught jerking off, reader a lil mean, begging, kenma being a cry baby, phone smut

A/N: Kinda rushed this one tbh.. I don’t know if I’m a fan of it but I liked the idea

WC: 1,360

Kenma's quiet demeanor was a defining trait, one that set him apart from the crowd. He wasn't one to actively seek out friendships, nor did he make much effort to engage in conversations with girls.

However, you were the exception. The circumstances of how your nightly calls began was something Kenma could not recall; but it was evolved from your shared love of video games. But once the controllers were set aside for the night, the conversations continued.

Despite his reputation for silence, Kenma was an attentive listener. He found solace in the sound of your voice, absorbing every detail you shared – whether it was the latest gossip, your favorite TV shows, or the mundane details of your day. He was content with this, offering only occasional interjections or quiet chuckles in response.

When the topic inevitably turned to him, Kenma's responses were dry, stale. I mean, you tried to talk about him, but it’s like he was on a witness protection program. He always found a way to turn the conversations back to you.

You weren’t exactly sure why, as sometimes you would have to ask “Are you still there, Kozu?"

A soft "mhmm" would be his only response, a subtle reassurance that he was indeed still listening.

Tonight was no exception. The clock ticked past 10:00 pm, leaving Kenma’s room dark as he lay on his bed, phone pressed to his ear. Your voice filled the room, animated and excited as you recounted the latest episode from your favorite TV show.

"But can you believe that plot twist?" you exclaimed, your excitement palpable even through the phone.

"Yeah, it was unexpected," Kenma replied, his tone calm but laced with a hint of amusement.

As the conversation continued, Kenma found himself lying there, feeling embarrassingly aroused. Lately, he had been struggling to find release, but there was something about the sound of your voice that seemed to make him undeniably hard.

His hand started to wander lower, venturing into forbidden territory where his boxers were already dampened with precum.

"That reminds me, Kozu! What you pulled off during the last match was pretty impressive," you enthusiastically complimented him, completely unaware of the effect your words were having on him.

“o-oh really?” He asked shakily, shamelessly teasing his overly sensitive pink tip.

"Mhmm, good job, Kozu.” You chuckled, praising him once more for his gaming skills.

Now, of all times, was the worst moment to praise him like that. He was already so aroused! The tone of your voice, your affectionate words, and just your presence in general was too much for him. By now, he was shakily jerking himself off, beads of precum leaking out of his tip.

He attempted to stifle his sounds of pleasure, but his efforts were in vain as a loud moan escaped him, broadcasting through the mic. His moment of ecstasy was abruptly halted when the realization of his mistake hit him.

"Kozu?" you asked, surprised at his unexpected reaction. Kenma didn’t know what to do with himself. He could die right about now. The one time he decided to let into his urges and he gets caught!

Before he could gather his thoughts to respond, you continued with a mischievous tone, "Have you been getting off to my voice every night?" Kenma's cheeks flushed even deeper as he struggled to find words, caught off guard by your bold question.

"N-no... I just... I'm sorry," Kenma whimpered out, his embarrassment evident in his voice. Somehow, he found himself even more aroused than before. Being caught by you had an unexpected effect on his body.

He braced himself for your potential reaction—scolding, perhaps even the silent treatment, or worse. But instead, your voice cut through his panicked thoughts, softer than before, calm and understanding,

"Did you cum yet?" you asked curiously, your tone indicating a desire to help with his predicament.

"W-what?" Kenma asked, still expecting a reprimand from you, his confusion evident in his voice.

“Cum? Did you?” you asked, this time with a slightly firmer tone.

"N-n, no.. no I didn’t," Kenma told you anxiously, unable to believe you would ask him something so intimate.

“Do you want to?” you inquired, your tone still gentle, yet probing. Kenma couldn't decipher how you felt about the situation, but he responded with a shaky "yes," although it was an obvious answer.

Your light laughter filled the air, further fueling Kenma's embarrassment. "I won't stop you, Kozu. I was waiting for something like this to happen," you admitted seductively, your words sending a shiver down his spine.

Kenma let out a soft whine, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and arousal coursing through him at your candid admission.

His hand slowly made its way back down to his aching cock, ready to relive himself of this burning feeling.

"What... what do you mean?" Kenma let out shakily, running his hand over the length of his throbbing erection. God, he was incredibly turned on right now, teetering on the edge of climax with every touch.

"Oh, come on," you teased, as if he should have known what you meant all along, though maybe he did, he wasn't sure. "Do you think I spend hours talking to you even when it’s late just for fun? I like you, Kozume. I really do," you confessed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

This time, Kenma let out a loud moan in response. You? You liked him? It was all too much for him to process.

"I want to see you," he whined, his voice filled with desperation, the sound of his frantic movements against his cock audible through the speaker, causing you to clench around nothing.

"You sound so pretty right now. I wish it was my hand doing the work for you," you remarked, ignoring his attempts at flattery.

He continued to diligently pleasure himself, while you comforted him with soft words, unwittingly encouraging his actions.

His breath became heavier, punctuated by moans and whimpers. "Please," he breathed out, nearing the edge of his climax.

"Please what, Kozu? Do you want to cum?" you asked warmly, causing him to nod his head rapidly, as if you could see him.

"Hmm?" you questioned at his silence. He let out a shy "can I?" seeking your permission for release.

"I don’t know…" you trailed off, feigning contemplation. "I’m kind of upset you touched yourself to my voice without me knowing. You're such a little pervert," you chided, and Kenma couldn't help but let out a mangled sob, his hand slowing its pace in response to your disapproval.

Hearing his slowed motions, you quickly scolded him,

"Don’t slow down if I didn’t tell you to.” This time you were much harsher than he expected. Tears began running down his burning cheeks, small apologies leaving his wet lips.

“If you wanna cum, beg," your demeanor shifted quickly, fueling his arousal even more.

He couldn’t believe you would make him do something so lewd, but he was too far gone to stop himself, "Please.. p-please [name], 'wanna cum so bad! I'm sorry.. mm sorry!" Kenma's voice came out in pitiful sobs, his desperation evident.

The sound of your tongue clicking, as if you weren’t satisfied with his pleas, only made him more desperate.

“I don’t know… maybe I should make you wait until I can touch you,” you remarked. But all Kenma could focus on was the “until I can touch you.”

The thought of you, looking at him with those pretty eyes as you made him cum on himself over and over again, was too much.

He let out more pleas and whimpers, his hips buckling pathetically into his own hand.

“I need to cum, it hurts. I haven’t in sooo long. Please, just this once.. one time,” he rambled, trying to convince you.

"Alright baby, let it out," you finally relented, and Kenma's moans grew louder as thick white ropes of cum flew out from his sensitive tip, coating his pale stomach. Small thank yous and pieces of your name left his lips as he hit his peak.

"Who knew someone so quiet would moan so loud," you remarked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

[miley1442111]

heyy, i love your writing! I was thinking a rafe x fem reader, where Rafe says they don’t have anything, she was just a hook up etc when he was actually just scared of having feelings for a girl for the first time in his life. she gets with JJ to make him jealous and it works, but instead of being that mad Rafe Cameron he just open his heart and his fears to her (even end up crying a bit)

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mistakes and misjudgements

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a/n: hi! thank you so much for requesting! I love this idea!

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader

summary: i suggest you look at the request

warnings: kissing, toxic relationship, rafe is confused, cursing, drinking, suggestive mentions, mentions of rafe's addictions (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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Rafe walked past the bar, his eyes searching for yours. You, the pogue bartender at the club, had caught the Rafe Cameron’s eye, and he wasn’t about to let you go. 

He was met with Jj. His smile dropped, while Jj’s smirk rose. 

“What can I get you, Cameron? A vodka cranberry? I can mix it with the blood of the people you’ve murdered?-”

Jj stopped talking when Rafe leaned in closer. 

“Just a water, thanks.” 

Jj nodded and walked to the fridge to grab him a bottle, and then you walked up, and he watched as Rafe’s demeanour changed. He was softer, sweeter, and funnier. Jj almost laughed out loud at the way Rafe pushed some hair back from your face, that sickly sweet smile on his face. 

Jj moved you over, his hands on your waist and handed Rafe his water. “Water for the gentleman.”

Rafe’s smile dropped. “Thanks man.”

“Oh, Jj, this is my boyfriend, Rafe,” you smiled, introducing the two.

Bile rose in Rafe's stomach. Were you two dating? But that came with so much more than just the fun dates you two were indulging in. That would mean he’d have to be vulnerable with you. And the fact that you hated his drug use, something he’d been struggling to stop for a while now. And he knew you were too good for him, it was only a matter of time before you figured it out yourself and-

His mouth moved before his brain could stop it. “Woah,” Rafe deflected. “I’m not her boyfriend, we’re just… casual,” he shrugged. 

Your face fell and Rafe had never felt so bad. “Right, casual.”

You hated that word. You hated how he used it. You hated how you thought, even just for a second, that you would settle for that.

Jj’s smile widened. “Well, there’s your water. See you ‘round Kook,” and with that, Jj turned his back on Rafe and turned to you. “You alright?”

You nodded, more annoyed than anything else. “He’s such an asshole.”

“I hate to say ‘I told you so’, but I did warn you-” before he could finish you hit him with a towel, which ended up in a towel fight in the bar, neither of you aware of the searing eyes of Rafe Cameron. 

Maybe he’d fucked up. Maybe he did want to be your boyfriend. 

Maybe. 

Jj was appalled at what Rafe had done. Casual? What was wrong with him? He had the prettiest, kindest, most amazing girl on the island, if not the world, and he was throwing it away, for what? To fuck other people? That didn’t make any sense. So you two made a plan.  

He was going to ask you out. Now, Jj liked you, yes, but as a friend. You liked Jj, yes, but again, as a friend. So you two could ‘go out’ with each other and make Rafe jealous. For the simple reason of principal, you had to make Rafe pay, it was only fair. 

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When you walked into the party, you immediately found Jj and clung to him for the whole night. Everyone was talking about you two, especially since most people thought you were dating Rafe. 

You two danced, drank, and even made out, and by the end of the night, you knew you’d sent a message Rafe’s way by the amount of texts you’d received.  

Rafe: Wtf are you doing with him?

Rafe: Text me back.

Rafe: Stop being so close to him. Come talk to me 

Rafe: Please Y/n.

Rafe: I got the fucking message now stop it.

Rafe: You have my attention, you always do. Get off of him.

Rafe: Please come talk to me.

Rafe: Y/n stop.

Rafe: Please. 

Rafe: I know I fucked up, come on. This isn’t fair.

Rafe: I made a mistake Y/n, I’m sorry.

Rafe: Fuck this, I’ll be at Tanneyhill when you’re ready to talk to me like an adult. 

Rafe: Please talk to me. Please.

You chuckled as you read through the messages, Sarah by your side. 

“Oh my god! That’s why he was so upset leaving the party!” she laughed. 

Your stomach dropped. Rafe shouldn't have been upset, he didn't care about you, right? You were just another girl he was talking to and planning on fucking, right? “What do you mean?”

“Oh yeah, Kelce was telling me he was super worked up and upset all night so he left. He didn’t even do anything but he was pacing the entire night. Top though he’d had a panic attack.”

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath. “Hey, I think I might call it a night,” you turned to the group. 

“Aww come on! The night’s just started,” Kiara pleaded, you chuckled and shook your head. 

“I’m tired!” you lied. “And I have work tomorrow.”

You needed to talk to Rafe right now. 

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The walk from the beach to Tanneyhill was quick but full of quiet and anxious scenarios. You didn’t mean to make him upset, you just wanted to show him what he was missing. He embarrassed you earlier, and you wanted to get him back. You never meant to cause harm. 

You knocked on the door, hoping he was ok, and internally hoping it would be him to open the door, considering you were wearing a very short dress that you knew Rose would turn her nose up at. 

The door swung open to reveal… Rafe. 

But he looked… upset? His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose was sniffly, he’d been crying. You’d made him cry. 

“Hi,” he sniffled, and your heart just broke. Your Rafe had been crying over you.  

You cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer. “I’m sorry,” you whispered and he shook his head, trying to hold back more tears. 

“It’s fine,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and tired. 

“It’s not. I’m so sorry Rafe,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek and that was all it took, the floodgates opened and he wrapped his arms around you, allowing him to be held by you. You sank down to the steps and let him cry into your neck for a few minutes. You softly brushed through his hair with your fingers and whispered hushed apologies and promises of everything being ok. After a few minutes he was coherent enough to speak. He pulled back, wiping his eyes with his hand as you sat beside him, confused and feeling awful. 

“I got so… jealous for a while, seeing you and Jj at work. I have no idea why. A-and then at the party, I saw you two just laughing a-and ha-having fun,” he hiccuped. “And I realised that I-I’m not like that. I’m not f-funny. I don’t make you laugh. I’m not ve-very fun to b-be around.” 

Your heart broke as you saw the little known insecure side of Rafe Cameron. Obviously, Jj and Rafe were different people, but you enjoyed Rafe’s dad jokes, just as much as you enjoyed Jj’s dry sarcasm. You and Jj had known each other practically since birth, so obviously you were more relaxed around him than with Rafe. Especially with Rafe, at the beginning you were so tense on every date, always worried that you were going to say the wrong thing, since this was your first real relationship. 

“I love being around you,” you cooed, cupping his cheek. “I think you’re funny. You make me laugh all the time.”

He nodded. “B-but I’m not like that, I’m… different. I’m not e-easy to be with, with the d-drinking and the baggage, and the drugs. I know that, a-and I promise I’m trying to change, t-to be better f-for you, it’s just h–hard. A-and I’m so scared that I’m going to lose you i-if I do the wrong thing.” 

“You’re not going to lose me,” you promised. “I swear.”

“But you and Jj-?”

“I was… trying to make you jealous,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed. 

“Oh,” he sighed. “That’s g-good. ‘Cause I really like you. And I want you to be my girlfriend.” 

You smiled. “I’m all yours Rafe, and we’ll work through it all together. I’m here for you, always.”

You took his hand in your and smiled. 

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

You'd get through it all, together.

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obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

[bedoballoons]

heyheyhey!! i would like to req for a fic, where after a BIG fight with your s/o (any genshin char), you're extremely clingy in the morning.

(because fluff after angst is heaven)

Omg I saw this request and literally went YAY! (Fluff after angst is just chefs kiss) I hope you like this and sorry it took awhile to write!!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Being clingy after a big fight~༺}

CW: Slight angst because mentions of a previous fight, overall super fluffy though!

(Includes: Diluc, Lyney, Wanderer, and Neuvillette!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Diluc:

Your eyes fluttered open, dried tears clinging to your lashes from the night before, reminding you of the argument that caused you to go to bed crying. You glanced at the sleeping man next to you, who had originally had his back turned to you but must have shifted in his sleep, his face now mere inches from yours...and his own sadness visible.

You couldn't even really remember what the argument was about anymore and in that moment...your heart didn't want to fight about it, so you moved in closer, cuddling up to his warm figure and resting your face in his chest. To your surprise his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you against him as he kissed your head softly and whispered with that morning voice you loved so much, "I'm sorry..."

𑁍༄Lyney:

You looked away as Lyney opened the door, leaving the room the two of you would usually have shared and looking rather depressed as he glanced at you, your hands instantly busying themselves with the dishes so you wouldn't have to talk. "Mon amour..." He said softly, voice just above a whisper as he stepped closer to you...his fingers gently touching your chin, guiding it so you'd look into his bright purple eyes. Their normal mischievous glint replaced with guilt and sadness, he was hurting...just like you.

You bit your bottom lip, tears welling up in your eyes as you hugged him so tightly, saying apologies between sobs and rubbing your face in his clothes, the comforting scent of rainbow roses making your heart ache. "Oh mon amour...I'm sorry too..." He said quietly, embracing you just as tightly as you had him and wiping your tears with his thumb before placing loving kisses on your cheeks.

𑁍༄Wanderer:

(I used the nickname Scara here!)

The sound of knocking pulled you out of your thoughts, your eyes flicking to the door to see Scara, who to your surprise was leaning against its frame with his hat turned downwards so you couldn't see his face. Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the harsh words you'd both said the night before flooding into your mind and making your heart ache, was he here to argue more...you honestly couldn't bare the idea of it.

After a few moments of silence, you finally stood up from your chair and took cautious steps towards him, your voice shaky with sadness as you said his name "Scara...?"

Suddenly he grabbed ahold of you, pulling you into him like if he didn't he could loose you forever, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he held you tightly and your heart pounded against the walls of your chest, tears welled up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him. His breath warm against your ear and his voice softer than you'd ever heard it as he whispered a apology against your skin.

𑁍༄Neuvillette:

You sighed quietly as you opened the large door, watching as it swung open slowly to reveal Neuvillette, who glanced up at you from his desk, his eyes instantly filling with love and slight guilt when they landed on you. He cleared his throat, about to stand and most likely apologize again for the fight the two of you had previously, but you didn't give him the chance.

Instead you walked over to his chair, climbing into his lap with a light blush on your face and snuggling into his clothed chest as he embraced you tightly, not a word had to be said between the two of you to confirm that everything was alright again. He held you like that as he signed multiple papers and studied previous cases, placing kisses on the top of your head ever so often.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

[runnning-outof-time]

Congratulations, I adore your story!!

Could you please do 23 with angst and then fluff? Thank you so much I appreciate it!💕

Thanks so much for sending this in, anon! I’m so happy you like my stories! I decided to go with Tommy for the character and chose “I don’t want to go.” for the prompt because it was the 5 word #23. I hope you don’t mind that. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

To Keep You Safe

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: season 4 spoilers (like right from the jump), language

Word Count: 1042

Summary: (Y/N) and Tommy discuss the decision to have her go into hiding while the war with the Changrettas rages on.

Things were heating up in the vendetta between the Shelbys and the Changrettas. What both sides thought would be a quick battle had now turned into a full-on war. And after Luca managed to get to Michael in his hospital bed and try to get him to switch sides, Tommy was convinced that no one was safe.

He called a family meeting. He arranged it in the morning and it was set for that evening. The air in the room was so thick with tension that you could practically cut it with a knife. (Y/N) noted that they were currently in the midst of a thunderstorm, which she had a feeling was foreshadowing for what was to be talked about.

And oh boy was she right. Things were quiet between her and Tommy that night. Neither of the two spoke a word to the other before they both went to sleep.

(Y/N) didn’t really sleep much though. No matter how many times she wished it wouldn’t, tomorrow still came.

Soon enough, there was a man in a car sitting outside their Watery Lane home.

“I don’t want to go,” (Y/N) huffed as she crossed her arms. She was aware of how much she sounded like their three year old daughter, but she quite frankly didn’t care.

“You have to, love,” Tommy insisted, not wanting this to turn into something bigger than it had to be.

“Why?” she asked, her one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Don’t fucking start…” he trailed off with a sigh.

“You owe me a reason, Thomas. I’m not just going to be shipped off into the fucking wilderness for no fucking reason,” she harped on, sharing her feelings about the decision that had been made — essentially without her consent — the night prior.

“You know why,” he told her, insisting it was common sense.

“Enlighten me anyway,” she shrugged.

“(Y/N).”

“Tommy.”

“It’s to keep you safe!” he finally came out with it, his voice raising as his eyes went wide, showing the frustration and stress he was currently under. “It’s to keep you fucking safe.”

(Y/N) was taken back by his outburst, but she really should have expected it. She was poking a bear; a powder keg that was bound to explode sooner or later. “You’re keeping me safe here, though. And besides, it was agreed between the both of you: no civilians. No women or children,” she pointed out in a softer voice, recalling the rules of the vendetta that he’d told her a few weeks prior.

“Yeah, I know that was agreed upon,” Tommy started, nodding as a sigh escaped his lips, “but with how things are going…we need to expect everything. And I can’t have you get taken by him or his men as a way to get me. So I need you to go. Just for a little while.”

Silence fell between them as she took a minute to think things over. The last thing she wanted to do was leave Tommy’s side while all of this was going on.

“I don’t want to leave you, Tommy,” was the next thing she said. She couldn’t get through the sentence without choking up, tears brimming up in her eyelids.

Tommy exhaled a breath before he closed the short distance between them, taking her into his arms just as her body began to shake from her sobs. “It’ll just be a little while, love,” he spoke in a soft voice, his chin rested on the top of her head as he rubbed her back in a comforting manner.

They stood like that for a few minutes. (Y/N) had no shame in crying into her husband’s suit coat. She didn’t want to let him go and leave because she was afraid that this would be the last time she’d see him.

“Hey, the car’s waiting outside,” Tommy was the one to speak first. He loosened his hold on her as he did, moving his hands to her shoulders so that he could bring her out at arms length.

“I know,” (Y/N) nodded, sniffling as she wiped her tears away. “I’ll miss you, Tommy,” she added then, looking at him with watery eyes.

“I’ll miss you too, love,” he responded without a second thought, raising one hand to run it down her cheek.

“Make sure you go visit the kids for me…or at least send Pol or someone if you think it’s too risky,” she added, thinking of her children who were currently residing at her parents’ home.

“I will,” he assured her with a nod.

(Y/N) took a moment to look at her husband then, making sure she could commit every part of him to memory. She didn’t know when she’d see him next. Her bottom lip began to quiver as that thought stuck in her mind.

“It’s just a little while,” Tommy repeated what he’d said to her before.

“I know,” she nodded, holding back the tears. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated the phrase, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. (Y/N) held him there, making their embrace as long as it could possibly be. But eventually she had to pull away, and as she did, she finally decided it was time. “I should go.”

“I’ll come get you when this is finished,” he promised her, their eyes locked as he spoke.

“Just stay alive,” she said to him, sending one last smile her way before they finally broke their embrace so that she could grab her things.

Tommy ushered her outside and made sure she got into the vehicle. He then gave the driver and his accomplice strict instructions on what to do. After sending one last smile to (Y/N), he let them go and headed back inside.

He took two steps away from the door and placed his hands onto the side table sitting there so that he could brace himself as he leaned back against it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, his family flashing in his mind. Then he released the breath he’d been holding and stared straight ahead. This vendetta would be finished soon, and he’d make damn sure of it.

**tags are in a reblog, so that hopefully the notification gets sent

MASTERLIST

[c0smoshit]

Comfort headcanons!!

⋆ ࣪. ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ≫ Cloud, Zack and my bby Vincent

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ none, just fluff

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ First little fic after a while, hope you guys enjoy!!

Cloud

★ As we all know, he isn't the best comfort buddy

★ But, through all the years he had to slowly leave behind all his trauma, he definitely has softened up

★ Secretly loves the way you would fall asleep on him after bawling your eyes out

★ Obviously not much of a talker, he prefers to listen and just be there for you

★ I just love to think that it always ends up in a hours-lasting cuddling session, doesn't matter if he was the one who needed to be comforted or the other way around

"It´s fine, really" However, your puffy cheeks said otherwise as you adverted your gaze from him. Your arms hugging your body wearily, soft sniffles and of course, your ragged breathing was all you had let him see. His approach was sincere, walking slowly up to you just to place a hand on your shoulder, he sure had improved on how to just... listen over the years. "Talk to me" But still you wouldn't budge, turning your face from him, embarrassed he had to see you like this once again. So after huffing out a sigh he seemed to have been holding for quite a while now, he placed his left hand on your unoccupied shoulder and pulled you closer to him. Then you let go, ugly sobbing into his chest as you fisted his shirt. His hands trying the most soothing patterns he recalls you drawing on his back after a rough day. He would caress as tenderly as he could, not quite being used to touching a texture softer than the handle of his sword, to hear such pretty cries and not from death. "Sorry, I just-" You hiccuped after you had rambled your sorrows into the tension-filled air of your room. However, he didn't budge, muffling your priceless apologies into his chest as he opted to just hold you for however you needed him to. That was his way of showing you how much he appreciated you, everything you had done to soothe him, he will reciprocate too.

Zack

★ MAJOR comforter

★ I mean, he doesn't even have to do anything, his meere presence is just so comforting

★ He feels bad about it but he loves your face whenever you're grumpy or upset, he just finds your tear-stained cheeks so cute!

★ Oh and btw, you aren't crying more than 5 minutes when he's around

★ He would do anything to make you forget it, want some icecream? He's already bought like 10 of them. A massage? Face down lying on your mattress asap

"C'mon y/n" You felt his saddened voice ring through your ears, his hands holding your waist as you hid your face under your palms. Your cheekbones glistening and getting irritated from the saltiness of your tears, and the more he tried to sneak a peek out of the them, the worse he felt. "Look at me please" He whispered as he delicately placed his still gloved hands over yours, finally prying them off your gorgerous face. "There we go, as beautiful as I remember" You didn't know why, but at first glance, his dumb but somewhat anxious smile looking down at you made you mimic his own expression, earning a playful laugh from him. It really wasn't fair, you thought, you could never be upset around him. "What? Got something funny on my face?" He joked before swiftly moving his hands and reaching the sides of your waist, nagging your sides until he had to catch you from falling on your ass as you laughed. "You're such a dork" You giggled out after he lifted you into his arms, your feet dangling off the floor as your arms were trapped under a bear hug. Hearts beating shakily into each other the more he nuzzled into you. "Yeah, but you love it"

Vincent

★ Tbh I think he's the most compressive of the three

★ Would and will listen to you ramble for hours of necessary, he's such a hopeless romantic

★ Not a fan of physical contact but if you are, he would not complain if you wanted to cuddle with him

★ (I mean this mf is always sleeping on his coffin)

★ Will do whatever you felt more comfortable with, if you just want him to listen and be there, he will, if you want to be alone, he will leave you be (but ofc he later would be looking for you to see if you were fine)

"Who was it?" A sudden deep voice rang through your ears, making you jolt up from the floor as you looked around to spot the source of it. And of course, it was your deary sneaky vampire. "Jesus" You choked out before turning your back to him, telling him that one, he really should stop sneaking on you like that and two, of course it was nothing. Either way, as soon as he heard your pained voice he knew you required some comfort, he's been there already. The more you stepped away, the more he tried to approach you, finally getting to wrap his cold arms on your waist as your back pressed against his chest. . . . You both stayed like that for a while, rocking back and forth as he lulled you, letting you cry out your last tears before you finally felt relief, slumping down on him as sleepiness took over your features.

He huffed out what seemed a quiet laugh before dragging you back into your bed, sitting on it first as he let you nestle on his lap, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you slowly dozed off on him. His cloack sure was comforting.

Bonus!!

"Don't let such a stupid thing get into your head dummy" "Yeah, she's right y/n" You swore you couldn't feel any warmer in that moment, the girl's you've always looked up to were sweeter than ever. And yeah, it was a stupid thing you were upset about too.

Then they both took you on one of the best improvised little dates ever, taking walks and admiring the (not-so-clean) streets of Midgar. Then Aerith took you to her house, Tifa following shortly behind you as they both giggled playfully.

A cuddling session followed closely and you were absolutely living it. Snacking on some homemade food Aerith's mom had worked on the day before and nuzzling your head onto Aerith's chest meanwhile Tifa had her arms around you for behind.

"You both are the best, really"

You sighed out, your eyes not puffy anymore as you glanced at both of them. Earning more sweet comments from the brunnete and nods from the bartender.

[sorryimdyingrn]

SCAREDY CAT (Severus Snape x FEM! Reader)

Summary: Y/N, Snape's assistant in class is easily scared and tends to overreact when someone creeps up onto her. What's going to happen when Snape decides to do so?

Warnings: Smut, improper use of the Incarcerous spell, Sub Snape, Dom Reader, handjobs, FEM! Reader, idk what else to put there, Idk probably incoherent English in some places.

Oh man I really am doing that. For the last few months I have been bringing myself to this moment trying to put some words together but this is the first time I'm actually succeeding in doing so! I hope you won't cringe to death and excuse my poor English as it's not my first language ❤️

A normal work day. Nothing out of ordinary and nothing signaling the things that were about to happen. The students were acting like students, other Professors doing their job sometimes stopping in their busy tracks to say Good morning and Snape shooting her those weird looks. They weren't hate by any means. They were more like... Fondness??? Who knows. No one really saw Snape looking at someone with fondness so no one could tell.

Y/N calmly stood by one of many desks in classroom, cutting up some Boomslang's skin to fill up a jar in Snape's storage after someone stole it. The swift movements of her wand made a quiet swish, leaving the ingredient cut into perfect strips easily fitting into the jar.

The scene was peaceful, no one to interrupt, no one to say anything and definitely no one to look at the way her hands moved like Snape liked to do while she was doing her job.

Severus Snape... Y/N's thoughts drifted to the dark and broody Potions Master. His cold aura was intimidating and she couldn't lie - if definitely turned her on a bit. Sometimes she liked to imagine how his elegant hands would feel like against her skin, his lips against hers, his dick in her hands as he looked up at her with pleasures in his eyes and him whimpering out her name with-

Y/N shook her head to get rid of the dirty thoughts clouding her mind. The last thing she needed was being horny and distracted right now. She sighed softly and went back to her work.

Snape stood silently in the doorframe, looking at his assistant with a softer gaze. As much as he would rather gnaw his own leg off than admit this, he liked her. He liked her a lot. Her happily glimmering eyes, her soft smile, her figure that he wished to see without clothes... And her voice... Oh her sweet voice that he imagined every night moaning his name and telling him how good he was for her when he palmed his painfully hard erection through his trousers crying out loudly...

An idea popped into his head. A devilish and seemingly at the moment perfect idea. It wasn't unknown that Y/N had a tendency of getting scared at the slightest things and her reactions were quite entertaining. A slight, almost unnoticeable smirk pulled at his lips as he silently closed the door and creeped up behind her. She still stood there unaware of what was about to happen. So happy... So innocent...

Snape raised up his hand slowly and gave her a gentle jab to her side.

Y/N jumped up with a loud shriek.

"SON OF A BITC-"

Without looking at her attacker, she swished her wand aggressively in the air. A black rope shooting out of the air tying Snape up in a rather questionable position, his hand flying out of his sleeve, now laying around a meter away from him. He was on his knees, his hands tied back to his ankles tightly, not allowing him to get up. Well that wasn't the outcome he expected.

Y/N looked down at him annoyed, right now not caring about the situation he was in.

"Not cool man. Not cool. You know I have a weak heart." She said while shaking her head disappointed.

The way she looked down at him sternly... Fuck, the way she stood over him in such a towering and dominating manner while he was on the floor kneeling... Snape shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he did...

He sighed defeated, trying to get rid of the inappropriate thoughts clouding his mind. Why was he into this?

"Yes, yes. That was uncalled for I know." He admitted his fault, shifting slightly with annoyance. "Can you let me go now? It's rather provocative position I'm in." He looked up at her, trying to look stern and cold the best he could.

She just then noticed his position, her eyes taking in his rather embarrassing state. Her finger went up to her chin in a thinking manner.

"Hmmm... No." Y/N replied bluntly and walked up to the door to lock it. "You scared me without thinking about the consequences of your actions, now you have to be punished."

The last sentence made Snape's mind fill up with very VERY inappropriate things. His position, her stern demeanor, locked doors, her talking about a punishment... It all made his thoughts go to a very dirty place, sending a jolt to his already hardening length.

He had to suppress a whimper when he saw her walking back up to the desk to resume her work. His face was on the perfect height to see her ass and thighs in the complete display. The sight making his cock twitch in the confines of his pants that felt wayyyy to tight right now. His eyes were glued to her backside with a needy look. Oh what he would give to touch her beautiful curve right now...

"Please..." He muttered under his breath, knowing that if he would say it louder, his voice would sound desperate and whiny.

Y/N sighed annoyed, her back still turned to him as she moved to bottling other ingredients.

"Can't hear ya. Speak louder if you want me to actually listen." She replied, still not happy about his little prank.

The feeling of his erection was now becoming slightly painful. He felt a bead of precum dampening the material of his boxers. His breath was heavy as he futily tried to control his arousal.

"Please Y/N..." Snape spoke up louder, his voice came out as a high whimper (just like he expected)

Feeling a rush of arousal through her core, Y/N turned around quickly to look down at him. She noticed his dick straining against his pants and her eyes widened.

His face grew panicked and lustful as he noticed her staring at the tent in his pants *Shit... She'll think that I'm a creep! She'll be disgusted by me and I will never-*

His train of thoughts was stopped as he loudly cried out involuntarily. She gently pressed her shoe to his cock, massaging it lightly

"Aaah! Please!" his head rolled back and hips bucked up to the contact, relishing in even the slightest touch to relieve his hard-on.

Y/N smirked and crouched down to his level. She grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking it slightly so she could see his flushed face.

"You're enjoying this? You enjoy being tied down and being punished like this?" her voice was amused and lustful as she took in Snape's heavy breathing.

Snape nodded his head eagerly, as much as her hold on his hair allowed.

"Mhm! Yes! Yes please I need- AH! MMMHH~

Y/N cut him off as she started to firmly palm his cock through the material. His hips were bucking up to the contact. Whines and moans were falling out of his open lips as he withered slightly under her touch, ropes restraining his movements a lot.

That moment was better than the things he imagined. How could he go go back to his own hand after feeling this? After feeling her?

She ran her thumb over his clothed tip, earning a shudder and a gasp from him.

"Fuck... You're sublime like this Severus... Those sounds you make are like heaven itself..." She whispered into his ear, leaving a kiss right under it.

He whimpered pathetically in response.

"Stop... Stop teasing..."

Y/N obliged immediately, almost attacking the zipper of his pants. After almost ripping his pants open she took his length out.

Snape hissed at the cold dungeon air against his sensitive dick. It was standing rigidly up, the tip already flushed red and leaking precum steadily.

Without hesitation Y/N took his length into her tight fist, waking him, hard.

Snape tried biting back the whines and moans of pleasure, failing miserably. He was writhing and bucking his hips up desperately, seeking more friction.

The sight was incredible. His cold and stern expression contorted into a face of pure pleasure. His mouth was open, gasping loudly and his eyes were rolling into the back of his skull with tears almost tricking down his cheeks.

"Please! Please Y/N I'm so sensitiv- Ahh~"

His orgasm was approaching quickly. His cock started twitching and his moans gained in volume. If she didn't stop he would-

"Are you going to cum? Are going to make a mess for me?" Y/N whispered into his ear before attacking his neck with kisses and gentle bites.

The only thing Snape could do was whine loudly and nod eagerly. His thighs started trembling, the uncomfortable coldness of stone floor long forgotten.

"Fuck... Come for me Severus... Come and look into my eyes... I want your fave to be engraved into my memory... I want to remember every single sound you let out as I make a fucking mess out of you..."

The pure filth that left her mouth spurred him on even more. She was still holding his hair tightly, her eyes now glued to his face.

Before he could warn her, the white hot pleasure took over his body with strings of his seed shooting over her hand and their clothes. He cried her name out and arched his back almost into a 90° angle (he might be almost 40 but that flexibility is still on POINT✨).

His head fell forward onto her shoulder as he panted loudly, trying to calm himself down.

With a swish of Y/N's wand, they bother were cleaned up as she tucked his softening length back into his pants almost lovingly. The hand gripping his raven locks now eased up and was gently running through his hair in a soothing manner.

"You can scare me every day if that's how it's going to end up every time" Y/N chuckled, getting rid of the binds on his body.

Snape only could quietly groan tired in response.

Hi! I have a feeling that was one of the most pathetic smuts that exist on this platform, although it just might be my opinion because I wrote it. If you have any feedback or tips then I'm more than happy to hear about them! I once again apologize for incoherent English. I hope that it's not actually as bad as it's in my eyes and that someone might actually enjoy this!

Now goodnight ❤️

[mathitas]

Leo Valdez x gn!reader

Leo falls in love with you, there’s only a problem: you’re his friend’s little sibling.

Percy established a rule for Leo: his sibling was off-limits.

Leo was good at many things, but following the rules wasn't one of them.

He usually fell in love at first sight, falling for the first attractive person he saw. Once he had made a fool of himself, he moved on to the next person.

But this time, it was different.

He knew that he had to keep his distance, but he soon realized that he saw in them everything he had always looked for. Leo found himself torn between his strong attraction to them and his loyalty to his friend. Every fiber of his being wanted to break the rule and give in to his feelings, but he knew that doing so would not only betray Percy but also risk destroying the bond they had. It was a constant battle between his desires and his sense of duty, leaving Leo in a state of inner turmoil.

They were essentially perfect for him: kind, laughed at his jokes, caring and simply stunning.

Soon he began to imagine them when he woke up at night from a nightmare, thinking of their voice comforting him, their hands stroking his hair, and wiping away his tears.

The more he thought about them, the more his heart ached. But he could only keep his distance and watch them from afar.

That way, he wouldn't make the situation worse, and when he finally met someone else who caught his attention, he wouldn't risk his friendship with Percy.

However, this never occurred. His heart still longed for them, even after almost a year. Every time they talked, every time they smiled at him, he couldn't help but feel horribly love-sick.

Everything worsened one day when, as everyone was singing and enjoying themselves by the campfire, he saw them running away from the crowd.

He looked at them, and before they could disappear from his sight, Leo stood up, excused himself, and followed them worriedly.

He stopped when he saw them lurking on the ground in front of the lake.

Leo didn't know whether to warn them of his presence; he didn't know how to behave around them.

He was awkward, conflicted between wanting to confess how much his heart ached for them and not betraying his friend.

When he heard them sob, he called out their name with concern.

They turned to him, blinking away the tears from their eyes.

“Leo, what are you doing here?”

"Is everything OK?"

Leo ran over to them, sitting down next to them. He wanted to place his hand on their shoulder to comfort them, but he stopped mid-air, still uncertain about it all.

They nodded, and Leo looked at them with a stern look, demanding the truth.

“It wasn't a good day; some Hermes kids thought it would be fun to make a fool out of me, and some Ares kids who keep on tormenting me decided to annoy me today, pestering me around! Being among all those people by the fire, I couldn’t take it anymore. That's why I came here. I always come here when I’m too overwhelmed."

Leo listened to them carefully, playing nervously with a ring he always kept on his finger.

Leo looked at them with empathy, and when he noticed another tear rolling down their cheek, he ran his thumb over it, wiping it away.

When he realized the gesture, his hand remained resting on their cheek, red from crying, and he quickly withdrew it, blushing from it.

They touched their cheek after he withdrew his hand.

“I’m sorry," they whispered.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"We don't know each other that well, and yet here I am venting to you."

"I wanted to check on you, so I really don’t mind…”

They smiled at him.

“You’re softer than you look."

"What?"

“You always try to act tough, but then you comfort me like that,” they laughed.

Leo's eyes lit up when he heard their laugh, and he smiled back at them.

“I don't want to act tough; I am tough,” he said proudly.

“Oh, so I'm your soft spot."

”Yes, you should be proud. Being the soft spot of the bad boy Leo Valdez is something to be quite taken accountable for."

They laughed again, and Leo was happy about it; that was his goal.

“Thank you,” they whispered.

Leo shrugged, admiring them.

Then Leo realized that was it. He was done. He would never get over them.

He held back a sigh and gave up on himself.

Even if he wanted to tell them, he knew they could never reciprocate his feelings; they could never like someone like him.

From that day on, they started looking for Leo more often.

They came to visit him in his workshop; they looked for him in the morning for breakfast and dinner before returning to their cabin.

Lately, Leo also felt Percy's gaze on him, which didn't fail to remind him of his rule over and over again.

A friendship was inevitably born between them, and Leo was really happy about it. He wanted nothing else but to be close to them.

Yet each time, his heart ached more and more.

How could a man want something so badly when he knew he couldn't have it?

Yet, in the midst of all this suffering, Leo discovered something new about himself. He discovered that, despite everything, he was willing to endure all this suffering, if only it meant he could be close to them, even just as a friend.

When one night in camp everyone was singing and having fun, they were sitting by the lake, as it had now become a habit for them.

They were silent, and Leo every now and then came out with a few jokes, yearning to hear them laugh.

They fell silent once again, but it was another kind of silence.

Leo turned to look at them and saw them nervously twisting their hands. While they were breathing heavily, they said, after a few attempts.

“Leo…”

"Yes?"

They tried to get the words out several times, but each time they froze, laughing nervously.

“Do you like Calypso?”

Leo's eyes widened.

"No, of course not! I liked her, but it's in the past! We weren't good together."

"Do you like someone else, then?"

Leo could feel his heart exploding in his chest.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Answer me, please."

Leo could feel his own heartbeat, and he could feel his insides twisting anxiously.

He knew he wanted to forget about all the rules, to confess his love for them, and to have a chance with them.

What if they rejected him? Leo had never felt this way about anyone else; what would happen then?

"If you don't answer now, I don't know if I could keep on hanging out with you."

He stopped breathing for a second, his eyebrows furrowed, and his heart broke at the thought: What should he do? Could he still lie to them? Should he just tell them the truth for once?

They stood up, ready to leave, after Leo stared at them with wide eyes.

Leo came after them and stopped them, holding their arm.

When they turned around, they saw the desperate look on his face. They could see he was afraid of losing them.

“I like you more than you could ever imagine.”

His face was painful, then Leo took their hand and placed it on his chest.

His heart was pounding.

“I don't know what to do anymore; Percy is going to kill-“

They interrupted him once again, placing their lips on his.

One hand rested on his chest, feeling how his heart was beating for them, and the other caressed his face, and they could feel, under their touch, how tension faded from Leo’s face.

“If your brother finds out—”

They kissed him again, shutting him up.

“I am a dead man.”

They laughed and kissed again until it was time to return to their cabins.

The following weeks were crazy—the touches under the table when their brother wasn't looking, the kisses behind the cabins, the evenings at the lake—their secret was kept, but not for long.

Leo, one afternoon, during lessons on how to ride a pegasus, had taken them to a secluded place, and they exchanged kisses there.

Their hands were in Leo's curls, playing with them, and Leo was holding them by the waist and giggling between kisses until they interrupted him.

“We should seriously tell my brother before he finds out about us.”

“Are you sure he should know?”

”I should know what?”

Percy interrupted them.

”Fuck.”

They immediately separated, and there stood Percy with his arms crossed over his chest and an angry look on his face.

“You have to know that, well…”

"That? What? That you both lied to me?”

“Percy! We did it because you would react like this.”

”Reacted how? Like someone you just broke a promise to? Then you are right."

“You're overprotective; you can't control who I fall in love with.”

Percy remained silent, then continued.

“I just want to protect you.”

"I know you're scared."

"I do not trust him."

”Hey!” Leo yelled, offended.

“Leo is a good guy, and we like each other.”

He wrinkled his nose and looked angrily at Leo.

“You better accept it, because if you don't, I'll keep dating him in secret.”

Percy sighed, and Leo smiled fondly at them.

Then Percy looked at him and stopped smiling, becoming tense.

“If you hurt them—”

"I'll hang myself!"

Percy wanted to laugh, but he didn't, maintaining his big brother role.

“I'll keep an eye on you.”

“I love you, big brother,” they said, hugging their brother, who kept on sending dirty looks to his friend.

"I love you too." Percy answered, sighing once again, a little less worried than before.

[heeliopheelia]

"how did we end up like this?" (heeseung x reader)

genre: angst to fluff word count: 1k requested by nonnie ♡

a/n: ahhh i almost forgot how much i love writing angst and arguments 🤍 like i've said before, i wasn't planning on ending this on a happy note but i folded because... well, it's hee lmfao

masterlist

Your head is pounding from all the screaming and crying you've let out today.

Biting down on your lip harshly, you turn your head to the side to hide the tears forming in your eyes from your boyfriend. Eyeing the duffle bag you've laid out on your shared bed, you start throwing the messily folded clothes inside it.

"W-Wait, what are you-," Heeseung stops himself as he chokes on his own breath. With heart dropping into the deepest pit of his stomach, he walks up to you and grabs your elbow gently. He tries to ignore the way that your body stiffens underneath his touch but the sharp aching in his chest really makes it difficult. "Stop, please. That's not necessary, love."

"Oh, I think it's very necessary," you murmur with a sniffle, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your face.

Heeseung tries to move in front of you but you jerk your arm out of his touch and shake your head at him.

"Baby, don't. You know I didn't mean what I said–"

"I know," you interrupt him, trying to calm your shaky breath. "I know," you repeat, softer this time, "It's not that, Heeseung."

"Then what is it?" He asks, slightly dreading your answer as he watches your eyes widen with disbelief.

"Oh, c'mon now. All we ever do is fight all the goddamn time. We can't even go two days without getting to each other's throats. It's not healthy anymore, you've surely noticed that." Your trembling fingers attempt to stuff another shirt into your duffle bag but when another wave of hot tears blurs your vision completely, you give up on this task for and bury your face in your hands. "How did we even end up like this? When? We were always so good together. So why?"

"I'm sorry." Even though Heeseung's head is filled to the brim with running thoughts, this is the only thing he's able to come up with.

Hurting you was never the slightest possibility for him yet now he's standing seemingly frozen, watching the love of his life collect their stuff and about to leave him forever – and all he can do is try to figure out the answer to your question. Because, really, when has it all started going downhill?  Heeseung could swear in a heartbeat that there's never been anyone who could make him happier than you do – and probably no one ever will, and yet he starts wondering whether convincing you to stay with him would only cause you more pain.

"You don't have to apologize for anything," you sniffle again, hands moving quickly to zip your bag. "We're both at fault here. No need to kick yourself down because of it, you know? Sometimes it just.... happens."

And he can't say anything because you're right. He can't say anything because there's absolutely nothing on his mind that could somehow make this situation better. He can't say anything because if he does, he'll only hurt you more and he can't have that when his heart is already this heavy with guilt.

So he watches helplessly as throw the bag over your shoulder, not sparing him even one look as you make you way out of the bedroom with your head hanging low, thick teardrops leaving a trace on the floor as you go. You're walking down the stairs and it'll be only a matter of seconds before you leave him and without even knowing how much he fucking loves you you'll be gone from his life.

With that thought and the fact that Lee Heeseung is a selfish man whose heart always has more control over him than his mind, he drops every single shred of reason and rushes down the stairs, long legs nearly tripping on the wooden steps.

He pushes his arm forward in the last second, shutting the door close just as your hand reaches the doorknob.

He's breathless, wide eyes looking at you with panic. "Don't go."

"Heeseung, I–," you stutter out, mind stalling as his warm hands come up to cup your wet face, fingers wiping your cheeks with the tenderness and affection that you've lacked so much for the past week.

And when he starts littering small, quite desperate, kisses all over your face, you can't help but cave into his touch, the duffle bag hitting the floor as it slides down your shoulder.

"Don't leave, baby," he pleads, hugging you even closer, even tighter when your tears seem to never come to an end. "Don't leave me, please. We'll fix it, we always do. I'll be better, I promise."

Your arms come up around his middle, fingers clenching on the fabric of his worn out t-shirt as you can't do anything else but cry in his embrace. He presses a kiss to your wobbly lips coated with salty tears, then another one and a next one after that.

"You're it for me, YN. I need you with me. By my side," he mumbles into your skin, his warm kisses never ceasing and successfully bringing comfort to your weeping heart. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you nearly whisper, words strangled with your tightened throat. He makes your head spin but you have no time to wonder if it's in a good or a bad way as his tongue makes its way inside your mouth, causing all of your thoughts to disappear within a mere second. "So much," you mutter into the kiss, hands coming up to run through his thick hair.

"Then stay with me, hm?" You nod your head quickly, tugging his neck closer as he pulls away from you slightly. "Yeah?" He needs you to confirm your statement before he gets his hopes too high and gets his heart broken in two. "You're not gonna leave me?"

And the another firm nod of your head is all that he needs, breath stuttering for a second before he draws you even closer in his arms and lets you pull his face to yours again, molding your lips together and willing to leave the scarring argument in the past to give your mending relationship yet another chance.

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi

[merlinmarvelandother-oneshots]

Hey, I saw you had request open and I was hoping to put in one, IL keep it short, I just got out of a bad relationship and I'm healing and was hoping you could possibly write about how underTale, underFell, UnderSwap, and HorrorTale (dreamtale to if you are ok with that one) would act if there love or friend just got out of a bad relationship with their ex. Sorry if you don't do these, but I'm just throwing this out there. Please ignore if you aren't intrested and have a good day.

i hope you’re doing well anon <3

undertale, underfell, underswap amd horrortale skelebros (Ft. Dream!Sans) with a reader who’s just gotten out of a bad relationship

(a/n: had this one in the drafts for months and i just wanted to get it published so i skipped out on Nightmare. so sorry this took so long, i hope you’re doing well anon! anyway, im hoping to get back into the writing groove. we’ll see how this goes.)

undertale:

sans:

-“hey, i’m sorry… c’mere.”

-he would engulf you in a hug, if you’re okay with hugs

-while he’s happy you’ve gotten out of a bad relationship, he’s still sad with what you had to go through.

-he’ll make puns to cheer you up, however many it takes.

-he for sure takes you out to eat at grillby’s.

-he’s there to be a listener, a shoulder to cry on, and someone to go to whenever you’re feeling particularly down.

papyrus:

-“a BAD relationship? human, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

-he’s so sad. his best friend? being in an unhappy relationship? WITHOUT telling him? he’s distraught.

-he cooks for you breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

-he does literally everything in his power to make you happy

-it doesn’t matter what time it is. you call him, he’ll come.

-he’d do anything to see you smile

Underfell

Sans:

-“about damn time you left that douche,” he grumbled.

-“Red, not the time.”

-he rolled his eyelights.

-“fine, fine. whatever.”

-his face turned a little softer.

-“anything i can do for ya?”

-he would do a lot. he’d complain about it the whole time, but if you asked, chances are he’d do it.

Papyrus:

-his eyes narrowed.

-“you say they mistreated you?”

-he sighs when you nod.

-“alright, come inside.”

-he moved out of the door frame so you can enter. he gestures towards his couch.

-“sit down. i’ll make you some tea.”

-he comes back a few minutes later with tea for you both. he seems slightly annoyed when you blow on it, despite it being scalding hot.

-he’d listen to anything you wanted to say to him about it.

-after that, you never see your ex again…. strange, they lived very close to you…

-oh, well.

Underswap

Sans:

-“a bad relationship, you say? why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

-he listens to you, anything you want to cent

-he gives his best advice on how to not end up in a situation like that again

Papyrus:

-“want me to beat ‘im up for ya?” he would jokingly ask.

-but he’d do it for real, if you wanted him to.

-he’d drag you onto his couch and watch all your favorite movies with you until you both fell asleep.

-he’ll provide you with all your favorite snacks.

-he’d stay up late with you while you cried, and do his best to comfort you.

-he has shockingly good advice.

Horrortale:

Sans:

-he seems taken aback.

-you weren’t happy in your relationship? this whole time?

-that hole in his head affected him more than he initially thought. he couldn’t even tell his best friend was struggling.

-he’d feel super guilty about that.

-you’d also have to hold him back by his good to keep him from charging after your ex.

-after he finally calmed from his anger, he’d be there, open arms and willing to help.

Papyrus:

-“i see. come inside.”

-definitely cooking all of your favorite foods for you, listening while you vent and cry.

-he doesn’t have much advice, but he does his best.

-offers for you to stay the night (or as long as you want).

-he does his best to cheer you up, even with his physical limitations.

Dreamtale:

Sans:

-he freezes.

-how had he never noticed?

-suddenly, everything clicked for him. the way he had been sensing more and more negativity from you since you and your ex had gotten together. how you always brushed the topic off, saying it was work or family matter.

-the way you had pushed him away.

-he snapped himself back to reality, offering for you to come inside.

-obviously it didn’t take him long to cheer you up. it took longer to heal, but he’ll make this right for you.

[kenacoki]

After Nightfall

// Pairing // Eddie Diaz x GN!Reader

// Request // Y/n has a nightmare about Eddie dying and wakes up scared which accidentally wakes Eddie up. She reverts into flight mode and runs out of the house and Eddie runs after her. She runs into an alleyway and starts crying and Eddie finds her and comforts her.

// Word Count // 7k

// Warnings // mentions of death and blood

// Dividers // sister-lucifer

As you walk through the front door into Eddie’s house, you set your bags on the floor, “You really didn’t have to do this, Ed’s. I-I coulda got a hotel room or something until they get the gas leak fixed in my apartment.”

Eddie shakes his head, closing the door behind you and locking it. He turns to face you, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Don’t worry, it’s no problem.” He averts his attention to the small boy sitting on the couch. “Besides, you know how much I-Chris—How much Christopher loves having you around.” The tips of his ears flush red with embarrassment at his almost slip-up.

You smile at his words, thoughts of his adorable son bringing you a sense of comfort. He takes a step closer, his eyes studying your face closely.

“And besides, you know I’d never let you pay for a hotel room when you could just stay here instead.”

You can feel your face heat up slightly, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you at his words. You know he’s just being friendly, but there’s a hint of something else in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I...I just don’t want to impose or anything…” you nervously mutter.

Eddie chuckles softly, his expression growing a bit softer, “You’re not imposing, you know that. Besides,” His deep honey-colored eyes pierce into yours, “I like knowing you’re here…close by.”

His words send a flutter through your stomach. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes you feel almost giddy.

He continues into his kitchen, opening his fridge and scanning the shelves. “You hungry for anything particular?”

You follow him into the kitchen, your (e/c) eyes taking in the familiar small space. It’s cozy and comfortable, just like the rest of his little home. You lean against the counter, folding your arms over your chest as you shake your head.

“Not really, just something small is fine..“ you reply a bit absentmindedly, still a bit distracted by his words from before and the fluttering in your stomach. You snap your attention over to Christopher, “What about you, Chris?”

Eddie rummages through his fridge for a moment before pulling out a Tupperware of leftovers and placing it on the counter. He smiles, his eyes sparkling with a sort of fond excitement at the mention of his son.

“Actually, he’s spending the night with a new friend, a kid named Dustin. They met a few days ago and practically bonded instantly. I swear, those two are like peas in a pod..” he chuckles softly, his voice filled with genuine happiness.

“Sounds like about like you and Buck…” you joke, glancing back at the small boy on the couch.

Eddie smiles, a sly twinkle in his eyes at your comment. He leans against the counter next to you, nodding slightly in agreement.

“Yeah, maybe a little. Except I’m smarter than Buck so...” he says jokingly, his teasing tone playful.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes at his comment. You know he’s just teasing, but you can’t help but banter back.

“Oh yeah, says who?” You challenge, your eyes flickering to his, a small smile on your face.

He grins, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. He leans in a bit closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Says me,” he retorts, his tone confident and sure. He pauses for a moment before adding, “And also Buck. He’s admitted multiple times that I’m the smarter one.”

You snort, shaking your head in amused disbelief.

“Yeah right, I’m sure he said that..” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You know Buck all too well and know for a fact that he would never admit Eddie is smarter than him; even if it was partly true.

You watch as he opens up the leftover container and grabs two bowls from a shelf in his cabinet. He grabs a spoon and evenly divides the food into each one.

He hands over one of the bowls, your fingers just barely brushing against his. For a brief moment, your eyes lock, and for a second you swear you see a tiny flash of something in his gaze. However, it’s gone in an instant, quickly replaced by his usual playful confidence.

“Oh, believe me, he did.” He says, a hint of pride in his tone. “He’s just too stubborn to admit it in front of anyone else.”

Taking the bowl from him, you roll your eyes once more. But can’t help the smile that sneaks onto your face at his insistence. There’s just something so undeniably charming about his confidence, his ability to banter back and forth with you like this…

“Alright, whatever you say, Ed’s. Just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

He chuckles, grabbing his own bowl and joining you at the counter. He raises his bowl slightly in a mock “cheers” gesture.

“No promises.” He says, his tone jokingly cocky. He takes a bite of his food, a satisfied hum leaving his lips at the taste. He eyes you from the side, a sly smile on his face.

Chuckling slightly, you shake your head at his smugness. You take a bite of the food, mirroring his satisfied hum. The food is actually pretty damn good, just the right amount of spices and seasonings.

“what is this?” You question, slightly muffled by the food in your mouth.

He grins, taking another bite before replying, “It’s something my abuela used to make,” he says, fondly recalling a memory. “It’s a sort of chicken and rice dish with this secret blend of spices. I’ve gotten pretty good at it if I do say so myself.”

There’s a hint of pride in his voice as he explains.

Humming in approval, you take another bite. It really is good, and the fact that it’s something his abuela used to make makes it taste even more special.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s an understatement,” your mouth still half full as you speak. You swallow before continuing, “This is really good, Ed’s. I’m impressed.”

Eddie has a tiny smile on his face as you praise his cooking. He seems almost shy as he ducks his head slightly, a small blush appearing on his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice suddenly a bit bashful. He takes another bite, trying to hide his slight embarrassment.

There’s a knock at the door, Eddie sets his bowl down on the counter, “That must be Dustin’s parents. Let me grab Christopher’s stuff real fast.”

You nod, finishing the last bite of your food. You set the bowl down on the counter next to his, watching as he heads down the hallway toward Christopher’s room.

After a moment of silence, you can hear snippets of their conversation through the house as Eddie greets Dustin’s parent and hands them Christopher’s bags.

“I love you, bud…” your heart swells as you hear Eddie say goodbye to his son for night. They exchange their thanks and leave, saying their goodbyes to Eddie as they do so.

Hearing the front door close, Eddie reappears in the kitchen after a few moments. He looks a bit distracted though, leaning back against the counter and letting out a small melancholy sigh.

You study him momentarily, noticing the slight shift in his demeanor. You’re not sure what’s on his mind, but you can tell something’s off.

“Everything okay?” You ask him, your voice soft and concerned.

He seems surprised by your question as if he had been lost in his own thoughts for a second.

“Hm?” He hums, blinking a few times before his brain catches up. “Oh.. yeah, I’m fine…Just-just lost in thought for a moment, is all.”

You eye him doubtfully, clearly not entirely convinced by his response.

“Are you sure?” You question a hint of worry still in evident your tone. You lean against the counter next to him, studying his face closely in an attempt to read his expression.

He flashes a faint, reassuring smile, trying to downplay whatever is going on in his head. But his eyes give away his true thoughts, the slight unease and tension still lingering in their depths.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.” He says, his voice sounding almost forced. He notices that your bowl is nowempty and grabs it, turning around and placing it in his sink.

You don’t quite buy his response, not fooled by his attempt at nonchalance. But you can tell he’s not in the mood to share or talk about what’s going on in that head of his, so you decide not to press him too much.

Nodding slightly you just hum in acknowledgment, suppressing any remaining suspicion. Eddie quickly changes the subject.

“Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?”

You can tell he’s trying to deflect and change the subject from what’s going on in his head, but decide to let it slide for now.

“Sure, yeah. What do you have in mind?”

He grins, his eyes lighting up slightly.

“How about a horror movie?” he suggests a hint of mischief in his voice.

You let out a small scoff, immediately catching on to his game. You narrow your eyes at him, a scowl forming on your face.

“Very funny, Eddie.” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a disapproving look.

He grins innocently, the mischief now clear in his eyes. He knows the effect movies like that have on you, and he revels in it.

“What? I’m just asking a simple question..” he says, feigning ignorance. He leans a bit closer, his tone becoming more teasing. “Scared you won’t be able to handle it?”

You glare at him, the annoyance evident on your face. Damn him for always finding ways to tease and rile you up like this…

“Oh, please. I can handle a damn movie, no problem.” You practically growl out, your pride taking over. You strut over to the couch and plop down.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying how easily he’s getting under your skin. He follows you over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“If you say so.” He replies, his tone still playful and smug. He grabs the remote off the coffee table and scrolls through the movie selection. “Any particular one you want me to put on? Or should I pick?”

You roll your eyes, not even dignifying his smugness with a response. You can already tell he’s going to pick the most horrifying movie possible, just to mess with you.

“You pick.” You dramatically grumble, your voice filled with both annoyance and a hint of resignation.

His grin widens at the response, clearly overjoyed at the opportunity to pick something that’s going to make you squirm. He continues browsing through the selection for a few moments before stopping on a particularly scary-looking movie.

“What about this one?” he holds up the remote and points it at the TV. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, a sly smile still plastered on his face.

Looking at the TV, your eyes widen as they skim over the screen. As soon as you catch sight of the movie title, a shiver runs down your spine.

“No way,” you say, voice firm and resolute.

He feigns shock at my refusal, his brown eyes widening, “What, why not? It looks like a good one...” he says, his tone overly innocent. He turns to you, his eyes practically glittering with mischief.

“You’re not really scared, are you?”

You scoff, annoyance growing with every word that leaves his mouth. You can practically see the taunting gleam in his eyes, and it only irritates you further.

“Of course, I’m not scared.” You quip back, voice full of faux confidence. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that the movie is actually terrifying.

He smirks, clearly not buying my act for even a second. But he plays along anyway, his voice dripping with faux concern, “You’re not going to get nightmares, are you?”

Your (e/c) eyes playfully glare at him, your irritation continuing to rise.

“Oh, please. I don’t get nightmares from stupid movies, dumbass. And even if I did, I’d just wake up from it. No big deal…” You retort your tone laced with annoyance.

You yank the remote from his hand and press play, sinking back further into the couch.

He lets out a soft laugh at your display of defiance, clearly amused by your stubbornness. He watches the TV as the movie starts to play, his gaze occasionally flickering back towards you. His eyes sparkle with a hint of anticipation.

“Whatever you say,” he responds, his mocking tone making it clear that he doesn’t believe you.

The movie continues, and you keep your focus strictly on the screen, refusing to give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing you scared.

As the movie progresses, the tension in the room thickens, almost palpably. Despite the gore occurring on screen, you force yourself to keep up a neutral expression.

However, as the movie becomes more and more intense, your heart rate quickens ever so slightly.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie notices the slight shift in your demeanor.

He sees the way your body tenses up as the movie becomes more intense, the subtle clench of your jaw as the suspense builds. But he doesn’t say anything, not yet anyway. He just continues to watch you closely, waiting for the moment when you finally crack.

As the movie's plot takes a particularly sinister turn, the tension in your body reaches its peak. Your fingers grip the edge of the couch tightly as your heart beats faster and faster, the sound of it thumping loudly in your ears. You try your best to keep up the facade, to keep a stoic expression. But as the movie gets progressively more horrifying, you can feel your resolve starting to waver—

“Boo…” Eddie's breath fans against your ear.

You nearly jump out of your skin at his sudden voice. Your heartbeat practically shoots through the roof. A surprised squeak escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body jolting forward instinctively.

"Jesus Christ!" You yell, your voice a mixture of fear and annoyance as you turn to glare at him. “Don't do that!"

He grins at your reaction, clearly relishing in the fact that he’s successfully scared you. He chuckles softly, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement, "I Couldn't help myself."

“You..you’re an ass sometimes.” You swiftly reach over and mess up his hair, teasing him playfully.

He gives a faux indignant scoff, attempting to look offended by my words, but the grin on his face betrays his true amusement. As you mess up his hair, he laughs softly, trying to duck away from your hand.

“Hey, hey!” He protests in a mock-upset tone, playfully batting your hand away. “Watch it. You’ll mess up my hair.”

Hearing his somewhat dramatic response to your little attack, you can't help but chuckle in response. You know he's just messing around.

"Oh, right. My bad. Can't have that perfect hair getting messed up, can we?" You tease, voice dripping with sarcastic sympathy as you ruffle his hair up even more.

Eddie laughs again as you mess up his hair, the gesture sending his bangs falling across his forehead in a disheveled mess. He tries to feign annoyance again, but the laughter keeps slipping out. He lifts his hand to try and fix his hair, but it's no use. You’ve completely ruined the carefully-styled look he had going on, and he knows it.

However, after you playfully mess it up with your fingers, it becomes more tousled and disheveled, sticking up in a way that somehow makes him look even more ruggedly handsome. A hint of annoyance flashes in his eyes as he quickly runs a hand through his hair to try to smooth it back down, but he can't quite hide the amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

It’s quite a contrast from his usual meticulously-styled look, but somehow it suits him just as much. Despite the slightly ridiculous appearance, he still looks effortlessly attractive.

“You look like a freaking mess now.” You comment, a playful grin on your face.

He rolls his eyes, but the laughter still tumbles from his lips. He gives you a half-hearted glare, pretending to be irritated by the comment, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Gee, thanks. You really know how to flatter a guy, don’t you?” He retorts, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

You give an exaggerated shrug as your grin widens.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” You slyly tease as you lean back further into the couch. Your eyes grow heavy as they look at the clock on the wall.

Eddie shakes his head in mock exasperation, still trying and failing to fix his hair. He glances over at the clock as well, his own eyes growing a bit heavy.

“It’s getting late.” He yawns out, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

You nod in agreement, a small yawn of your own escaping your lips once again. Carefully, you stretch your arms above your head, your muscles protesting at the motion. As you do this, the hem of your shirt rides up an inch, exposing a sliver of bare skin.

“Yeah, it is.” You agree, voice a bit groggy. You lean your head back against the couch, eyes fluttering slightly. “Maybe we should get some sleep..”

Eddie notices your exposed skin as you stretch, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he quickly averts his eyes. He clears his throat softly, trying to distract himself from the sight. He nods in agreement with your suggestion.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should get some sleep..” He agrees, his voice tinged with weariness.

You notice his brief glance at you, but as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. It makes you feel strangely self-conscious for a moment, but you shake off the feeling quickly. You’re both tired, it's probably nothing.

The movie on the TV continues to play in the background, but neither of you is paying attention to it anymore. It’s mostly just white noise now. Eddie stands up from the couch, his body stiff from sitting for so long.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth and stuff…” He says, stifling a yawn with his hand. “Goodnight.

“Okay…” you call out, voice soft and groggy with the need for sleep. You watch as he heads off down the hallway towards the bathroom. Letting out a small yawn, the exhaustion from the day finally starts to get to me.

“Night…” You mutter, your words slurring together slightly in your sleepy state. Slowly, you head down the hall to Eddie’s guest bedroom.

After a few minutes, Eddie returns from the bathroom, now clad in a pair of pajama pants. His hair is still messy from earlier, the strands sticking out every which way. He makes his way down the hallway to his own room and crawls into bed, the exhaustion now taking over as he closes his eyes and drifts off into sleep.

Carefully, you crawl into the bed and pull the covers up to your chin as darkness starts creeping into your vision.

The soft, welcoming embrace of sleep begins to envelop you, as the fatigue of the day starts to take over. You feel yourself begin to sink into the bed, the mattress molding perfectly to your form. Your thoughts slowly start to dissolve as sleep finally pulls you under. You can feel your eyelids closing as your mind begins to slip into unconsciousness.

The gentle sounds of night filter in through the window, the crickets singing their melodic lullaby. The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the room, creating a peaceful, calming atmosphere.

As you sink deeper and deeper into sleep, your mind begins to wander, slowly losing touch with reality. Your breathing slows, and your body grows heavy and relaxed. The world around you fades away, your mind drifting off into a dream, blending reality and fantasy into a vivid, surreal world.

When your eyes open again, one thing is for sure; you’re inside your apartment; more specifically your living room. You can practically smell the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air from earlier in the day. The furniture is exactly where you left it, nothing amiss. The room is silent and still causing an uneasy feeling to form in your gut.

Walking further into the apartment, your footsteps echo softly throughout the quiet space. You glance around as you move towards the kitchen, your steps getting more cautious. There’s a small part of your mind that’s screaming at you, telling you that something's wrong, that this isn’t right.

Entering the space, your eyes scan the room for anything out of place. Your breath hitches in your throat as you see the silhouette of a man behind your kitchen island.

“Eddie…?” The figure whips around. They look exactly like Eddie, down to every last detail. Their clothes, their hair, even the faint scruff on their jaw.

You freeze in place, your heart nearly stopping as you take in the person standing in front of you.

“Wha-how…how did you—how did we get here? I thought we were at—”

“Shhhh..”

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest, the fear starting to take over. You take a small backward step, your wide (e/c) eyes locked on the figure in front of you.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze fixed on you. The gesture is so familiar, mirroring the way Eddie moves and acts so perfectly it’s almost eerie.

“Why…why didn’t you help?” He questions, a twisted smile on his face.

His words send a shiver down your spine, your blood turning cold. The smile on his face is almost sinister, a sharp contrast to how Eddie usually smiles.

“What?” You manage to croak out, your voice coming out small and afraid.

He takes another step towards you, his footsteps silent on the floor. He moves unnaturally as if he’s simply gliding across the room. Your heartbeat thumps loudly in your ears as he gets closer, every one of your instincts telling you to run.

“Why didn’t you help me?” He repeats, his tone cold and curt.

Hearing his repeated question, a wave of confusion washes over you. Help who? Him? You lost, unsure of what he’s talking about.

“H-help—Eddie what are you talking…” you trail off, your voice hoarse with fear as you notice a tiny, almost missable stain on his shirt.

Then slowly, almost tauntingly, a sickening pool of crimson starts to spread across and stain the shoulder of Eddie’s grey shirt.

The sight of the red stain sends a jolt of fear through you, your eyes fixed on the growing spot of blood as it spreads across his shirt… just like when he was shot by the sniper.

He doesn’t seem to realize it’s there, or he just doesn’t care. He keeps moving forward, closing the space between you.

A million thoughts run through your head, each one more terrifying than the last. You try to back away further, but you can’t seem to move your feet. It’s as if you’ve been frozen in place, trapped under his intense gaze.

“Eddie..” you manage to whisper out, your voice barely a hoarse whisper. “What’s happening?”

He smiles again, the expression sending another wave of chills down your spine. He stops moving, standing just a few feet away from you. His gaze scans over your form, taking in every detail.

The intensity of his gaze causes you to shrink in on yourself, your body instinctively trying to make yourself smaller. The urge to run away is stronger than ever.

“Please,” you plead, voice shaking as you try to keep yourself together. “please wake up…please wake up.”

He seems to find the request amusing, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. It sounds like Eddie’s laugh, but there’s an undertone of malice in it

“Wake up?” He says, his tone almost mocking as he takes another step towards you. “But aren’t you already awake?”

Abruptly, he grabs your hand and brings it against his damp shoulder, staining your hand a crimson red

Gasping, you can feel the sticky, warm liquid against your palm and fingers as you're forced to touch it, the feeling causing a wave of nausea to wash over you

“No...no this isn’t real.” You mumble, denial and disbelief warring with each other.

once again you attempt to wrench your hand away from his grasp, to break free, but he holds it firmly in place. He keeps it planted against his shoulder, forcing her to feel the blood seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“Isn’t real?” He replies, his tone almost mocking as he speaks. “Looks real to me.”

He glances down at the stain on his shirt, acting as if he’s just noticed it for the first time. His brown eyes widen in horror as he looks back at you before collapsing to the floor of your apartment.

“Eddie!” You scream, your knees hitting the floor as you crumble beside him.

Blood pools on the floor beneath him, seeping out from the bullet wound in his shoulder, staining the wooden floor a sickening shade of red. His face is twisted in agony, a silent scream caught in his throat as his body tremors uncontrollably. Despite your best efforts, it's clear that he's fighting a losing battle, his strength and resilience gradually being overpowered by the onslaught of pain and injury.

“G-Get up! Eddie…” The sight of him lying there on the floor in agony, his life slowly slipping away, sends a wave of anguish through your heart.

Your hands shake as you try to stop the flow of blood oozing from his shoulder. You can see the life slowly draining from his eyes, the light fading as he struggles to stay conscious. His breath comes out in shallow, ragged gasps, each oneweaker than the last. It's like watching a slow, torturous countdown, every tick of the clock bringing him closer to the end.

“Eddie!” Your body jerks up in the guest bed as you’re snapped out of the horrible nightmare.

Panting heavily, your body is coated in a thin layer of sweat. You look around the room in a panic, trying to make sense of your surroundings. It’s dark, but you can see the familiar contour of Eddie’s furniture in the room.

You sit there for a few more moments, trying to slow your racing heart. The nightmare had been so vivid, so realistic…you can still practically feel the blood on your hand, the wetness, the warmth of it.

You can’t help but shudder at the memory, wiping your hand furiously on the blanket as if trying to rid yourself of the phantom sensation.

Still slightly disoriented, you stagger up from the bed. Flinging open the bedroom door, you practically stumble out into the hall. Your body still shakes slightly from the after-effects of the nightmare. You can still see the image of it fresh in your mind…

Logic tells you that the nightmare isn’t real, that it was just a fear-fueled dream, but the fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins makes it difficult to think straight. The silence of the apartment is almost deafening in your heightened state.

“I-I can’t be here…” It feels like you can’t breathe like the air is suddenly too thin as panic starts setting in. The fear coursing through you outweighs your common sense. Your brain tells you that you need to get out of here.

“Mmm..? (Y/N)…?” The sound of Eddie’s voice jolts you out of your panic for a moment. Whirling around, your gaze lands on Eddie as he emerges from his bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily as he yawns. “What are you doing?”

He’s clad in a pair of grey pajama pants, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looks tired and disoriented, his eyes half-lidded as he takes in the sight of you.

You feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sight of him standing there safe and unharmed fills you with a sense of peace. However, the fear from the nightmare is still there, lurking in the back of your mind.

You struggle to find your voice, your throat dry and constricted.

“I-I’m sorry…” You fling open the front door, the warm night air engulfing you as you take off down the sidewalk.

Eddie is taken completely off guard by your hasty exit, his sleep-addled mind trying to process what just happened. He stands there at the door for a moment, dumbfounded and disoriented.

It takes him a few moments to snap out of his stupor, his tiredness instantly replaced with worry once he realizes that you’ve left.

“Wait…!” He calls out, stumbling out the door after you.

He struggles to keep up with you, his tired legs slower than yours. He tries to call your name again, but he’s out of breath from running, the words coming out as more of a gasp.

“(Y/n) wait, stop-!” He manages to catch up to you, reaching out to grab your arm.

You flinch at the feel of his hand on your arm, it can’t help but remind you of the nightmare…but in the back of your mind, you know it’s just Eddie.

Your Eddie.

Halting, you tear your arm away from his grasp, whipping around to face him.

He’s breathing heavily, his face flush from the short run. He looks at you with confusion-filled eyes, bewildered by your sudden exit and the look of fear etched on your face.

“What the hell’s wrong…?” He pants out, trying to catch his breath.

You look at him for a moment, the fear and panic still lingering in your eyes. The words spill out before you can stop them.

“I-I had a nightmare..” you stammer out, voice trembling slightly as you force yourself to continue “About…you.”

Your voice softens at the last few words, guilt seeping into your tone. You feel bad for just tearing out of his house in the middle of the night.

He looks down at you, his expression still confused and a bit bewildered. He runs a hand through his messy hair, processing her words.

“About me…?” He asks, the confusion evident in his voice. He doesn’t look angry or offended, just curious.

Your lip quivers as you avert your gaze down to the cracked sidewalk, “Back…Back when you were shot by the sniper.”

Recognition flickers across his features as you mention the sniper, his body tensing slightly. He’s silent for a moment, his expression turning into a grimace as he remembers the painful memory.

“Oh..” He mutters, his voice low.

He reaches a hand up to rub the spot on his shoulder where the sniper had shot him, a ghost of pain flaring up temporarily. The gesture seems involuntary, almost like an instinctual reflex.

“Yeah…that was a pretty shitty experience.” He mutters, his tone dry and humorless.

A pang of guilt shoots through you as you watch him rub his shoulder. You hadn’t meant to bring up the painful memory, you’d just blurted out the first thing that came to your mind.

Fidgeting under his gaze, you shift awkwardly where you stand. With your (e/c) eyes filled with hot tears, you keep your attention fixated on the ground; you don’t want Eddie to see you in this state.

He looks at you, surprise flickering across his face for a brief moment at your apology. He shakes his head “Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” He replies, his tone softer than before.

You know that, but still, “I know it’s not..but…but the nightmare…” you trail off, struggling to put your thoughts into words.

He lets out a deep sigh, his expression turning sympathetic. He takes a step closer to you, his gaze fixed on your face.

“Hey, it was just a dream…” He says gently, gesturing to himself as if to prove his point. Exhaling, He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it above his shoulders.

before you can process what he’s doing, the sight of his bare chest stops all thoughts in their tracks. Even in the low lighting, you can make out the definition of his muscles, and the smoothness of his skin.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening slightly as you stare at his exposed skin. You can feel your heartbeat quicken again, the sight of his bare chest sending a wave of heat through your body.

He seems completely oblivious to your reaction, his attention focused on his shoulder as he turns to point out the healed bullet wound left behind by the sniper.

You can see the pink puckered skin, the evidence of the traumatic injury marring his flawless skin. The sight of it only increases the guilt that’s already churning in your gut.

“I’m fine, see?”

Swallowing, you try to compose yourself as you force yourself to speak again.

“Y-yeah, I see it...” you try to keep your tone even. However, your voice still wavers, showing the effect of Eddie’s actions.

He lowers his shirt back down, his attention returning to your face. He studies you for a moment, a hint of concern in his gaze as he notices the way you’re staring at him, the way your voice trembles.

He takes a step closer to her, “Hey, it’s okay, alright? I’m fine. That’s all in the past now..” He mutters gently, his tone soothing.

Nodding, you look back down at the cracked sidewalk.

He reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and gentle. He speaks softly, his voice laced with concern.

“Hey, look at me.”

Slowly, you peer up at Eddie through your eyelashes. The feeling of his hand on your skin is almost grounding, bringing a small comfort in the torrent of emotions that you’re drowning in.

Tenderly, he pulls you into a safe, secure hug.

As he pulls you against his chest, you can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt. The feeling of his body pressed against yours causes goosebumps to prickle your skin.

He rests his chin on top of your head, his grip around you tightening as he holds you close.

Your bottom lip trembles as Eddie's words sink in. Every gentle stroke of his hand, every soothing word he speaks, chips away at the barriers you’ve built around your heart, leaving you raw and vulnerable in a way you’re not used to. You can't hold back the tears any longer, the dam breaking as a choked sob escapes your lips.

Every soothing word he whispers in your ear, every gentle touch he uses to comfort you, only serves to make you cry harder. Your emotions completely overwhelmed by the love and tenderness.

Your body shakes with sobs, your tears soaking through Eddie's shirt, leaving small damp patches against his skin. You cling to him like a lifeline, your fingers digging into his back as you try to hold back the flood of tears.

Eventually, you let yourself relax into his embrace. The steady beat of his heart under your ear is soothing, the sound chasing away the residual fear from the nightmare.

Eddie says nothing. His fingers gently glide up and down your back in a soothing motion, his touch comforting. He can feel your body relax against his, the tension slowly draining from your muscles as you sink into his embrace.

“C’mon, let's head back…”

You nod against his chest, not ready to break away from his embrace quite yet. When you finally do break away from his embrace, you can’t help the pang of disappointment that shoots through you. You look up at him, your (e/c) eyes locking onto his.

There’s no anger visible in his eyes, no trace of annoyance or irritation, just concern and gentle affection as he gazes down at you.

He reaches out a hand, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

The feel of his fingertips on your skin causes a small gasp to escape your lips. It’s such a simple, innocent gesture, but it’s enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

Eddie’s fingers linger on your face, tracing a slow path down your jawline. His touch is incredibly gentle, but it sets your skin on fire.

He leans down a presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes widen at the feel of his lips against your skin, your body responding involuntarily to his touch. The kiss is brief and gentle, but it’s enough to send a wave of heat coursing through your body, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.

You let out a small, shaky sigh as Eddie intertwines his fingers with yours, his grip warm and firm. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his touch sending another wave of heat through your body.

He leads you back to his house, walking slowly alongside you. He glances down every now and then, his gaze filled with affection.

As you reach the front door of his house, the soft glow from the porch light washes over the two of you. He pauses for a moment, reaching down and brushing a strand of hair out of your face once again.

“You okay now..?” His voice is soft, almost inaudible as he speaks

Nodding, your heart pounds wildly in your chest as his fingers brush against your skin. You meet his gaze, your chest flooding with a confusing mixture of emotions—

Comfort…

Desire…

Longing…

He looks down at you, his gaze scanning your face. It’s as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. He can see the emotions swirling in your eyes, a mix of confusion and desire that’s almost palpable in the air. It’s a familiar feeling, something he’s felt himself on occasion.

He lets out a soft, ragged breath, his heart rate increasing slightly.

You look up at him, noticing the way his breathing has quickened, the way his heart is beating a little faster in his chest.

It’s a subtle change, but it’s enough to send a spark of hope through you.

Taking a small step forward, your body moves closer to his on instinct, the need to be close to him growing too strong to resist.

Eddie swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Your proximity is intoxicating, your mere presence sending his senses into overdrive.

He tries to keep his composure, but it’s a losing battle. His gaze wanders down to your plump lips, his eyes lingering on them for a moment, his thoughts racing with a thousand sinful ideas.

You notice the way he’s looking at you, the heat in his gaze sending a jolt of electricity straight down your spine. You can see the desire in his eyes, the barely restrained need written all over his face.

“Eddie...?” You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath coming out a soft, ragged gasp.

He swallows hard, your soft gasp sending a shiver down his spine. He can feel your body pressed up against his, the heat of your skin radiating through his shirt.

“Yeah..?” His voice comes out in a low, rough whisper, the word carrying the weight of all the desire he’s been holding back.

“Kiss me again.”

His breath hitches at the words, the pure need in your voice sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. He looks down at you, his gaze fixed on your lips, your flushed face, your stunning (e/c) eyes.

He reaches out, cusping your face in his hands, his touch gentle and firm at the same time. He leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Please…” That’s all Eddie needs, crashing his lips against yours.

You sigh into the kiss, It’s gentle and tender, soft and sweet. You press yourself closer to him, hands snaking around his neck.

Eddie takes his hand and weaves it into your hair, the other sliding down to rest on the small of your back, holding you firmly against him.

You let out a soft gasp as you two break away, your breath coming out in short, ragged pants. Looking up at him, your vision is dazed and unfocused as you try to catch your breath.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, your skin tingling from where his hands rest. You can feel his heart beating erratically against your chest, the rapid pace mirroring your own.

He runs his hand through your hair, tracing a slow path down your back, “God, you’re beautiful.” He admits, his voice low and hoarse.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, the sound of his voice, low and gravelly in your ear; sending a shiver through your body. You lay your head against his chest, listening to the steadying beat of his heart.

“I guess you’re not so bad yourself.” You shyly smile, your tone teasing.

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating throughout his chest. Tightening his grip on you, he pulls you even closer to him.

“And there’s the smartass I know.” Eddie jokes, his tone warm and affectionate.

He unlocks the door, holding it open for you while he gestures for you to go in with his head. A small smile tugs at your lip, your heart fluttering in your chest as you feel his breath against your skin.

Carefully, you step through the door. Your body still tingles from the feel of his touch. You glance back at him, “You’re lucky that I love you.”

He raises an eyebrow at your words, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he trails in behind you.

“Oh! You love me now, do you?” He teases, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

[witchwyfe]

never be mine - jhs

I pairing: college jake ‘hangman’ seresin x female reader

I précis: you and jake have a little argument

I content/warnings: college au, roommates to lovers (that haven’t gotten past the roommates stage yet), mentions of food, mentions of eating, language, arguing, crying, slight angst, fluff

I word count: 1,156

I a/n: the roommate predicament my beloved<3

It’s your second date with the same guy—or it was. You’d gone out for a casual dinner and then went to Natasha’s apartment where you ended up in tears. 

“What happened?” She demanded. “I’ll kick his ass, oh my god.”

“No, no!” You exclaim through your tears. “He’s fine. He’s fine.” You shake your head. “I don’t even know why I went out with him though. He’s nice but I think we’re better as friends.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

And even though she doesn’t show it, Natasha knows exactly what you’re going to say. She could be upset, as your best friend, that you never told her about your feelings for Jake, but she knows that its hard and that you’ve also been trying to lie to yourself about said feelings.

“Jake.” You whisper. “He’s not Jake.”

“Oh, honey.” She simpers, pulling you into her arms. “I know.”

“You know?” 

She nods, patting your back. “Just like I know that he feels the same way.”

You scoff, a thick watery sound. 

“I’m serious. It’s obvious.”

Hours later, you’re coming back to your apartment. You’d considered staying at Natasha’s but would rather go home to your own place. Jake’s sitting on the couch when you walk in, sporting a frown that you’re not used to seeing. 

“Where were you?” He asks, southern accent sneaking into his words a little more than usual. It seems to do that when there’s more emotion in his words, but you don’t even stop to think about that right now. 

You’re in a foul mood already, a combination of crying, and trying to find a reason to tell this other guy that you won’t be seeing him again. Jake’s irritated expression just adds to it already and you find yourself rolling your eyes.

“Don’t see why it’s any of your business.” You scoff, sliding your shoes off and leaving them in the foyer just to piss him off. You know you aren’t being fair, but neither is he. 

“I just think it’s considerate to let your roommate know when you’ll be back.” He laughs humorlessly. “Forgive me for caring about your safety.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you where I was. Didn’t know I had to, Dad.”

“Oh my god is it that hard to believe that someone cares about you?” He growls. “You don’t have to act like such a brat.”

“I’m not being a brat; you’re being a dick.” You spit. “I don’t have to tell you when I’ll be back. I don’t owe you anything.”

“I—,” He cuts himself off to sigh. “I know that.”  He adds in a much softer tone. “I just hadn’t seen you all day and I missed you.”

Your heartbeat picks up by a tenfold. “Well, you’re not my boyfriend Jake. Sometimes people don’t see each other all day, deal with it.”

“I know that. I just—” 

“And I don’t care if you missed me. That gives you no right to be rude to me.”

“I know! Jeez darlin’, I’m trying to apologize. His southern twang slips through a little more, once again. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, and it wasn’t fair of me. 

“You’re right it wasn’t fair.” You retort. “And don’t call me that.” You scoff, and with a sharp turn of your heel, you head for your bedroom, before he can see the fresh tears leaking down your face.

Jake watches you walk to your room, firmly shutting your door behind you. He sighs heavily, running a hand over his face. He feels like an asshole. He knows he has no right to question you about your whereabouts. Yes, the two of you consider each other a close friend, but you didn’t deserve his frustration. He hates to admit it to himself, but the thought of you on another date, especially one that evidently went so late, had him fuming, and an envy induced pit in his stomach. 

He hates seeing you upset, and you didn’t look happy when you walked in—before he spoke to you—so maybe your date didn’t go well. He selfishly hopes that it didn’t, but also the thought makes him sad for you. Roommates fight. Friends fight. Both of those are true, but that’s not what’s going on. Jake doesn’t give a shit how late you come back to the apartment. He does want you to be safe but the real thing that bothered him was that you were out on a date.

Both of you sleep terribly all night, but neither of you seeks out the other like you normally would. 

You have a minute. One beautiful, peaceful moment before everything from the night before comes crashing back into your memory. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes and groan loudly. 

You blindly reach for your phone, bringing it to your face with a wince. It’s barely eight am and you hadn’t slept well—tossing and turning all night. 

A click of the power button on your phone tells you that you have two new messages—neither from Jake. 

One is from Natasha checking in, and the other from Brent, just affirming what you talked about last night—that you’re definitely better off as friends. 

You leave both not responded to for now and push yourself out of bed. A quiet travel into the kitchen informs you that your roommate is out, his keys missing from the hook by the door. 

You padder over to the coffee machine, and start brewing a pot, before pulling out a glass and a mug. Despite having forced him to try it with ice many, many times, Jake still prefers it hot and in a mug. 

You’re just swirling milk into his coffee when the front door swings open, Jake balancing a pink bakery box as well as his keys and phone.

“Hey.” You say quietly, busying yourself with pulling out a straw for your drink.

“Hi.”

After an awkward moment passes, you both speak at once.

“I don’t like when we fight.”

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

You smile despite yourself. “You go first.”

“I don’t like when we fight either.” He responds to your statement first, looking you in the eye. “And I know I was being unfair last night. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I’m just so used to us spending time together that it felt weird to not see you all day. I’m sorry for how I behaved.”

“Thank you.” You say genuinely. “I was overacting too. I was in a bad mood, and I should’ve just asked for space rather than getting short with you. Thank you for caring about me.”

“Of course.” He whispers.

“Are we okay now?” You wonder timidly. 

“Course we are darlin’.” He grins. “You want a donut?”

You nod. “Can I have a hug too.”

“Yeah, you can.”

© witchwyfe 2023. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[leighsartworks216]

The Burlesque Boutique

Astarion x gn/fem!Tav/Reader

Based on this art by @marbledgummi

I could not resist

There are two versions of this fic. Read the male/AMAB version here

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: explicit smut, crying, orgasm denial, swearing, one reference to past trauma, pegging

Word Count: 2,619

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Dove?”

Astarion poked his head into the study. You were hunched over the desk on your side of the room, hands working away at something. The other half of the room (his half) was cluttered with sewing and jewelry supplies, half-made dresses and suits, and a stack of pillows for when he wanted to take a nap without straying too far from you. He never really imagined settling down, owning a house, but now he couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

“Did you order something from,” he glances at the box in his hand, “the ‘Burlesque Boutique’, by any chance?”

“No,” you answered. You look up from your project with a quirked brow. “Why?”

His mouth opens, about to explain. But then a wicked little idea curled around his brainstem, crooking a finger at him and tempting him toward mischief. Instead, he smiled in that way that showed he was planning something. You raise your brows higher at him. “No reason, darling.”

“Mhm.” You turn back to your work. “Don’t catch anything on fire.”

He scoffs, shouting back as he pads down the rest of the hall to the bedroom. “It was one time!” He heard you chuckle in response.

The box wasn’t big - a foot or so wide and rectangular. It also wasn’t much to look at, despite the shop’s name in script on the top suggesting something racy or scandalous. He flipped it over a few times, but there was no name. The mail carrier must have delivered it to the wrong house, or it was a lame prank from some teens.

He sighed. He really hoped it was something more than that.

He cut the silky red ribbon holding it shut with a knife he kept in his bedside table. He almost considered saving it. If the rest of this turned out to be a bust, at least he could tie your hands up with this. But the rope he had for such an act was much softer, and quite a bit stronger. So he dropped it carelessly to the side and lifted the lid.

He chuckled, delighted and utterly amused as he unfolded the tissue paper and revealed a set of pink and white lingerie. The top was a sheer negligee with thin straps and a little bow that would rest prettily between a pair of breasts. Long, white stockings were folded beneath it, with a matching garter belt to keep them up.

Oh, this was… He could just picture you wearing it, all dolled up just for him.

And then the thought turned back on him.

What if he got all dolled up for you? He wasn’t a stranger to wearing feminine clothing - you’d particularly enjoyed him in the Wavemother’s robe. Testing the thought, he lifted the negligee by the straps and held it up to his chest. It looked like it would fit…

He started to lower it back into the box when something else caught his eye. He placed it on the bed instead and moved the stocking out of the way and- Oh. Oh gods. A pretty pair of panties hidden at the bottom of the box, the same pink as the negligee and with a little ribbon of its own.

Now, how could he resist?

-

You didn’t jump when arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, so used to Astarion’s habit of sneaking up just for affection. He pressed like kisses to the side of your neck as he peered over your shoulder.

Your hands worked diligently on your project. Astarion pressed another kiss just below your ear, where he whispered, “Can you spare a moment, darling? I wish to show you something.”

You hum, taking in his words but too focused to answer. Once you find a good moment to stop, you set everything down and turn your head to look at him. “What is it, star?”

He grins deviously as he captures your lips, cupping your cheek and keeping you in place. He’d hate to spoil the surprise.

He doesn’t pull away as he sidles around your chair. You sigh quietly into his mouth when he parts your lips with his tongue. The sound alone makes his cock twitch, pressed tightly against the lace of the panties that keep it in place. He groans quietly.

Dexterous as ever, he sits himself on your lap easily, straddling your legs. You automatically reach up to support him, hands landing on his hips to keep him from sliding off, but then your eyes shoot open.

He’s smirking when you pull away with wide eyes as you lean back to take him in. You can’t get enough. Your eyes trail all down his body, looking at his chest and stomach through the sheer pink negligee. The garter belt hugs his waist, straps reach down his thighs to hold onto the tall stockings. The matching lace panties, bulging with his growing erection. A pretty silk ribbon is tied around his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

You look up at him in awe, all flushed with dilating pupils. “Where did you get this?”

“Somebody left a package at the door,” he explains, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You immediately give in to the attention, tilting your head to the side as you grip his thigh and tangle your fingers in his hair. “No name, no address. I expected a prank, but the temptation was too good to miss.”

He nipped at your pulse and you groaned. “Speaking of temptation.” You tugged at his hair, pulling him away from your neck. A little harder than strictly necessary, but he just grinned as his head was tipped back with the pressure. The ribbon strained against his throat. “Gods, how should I have you?”

“In any way you please, my love.”

You smirk up at him. “In any way?” You tug at his hair again, drawing a grunt of pleasure from your lover. His Adam’s apple bobbed, fully exposed and prominent. You release his hair and slide your hand to his throat. He watches through lidded eyes. With deft fingers, you pull at one end of the ribbon, and it comes apart, falling from his neck. You tap his thigh. “Get up.”

He gives you an uncertain look, almost a frown, but he complies. You stand and push him back until his ass hits the edge of the desk. He blindly reaches behind him to push your stuff back carelessly. You’re too entranced with him and the lewd images racing through your mind to care.

You grab his hip and push lightly, telling him without words what you wanted him to do. He lifts himself onto the edge. You press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Good boy.”

You step back to take him all in. Such a pretty little thing, all dressed up in someone else’s lingerie just for you.

You don’t take your eyes off his as you kneel down before him. The sight of you on your knees, face so close to his aching cock, sends a thrill down his spine. He grips onto the edge of the desk to retain some self-control.

You hold onto his legs as you begin trailing kisses along them. You kiss a line from his knee, up along the stocking, until you finally reach skin. There, you nip at the soft flesh. Closer and closer to where he needs you.

He groans above you. “You’re going to kill me at this rate,” he whines.

You grin against his skin, but don’t immediately act to provide him any relief. Instead, you kiss and bite your way to the edge of the panties. And, devil that you are, you kiss over the bulge. It twitches under your lips as Astarion hisses. You lick a stripe against it and he tenses with a strangled moan.

“Gods, please,” he begs, voice airy. “Too tight. Too tight.”

Mercifully, you pull the lace down, freeing him from his prison and tucking it under his balls. His dick was hard and sensitive. A small bead of precum already shined at the head.

“Desperate?” you tease.

He glares down at you. “Excited,” he corrects sharply. “To have your pretty little mouth around me.”

You hum, studying his dick. The longer you did nothing, the more it strained, eager to be touched, tasted, teased. You press a little kiss at the head, kitten-licking the precum away as his hips buck for more.

And then you stand. He whines.

“Bedroom. I want to take you properly.”

He wastes no time, leaping up from his seat and rushing to the bedroom. You follow after, leisurely. He sits at the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the covers to stop from touching himself. You walk around to your bedside table. “Lay down.”

His eyes never stray from you as he crawls back to the center of the bed. He swallows excitedly as you pull out a small container of oil and your strap-on. You had it specially made - everything the strap feels, you can feel, as though it is an extension of your own body.

Truth be told, Astarion doesn’t bottom very often. It can bring back bad memories, of being used, but he enjoys this immensely, and he can’t wait to be fucked by you.

You kneel by him and lean down to kiss him. It’s hot and eager, Astarion nipping and sucking as he tries to distract himself. Your hand finds his inner thigh and his hips jerk to find friction. You don’t provide him any, of course.

You pull away to kiss his neck, massaging his thigh and hip as you mark him up. “Such a good boy,” you whisper into his skin. He whines, pressing his head back into the bed. He loves your praise.

His cock is weeping and red with need when you pull away. You stand and make your way to the foot of the bed. “Back or stomach?”

Gods, thinking about either makes him keen. He has to bite his lip to form a coherent thought. “Stomach.”

“Flip over.”

He does immediately. He gets on his hands and knees, back arching in anticipation. His cock dribbles onto the sheets, but neither of you can care in this moment.

He feels the bed shift as you climb back on behind him. He tries to look back, to see what you’re doing. It’s futile. All he knows is he needs to be touched so fucking bad. It consumes his entire mind.

You slide the panties down until it’s bridging between his thighs, unable to be fully removed with the garter belt holding up the stockings. You caress one of his ass cheeks, pulling it to the side to reveal his tight asshole. You bite the other cheek, quite hard, enough to leave a slight imprint of your teeth. He lowers down to his elbows so he can press his face in his arms.

“Good?” you ask, pressing a light kiss over the reddening mark.

He nods frantically. “Don’t stop,” he whimpers.

Your hand leaves him for a moment, but he can hear the sound of the oil bottle opening. You slick your fingers and spread his cheeks once more. He can’t help the keening moan that erupts from his mouth when you rub and prod at his entrance. He tries to rock back into your fingers, to fuck himself on them, but you hold him in place.

You take your time to gently stretch him, adding one finger at a time and never going deep enough. At one point, you push your fingers as deep as they can go and he sobs into his arms.

When you think he’s ready, you slick your strap with more oil, sitting up on your knees and grabbing onto his hips with both hands. He’s a mess, pressing into you against his will. He needs you inside him.

You coo sweetly to him. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ve got you. You’re so pretty like this.” You line up your strap with his asshole and slowly, so fucking slowly, push in. He groans and keens and makes all sorts of lovely noises. He grips at the bedsheets and squirms slightly as you fill him. “So fucking gorgeous. My good boy. So good.”

You still when your hips are flush with his ass. He whines and tries to press back again, but there’s nothing more to take. He is completely full of your cock.

You roll your hips and he gasps, babbling to beg you to move, to fuck him. You shush him as you slowly pull your strap almost all the way out, and press in again. There’s less resistance each time, until you can set a good pace without hurting him.

He moans and whines your name, gasping when you sharply thrust into him. The negligee slips down his body with the rocking motion until it pools around his chest and bunches at his shoulder blades.

“You look so good in pink, baby,” you tell him. You lean over his back and press loving kisses on his neck and shoulders. He turns his head to try looking at you, to try to say something playful. But he can’t open his eyes, and none of his words come out as words. “You’re being so good for me, pretty boy. I’ll take care of you.”

You sit back up and grab his hips tighter, pulling them toward you with each thrust. He cries out as you pound into him, speeding up as you feel your own orgasm approaching. Your movements become sloppy and lose the rhythm, but you only fuck him harder and faster to compensate. You can tell he’s close. He gasps breathlessly against the covers, hips rocking for friction against the air. He’s so fucking close.

You lift a leg to be effectively kneeling behind him. It changes the angle just enough that you rub against his prostate with each thrust. He moans loudly, the sound choking in his throat and coming out as a desperate whine. He doesn’t last.

A few more thrusts and his orgasm tears through him. He cums hard, body trembling and cock twitching as he finally finds the release he longed for, without hardly being touched.

His asshole clenches around you, squeezing your strap with each spurt of cum. You don’t stop fucking him until you orgasm, buried deep inside his ass. You’re both panting, whimpering messes as your legs tremble, as he stains the blankets and coats his stomach. The negligee is just barely out of reach, unstained by just a hair.

When you’re both spent, you sit there a moment, catching your breath. You slowly ease out of him. He whimpers softly, but sighs contently once the pressure is gone. His legs are unsteady, hands merely resting on the blankets instead of clutching for dear life.

You get up from the bed and go to the side to help him roll over and lay on his back without laying in his own spend. He clumsily finds your hand where you held his waist and holds it.

“Good?” you ask again. You push his matted curls from his forehead and kiss his brow. He nods against your lips. He still can’t quite find his words. You kiss his cheek. “Bath?”

He nods again, but holds tighter to your hand when you try to pull away. “Not yet,” he mumbles. He draws your hand up to his face, holding it to his cheek as he leans into it with a quiet sigh.

You press your head to his, kissing his temple and the length of his ear tenderly. “Take your time, my love. I’ll take care of you.”

---

Tag List:

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[night-dazai]

i am in desperate need of a "childhood friend!reader" with Dazai (pref. m!reader), where they know his trauma n stuff and take care of him where he falls short (self hygiene in general). so they like take care of him after oda does n he leaves the Mafia, giving him a bath, washing his hair, changing his bandages, etc. and a bunch of unspoken words (with a couple of kisses? 👀)

Dazai X gender-neutral Reader

Fluff, little kisses and an overall bad-to-good feel.

“D.A.Z.A.I.!” your voice louder than a human at this point , anger boiling you shouted his name only to meet with him running out of the bathroom holding a towel to his waist all wet and bubbly with soap “WHAT !” his voice laced with worry. 

You hold out the empty bottles and trun pointing at the 12 bottles on the floor “it has been 2 days since i left you alone “ you took a deep breath seeing his all smiley “Please.. Dont drink so much “ you said and turned to clean his mess while he went back to at least wash the soap off him .

Coming out he sat down on the couch as per your hand gestures and waited like a puppy with a towel while you settled on the couch and dried his head “Why do you drink so much ?” your voice calmer and softer. 

Shrugging his shoulders he said nothing “Fine now after i am done with your hair, the files Kunikida asked me to finish up “ he said getting up. Dazai who was quiet till now spoke “ what will you do i went back to Port Mafia “ hsi voice was low but you heard it . 

You feet stopped moving you turned looking like a ghost “ no.. why would you ever ..” you started “ oh ..wait does the direct-” “ no like I go back “ he said this time looking straight at your eyes which were filled with horror. 

Dazai knew what you went through and you knew what he went through, you were each other's saviours and only campion “ no” you said sternly and walked up to him. Hand holding his chin up firmly “ no never if you go back I am coming “. 

The dry-bandaged man looked at you with wide eyes, even if he did not express many emotions you could read him like a book, and you knew he wanted to cry “I will never let you back into that hell hole alone that's it“ you said kissing his lips and walking back to do your chores “oh I dropped the files on the bed finish them “. 

Dazai just sat head hung low, feeding him, bathing him, cleaning him or nursing him, loving him and caring for him. He did have one person who did all that “ sleep let me read you something “ you would say pushing the injured man on the bed while he thought about how lucky and blessed he was to have someone like this again. 

Every time you fuss about him getting hurt or every time you complain how his bath routine is shit “ Is miss him yet i feel fine … is it wrong “ his mind thought making him break into tears. Dazai made sure never to cry in front fo you, he did not want you worrying more but he felt he did not deserve this . 

As his mind was thinking all “ unwanted stuff “ which is what you always said about his thoughts you suddenly held his chin up and crashed your lips. This time it was not a peck but a full-fledged kiss as you dug your tongue in Dazai joined holding your neck and pulling you onto his lap “Go. Do.your.work “ you said breaking from the kiss and flicking his forehead. 

Smiling Dazai nuzzled against your neck “ Thanks Oda i know how to respond to love, I will try my best to stay on the good side “ 

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

We Might Not Have A Tomorrow (Please Let Us Have a Tomorrow)

There was a prince from another kingdom that Roman’s parents wanted him to marry. He’d meet him at the Royal Ball in a days time, the same night they were to be engaged. Roman didn’t want to date - let alone marry - someone he didn’t even know. Not when he already had someone he loved right here.

----

| Ao3 |

----

Warnings: Fake blood, faked death.

Pairings: Prinxiety, Demus

Word Count: 4327

Notes:

Hi everyone!! This is my first piece for the @xts-reverse-bangx !! My partner for this fic was @its-the-cat-queen !! Go check out their awesome art with that link there! Trust me it's so beautiful <3

----

“Stay?” Roman asked, voice small and desperate as he clutched at Virgil’s hand as the knight went to walk away, “Please?”

An indiscernible look crossed Virgil’s face, something sad and strained as he stopped in his retreat, looking back at his Prince. For a moment Roman thought he really would come back. It was never that easy. 

“You know I can’t, your highness,” Virgil said softly, “We knew this wouldn’t last forever.”

“I know,” Roman said, still holding tightly to Virgil’s hand, “I know, just - one more night? Please?”

Virgil faltered, he could hardly resist the expression on Roman’s face, that sad look, “You are to be engaged, Roman,” Virgil said, “How many ‘one more night’s will you ask for?”

“You know I can’t answer that,” Roman said softly, looking up at him. 

“You’re highness-”

“Don’t call me that,” Roman said, bringing Virgil’s hand up to lay a kiss to his knuckles, “We’ve been through too much together for you to call me that, Virgil.”

“Roman,” Virgil corrected himself, “If this continues - I’m afraid we’ll get in more trouble than we can get out of.”

“I’m not engaged tonight,” Roman said, squeezing Virgil’s hand, “Please?”

In the end, Virgil knew he could never say no to him.

“Okay,” Virgil said softly, “Okay - but, really, this is the last time, okay Roman?”

“Right,” Roman said with a soft sigh, “The last time.”

Roman felt his stomach twist at the idea, but he still let Virgil’s hand go when he said he wanted to get out of his armour. He tried not to cry as he was left alone in his room, he knew Virgil would come back, he always did, Virgil had been there for him ever since he could remember.

“This isn’t fair,” Roman whispered to himself as he changed into softer sleep clothes. There was a prince from another kingdom that Roman’s parents wanted him to marry. He’d meet him at the Royal Ball tomorrow night, the same night they would be engaged. Roman didn’t want to date - let alone marry - someone he didn’t even know. Not when he already had someone he loved right here. 

When Virgil got back, Roman pulled him into a tight hug and Virgil ran his fingers through his hair twirling and ever so gently pulling at the long loose strands in the way that made Roman melt into the strong arms that carried him back to his bed, laying him down gently whilst his beloved knight climbed in after him. Turning, Roman buried his face in Virgil’s shoulder and wished he could stay here forever.

—

“Five more minutes,” Roman said softly, keeping his nose buried in Virigl’s shoulder as light from the sunrise streamed in from the open curtain at his bedside. Virgil’s hand rested at the small of his back, lightly gripping his clothes. His knight sighed, heavy breath ruffling Roman’s hair just a little. 

“You have to get up, Roman, we have responsibilities,” Virgil said sadly.

“What if we didn’t?” Roman asked, squeezing Virgil a little around the waist in hopes of getting him to stay a little longer, “What if we ran away together? We’d be able to stay like this forever, we wouldn’t have to be apart.”

“Oh, Princey,” Virgil said sadly, “You know it isn’t that easy.”

“But what if we could?” Roman said, “Would you want to?”

“...Of course I would,” Virgil said with another deep sigh, “I… I love you.”

“I love you too,” Roman said, voice soft and quiet.

“I’m sorry we can’t be together.” Virgil brushed his fingers through his long hair, untangling knots that had formed overnight, “I’m sorry things can’t be the way we want them.”

With a deep sigh, Roman sat up, pulling Virgil with him, “Will you help me get ready?” He asked. 

“Of course,” Virgil nodded, “So long as you help me too.”

“Always,” Roman said with a smile, cupping Virgil’s cheeks and pulling him in for a kiss. He would take every moment he could get before tonight. 

—-

The suit Roman wore felt tight in all the wrong places. The shimmery white material pulled at his thighs, forced his shoulders back, the collar choked his neck and the gloves he wore pinched the webbing between his fingers. It was a perfect fit, naturally, but still it felt suffocating. The gold glimmered, the jewellery set with rubies and rose quartz shone in the light, the crown atop his head sparkled. He looked beautiful, there was no doubt about it. 

“There you go,” Virgil said softly, patting down the suit jacket he was wearing, “You look amazing.”

“So do you,” Roman hummed, “Did you polish your armour?”

“Of course,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes, “Are you ready?”

“No,” Roman said, “What if he’s awful, Vee? What if I can’t stand him?”

Virgil sighed, “Well, hey,” he said, “I’ll still be here - you know we can’t… but I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m still your guard.”

“I wish we could keep being more than that.”

“Wishing for things we can’t have will only cause us more heartache, my love,” Virgil sighed, cupping Roman’s face. Roman gave a soft, sad smile before pulling him in for one last kiss. 

—

The only thing keeping Roman from flying apart into a million pieces right now was Virgil's strong and sturdy presence behind him. 

Filled with people, the ballroom buzzed with an energy that settled on Roman’s skin and made him feel nervous. He could see handfuls of royals and nobles dotted about the room, he had no clue who or which one he was going to be getting engaged to tonight.

His presence was announced as he descended the stairs and heads turned. Everyone knew what they were here for tonight. Even his younger twin brother was already there despite being renowned for his lack of punctuality, it was like Roman was the last to arrive despite him being right on time. 

As it turned out, though, he wasn’t the last, because shortly after him, another prince was announced. The Prince came from a kingdom not far, but not exactly close either. It was a kingdom Roman hardly knew anything about. Their royalty was elusive and secretive and their Princes the most of all. Roman had never even seen this man before, in his fancy cloak and big feathered hat that covered most of his face. Roman shivered - he had such an… oppressive presence, almost scary. Roman really hoped it wasn’t him.

It was him. 

Not even twenty minutes later his mother approached him with the mysterious prince in tow and Roman’s heart dropped. 

“Good evening,” Roman greeted with a polite bow. The other Prince gave a nod and returned the bow. 

“Prince Janus, this is my son,” His mother said, gesturing to Roman, “Roman, this is Prince Janus, from the kingdom of Nathair.”

“It’s good meeting you,” Roman said stiffly, holding out a hand for a polite handshake that was returned swiftly. 

“You as well,” Janus spoke for the first time, dropping Roman’s hand quickly, “It is a pleasure.”

Roman noticed at that moment that Janus seemed a little distracted by something behind him, but Roman didn’t have the time to dwell on that right now.

The conversation moved on to how they were to be married, the announcement of their betrothal would happen later this evening. The royalty from both of their kingdoms had agreed to give them this time to get to know each other before they were swamped with the other guests attempting to talk to them. 

That was how Roman found himself standing with Janus on the balcony that overlooked the ballroom. It wasn’t so crowded up here and Janus had brought him up here so that they could talk in peace. Aside from their guards of course, they were completely alone up here. 

For a while neither spoke. Roman leaned on the railing and placed his chin in his hand. He was sure he looked awfully glum, but he couldn’t bring himself to force a smile. Janus must have noticed, because eventually he hummed. 

"Dearest betrothed,” Janus started. Roman winced - normally he would’ve been able to control such a reaction, but right now he was struggling, “I’ve come to assume your feelings on the situation we're in happen to be similar to mine." 

"That depends darling,” Roman said, the nickname tasted rotten on his tongue, “Do you happen to loathe the way we were set up with no way out?"

Janus laughed, “I wouldn’t have worded it so colourfully, but this situation is certainly unfavourable, I’m glad you agree.”

“I don’t know how they can expect us to marry someone we hardly even know,” Roman sighed, shaking his head, “I understand the political gain - our kingdom and yours would make a wonderful alliance but… I don’t even know you.”

Janus nodded, “I quite agree, though you do not upset me as much as I expected you might… I do have my eye on another.”

The last part was a whisper, Roman’s eyes widened.

“Oh really?” He said, raising an eyebrow with a small grin, he glanced back at Virgil - who’s expression almost made Roman laugh, he clearly was just waiting for Roman to do something stupid, “Well - if we’re stuck together for now, the least we could do is engage in a little gossip - will you tell me who it is?”

Janus hummed, swirling his finger in the ballroom, “I’ll let you guess,” he hummed.

“May I ask questions?” Roman asked, tilting his head.

“Hm… you may have three.”

Roman smiled, “Hm, okay, are they here tonight?”

“Indeed,” Janus nodded.

“Do I know them?”

“Very well,” Janus nodded again.

Roman glanced around the room, eyes lingering on everyone he knew especially well, he assumed that meant they were from his kingdom…

“Are they royalty?”

“A yes once again,” Janus grinned, though his eyes were fixed on one spot. Roman followed his eyes to where his own brother was standing near the buffet table, no doubt stealing a heap of food. Roman almost burst out laughing.

“You like my brother?” Roman asked, before being shushed. Roman did feel a little bad about being so loud, “...Really?”

“Well,” Janus said, “Of course I couldn’t know for certain - but I’ve seen him around the ballroom and he seems quite endearing, I’d like to get to know him at least.”

“Well..” Roman says, frowning, “If you’re supposed to be marrying me you’ll have plenty of time to do so, we are brothers after all.”

“And what about you?” Janus asked.

“What about me?” Roman asked.

“I’m not attracted to you - I’m sure I’ve made that quite clear - but I still would feel bad leaving you for your brother when I’m supposed to be your fiance.”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry about it - I…” he glanced back over at Virgil, who frowned but shrugged, “I already have someone, anyway.”

“Oh?” Janus hummed, turning to him with a small smirk, “What a scandal, Prince Roman! Who might that be? I told you mine.”

Roman smiled, before glancing over at Virgil again, more obviously this time. Virgil gave a small, awkward little wave when Janus followed his gaze. Janus’ eyes widened.

“Your guard?” He asked in a whisper, Roman nodded, “A secret relationship! Well I am one for a good drama.”

Roman smiles a little, “Well - I suppose you will get some, if you wish to pursue my brother.”

“Will he not be upset?” Janus asked, a little astounded.

“Upset by what? You being my fiance?” Roman asked, “If we’re not interested in each other I don’t think he’ll care less.”

Janus frowned - it was a thinking type frown, not an upset type frown, which Roman was grateful for - and they fell into a somewhat comfortable silence.

Eventually, Roman’s mother stood from her throne to make the announcement and Roman and Janus had to return to the ball hand in hand. Roman somehow felt that he could breathe just a little easier after their talk, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at Virgil, a newly hopeful feeling in his heart. 

If Janus wanted to pursue Remus, then maybe he wouldn’t be upset if Roman wanted to stay with Virgil. 

They would have to talk about it, Roman knew that, but he was hopeful that this may not end as painfully as he thought it would.

—- 

Once the ball was done, Roman pulled Virgil into a tight hug. Neither of them let go for a whole five minutes, but eventually Virgil gently detached himself. 

“That was really dangerous, Ro,” Virgil said softly. Janus was staying in the palace - their wedding would take place in a week and they had that time to really get to know each other.

“He told me he liked my brother first,” Roman huffed, “And it ended well, so what’s the harm? Especially if it means I can still have you.”

“But what if he was tricking you!” Virgil said, gripping Roman’s arms, “This is Janus - he has a reputation for deceit! I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get to you!”

“Virgil,” Roman said softly, “I saw the way he looked at Remus - he was so distracted the whole time, that sort of thing can’t be faked - I just - this could be our chance, love, if he’s willing to let me have you -”

“Roman,” Virgil said softly, cupping Roman’s face, “Look - I’m hopeful too, okay? I know you want this to work but just - please don’t get your hopes up too high, okay? You’ll just - I don’t want to see you even more heartbroken.”

Sighing softly, Roman nodded, “I won't,” he said, “But - but I’ll do my best to make this work.”

—-

They got Remus involved. 

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do so immediately. Roman knew better than anyone how volatile Remus could be, but Janus had apparently sought him out the day after the ball, and now the three royals were sitting around a low table with tea and afternoon cakes to talk.

“So…” Remus said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over them the longer they had sat there, “Lemme try and understand what the fuck the situation here is.”

He stood up, holding his teacup - which Roman was not sure actually contained tea - and began to pace. Roman raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with Janus, who only looked fond.

“You two are engaged,” Remus said, “But Janny likes me and Roro likes Virgil, and you two are coming to me because….?”

Roman shrugged, he had no idea.

“Well - of course, you found out about my feelings this morning,” Janus said, rolling his eyes, Remus nodded, “So I thought that perhaps you would be able to help with this… situation.”

“Well,” Remus said, taking a sip of not-tea before putting a hand on his hip, clearly he had an idea, “If RoRo went missing, then they’d probably try marry you to me instead to keep the political alliance, right?”

Roman frowns, “But then you’ll end up being King, Ree, you’ve always hated the idea, and we wouldn’t be able to see each other.”

“You think I can’t sneak out of the castle to come visit you and your boytoy guard?” Remus huffed, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to run off and live in the woods with him.”

Roman couldn’t exactly argue with that, it was true after all. Running away with Virgil was something they had talked about time and time again.

“And the first point?” Roman asked instead of trying to argue.

“Well being king would stink but I’d have Janny.”

“I would be happy to rule your kingdom if it meant everyone would get their happy ending,” Janus said with a small smile. Roman looked at the two of them.

“So… you two really do like each other?” Roman asked, tilting his head.

“Who knows!” Remus said, walking over to sling his arm around Janus’ shoulders, almost spilling his tea, “Guess we’ll find out!”

Roman made a face, “You’d risk ending up not liking him for me?”

“Well,” Remus said, “Look at it this way: you get what you’ve wanted for like years, I get to try out dating this cutie and even if it doesn’t work we can just be besties and it’ll still be great, everyone’s happy either way.”

“Indeed,” Janus nods, “Even if it turns out we do not enjoy each other romantically, I still think I would value Remus as a good friend - And I would enjoy running a kingdom with him - I would not have gotten to do so in my own kingdom after all.”

Roman nodded slowly, “Okay - um - if we’re going to discuss this plan further, could we bring Virgil in?”

“Course,” Remus shrugged, “Go get your boy-toy RoRo.”

—-

The plan was strangely simple. 

Roman was supposed to fake his death. The night before the wedding, with Remus’ help, they were going to stage a murder scene. Roman would escape with Virgil and the palace and kingdom would think he had died. They’d make it look like an outside attempt - an assassination. 

On top of that, Remus planned to set Janus up too, have him be present for Roman’s ‘murder’ so that he could verify the story and help to convince them that it was true whilst also proving his innocence - if Janus barely made it out then he couldn’t possibly be at fault for the murder after all.

It was the perfect plan. Roman wasn’t exactly enjoying it as he packed up a bag - only the essentials, and stuff that would reasonably be stolen. Having fake blood smeared across his bedsheets and floor made him feel queasy and disgusting. Honestly he was just glad he wasn’t Janus, who was having the stuff smeared across his clothes and face. 

“It’s weirdly artistic,” Virgil said as he appeared at Roman’s side, scrunching up his face all the while, “In a really gross way.”

Roman made a face back, “You can say that again.”

“Hey RoRo!” Remus said, bounding over, “How's it going?”

“We’ve got our stuff,” Roman said, shrugging his bag onto his back. Virgil had already done the same, “And this looks like a murder scene.”

“Great! That’s what we’re going for! You think it’s believable or do we need more blood?”

“As long as Prince Snakeface over there can do his job then I think we’re good,” Virgil said. Janus glared at him though it was light hearted.

“Of course I can do my job,” he rolled his eyes, “Playing a damsel in distress has never been awfully hard, I act as though I’m grieving for a lost lover and find solace in his grieving brother, from there we grow a connection and the Queen will marry us instead, it’s practically foolproof as long as you two can get out without being spotted.”

“Speaking of,” Remus said, “Here, put these on, you’ll need ‘em.”

Two cloaks were tossed to Roman and Virgil respectively. Roman nodded and put his on quickly, though Virgil took a second longer.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” He asked quietly to Roman, who took his hands.

“We’ve talked through this plan a thousand times,” he said, “We can do it.”

“But if they don’t believe us - and we don’t know how to run a homestead by ourselves-”

“Vee,” Roman said softly, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his beloved’s cheek, “We have more than enough gold and jewels to get ourselves a house and plenty of supplies, we can buy books and seeds and food and we can figure it out, okay?”

“And if it doesn’t work you’ll still have us to help!” Remus said brightly, Roman smiled.

“We’ll be sure to send word once we’re out safely,” Roman said, before going over to give his brother a final hug. Remus wrapped him up so tightly he could barely breathe, but both of them pulled away with a smile on their faces. 

“Go live the life you want, dumbass,” Remus said, slapping Roman on the shoulder. 

“Thank you for everything,” Roman said to Janus, who gave a small nod and a smile in response, “No really - you had no obligation to do any of this for any of us - I still barely know you - but I’d consider you a great friend for this.”

Janus smiled a much more real smile at that, “I would consider you a good friend as well, I’m grateful to have you as a brother in law rather than a fiance.”

Roman laughed and nodded, “You as well, I think this will be much better for all of us.”

“Indeed,” Janus nodded, “Now, cut the sap, we need to get this done before someone comes in here and sees this mess.”

“Right,” Roman said with a laugh. Remus nodded quickly.

“Yes, yes, you two gotta go,” Remus said, “Make sure you don’t get seen, I’m gonna go as well - a different way, I’ll head back to my chambers from the library. Janny, you wait at least half an hour until you make a fuss, ‘kay?”

After murmurs of agreement all around, the plan was set into motion.

Once Janus raised the alarm, the palace and surrounding kingdom would be swarming with guards looking for the non-existent assassin, so Roman and Virgil had to hurry. Hand in hand the two of them rushed through servants' passages and down staircases. The palace was quieter at night, thank goodness. Less people hurrying about meant less chance at being spotted. 

Before long they had made it out, the two of them were almost giddy as they bounded through the surrounding city. The plan was to get out of the city by morning and head for one of the surrounding towns where hopefully they could buy a pair of horses. They would have to travel further out from the capital whilst the hunt for the assassin took place, the further out they got the safer they would be, but eventually they planned to settle in the forests a day's ride from the palace. 

Half a night’s walk got them to a nearby town where they were able to rent out a room once the sun had risen, not wanting to draw attention to themselves by appearing in the early hours. 

By the time they had gotten settled and bought some basic supplies, word had begun to travel of the Prince’s death by raven. It wouldn’t be safe to send a message to Remus yet. For now they would have to lie low.

Virgil had suggested that they cut Roman’s long hair in order to conceal his identity. Roman’s face was recognisable and his hair even moreso. At first the idea had upset him, but Virgil promised he could grow it back and Roman knew it would be for the better. No-one would be looking for a dead prince, but someone who looked exactly like him would surely catch attention. 

—

A week passed and slowly the buzz began to die down. A funeral was held, a big ceremony involving all the capital city. Many people went, Virgil and Roman were not among them. Janus and Remus were at the front of the procession, right behind the current King and Queen. 

The kingdom mourned for weeks, but still things moved on. Roman sent a letter to Remus telling him of their safety and journey so far. They travelled back up towards the capital and found a carpenter and stonemason willing to assist in building them a new home out in the forest. 

A month later a new wedding announcement was made. Janus and Remus were to be wed the next week and the whole kingdom would turn out for it. Of course Roman and Virgil would be there. Roman wouldn’t miss his brother’s wedding for the world.

—-

Life was good, for Roman. 

He never imagined he could live a life like this as he drew water up from the well behind their new house, using half of the water bucket to feed the garden he and Virgil had been cultivating together over the last three months. Some of the things they were growing had started to get big, some of the plants even showing signs of fruit and vegetables getting ready to harvest. Roman was proud of how far they had come.

“Oh Virgil!” Roman sang as he walked into the house, wiping off his boots and setting the now half full bucket down on the table, “I’ve brought the water for the soup!”

Virgil appeared through the archway that led into their kitchen with a smile, “Thanks Ro,” he said, kissing Roman’s cheek and making him blush. The easy shows of attention were something he thought he would never truly get used to. No-one was here to catch them out or punish them for behaving improperly. 

“You’re welcome of course,” Roman chuckled, “What are you making?”

“Just a simple vegetable soup with stuff from the market this morning,” Virgil said, smiling, “Hopefully it’ll be good, I got a good deal.”

“Yeah?” I’m sure it’ll be great, your cooking always is,” Roman laughed - they had learned quite quickly that Roman couldn’t cook if his life depended on it, his first attempt had resulted in the near destruction of their new house, Virgil had done all of the cooking from now on.

“Well good, because Remus and Janus are coming tonight, remember?”

“How could I forget? I’ve been excited all week,” Roman said, wrapping an arm around Virgil’s waist. Virgil leant into him, smiling.

“Hopefully the soup will be done in time,” Virgil said with a small chuckle.

“Im sure it will be,” Roman said, resting his chin on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Well it’ll be done a lot faster if you let me go and work on it, love,” Virgil laughed, “I have to boil this water hon, come on.”

Roman laughed and let him go. Yeah, he was happy with this. 

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[juliettedunn]

Luz’s Softness in Thanks to Them

We all knew Luz was going to have an angst arc in Thanks to Them. Her angst had been building long before then, and King’s Tide was the final straw.

Angst is popular in characters like Amity and Hunter, who act cold and mean as a result of deep pain on the inside. If they cry, it’s in secret, hidden away from anyone who might see through their confident persona. The “bad but sad boy” / “I act like I don’t care but I secretly do” type, to quote Luz.

That’s not what Luz does. Luz cries multiple times in  front of others in Thanks to Them, and even has an emotional outburst in front of her teacher in classmates.

It’s the classroom scene that has a lot of people saying Luz is being “cringey,” and that they have to cover their eyes from “second-hand embarrassment.” I’ve seen post after post mocking that scene, saying Luz needs to “sit down and shut up” and that she has a “y/n complex.”

Whether a vulnerable person gets sympathy or ridicule from others is based on mysterious standards of what are acceptable and unacceptable ways to act when we are at our worst. And what is acceptable for some isn’t acceptable for others (white favoritism, especially in the fandom’s response to Hunter’s over-the-top emotional displays vs Luz). 

Luz’s outburst in the classroom was highly impulsive and not something many would do, but Luz doesn’t know how to ask for help, not when she feels too guilty to confide in her friends and family.

Luz is at best passively suicidal in TTT. It’s actually one of the first times she DOESN’T see herself as the main character, she sees herself as the selfish villain, the “evil Lucy” rather than the good witch Azura. Her self esteem is at an all time low, to where she doesn’t think she truly deserves love.

It’d be so easy to lock herself away, bottle those feelings inside and turn cold. Many thought this was the direction her character was headed in. And Luz does indeed isolate and keep her inner feelings secret.

But she remains soft and tender-hearted, constantly cheering on her friends and supporting Hunter through his hardships even when she herself is at her worst. She even lets her silliness peek through, calling a possum a “little angel.”

Despite her low self esteem, she very clearly WANTS someone to help her and intervene. She wouldn’t have had the classroom outburst if she didn’t think there was some worth in making her feelings clear, some hope that someone might respond to her and perhaps tell her something different. Which makes it even more heartbreaking when the class gives her a weirded out look and then ignores her.

If someone behaves this way in real life, it should be taken as a serious warning sign, not as a “Oh my god that’s so cringe” moment. 

You can see multiple times in the episode Luz fighting her depression, like when she goes to cuddle with Camila. When she asks Camila to let her stay in her bed, it struck me how amazing she really is for being able to do that.

Luz feels she doesn’t deserve to live, yet she still desperately wants to. She wants to hold on so much that she manages to seek comfort, despite her guilt telling her she shouldn’t be receiving it.

When I was her age and in her mental state, I didn’t have the ability to do something like that. Seeking help when you’re in that kind of state is one of the hardest things to do, and Luz does it multiple times.

For people to call her a cringey embarrassment for having an outburst is in very poor taste, and a bad sign for how we view signs of mental illness in real life.

Not everyone who angsts will be like Hunter and Amity, becoming aggressive and/or cold towards others. Not everyone can hide behind thick skin. Some become softer and more sensitive, cry more easily. The latter is in fact the healthier and often more difficult option. 

Some expected a cold, withdrawn cynic, hiding away her emotions. Instead we got a messy, tender-hearted girl desperately seeking help in impulsive outbursts.

The fandom is finally starting to focus on her angst and trauma, but let’s not forget the strength that lies in her unfaltering softness as well.

Luz is a loving, kind, strong, beautiful disaster, and she deserves better from this fandom.

[houseofhyde]

Hello there amazing writer 🙋🏻‍♀️! I hope you are feeling well and are finding the fandom pleasant 🤗.

I thought I'd share an idea that's been festering in my head if you'd like to give it a try (but first allow me to commend your sharply pellucid guidelines for requesting, you have seriously inspired me to refine my own 🥂)

I was thinking of something where Daemon has been chasing a noblewoman, interest kindled by her prideful rejection to become his latest muse; then one night she goes to his chamber, dejected and teary, indignantly asking for company. Then something like the beach scene from Drfitmark where he's far gentler than he thought he would be.

Thank you for hearing me out, have a lovely day 💐

but only for tonight.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader. synopsis. to most, the rogue prince is an untamable beast, with the fury of a thousand men and mind more stubborn than a mule. to you, he's a nuisance in expensive clothing, prone to run away with his tail tucked between his legs each time you reassure him you're still not interested in entertaining his company. till disaster strikes and the only corner of the keep your legs seem to carry you is his chamber doors. warnings. young!daemon (early 20s), enemies to lovers to strangers, kinda softer than usual daemon (he's young and not completely cynical yet), smut (porn with plot, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, daemon lowkey has a praise kink, dubcon bc daemon is high on life aka the milk of the poppy). word count. 13.1k (this was only meant to be 5k max 🧍‍♂️) hyde's input. thank you so much to @nyctophilic0vitnir for your kind words, your request, and, most importantly, your patience <3 this took me far too long to write and i hope the wait was worth it for you. it pains me to age daemon down (as, personally, i'm a toxic bitch that loves to see daemon be notably older than the reader, since i feel it adds that extra layer of questionable morality to his character and his actions) but it was the only way i felt i could stay true to my personal characterisation of him whilst sticking to the original request. since i view daemon as someone hardened by things in life that only come with age (which, in turn, affects his approach to love/courting), it only felt believable to me that he'd chase after someone in his younger days. obviously not everyone has to agree since, again, this is my personal characterisation of him! i'm rambling so i'll shut up now, enjoy! read on ao3 !

between the blinding shine of the sun and the hateful looks from the ladies seated all around you, you’re shocked to the core that you’ve yet to melt away into nothingness.

the scene is as follows: an arena surrounded by crowds filled with cheering lords and fawning ladies, dressed in their finest of robes and garbs, and with their mouths opened to yell out each time sticks collide or a rider is thrown from his horse; within the arena stand two horses- one so white it offends the eyes and the other blacker than a night’s sky- and, upon their saddles, two men. the first is a man of honour, regal of house and true of heart. he sits like royalty and smiles like a dashing knight, urging his mount towards the stands, no doubt awaiting the gift of the flowered wreath you’d kept yourself awake into the small hours to make. the other man? a fool made of over-the-top armor, a glistening of dark metals and a feathered helmet that, combined with the smug look he sports, has the same effect as simply writing cunt across his forehead.

it is, to your own displeasure, that the second man is who holds his lance out to you first.

“well,” that cocky tone of voice grates you, like the screech of a crying babe, and you fight back the urge to cover your ears, if only by reminding yourself of how his crown-bearing brother is watching from his own seat amongst the crowd. “get on with it.”

“oh, my!” the women in your vicinity swoon, as if the man has just recited a poem of utmost beauty and grace in your direction.

seemingly foolish? most definitely.

but, truly foolish? not one bit, each of them strategic in their behaviour towards the unwed prince, hopeful that someday, should they work hard enough, they’ll be on the receiving end both of his affection and wealth.

you can not mock them- wholeheartedly, at least- for you would be behaving the very same were he any other prince.

“lady cantebury, if you’ll excuse me, i suddenly feel my lunch coming back up.” though you address the woman to the left of you- who, quite frankly, you’ve been ignoring for the better half of the tournament- your words and feigned smile are directed to the man of your ire.

“yes, excuse her, lady cantebitchy,” despite the prince- purposefully, you assume- misspeaking her name, she seems a little too excited that he’s taken notice of her to care. “it takes those northerners a while to adjust to eating something other than half-frozen crops. three moons south and my lady has yet to get used to it.”

“your lady?” you scoff, and quickly scowl, cursing yourself for giving him what he wants: your attention. too late now, you challenge him and lean forward against the railings. “is she with us now, this lady of yours? i should like to pay my respects to her no-doubt deceased sanity.”

“it pains me deeply when you speak so dully of yourself, my lady.” the gaul of this man! to speak such words, to mimic affectionate sentiments and pains in his heart through the clutching of his chest!

and, to make matters worse, to put on this act before the very man you’ve been courting!

the tyrell boy is smiling when your eyes finds his own, but the grip he has on the reigns of the white horse speaks true to the anger that hides beneath the petal-covered surface. you return his smile, and ignore whatever the prince mutters under his breath (something adjacent to greeting that priss of a man, with words more foul and tone heavy on the disgust).

aiming to beckon over the man who should truly receive the gift of your favour, a faint tug on the skirts of your summer’s gown derail your line of thoughts. first, you look to your left, accusing eyes looking upon lady canteburry as if to say she was the one to call for your attention. another tug has your head darting to the right, and there you see her.

the princess is small, in age and height and all else, but she makes up for what she lacks with her overgrown personality and swollen confidence. she’s merely a girl of six, yet she stands as tall as her stature allows, head tilted up to look you in the eye.

“my uncle,” little rhaenyra’s words echo for all to hear, silencing even the most brutishly rude lords as all stand to listen to her sweet voice. “he wants your favour. i think he’s just nervous and forgot to ask for it.”

the last of her words are whispered, loud enough for several women and the prince himself to hear. you shoot him a look as you both scoff over a laugh, him with indiganance and you with disbelief.

blessed be the hearts of children, too pure to know the wrongs of man.

“is that so, princess?” the girl’s nose wrinkles, a sign of her distaste towards hearing you address her by title (“i can not call you ‘nyra in public, sweet child.” you’d told her many a times, hands brushing over her pale hair or accompanying her through strolls in the gardens or helping her escape the boring hours of needle work. “you are a princess, and as one of your ladies it is my duty to address you as such.”)

the girl nods and you spy the way her hair is slowly slipping out of its braid. the actions serves as a reminder, to not just yourself but the gathered crowd of women, of the unfair yet captivating traits of the dragon-riders. fair hair, lilac eyes, unblemished skin.

he wears them differently to the rest of his house.

“listen to the child,” he speaks as if on queue, in tune with your thoughts. “she’s wiser than most her age.”

“unlike you.” you believe yourself to mutter beneath your breath.

the stifled laughter of the queen herself, aemma targaryen, tells you otherwise.

“ao jorrāelagon naejot sagon tolī sȳz, kepus!” you need to be more kind, uncle!��another part of the targaryen culture you’ve grown to envy as much as you distaste: their ancestral tongue. which the princess has been improving upon with each passing day since your arrival at the capital, adding yet another person to your list of targaryens who insist on speaking it around you, with no regard to the fact you have no clue of what words they speak. if anything, the prince seems to enjoy it when you storm off, antagonised to the point of despair by his incomprehensible ramblings in his mother tongue. “iā hembar jēda kesan daor tepagon se dohaeragon ao jaelagon naejot gain se riña’s prūmia lēda.” or next time i will not give the help you wish to gain the lady’s heart with.

whatever she says, it’s enough to irritate the prince, if the roll of his eyes are anything go by.

“lykemagon, riña, iā kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot ȳdragon hen aōha bantis zaldrīzes kipagon naejot aōha kepa.” silence, child, or i will not forget to speak of your nightly dragon rides to your father. you may not speak the language, but you’re fluent in context, and so there’s no doubt in your mind that the two are exchanging threats, each wearing that signature look of stubborn challenging you’re more than certain the king grew to despise the moment he realised he’d no longer just face it from his own brother, but his precious daughter too.

when the moment passes, the princess is facing you again, sticky hands plucking upwards to grab onto whatever part of you she can reach and guide you- shove you, if she were stronger than her age allows- closer to the knight in offensive armour.

“uncle, tell the lady what you desire.” the gods were cruel when they chose to favour men over women, tearing away the chance of this poised young girl of ever ruling upon the iron throne, for not even the strongest of men- nor the most foolish, either- would dare to speak to the rogue prince in such a demanding tone.

“to be drowning in whores and wine.” you’re too slow to cover rhaenyra’s ears from the man’s offensive wording.

you suppose she’s heard far worse.

“uncle!”

“fine, fine,” a clearing of a throat, a straightening of a spine and a lunge of a jousting stick in your direction. the horse he sits upon canters a few steps closer and releases the heavy sigh you wish you could. “my lady,” there’s a point to be made with how your eyes drift anywhere but his own as he speaks such blasphemy, a silent scream that you are most definitely, not under any circumstances nor at any point in time, his lady. you’re barely a tolerant of the man! “would you do me the honour of gifting me with your favour, so that i may wear it on the handle of my lance as i shove the other end up this pretty boy’s arse?”

there’s a cacophony of laughter, prompted only after the king himself fails to contain a burst of belly-born rumbles, and then the sweet interjection of ‘nyra once more, voice whiny in a way that reminds you you’ve been cursed with your moonsblood for longer than she’s been alive- even despite your supposed late blossoming!

“kepus! konir sagon daor skorkydoso īlon kȳvanon syt ao epagon zirȳla!” uncle! that is not how we planned for you to ask her!

the prince ignores his niece, eyes spying only upon you and your unimpressed, unmoving, unchanging facial expressions. the frowning lips, the pinched brows, the disdain in your eyes are all marks of something that would- should- send any other man running for the hills, in pursuit of some other lady.

in daemon, it is the pilar of his desire.

“are you going to make me wait all evening?” the teasing smirk and the raise of an eyebrow have become the prince’s signature look around you, from the moment you’d stumbled upon him, hands tangled up the skirts of a serving girl and lips stained in the bloodied red of southern wine. “because i must admit, while i’m not against performing in front of a crowd, i’d rather hoped our first evening together would be a little more intimate than this.”

you bite the insides of your cheek with a force you hope is strong enough to rid you of that grating feeling roused by none other than your greatest enemy: the prince.

by all means, you want to deny him, send him off to pester some other lady for her favour- of which you’re sure he’ll stumble upon an abudance of them who receive him more willingly than you. the crown of pointed thorns and decaying petals and twisted vines is one you’d intended to gift to the rose boy, not the dragon prince.

yet rhaenyra’s little hands and excited smile convinces you to go against your better judgement.

the crowd bursts back to life with cheers and applause as you drop your wreath down the expanse of his lance.

“cherish it, prince daemon,” you call over the crowd, voice drowning out in the masses yet reaching its intended, daemon’s eyes delighting with the attention you give him. “for i just forfeited my chance to be named queen of love and beauty.”

hours later, when the moon sits atop the sky and the king’s guests have had their fair share of feast and drink, you brush off yet another congratulations.

“to our queen of love and beauty!” they cheer, cups to the sky and smiles made of mockery. “our prince sure did pick a fine lady.”

to roll your eyes is your only hope to halt yourselves from chastising the garish men and their claims, a whole rant to throw at them off the cuff of how the only thing their prince has done is place a scarlet letter upon you and slice a dagger through the already fragile relationship you’ve spent your recent days crafting with the stone-faced lady tyrell, who’s spent the past hours staring you down from across the hall and whispering every so often to her husband.

the hand in your own- smaller and distinctly sticky in a way only a child’s hand ever seems to be- tugs and squeezes you along, venturing deeper into the pit of dancing bods, the tuffs of blonde and the poofs of red the only part of the princess you manage to make out as she guides you.

she stops, eventually, when she finds a spot she deems spacious enough and- unbeknownst to you- in the perfect line of view for all that sit the royal table, be they a king, or a queen, or a prince, to witness you both joining in dance, a unique pair among the many couples.

“you know,” the girl ponders alloud, a cheeky grin on her face as her small frame easily twirls beneath your raised arm. “if you married my uncle, you and i would be family.”

“is that so, huh?” she must count her blessings that she remains a child, for were she any older to know better, she’d be tasting the wrath delivered upon any other who’d dare insinuate- much less so boldly propose the idea of- the unification of yourself and the rogue prince. “are you sure you’d be able to handle me as your evil aunt?”

the young girl nods enthusiastically, a silly grin decorating her features and forcing one on to your own down-trodden face, something so infectious in her smile.

when you’d first met the princess, you’d been certain that you’d never warm to her. it wasn’t that she was spoiled or particularly difficult but, rather, you’d never had a child around back home. moving to the capital- under the guise of becoming a lady in waiting to the little princess while truly being an excuse for your father to find you a husband- you’d been unsure what to expect once you arrived. your friendship with the dragon princess was a happy accident.

an accident that’s made adjusting to the capital far easier, sure, but an accident nonetheless.

“uncle!” her recent interest in your courting life and the need to intertwine it with your arch-nemesis’, however, has you rethinking this friendship.

the princess is the one to let go first, ducking out of your hold to crash straight into the prince’s leg, attaching herself onto it like a leech sticks to the skin of a dying man. daemon, seemingly engaged in conversation- with a girl you believe to be part of the lannister house- prior to the appearance of rhaenyra, dismisses the company in favour of his niece, hand clasping itself upon the top of her head and giving several scuffs, messing her hair till it stands in all directions.

and, be it the copious drinks or the immature she-devil who harbours within the depths of your soul, you condemn yourself to approaching the prince.

“stop that!” the words are a hiss as your hands shove away his own and work at smoothing back down the strands of pale blonde. “it took me near an hour to get her to sit still for me while i done her hair, and now you’ve gone and messed my work!”

“then do better next time, perhaps tie it more securely.” never has daemon targaryen had a face so worthy of a slap.

but, as slapping the king’s brother would likely land you straight in a cellar, you settle for something far more childish.

“oh, my bad,” the stretch to reach the top of his head is lessened by the heeled shoes you wear, allowing you to retaliate the treatment he’d given to the princess’ head. “perhaps you should try tying your hair more securely next time!”

it’s a marvellous kind of satisfaction that overcomes you as you gaze upon your masterpiece, the prince now wearing a hardened expression and standing with something akin to a bird’s nest in place of his once perfectly groomed locks.

“i think you’ve been spending too much time with rhaenyra,” he grumbles, attempting to sooth down the mop on his head while trying to maintain an air of collectedness about him as the surrounding guests hide their snickers behind their hands. meanwhile, the princess radiates joy, no fear holding her back from laughing at her uncle. “you’re behaving as if you were her age.”

it’s a struggle to not stick your tongue out, but you fear that would only serve to prove his- likely true- point.

“i’m tired,” rhaenyra, ever the conniving little actress, throws in a fake yawn and stretches her little limbs out as she untangles herself from the prince, staring up at him. the two have always shared a rather queer bond, as though they were cut from the very same cloth, little needing said for them both to understand one another. being aware of this, however, does not make it any easier to accept when they speak of you as though you’re not there. “would you promise to keep my friend company? there’s a lot of strangers at this feast and i don’t want one of them to harm her.”

“i’d say the strangers are the ones who need protecting, princess,” he’s doubled over, moving down to the height of his niece but his focus is all on you and the urge to squirm under his penatrive gaze is stronger than ever. “them northerners can be savages!”

with much protest from you and a shooing motion from the rogue prince, young rhaenyra scurries off towards her septa, eventually leaving the hall intwined with the daughter of her father’s hand, alicent hightower, the pair having been near inseparable since before you’d even arrived in the capital.

you last only four denied dances, three of them which are proposed by the heartbreak prince himself, the only other man bold enough to approach you with your frowning sworn-guard for the night being a lowly lord from the southern isles, kind enough in the eyes yet sporting a few too many wrinkles and grey hairs for you to consider a suitable suitor. and, at last, it becomes time you take your leave, making one last stop before the two royals, once more congratulating the pair on the early stages of the queen’s pregnancy- the first to make it through the initial trimester since the birth of rhaenyra and the sole reason you’ve all gathered, to celebrate the future heir king viserys targaryen claims grows within his wife’s womb- before making your way out into the much quieter, more solitary and notably cooler hallways of the red keep, the noise of the continued festivities drowning out into muffled cheers as the heavy doors slam shut, locking you out.

you breathe easily for what feels like the first time in hours.

ever the fool, daemon seems either incapable of taking a hint or wilfully going to any length to aggravate you, for he matches your steps and follows you out. he’s oblivious to the stare of despair and the roll of your eyes, wishing the man would drop his literal- and figurative- pursuit of you once and for all.

“you’ve been here, what, near four moons?” his voice rising above the stillness of the night captures your attention, widened eyes blossoming with surprise shooting up from facing the ground beneath your feet. “how are you finding your stay? i should hope my brother’s fitted you with comfortable quarters.”

“i, well,” you start, and you mean to finish, you really do. but there’s a loss of connection between your mind and your mouth, one running with a thousand thoughts that fight to reach the forefront and the other parting it’s lips in a broken exhale.

“what, surprised to see i am capable of niceties?” the prince flashes what you imagine most would describe as a charming smile.

“yes. no, actually,” you correct both your words and your posture, unknowingly relaxing that tense feeling that had danced upon the tip of your back and the expanse of your shoulder from the moment you’d found yourself alone with the man walking at your side. “more surprised to see you’re capable of not turning everything into a sexual pass, i suppose.”

“well, you never let me reach the part where i request to see just how comfortable your quarters are.”

that same she-devil who convinced you to mess with his hair perks up her voice once more, seductive whispers encouraging you to cross the space that separates you from the prince and place a hand upon his leather-bound chest, shoving him with less hostility either of you had expected.

“you’re insufferable!” at the very least, you retain the ability to criticise him verbally, though with far more interruptions of failed-to-conceal laughter and less sharpness in your tone.

“i believe it’s pronounced irrefutable.”

“i’m impressed,” you nod along to your own exclamation, vaguely aware of the fact you’ve twisted your feet around till you face the man completely. “that’s a big word for someone with the vocabulary of a foul-mouthed child!”

“if big things impress you, rest assured i’m well endowed.”

“like i said, insufferable!”

when your exacerbated sighs and his teasing chortles fade away into the air of the night, a calm quiet settles over you both, like fog over mountain tops. the rare abscense of the wandering eyes and judgemental snickers and the gossiping whispers exchanged through the courtiers has made way for an unexpected tolerance of the prince’s company, one that leads you astray from your usual disgust and further towards the walking disaster-child that is daemon targaryen.

“come,” it’s a demand, not a request, the talons of your hands digging into the arm of his coat admittedly harder than necessary, a sick depravation found in the firmness of his biceps. you find he gives no protest to the way your arm locks itself around his own. “walk me to my chambers, oh mighty knight!”

“is this your way of accepting my offer to see how comfortable your ch-”

“daemon, so help the seven, if you finish that sentence, it’ll be i who shoves a lance up your arse.”

silence returns like an old friend: with open arms and the promise of a story to be told.

the pair of you traverse through the winding halls of the castle together, arms linked and feet synced- the prince puts a great effort into shortening the length of his steps. to outsiders looking in, you’d almost appear to be nothing more than another couple in the early days of courtship, smiling off to the sides and capable of looking anywhere but each other. the reality that this very man has put your true intended betrothal at risk becomes buried deep beneath the surface of your thoughts, uneager to remind yourself of how you’d last seen the tyrell boy rising from the dirt of the arena, face frowning as the prince called out your name, thanking you for you favour.

“you never answered.” he speaks carefully, voice a gentle timbre as though he’s attempting to coax a wounded fawn out of its hiding place.

“hmm?”

“my question, about your stay. how are you finding it?”

you can not seem to answer him. it isn’t that you don’t want to answer- trust there is another world out there where you easily list off every reason he’s made your time in the capital feel something comparable to torturous and arduous work- but, rather, that you do not have an answer. because not a single person, from your own father all the way to little rhaenyra herself, has dared to ask you before.

no individual has cared to know, yet here the prince stands- walks by your side, more accurately said- and inquires on it.

it jars you so severely you feel the beginnings of an ache in your head.

“oh, well, it’s been... good, i suppose.” both of you share a common disbelief towards the words you speak, yours evident in the way your grip tightens around his arm and his making itself known in a dismissive grunt. “the keep is beautiful, and my chambers are beyond any level of comfort my own house could afford, and the weather is admiteddly nicer. it’s just...”

“lonely,” the man finishes what you started, the hand on his free arm at some point raising itself to rest upon your own. it’s only reflex for your fingers to relax, untense the vice grip you’ve dug into him. “this city is somehow the busiest yet loneliest place in the whole of westeros.”

“don’t get sentimental on me, prince daemon.” to dismiss the mellowness settling in between you with a jovial tone and a pointed look is all you can think to do, far too unprepared to be confronted with the possibility of the rogue prince possessing anything beyond the sheer audacity he displays on the daily. “we would not want someone to overhear and assume you’re soft-hearted.”

the man swallows back a comment of how, while his heart may falter, another of his organs would not fail to remain hardened, and simply gives a noise of agreement. you arrive at yet another flight of stairs, this one so narrow it requires you to walk ahead of the prince, the grasp you have on him never faltering as it slides down the expanse of his arm and reanchors itself on his wrist.

you make it not even a quarter of the way up before your dress proves itself to be a nusance, catching on your feet and sending you crashing forwards, saved from bruising your skin and breaking your bones on the solid stone below by daemon, who effortletsly catches you by the waist.

“i wasn’t aware the king placed you in the highest tower of the keep,” the prince, a known hypochondriac, quips on the amount of stairs  the travels to your chambers entails.

“must be to keep scoundrels like his brother from trying to reach me.” a joke it may be, given you both laugh, but there’s certainly an element of truth behind it.

pray, you will, that you’re never enquired on how often a scoundrel has taken it upon himself to lift the ends of a woman’s dress for no reasons other than aiding her to climb up steps without the fear of her feet catching on the ends of it.

he follows you up closely, closer than he’d been before, and drops the material only after you’ve reached the top. the pair of you move in sync to reform your previous positions, arms intertwining with ease.

“what,” it’s criminal, you think, that it’s taken you all this time to experience how soft the prince’s voice can be once he’s rid it of all that ego and peacoking energy he barks around the courts with. meanwhile, he’s doing everything he can think of to slow your inevitable approach towards your chambers door. “do you have planned tomorrow morning?”

“tomorrow morning?” the question prompts you to look at him. seeing his face closer than it’s ever been before, you see the little details, like the flecks of deep purple that accentuate the lilac eyes, or the small scab on his chin where a shaving knife must have sliced it, or the subtle indent of frown-lines on his forehead that you think a man of his age is far too young to possess. “usually my mornings are spent with the other maidens who reside in the keep, before rhaenyra comes searching for me after she’s broken her fast.”

you don’t mention the way the young girl never fails to bring something tucked beneath her skirts- an apple, a buttered roll, a slice of meat- and forces it upon you, demanding you eat the breakfast you so often forget to take.

“how likely is it that your absence would be noted, say, if you were to go one daybreak not with those wenches?” you wrinkle your nose at the choice of words and he chuckles, mentally notting the distaste you harbour for wenches and reminding himself to use it against you at some point in the future. “my brother says the she-beast they call vhagar laid a clutch.”

“how ominous. haven’t you dragonriders taken enough dragons beneath your wings?” it’s meant to be naught more than a silly comment, a clever play on words to rouse a tired eyeroll from prince daemon. it isn’t, however, supposed to pull a pointed look and a sigh of defeat from the dragonless targaryen. “i’m sorry... i didn’t mean to offend.”

“no, no, it’s fine. just never speak such a stupid pun again.” he juts his arm out, playfully stabbing the point of his elbow into your side and rousing a smile back onto your face, unease slipping out with your next exhale. “it’s for the queen’s babe. my brother demanded i collect the eggs and bring them to-”

“there you are, my love! i’ve been looking for you all evening.”

like a pair of children caught with their hands down a cookie jar, daemon and you jump apart with haste, eyes no longer focused on one another and, instead, on the figure stood at the very end of the hall.

he still wears the armour which he’d been defeated by the prince in.

“laurel!” while your tone may read as elated, it’s filled only with disappointed surprise. “what are- why- what brings you here, at this hour?”

the prince seems to instinctively step closer to you as the tyrell boy begins to approach, leaving his post outside your door. he’s stern, brows furrowed and nothing remains of the man who’d been making you laugh a mere ten paces back.

“i was looking, for you,”

“clearly not hard enough.” you wonder if the tyrell boy catches daemon’s muttered words and, the part of you that agrees with them wishes he did.

you’d been at the feast all evening, with just about every other person of status in the city. if he’d wanted to find you, he’d have been best to make an appearance at the event rather than camping outside your apartments.

“i thought we could take a stroll through the gardens,” the rose speaks as though his idea is not preprostous, inviting a maiden out into the darkened greenery at such a late hour.

passing by the prince, laurel tyrell spares him no attention, as though the man is not even there, and simply makes his way towards the stairway, turning back only when the notion that you stand frozen in your spot kicks in.

“come along, my lady!” my lady. those two words feel tainted from hearing them fall from between the prince’s lips, the tyrell’s voice prickling your skin with it. “i promise i shant keep you late.”

your eyes find the prince.

he nods, once and then a second time.

“go,” he urges verbally, when his actions don’t speak loud enough. “fleabottom’s been calling my name all evening, and i intend to answer it.”

with a twist in your gut and a wretch in your heart, you shuffle your way over to laurel tyrell’s open palm, letting him drag you back down into the night.

this is a decision you come to regret, no later than four sleeps.

because the man's words follow you, no matter how quickly you run through halls and creep up stairwells. they turn every corner you take and pause with every rush of breath you stop to heave into your screaming lungs. you pass doorways and sleeping guards, and they pass them with you too.

this nonsense best prove it's worth once i bed her.

there's anger in the clutches of your hands, clenched into fists of pointed knuckles and skin-digging nails, and sadness caught between the lashes of your eye, drops of liquid heartbreak threatening to stain your skin if you so much as blink.

the halfwit doesn't notice when i focus on her tits instead of her eyes.

the poetic words, the strolls through the gardens, the nights of dancing, the stolen smiles and fleeting looks across crowded rooms, all for nothing.

least she be a maiden. i've heard the feel of breaking one of them in is unmatched.

all for laurel tyrell to be another man who sees only the shape of what you hide beneath your clothing.

you want to hate him, curse him, tell all you meet of his crude words, but, instead, the thought of their reactions leaves you despising yourself, for ever thinking a man could think with more than what sat between his legs.

it is not even an option to contact your father, you lament while climbing yet another winding stairwell, for he’d merely remind you of a woman’s duty, which serves only her house until she takes a husband and, then, serves only him.

if the tyrell boy wishes to bed a maiden, your father’s voice plays in your thoughts as though he were stood before you this very instant, best it be you.

his words, the thoughts and your footsteps all come to a halt at the same time. like reentering your body, or awakening from a nap, you find yourself disorientated, gazing upon a chamber door you register not as your own. no, this door is more akin to the level of gradiose you face each day that you visit the young princess’ room, dragged away by her small hands as she works to avoid yet another one of the classes that she views as a bore.

yet, this is not her door.

sure, it carries similar markings and engraves in the wood, and sports that very same rich colour and shine to it. but something, subtle as it may be, is askew. the princess’ door has silver handles, this one has gold. the princess sleeps in the east wing of this part of the keep and you’re certain you’d marched west, away from the voice of your betrothed. a guard stands by the princess’ door, no one sits outside this one.

bile rises in tune with your hand, staining the back of your throat with anxious thoughts as you hesitantly knock.

you pause and wait.

minutes pass before you’re knocking again, this time with a little more anger behind the way your knuckles hit against the cold oak. it’ll be a wonder if you do not awake to swirls of purple and twists of blue painted across your skin come sunrise.

the tenant of these apartments still does not open their doors.

you hit a little harder, replacing knocks with a forceful, full-handed slap against the door. and then another, and another, and another, and-

your hand meets flesh that prickles with stubble and points with it’s cheekbones.

“what in the seven hells merits such behaviour at this hour?!”

the prince, for the life of him, has barely managed to open his eyes fully, rejecting the bright lights that burn in the hall. behind him is a sea of black, whatever treasures or prisoners he hides within his quarters lost into the darkness. he’s frowning, hair a mess, clothes foregone hours ago, and a distinctly red hand print slowly searing itself into the left side of his face.

the sight brings you more relief than you’d ever thought him capable of.

you’ve always been rational. it’s a badge you wear with honour, basking in the glory anytime one of your siblings met the angrier side of your father that never failed to reprimand them for being less like you, for being incapable of thinking before acting like you, for never weighing consequences until after a deed was done.

till the day you die, you will never find the words to describe what leads you astray from this level-headedness in the small hours of this evening.

you crash into the prince less gracefully than you’d prefer, lips barely meeting the bottom of his and pressing themselves half on his chin as you dive in for a kiss.

a kiss that daemon does not reciprocate.

in fact, he doesn’t even attempt to move, body frozen in place. pulling back to find the sheer unfazed, almost bored look that occupies the features of his face, floods your soul with a horrible, thick, heavy feeling, that stains every part of you it touches. 

you’re ashamed.

and mortified.

and disgusted.

and embarrassed.

and reaching for his lips again.

this time your mouths collide in perfect level, no unwanted chin in the way. wanting- needing something to anchor you down, your hands shoot out to grasp at where a tunic would usually be. instead, you’re met with nothing but the solid, heaving, sweating mass that makes up the prince’s naked chest.

daemon remains stoic.

“i,” you breathe a shaky exhale, a sting nagging away at your reopened eyes as the previous tears reappear. with a nod, and a sniffle, you step back from the man. the nervous tremble in your hands forces you to grab at the fabrics of your skirt, grasping at anything to distract your mind. “that- this was a mistake.”

this entails so much. kissing him, knocking on his door, walking to his chambers, moving to king’s landing, courting with the tyrell boy, letting the prince get in your head and, all over what? a single experience where the two of your were capable of coexisting without tearing one another’s hair out?

it is all one big mistake, the kind that one can’t hope to fix if all they do is turn and run from the danger it exudes.

knowing this won’t stop you from trying, however.

you twist so quick you worry you may snap your spine or strain a muscle, body kicking into action in an attempt to get as far away from the prince as you’d once desired to be from the tyrell boy. not even a full step, do you make it, until an unmovable force clamps down on your arm.

daemon imposes on you this time, leaning down and crashing his lips against yours. his mouth is warm, with lips of honey and hands of stone that grab and pull and tug at the parts of you they blindly reach for.

the prince is not the first man you’ve kissed- nor do you imagine a life where he’ll be the last- but there’s something behind the way his tongue burrows itself into your mouth, his presence so tangible and all consuming.

you pull back, if only to catch your breath, but he follows, taking ownership over your senses.

stumbling backwards and crossing the threshold into the prince’s chambers, darkness takes ahold of you both, bathing you in nothing but the light of a distant moon. you barely register how one of you reaches for the door behind you, only the slamming of it alerting you to the fact it’s been closed. a lightheaded feeling overcomes you, forcing you to pull apart when your lungs scream for air.

“i’m starting to understand,” daemon’s voice is full of rasp, dry and cracking and far too grating on the ears for you to genuinely be finding yourself attracted to it. “why my brother swears by the milk of the poppy.”

a horrible feeling floods your soul, bile burning its way up your throat.

“oh, oh my god,” your hands are at the level of your eyes, pulling at strands of your own hair. “i completely forgot... you- you’re on bedrest, i can, i’ll just leave-”

the prince’s injury had been the talk of the town since it had occurred: a near-deadly run in with a frightened stag amidst a hunting tourney. the horned animal had spooked his horse, throwing the man off its saddle as it reared and ran off, leaving him to face the male deer. the truth of what had entailed, few would ever know, all that was said was that the prince returned to camp dragging the slaughtered animal by it’s horns with a blood staining the clothing surrounding his left shoulder. 

“no, you won’t, heathen!” in rare occasions, daemon would be the only one to pull a smile from you all day. how fortunate that this is one of those occasions, the scowl on his brows contradicting the subtle upward quirk of his thin lips. “you can not dangle a piece of meat before a dragon and then refuse to feed it.”

were you in any state to think rationally, you’d dig more into the fact he’d just referred to you as a piece of meat.

but, then, if you were thinking rationally, you’d never have wound up at his door.

the second kiss is less forceful. no rush enlaced with every touch, no desperation tickling at both your senses, no desire to stray too far from one another.

you find yourself trusting the prince more than you’d like to when he starts to guide you backwards, a gentle pressure on your hips building while his mouth travels over your jaw and reaches the top of your neck. you walk, and stumble, and shuffle wherever the man directs you and, then, you fall.

any frightful scream you would have let out is quickly replaced with a squeal and a giggle of delight, back meeting what you’re confident in naming the softest bed you’ve ever laid upon.

at last, the shine of the moon allows you to see the man hell-bent on attacking you with his mouth.

“what is the meaning of this, hmm?” the condescension in his tone usually grates you. now, it excites you, arouses you, leaves you wondering of what pleasures he could speak with it. “why’re you suddenly at my door, behaving like some wanton whore?”

oh, you think, who knew such crass could prickle your skin with desire?

the shadow of the prince casts down on you, bathing you in an exagirated enlarged image of him, as if the fates wish to remind you of how big a shadow he looms over your own existence. it scares you.

his eyes scare you more.

they’re usually wider, observing every move, full of that mischievous nature the prince is known for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then daemon’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand that circles a grip around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, silver hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“do you know how hard it is to get you alone? always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid feasts i had to attend to finally get some time with you?” daemon pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, sweet girl? or are you lost in that pretty little head of yours?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with a new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want me to say.”

if it’s the wrong or right answer, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced man releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting jasmine that reminds you of how alluring yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answer to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm of your lips is a mismatch of beats, where one moment you are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down, down, down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you’ve succumb to daemon’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he has in his possession and currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to repeat his previous seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand suddenly finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips ruck up the fabric that safeguards the last of your modesty and meet the ends of your sleep-gown, you’re wishing you’d never slipped it on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over your near shear dress occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like visenya and vhagar at the unstormable vale, daemon parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s pulsating core.

“have you figured out what i want yet?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual smite-filed, almost spat-out-words tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the man. right now, there’s no trace of sardonic undertones in the thick rasp and there’s no time for an exchange of childish insults while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you desire, rather than what the stranger incarnate looming over you wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows no longer furrowed and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. the prince, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he’d stopped you from fleeing at his door.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, till a mere inhale is enough to have your chest pressing into him.

the prince’s descent to the floor is graceful, his figure made of solid muscle and unclothed skin lowering till his knees hit the ground and it becomes you who stare down at him, your hands clutching at the silk sheets his bed has been dressed with in an effort to replace the desire to touch him instead.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of his eyes on you, or the sheer visual strength depicted in the straining muscles of his thighs, you instead focus on the way his lips have trailed away from yours and are beginning to make their way towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your flimsy night-dress, successfully manoeuvring the cotton material till it pools around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the night.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a laugh.

his laughter.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your dress with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, fabric digging into the rapidly heating skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how beautiful your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, not unlike the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” one hand finds it’s way onto his shoulder- the shoulder that does not possess gauze wrapped around it, that is- and grasps it in a vice grip, the fear of melting off the bed and directly onto the concrete floor all too prevalent as you gain enough confidence to let the other hand slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the silver locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked to drink from your cunt?”

you nearly choke on your own shock.

“i suppose that’s another honourable title for me to wear.” daemon is beginning to give you whiplash, with all this switching between being unusually receptive to your presence and the man that minutes before was making poetic profanities out of the beauty of your bared chest. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting once more to make out your figure in the darkness. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting before you, knees pressing into the ground in a mockery of a bow, some crevice deep within your soul sparks up a fire that burns on the belief that perhaps you’ve been wrong about the prince all along, judging only on what people say and not on how he behaves. then, he reopens his mouth and dampens the flame. “now, do i have to tear you out of your skirts or will you stand up and let me slide it off?”

this time, its your laugh that echoes in the air.

“you think i jest!” he seems to whine his way through his exclaim, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is both influenced by the milk of the poppy that flows through his bloodstream, and is going to drive you insane. “i can not go on another moment like this, you sitting there like something akin to the most mouthwatering summer’s peach, without spending my seed. and, while i’d much prefer to do so inches deep inside you, i’ll settle for a mouth full of cunt.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture the prince’s essence. “okay, okay, i’ll umm... just stand up and-” the shriek of fabric tearing rips through the space between you. “hey!”

“i’d apologise but, well,” daemon’s dazed smile should not be this gentle, not when it is proceeded with his hands returning to your now bare thighs. “you were trying my patience.”

his hold on you is strong- both the grip he has on your legs and the control he harbours over your mind-, and he plays it to his advantage, laying one palm flat over your torso and forcing you backwards, till your back meets the mattress and your eyes find themselves staring up at the images carved into the roof of the wooden bedpost, details indistinguishable in the darkened room.

from the floor, the prince is grabbing and pulling and maneuvering you down the length of the mattress, finding the backs of your knees and bending them, spreading your legs to a width wide enough for his broad shoulders to sit between. 

“need you closer, my tongue’s not that long.” the prince mutters, half to himself, as your arse meets the edge of the bed, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. your hands return to fisting at the sheets beneath you, digging and searching and reaching for a way to keep yourself grounded through the maddening thoughts of the prince and the current position you find yourself in, and ignoring the anxious ridden vipers inside your mind that spit their venom and hiss their tongues in commands that entail you gathering the remaining fabrics of your tattered clothing and running out these chambers, out the keep, out the damned capital, out the clutches of the man on his knees. though, with the way his fingers squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’d make it as far as even a single step. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the ladies in the seven kingdoms that would die to be in your position, and you choose to say that?” he tisks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on those words, next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your aching bud.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch upward momentarily, back arching off the bed and mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your buzzing centre and up your pubic bone. “you smell sweet as sin, you know? enough to make any man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when the prince makes his way back down to your pearl and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow more sodden, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- which slips and slides its way down to the crack of your arse, dribbling over your puckered hole- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your womanhood. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head forces itself into the grip you have in his hair while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he slurs over the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while the prince is simply watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your cunt clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

the rogue prince takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why did you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced peak you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your pearl is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. daemon hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged bud. “the goal is to make you cum on my tongue, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your pearl, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

“would you ever stop?” your whining tone is reminiscent of a spoiled babe, crying and fussing over the need to be fed milk from it’s mother’s teat.

“‘tis you who’s becoming insufferable now, my lady.” the prince, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your centre and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between daemon’s and your own.

“you can move.” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your pearl and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, sweetling.”

and, really, who are you to deny a prince?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you watched the flowered wreath slip down his lance. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and daemon’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and dropping your legs over his shoulders, mouth pressing right up against you with his tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, else all the old gods and the new be damned.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time on the spare pillows that line your own bed, in the hours where the moon sits high within the sky and not a creature stirs nearby to witness your self-pleasing sins. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man below you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “oh, there, right there, daemon! yes, i’m going to-.”

the prince pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his mouth. he’s getting everything he’s imagined since he’d watched you first step foot into the keep, your naked body a mess before him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your breast.

he watches how the white tips of your nails clash with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you peak, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you fidget and kick away from him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of your essence he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he lets you move him, mouth switching to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something similar to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“you sound as though you enjoyed yourself.” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, mouth agape as you drag and drop the air through your lungs, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

“do you ever...” despite your efforts to sit yourself up, against his sheets you remain with limbs melted into puddles jelly and eyes staring wide at the heavens above, a tremble still present in your thighs as you subconsciously feel the patterns his hands dance over them. “shut up?”

“only when my mouth is otherwise occupied.”

silence prevails alongside the ticking of time. some part of you registers the return of your feet to the cold floor and the departure of the man from between your legs. he doesn’t stray far, hands clamping down on your hips, a gentle squeeze or two his own way of searching for your presence, urging your eyes to meet his.

they remain looking upwards.

undeterred, the prince is, bending himself at the waist and resting both hands on either side of your head, holding his own weight up as his face obstructs your view above. life enters you once more, eyes focusing at last on him and his upturned mouth and the remnants of your sexual indiscretions drying into his skin.

“for someone who hates it so much, you sure do know how to stroke my ego.” he must be on a mission, you think, to remind you of why you’ve spent your days avoiding interactions with him instead of tangling yourself within his arms. “i’ve got something much bigger for you to stroke though, once you regain your senses.”

this something bumps against your skin, solid as a rock and spluttering a spit of fluids onto you, warm and sticky. sneaking a quick glance is not enough to fully encapsulate the details that make up this fierce looking appendage, with it’s red-angered tip and its decorative bush of hair and the peak of his stones that sit just past its base, yet it’s all you allow yourself under the scrutiny of his eyes.

“perhaps it’s time you to choose your words more wisely, prince daemon,” your voice is breathy, chest heavy still. you try distract him away from noticing such a feat, hand dancing down the expanse of his bare back till it meets the globe of his arse, nail digging in so deep they’re bound to leave marks, if not draw blood too. “it would be far too easy to punch you in the cock from this position.”

he swallows back a demand for you to speak more about his cock.

clarity bestows itself upon your mind, as your memory serves you a cruel reminder of the words you’d overheard and the voice you’d been running from, dread burning its way up your throat in a sickening twist of guts. the prince must notice the shift in the air, perhaps the way your face has grown a little paler or your pupils dilate as you venture off into the hellscape of your mind, for he’s quick to return you to his hold, heavy body pressing down on you as the prince’s mouth meets yours.

there’s a tangy, sticky sweetness to his kiss, a taste of your self that he gifts you with bitten lips and languid tongue, delving deep into your mouth as if in search of some hidden treasure.

it’s clear now, to the both of you, that your reasons for being here- in his chambers, upon his bed, beneath his body- are nothing if not driven by something deeper, darker, more dangerous than simple ardent lust. months you’d been within reach. months he’d been vocal of his desires towards you. days you’d been betrothed to another man.

but the prince never asks, and so you never answer, letting yourselves indulge in the arts of pleasure and pain.

he pulls on your lip, you pull on his hair. he drags his nails down your body, you dig yours into his rear. he drives you deeper up the bed, you drive him deeper between your legs. he rolls his hips into you, you roll your eyes back into your skull.

“this is a dream. you’re a dream,” perhaps your rational thinking has devolved to naught but hedonistic intentions, for you’re almost certain the mighty rogue has something familiar to wonder intertwined with his breathless voice. the dilation of his pupils, eyes more black than targaryen-lilac, is a mystery you ponder over, wondering if it’s driven more by lust or sedative. “and tomorrow i’ll awake to an empty bed and the reality where you tolerate a rat more than me.”

it’s unclear if he speaks literal of the long-tailed rodent, or if it’s simply a new name for the ever-growing list of things he calls your betrothed.

“do you say that to all the whores you fuck?” your words carry a bite, one your own destructive nature hopes will drive him away from you.

“we don’t speak,” he does the opposite, sinking further into you. you become all too aware of the heat returning to your core when he ruts the length of his cock up your folds, coating himself in a thin layer of your lubricant. “sounding like you, they can never achieve it. they can look like you, from the back, at least.”

believing his words to be a lie feels easier than accepting them as truth. the rogue prince has been nothing if not a menace to the streets of silk since the dawn of his sexual maturity, and there is not an inch of you that can fathom him using these vices as a means to quench the desire for you, seeking out your form in faceless, nameless and, apparently, voiceless cunts.

there’s no great lead up to the breaching of your walls, simply another two rolls of his length along your soaked core and a ghost of a kiss against your forehead before the prince is lining himself up and impaling you with his cock.

you’d been warned all about the ache that would come with the breaking of your maidenhead, traumatised at the young ages of four, five, six and onwards of how, someday, your husband would tear you open and leave you a bloodied mess. and, yet, here you lay, a dull ache burning within you, the feel of a pop and the heavy slap of his stones meeting your skin.

“it hurts, i know,” he hushes you when, at last, a pained whimper breaks the surface of your silence, hips stilled and keeping him buried deep in your walls that fight and squeeze and tighten around the intruder. his face, from the little you see of it past the wall of tears building within your eyes, is scrunched up in discomfort, fighting back the instincts that tell him to pull back and fuck himself into you over and over. “but you’re good, and you’re strong, and you can take it. you know you can, just relax.”

you do as your told, far easier than either of you had expected, and find rhythm in his own heavy breathing, matching each inhale and exhale till the soothing of hands over your thighs relaxes the muscles and you manage to retract the nails that dig deep into his back.

the prince moves only once your legs tangle themselves around his waist, spreading you wider and holding him closer.

from there, a symphony ensues, except where normally one would find the melody of a guitar or the blowing of a flute or the beating of a drum, this one is made of skin slapping, mouth kissing, moan singing. the ache builds and builds till it collapses into a pit of delirious pleasure, the kind that opens your eyes as to why it’s so easy for men and women to succumb to the sins of flesh.

“look at you,” his words are rough while his touch is soft, hand gliding over your breasts once more, pinching and pulling at your aching nipples as he puts strength into gazing down at you, intoxicating himself with the way your bodies join at the hip, his cock disappearing into your walls and reemerging coated in your arousal, glimmering beneath the moonlight. “taking me so fucking well. letting me carve out a home for myself in your cunt, huh? gonna let me stay inside you forever?”

he’s manic, and crazed, and spewing out things that you know should make you cringe and roll over in disgust. but you’re just as far gone, mind no longer vacant in your body as you chase that special feeling only the repeated hammering of his tip against your womb can bring.

“let me cum inside, sweetling,” is it more plea or demand? it’s hard to tell, and hard to care, arms circling round the back of his neck and back arching to press chest to chest. the prince ceases his senseless rambling only to lay kisses down your sweat-covered face, neck, chest, each carrying the weight of his desperation to feel you real and breathing beneath him. “stake my claim over this tight little cunt, leave you dripping from how full i make you.”

waves of pleasure crash over you in tandem, unintelligible groans and gasps all that play through the air as hands clamp down and teeth bite skin. your walls spasm around his cock while it twitches within you, both of your peaks painting your bodies in liquid arousal. warmth fills your cunt and trickles out of you, catching on the dark mass of hair that sits above his appendage, the stark white of his cum sickeningly reminding you to the first time you’d seen snow as a child and arousing the same response from you: a desire to taste it.

he collapses down onto you before you get the chance, however, and the exchange of body heat and shallow breaths lulls you both through your states of ecstasy, slipping into a quiet comfort.

the prince moves slowly, as if not to disturb either of you, and shushes you with kisses when you whine at the loss of him from your cunt, softening cock slapping down against your leg. a few moments pass before he’s moving again, this time with you in tow, dragging at the sheets beneath and working them over you both just as you begin to register how cold the chill in the room is. never mind, the dragon keeps you warm against him, limbs tangling as you make a pillow out of his chest.

“my betrothed.” you take the lead this time in breaking the comfortable cloud of silence which had settled itself above your tired bods. the prince merely grunts, disliking the sound of those two words as much as you dislike the taste of them. “i overheard him conversing with an adviser of his.”

“whatever he said, i’ll cut his tongue out and feed him it.” his vulgar threat drags an airy laugh out of you as he mumbles it into the top of your head.

“my maidenhood, that’s what lead him to offering me his hand.” you laugh again, though there is no trace of humour as it devolves into something of a broken, heart-wrenching sob. “gods, i must be so stupid for thinking a man like him could fall in love with me.”

the silence is unnerving, weighs down on your chest with every breath that ebbs and flows between you both. you’re waiting on it, anxiously anticipating the moment laughter breaks out his ribs and shakes his whole body in amusement at your sheer ridiculous expectations, mocking you for giving away your maidenhood in an act so childish as simply not giving your betrothed the satisfaction of taking it.

marriage is politics, you can picture him saying, love is merely a made up tale to entertain children.

daemon never quite has been one for following expectations.

“i could fall in love with you.”

so it is you who winds up laughing, a repeat of that fractured chuckle that dissipates into something more painful and stings at the cracks in your heart.

“you’re not in love with me, daemon,” it feels obvious to say, yet you’re graced with a disagreeing look upon his face. “you’re obsessed with me, there’s a difference.”

“i beg to differ.”

“you see me as nothing but a lady who doesn’t fall at her feet for you, and it excites you. it’s okay, i understand, but i won’t let you delude yourself nor i into believing its love.”

he has no reply to give, not one that could change your mind.

and so there you lay, naked bod pressed to naked bod, sweat and spit and other bodily fluids becoming the glue that hold you together, with limbs entangled and eyes locked. you see peace in his smile and he watches as sleep slowly whisks you away into its warmth.

little does the prince know your eyes will not meet his own again for many years to come.

not days later, as he stands amongst the crowd of folk bearing witness to the exchanging of vows between the tyrell boy and you, nor several years after, as you return to the great hall of the red keep to see the announcement of prince aegon's birth, your own child stood at your side and grasping your hand, the silver-moon upon her head no match to the straw blonde of your husband.