#|| As well as I would like to think if anything happened they would move out and most definitely take Mittens with them! ||

[silversurfersx]

media duties | f1grid pt.2

part 1

f1 grid x driver!reader [smau] - part 2

summary: the reader does anything to escape her media duties

faceclaim: Jamie chadwick and random peopke I found on ointerest

warnings: swearing, theoretical violence

liked by georgerussel63, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername: got a visitor in the paddock today😊 he had the cooler car 😔

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user: is alex ok?

user: what happened in slide 3???

alex_albon: why did you post this?

yourusername: bc auggie is adorable alex_albon: obviously, but that's not what I meant yourusername: oh you mean me hitting you with my car... yeah, that's meant as a threat for everyone alex_albon: what for? yourusername: leading Netflix to my secret hideout alex_albon: you were hiding in the Haas hospitality with Auggie and the Haas kids yourusername: yeah I couldn't understand a word those two said

user: ah yes...

user: is it weird that I'm jealous of auggie's car?

user: no, cause same

___

Auggie cruised in his Spiderman toy car in front of you through the paddock. In high pitched squeaks he imitated motor noises.

Chuckling at the small boy, you followed along grabbing your phone from your pocket when you felt a ping. Looking down you saw Alex's message about Netflix wanting to film a segment once again.

'I can't, I gotta take care of auggie, sorry'

You texted back, looking for another excuse, as you knew that taking care of Auggie wasn't the best excuse, as there were enough people at Williams who could look after your nephew for an hour. They did when you raced as well.

Your eyes moved over the paddock, stopping on Nico Hulkenberg kneeling alongside his daughter, who was Auggie's age.

"Auggie, what do you think about making a new friend?"

The blonde boy turned back, quickly hitting the brakes of his toy car. "A new friend?"

"Yeah, you see that girl over there?" You nodded at the small girl, whose name you never really learned. "She looks nice, doesn't she?"

"Yes! Do you think she wants to be my friend?" The boy asked eyes wide in question. You shrugged. "Maybe we could go and ask."

"Yes!"

___

___

"Y/N what are your plans for next year?" The media person asked rising to their feat in the crowd of reporters during the press conference.

Slowly you lifted the microphone up to your lips. "I don't know."

"You were seen in the Haas hospitality earlier today. Was it contract related or did you hide from someone again?" They asked which was followed by chuckles from everyone in the room.

Smiling you answered. "I was hiding."

Again chuckles erupted.

"Did you get caught?" Max interrupted from next to you on the couch. Laughing you nodded. "Yeah, Alex told on me."

"Ah, you shouldn't have told him." Max reprimanded you.

"Yeah, I know." You nodded. "But I hit him with my car, so now we're even." You argumented, ignoring the wide eyes from the media. Yuki grinned from beside Max, who couldn't hide his own amusement.

"That seems alright then." Max replied.

"If i may interrupt and go back to my initial question." The reporter interrupted. "Y/N, what are your plans for next year, do you have a new contract in sight?"

"Not really." You shrugged. It was a lie, but it wasn't any of their business, yet and you didn't even know if t would work out.

___

liked by sebastianvettel, francolapinto, williamsracing and others

yourusername: a great honour to be able to join seb and his crew!❤

It was an absolute honour meeting you, seb and all the people who worked this project. I am proud to have been part of this!!!🇧🇷🤩🥰

SennaForver 🇧🇷🇧🇷

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user: absolutely beautiful what you did

user: we love seb!

user: senna forever!!!

sebastianvettel: it was an honour to have you join us as well❤ [liked by yoursusername]

alex_albon: so this is where you went?

___

___

It was only logical that a day would come, where you were actually late for media duties, though no one believed you. Your constant lying about your whereabouts during media duties finally got to you.

"Where did you hide out this time?" Alex greeted you when you ran on stage for the fan event. "I didn't, I swear, I fell asleep and forgot to set an alarm."

Alex looked at you suspiciously, not quite believing you. "Was it Max?"

"No, I swear, I slept in." You tried to reassure. Looking out at the crowd you tried to convince them. "Sorry guys, but I swear I did sleep."

Laughs filled the crowd at you attempts of convincing.

"Was that a 'we believe you'- laugh?" You asked receiving once again a similar laugh. Leaning back to look at the Alpine boys who were with you. "Are they laughing at me or with me?"

"I think at you." Pierre teased and Esteban joined. "I would too."

"At least I know I'm funny." You replied, grinning.

Alex leaned towards you, putting the microphone away from his mouth. "Did you actually sleep in?"

"Yes, I swear." You replied.

___

___

liked by landonorris, alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername: I swear guys i played too much sims and fell asleep... also I got a special helmet ⛑️

view comments

user: she's out here fighting for her life, haha

user: happens to the best of us

user: damn, she's fighting harder than when she's escaping Netflix

landonorris: did u feed me?

yourusername: i let you drown in the pool, lol landonorris: what 🙂 yourusername: oscar was really sad oscarpiastri: nah landonorris: 🥲 yourusername: that's rough

alexalbon: but did you?

yourusername: 🤡

user: sick helmet ⛑️

user: are we all just gonna ignore lando?

yourusername: ignoring him is always the safest option 👍

___

Drive to Survive interview:

"Hello, my name is Y/N Y/LN and I am racing for Williams Racing." You closed the clap with a tight smile, the bright lights surrounding you blinded you.

"Okay, great, it's good to finally catch you." The reporter announced making you unwillingly smile. "Yeah, you guys are very adamant, just wouldn't give up."

"We promise to keep it short for you." The woman laughed.

"Grand."

"Where did you hide this time?" The question continued.

"At Aston."

"Is it nice there?" The woman said as the interview continued.

"It's very green."

"Oh, I bet. How are you finding this season as it is slowly ending? What are your plans for next season, there are only a handful of seats left?" The interviewer pressed as you shifted in your seat knowing what she was out for. Carlos took your Williams seat for next year, so the question arises, 'what should you do?'.

Obviously you were in talks with a few people, looking over the open seats and even at spots in other categories like wec.

"It's been crazy, but I know what I'm doing."

"So you got a plan?" The woman asked curiously. "Is it for vcarb? They've been looking at you, I've heard."

You shrugged pursing your lips . "RedBull sugar free? Who knows."

"You're really not giving us anything, aren't you?" She interviewer chuckled and you smiled cockily.

"Nope." You looked over the camera personal, as the interviewer searched her notes. "Are we finished? Do you just cut to some dramatic scenes of me now?"

The lady shook her head chuckling. "Not quite, sorry."

Internally sighing in disappointment you nodded.

"Alright."

___

[CAPTION] thank you Charles (my secret santa) for the invisability cloak, now I can hide even better☺️🧙‍♀️

charles_leclerc: you are welcome ☺️🥰 yourusername: 😘

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ The Broken Mask: A Name to Remember ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 3

Summary: After waking up, you found yourself in a dark and dirty room. Tied up without a way out. And there's him who kidnapped you...

Warnings: Physical violence, Child abuse, Psychological trauma.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The stench of blood and decay filled the air, suffocating her. It clung to her skin, her hair, and every breath she took. She woke with a sharp gasp, her body screaming in pain, every muscle twisted and strained. She couldn’t move her hands or legs—tied down, the coarse ropes cutting into her skin. Her wrists burned as she tried to twist them free, but the bindings only dug deeper. The metallic taste of blood lingered in her mouth.

Her vision swam, the room around her blurry at first, but as her eyes adjusted, she took in the nightmare she was trapped in. The room was small, the walls stained with streaks of dried blood and rust. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of death, and the dim light above flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Her heart raced as the reality of her situation sank in.

Where am I? What happened?

Memories flashed back—rain, green eyes, a sharp pain. She’d been in her house. And then...

The door creaked open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence. She flinched, her breath catching in her throat. A figure stepped into the room, and her stomach turned. He was tall, his frame imposing, clad in a leather jacket that seemed worn from years of use. His face was hidden beneath a red helmet, the visor reflecting the dim light, making him look more monster than man.

In his hand, he casually twisted a knife, the blade catching the light as it spun.

It’s just a dream, she told herself. It has to be. It can’t be real. It’s just a nightmare.

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, as if that could force the nightmare to end, as if closing them would make it all disappear. She needed to wake up.

Please… please just wake up.

But then, she heard it. A voice—too familiar, too close—cut through the fog of her delirium.

“Jaybird…”

Her heart stopped.

“Jaybird, Jaybird, Jaybird,”

It couldn’t be. No. No, there’s no way. There’s no way it’s him. He’s dead. He has to be. He can’t be here.

She shook her head violently, trying to shake the word out of her mind. It was a hallucination. It had to be. She hadn’t taken her pills. Her therapist had warned her about this. The voices, the dreams, the confusion—it’s just the pills.

Jason's dead. He’s dead.

"Well, look who’s awake," he said, his voice low and mocking. He leaned against the wall, tilting his head as if observing her. "Sleeping beauty finally graces us with her presence."

She squeezed her eyes shut harder, trying to shut out the world, trying to shut out him.

"Oh, don’t be shy," he continued, pushing off the wall and taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. His boots echoed with each step. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He crouched in front of her, tilting his head like a predator sizing up its prey.

She didn’t respond, keeping her head down. Her breath was shallow, her pulse hammering in her ears. She bit her lip hard, her breath hitching. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t think.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a nightmare.

“C’mon. Say something... Anything.” he said, dragging out the words.

“Why don’t you look at me, sweetheart?” He was taunting her now. A sickening, twisted laugh bubbled up from his throat, sharp like broken glass. “I know you want to princess.”

Her blood ran cold. Her chest tightened, suffocating her, every inch of her body screaming in terror.

No, no, no. She couldn’t be hearing this. It couldn’t be real. She wasn’t strong enough to face him—him.

Jason was dead. He was gone.

But… this voice? It was his. His voice… twisted, broken, yet unmistakable. It was Jason. But it couldn’t be. Not like this.

He straightened suddenly, his tone shifting to one of mock enthusiasm. "How about we get to know each other better, huh? What do you say?"

Her head remained bowed, her tears threatening to spill.

He crouched again, his voice darker now, more menacing. "Look at me princess."

When she didn’t move, his tone snapped like a whip. "I said, fucking look at me."

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She kept her face down, eyes squeezed shut.

It’s not real. It’s not real. He’s dead. He’s gone. This is just my mind playing tricks on me. This is my fault. I forgot to take my pills. That’s it. That’s all it is. I’m crazy. I’m going insane.

“Fine.” His tone shifted, sharp and biting. “Let’s play it your way.”

He straightened, the knife twirling in his hand again. “Who are you? Tell me your name,” he asked, the question laced with venom.

She didn’t respond.

“I said—” His voice boomed as he slammed the chair’s armrest with the butt of the knife, making her flinch. “Who the fuck are you?”

Still, she said nothing.

The slap came hard and fast, the force whipping her head to the side. Her cheek burned, and she tasted copper as her lip split against her teeth.

“Say it!” he barked, his voice a dangerous snarl.

“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He stepped back, clapping his hands slowly, mockingly. “There it is. Good girl.”

“Now,” he said, crouching again, his tone shifting into something almost playful. “Do you know who I am?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. She nodded slowly, her throat closing up as she whispered, “No.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. And then—

Stab.

The pain was blinding.

She gasped, her whole body convulsing as the knife dug into her hand. She screamed, her back arching against the chair as the metal sliced through her flesh. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her face as she cried out in agony.

“Wrong answer.” His voice was dripping with venom as he twisted the knife, pushing it deeper into her skin. The world around her spun in dizzying circles. “You don’t get to lie to me.”

The tears poured down her face, each sob racking her body as the knife tore through her palm. The burning pain was too much. She was going to pass out. She was sure of it.

But the pain wouldn’t stop.

He yanked her hair back, his fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her face up to meet his. “Now, tell me again, what's my name?”

“J–Jason...” The word was barely a whisper, escaping her lips without her consent.

“Who?” He mocked, his voice a sickening blend of sweetness and malice. “Say it louder, sweetheart.”

Her mind was unraveling. No, no, no, no. She could barely breathe through the tears, through the overwhelming agony, but somehow, her voice broke through the fog.

“Jason!” she cried, her voice hoarse, desperate.

“Good girl.” His smile was audible, twisted and cruel, as if he reveled in her pain.

She trembled, her hand still bleeding, the pain a constant, raw fire in her veins. She could feel the warmth of the blood pooling beneath her, slick and hot against her skin.

“Oh, but look at you,” he said, his tone light, almost playful. “Look at that hand. We can’t just leave that, can we?”

No, no, please, no more.

The room spun around her as he moved, as he crouched in front of her with a sickening gleam in his eyes. She looked down at her hand, still bleeding, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor.

What is he going to do?

He stood suddenly, his movements jerky and manic as he raised his hand to his chin, pretending to think. “I don’t think I have any bandages. What should we do, princess? Hm?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block him out. The world was closing in on her.

Then, his voice dropped, as if struck by an idea.

“I’ve got it!” He laughed, a wild, unhinged sound that made her skin crawl. “We’ll just have to burn it shut! That should work, right? That’ll stop the bleeding. I learn that from him.”

“No… no, please!” Her body jerked violently as she tried to back away, to get away from him, but the ropes held her fast. “No! No, please, Jason, no!”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up with sick joy as he pulled something from his belt—a lighter. She didn’t have time to scream before he pressed the heat to her hand.

The pain was unbearable.

It was like her hand was being set on fire, the flesh searing as she screamed. Her body spasmed in agony, the heat radiating through her entire arm. Her vision swam, her body trembling as she pulled against the ropes, trying to escape, trying to pull away from the suffocating burn.

“No! NO! NO! NO!” She couldn’t stop screaming. “JASON, PLEASE!”

He held the flame there, the fire licking at her skin, and she felt herself slipping, her mind fracturing.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. It’s just a dream. It’s just a nightmare. He’s dead. He’s dead.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice soft and sickeningly sweet. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just a little more, and we’ll be done.”

But the fire burned through her mind, through her heart, and the last thing she could think of before the pain swallowed her whole was the sick, twisted laugh that echoed in her ears.

She hated the smell of him, the acrid stench of liquor mixed with sweat, burning through the walls of their small, suffocating apartment. His voice, thick with slurred words, called to her from the darkened hallway.

“Y/N… Y/N, get in here, you useless girl.”

She froze, her small body trembling as her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want to go to him. She didn’t want to face him—never again, never ever again. But she knew better. If she didn’t obey, it would only get worse. The bruises would last longer. The sharp, angry look in his eyes would linger until he got what he wanted.

She shuffled toward the kitchen, her bare feet cold against the cracked tiles. The apartment was always cold, like a morgue. The lights flickered, casting eerie shadows as she stepped into the small, dim room where her father sat slouched over the kitchen table. His face was flushed, eyes dull and red from too many drinks. The half-empty bottle of whiskey sat next to him, the amber liquid swirling like poison in the dim light.

He didn’t look at her at first. He just muttered something under his breath, too drunk to focus. Then, without a word, he reached over to the table, his hand shaking slightly as he grabbed the cigarette pack. He lit one, the ember glowing briefly before the thick smoke filled the air.

“Push your sleeve up,” he rasped, not looking at her. His voice had a hollow, empty ring to it, like he was talking to a ghost. A sickening feeling twisted in her stomach. She didn’t want to do it. She never wanted to do it. But she knew if she didn’t, he’d hurt her worse.

“But it hurts daddy...”

“That's the point you dumb girl.”

She shook, her tiny fingers fumbling with the sleeve of her worn shirt. She hated him. She hated the way he made her feel small, insignificant, as if she was nothing but an object to be used, abused. But she pushed her sleeve up, the cool air against her skin sending a shiver through her body.

He flicked the cigarette, and the red-hot ember hovered close to her skin. She felt the sharp, searing heat before she even saw it. The first press made her gasp, her arm jerking involuntarily as the pain seared through her like fire. He didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He pressed harder, digging the burning tip into her skin, his laugh low and raspy as she cried out in pain.

She hated him. She hated him more than anything in the world. And she cried—quietly, trying to hide it from him—but she cried because it was the only thing her body knew how to do. She wanted to scream, wanted to yell at him, to say all the horrible things she felt deep down, but she knew better. It would make him worse. It would make him hurt her more.

I hate you. I hate you. I wish you would die…

The room was quiet, save for the crackling neon sign outside the grimy window, its light flickering red against the concrete walls. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating, a prelude to something worse.

Her breath uneven as she stared at him. Jason loomed over her like a shadow, his presence thick with menace. His helmet sat discarded on a nearby table, revealing a face hardened by trauma and vengeance.

“You’re new to all of this,” he said, his voice low and measured. There was something mocking in his tone, something almost tender, if tenderness could be laced with poison. “So, we’ll start simple.”

Her eyes widened as he crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his cheek, something like a name.

Her name...

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife, the blade catching the dim light in a way that made her stomach churn.

Her lips trembled. “No… please, no… don't kill me please...”

Jason’s head tilted, his expression almost curious. “What? You think I’m going to kill you?” He laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the small room. “If I wanted you dead, sweetheart, you’d already be in the ground.”

Relief flickered in her chest, but it was short-lived.

“No, I’m not that cruel,” he continued, his tone almost gentle. “I’m not like him. I’m not the Joker. I don’t take without asking. See, I’m giving you a choice.”

Her breath hitched.

“I’ll mark you,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But I’ll let you decide. Should I use the knife? Or maybe…” He pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it open. The small flame danced in his hand, casting flickering shadows on his face. “…I could burn it in your pretty little face. My name. Right here.” He pointed to her cheek, just under her eye.

The way he said it—so casual, so matter-of-fact—made her stomach twist into knots.

Her head shook violently, tears streaming down her face. “Please, don’t… don’t do this… please…”

His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, come on. I’m being nice. Joker didn’t ask me what I wanted, now, did he?"

She shook her head again, her sobs growing louder as she begged, "Please, Jason, just let me go! I-I’ll do anything!"

His eyes darkened, irritation flashing across his features. “You’re not answering.”

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please just let me go…”

His jaw tightened, and his patience snapped like a brittle thread. He lunged forward, gripping her chin with bruising force, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"You’re wasting my time," he growled, slapping her hard across the face when she tried to turn away. Pain blossomed on her cheek, sharp and searing, and she cried out.

"Fine. I’ll choose for you."

Her cry echoed in the room, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers gripped her chin, forcing her face upward. “Hold still,” he hissed, his voice cold. “If you don’t, I’ll mess it up. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

She thrashed weakly, but his grip was unyielding. The blade hovered near her skin, its cold edge biting into her cheek as he positioned it just below her eye. Her sobs turned into desperate, panicked pleas, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

“Shut up,” he growled, his tone sharp enough to cut. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

Her heart pounded, terror screaming through her veins like wildfire. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling uncontrollably.

And then the blade bit into her skin.

At first, it was a sharp, stinging pain, but it quickly bloomed into something far worse—searing, unbearable agony that made her throat raw from screaming.

Her vision blurred with tears, and she clawed weakly at his wrist, her nails scraping against the leather of his glove.

"Stop! Please, Jason! Stop!" she sobbed, her voice breaking with desperation.

He didn’t.

The knife carved deeper, deliberate and precise, dragging slowly across her flesh. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and she felt it trickling down her cheek, warm and sticky.

Her mind fractured under the weight of the pain. Memories flashed—happier times, the moments where he had promised he will always protect her. They felt like cruel jokes now, mocking her. But was it really his fault? Could she blame him?

The first cut was shallow, almost teasing, just a warning, a whisper of the agony to come. But the second came deeper, harsher, as his name was carved into her flesh. The pressure was excruciating. The sting of the blade tore through her skin like fire, but the worst part was the coldness of it. The way the letters were etched slowly, deliberately, carving through her soul as much as her skin.

It hurts... it hurts...

Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, each jagged line of pain sending tremors through her body.

Stop... stop... please...

Her eyes squeezed shut, but the pain wouldn’t let her escape. Every stroke of the blade felt like an eternity. Her vision blurred, and her throat constricted as she fought to stay conscious.

I hate it... I hate it...

When he finally pulled the blade away, his name was etched into her skin, the wound raw and angry. Blood trickled down her face, staining her shirt, but all she could focus on was the pain, the overwhelming agony of what he’d done.

Jason leaned back, admiring his handiwork with a strange sense of satisfaction. His thumb brushed against the edge of the wound, making her flinch.

"Perfect," Jason whispered, his voice disturbingly soft. "I told you I’d be kind. You should thank me."

She sobbed, her tears mingling with the blood on her face.

Jason’s hand cupped her cheek—almost tenderly this time—and he forced her to meet his gaze. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle. “You should be grateful. After all, I’m not him. He never gave me a choice. But I gave you one.”

Next: Part 1. Part 2. Part 4.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[luveline]

this request may be a bit of a long shot, but would you be willing to write a drabble for mouth of september? maybe she gives the boys a scare either by going out and then not coming home at the time she said she would or maybe she faints from not having eaten enough? totally okay if you don’t want to or if you want to use this as a prompt for something else, mos has just been one of your fic series that i think about pretty consistently even two-ish years later.

anyway have a great day and hope you’re doing well jadey <3 love u

I love you! me writing this actually did feel like a longshot but not cos I didn’t love it and not cos I don’t love u, I hope you enjoy it!! been so long since I wrote this !!🩵 fem! 4k words

cw suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation

It’s cold tonight. 

You blow on your fingers, feeling them warm, stiffness lanced for precious few seconds. You didn’t mean to walk so far from the house, not while the wind is racing like this. The corner shop just seemed to move around while you weren’t looking. You should’ve asked Sirius to go with you, he has a better sense of direction, even if he would’ve complained the whole time about the shit weather. 

Remus would’ve come and not complained, but he was sleeping at the time and waking him felt cruel. James would’ve come, racing around in Lily’s car, but then he would’ve followed you back into the house insisting on making you some supper or a cuppa or something, and what you’d wanted was to be alone. A bar of chocolate wouldn’t hurt either. 

Stupid travelling corner shop, you think to yourself. Stupid me for fucking losing it. Should’ve just stayed home. Can’t even walk to the shop. 

You take a deep breath. You give the streets a wretched, embarrassed glare and flop down onto the nearest bench. Fuck’s sake. Lost and freezing to death. 

If Sirius were here, if he heard what you were thinking, he’d frown at you with that dark pinch to his eyes and tell you to Stop it, now. 

He’s maybe half of the reason you’re out of the house tonight. Maybe all of it. It’s all complicated and horrible and everyone thinks it’s a bad idea but the thing is that Sirius himself isn’t complicated, he isn’t horrible. He’s kind to you in funny ways, and when you’re together Sirius makes you feel like you’re someone worth being kind too, which doesn’t happen often. 

Your self annoyance fades to something more familiar soon enough. Everything goes quiet, leaving you there with your heart, quick and slow beating, can’t seem to choose, and your cold feet. Your socks feel too tight. 

Your teeth start to chatter. You can’t sit here forever. 

(But wouldn’t it be better? If you stayed? Caught cold?) 

If you get poorly from the cold, you’ll feel miserable from the moment you wake up. You’ll be ill at work, which will make work worse. You’ll have to stay in your room so you don’t get one of the boys sick, and that really would ruin your week. Nothing means anything if you don’t get to see your best friends. 

You gather yourself up and turn toward the street you’d just walked down, determined to retrace your steps. 

In the distance, a familiar shape is jogging toward you. 

“Y/N?” James shouts, sounding as though all the breath in the world has been sucked from his lungs. He doesn’t stop jogging until he gets a few feet from you, where he bends to catch his breath. “Fucking hell!” His head snaps up. “Fuck, shortcake, are you alright?” 

You close the distance. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” He forces himself to stand, breathing hard as he grabs you by the wrist. “Are you okay? You scared me so badly.” 

You grab his arm back. “I’m really fine, I’m fine, what’s wrong?” 

“You’re what’s wrong, you aren’t home!” James swallows a lump. “You left a note, you’d be home by seven. It’s nearly ten. Remus rang me in a fit ‘cos he didn’t know where you’d gone, we thought–” James gives you an imploring look, though it’s so so sorry at the same time, you feel your stomach twist into a hard knot. “We thought you were having a bad night.” 

“James.” Embarrassment makes you soft-toned. “I’m really sorry I scared you, but I got lost, that’s all.” You don’t really like to lie, only James seems to need to hear it. “I’m glad you found me. I was worried I wouldn’t get home.” 

James gives a breathy laugh. “Oh, good.” 

You’re pulled into a hug. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No, it’s okay.” He rubs your back with force. It feels more for him than you, though you don’t exactly mind it. You can pretend as much as you want that you don’t like it when the boys give you affection, but they know it’s not true, and they know it’s alright to give it to you most days. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine as long as you’re fine.” 

“Fine,” you say. 

He pulls away. “Oh, god. Alright, let’s go back to the house. It’s freezing, you’re not wearing a proper coat?” 

“I didn’t plan on being out long.” 

“No?” 

He takes you by the shoulder to encourage you back the way you came. “Just wanted some chocolate,” you say. 

“I’ll get you some.” 

You both know it doesn’t add up. James doesn’t make you say much else, relieved you’re alright, and you fester in the guilt of worrying him so harshly. 

“Where are your glasses?” you ask. 

“I forgot them in the car.” 

“Where is the car?” 

“Remus thought you might’ve gone to the library, you were supposed to take that Sky-Fi back.” 

“Sci-fi.” 

“Right, the space books. He took it to see if you were walking home, I said I’d come this way, and Sirius…” James grimaces. “Not sure where he went. He was already out by the time I got to the house.” 

“How are we gonna find him?” 

“He’ll come back eventually.” 

You stick close to James’ side, dodging crisped up leaves and following him down the dropped kerb and finally onto a familiar road. “Guess I’ve lived here so long, I should’ve known the way,” you say. 

“It’s alright.” 

You bite your cheek for a second. “I’m really sorry, James, I– I didn’t– is it really ten?” 

“…Aren’t you cold?” he asks softly. 

“I didn’t think about it.” 

“I wish you would.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek. “I want to know if you’re having a bad night. It’s alright if you were. If you need more time, more help, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not like that… not all of it. I was walking to the shops, I swear. Just feel so,” —your voice slips into a colour of shame you despise— “weird sometimes. I’m sorry I made you worry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.” 

“Is this a common occurrence?” 

“Not the walk, just. Just this. Making you worry. I didn’t mean to make everybody worry.” 

“Well, I am worried. When you disappear for a couple more hours than you say you will, it’s scary.” James gives you a shrug. “I love you, I’m gonna wonder where you are.” 

“But–”

“I worry about Sirius when he goes to the pub until who knows when, worry about Lils when she does too many hours at work. I worry about Remus every day, his eyes are worse than mine ‘cos all he does is read,” he says with a laugh. “It’s fine.” 

“I worry about you too,” you say. 

“About what?” he asks, stricken. 

“Remus told me you can pop your knee out from your kneecap when you weight lift. I know you think it’s fun and stuff, but that’s scary.” 

“I’m getting fit!” He rolls his eyes. “Lily likes my abs.” 

“Well I liked you when you were soft.” 

James cackles at your poor fake-flirting. “I’ve never been soft, take that back! You know being captain made me solid as a rock.” 

“James?” a voice calls. 

You look up at the same time. Sirius is sitting on the wall in front of the house smoking; he takes a harsh, quick drag and stabs it out so hard that ash sullies his fingers as he stands. 

“Oh,” he says, blowing the smoke from his mouth quickly, his breath a ragged thing as he bounds across the road to hug you. “Sorry.”

You don’t get what he’s sorry for. “It’s okay.” 

He smells so strongly of smoke it’s like he’s blowing it under your nose, but he’s not so sharp to the touch. You falter at being touched kindly, feeling tension in his back as you curl an arm around him. 

Sirius digs his face into your neck. 

“Hey?” you ask quietly. 

He steps back suddenly, an accusing fist held between your two abdomens. “Where have you been?” he asks, and there’s the sharpness to match his smell, scowl turning his grey-blue eyes to pitch, lashes in a furious tangle. “You can’t do that. You can’t just disappear for hours.” 

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s not okay.”

“She said she’s sorry,” James interjects, “maybe let’s leave it?” 

“Being sorry doesn’t erase the last two hours of us panicking, though, does it?” 

“She got lost–”

“James, it’s okay, it’s–” You shake your head. “Maybe you should go inside to warm up? You’re not wearing a coat either.” 

“I was in a rush.” James gives Sirius a warning look. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. Five minutes and I’m coming back out.” 

James trudges up the garden path to the house. You twist your hands together, staring into Sirius’ face, wanting to see every bit of his anger, keeping tabs on all of it so as not to be surprised. You should’ve known he’d run out of patience with you eventually. He’s had to deal with your awful moods more than anyone else. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Do you realise how scary it is to worry you’ve hurt yourself?” Sirius asks starkly. 

You flinch. “It doesn’t exactly feel great for me, either.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Still, he softens. You feel like you’ve cheated. “I don’t understand. You got lost? How far away from the house were you?” 

“I don’t know, I was trying to go to Del’s.” 

“You’re not being honest with me, or any of us. It’s not fair. My heart is like a fucking racehorse,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest, fingertips smudgy with ash, “’cos all I’ve thought tonight is that you’d gone off and jumped off of a bridge or something. I know you wouldn’t.” He lets his hand fall. He quietens. It is almost apologetic, how he slows. “I know you wouldn’t. I knew you’d come home. But please don’t make me think about it.”

He’s gone pale in the cold, his hair in twists and tucked haphazard behind his ears. In his thick bomber jacket and his jeans, he could’ve just hopped of the bike, windswept as he is, but it’s the mark of worried hands having pushed his hair back repetitively rather than the weather, though the longer you stand there in the wind, the more tangled it becomes. “I dont get why you’re so determined to be alone,” he says. 

You don’t want to talk about it. When do you ever? More than ever, you’d like to stalk past him and slam your bedroom door, let him know you’re fine by yourself and seething, let him stay ignorant to you as you squirm in a bed you’ve come to hate. How often do you lay there wishing you could be alone forever? It’s not fair to anyone. It doesn’t make sense. They all love you and you feel sorry for them, ‘cos you tricked them, ‘cos you’re nothing worth thinking about for long. 

Sirius won’t stop frowning at you. It makes the drowning feeling worse. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again, hoping this time it’ll stick. “I don’t know what happened, I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t feel very well.” 

“I know.” He scoffs to himself. You relax at the hint of self-deprecation. “It’s not your fault. I’m fucking furious with you but I know you can’t help it.” 

“Sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For saying you’d jumped off a bridge, that’s horrible, but you really fucking worry me sometimes and I’m so relieved that you’re okay that it’s making me horrible.” 

“You’re not horrible.” 

“I’m mean.” 

“You’re not.”

“No, I am. You’re the only person who doesn’t see it. Or at least doesn’t say it.” Sirius rubs his face, scraping a stray hair from his nose. “Sorry for shouting. Here,” —he holds out his arm— “let’s have a proper one.” 

He hugs you nicely, no force to it, less lingering smoke. The scratch of his cheek catches yours, his hand at the bottom of your back, your jacket and shirt rising with every sweep of his touch. You press your closed eye to his hair. 

“Why didn’t you come and sit with me or– we could’ve talked. Could’ve just led in bed, doesn’t matter, I would’ve gone to the shop with you.” He squeezes you, pressing his nose to your shoulder. “I can be morbid. We can be two miserable layabouts together.” 

“I didn’t…” You cringe. “Sirius, it’s not on purpose, I swear. I didn’t do it to make you worry.” 

“I know that, Jesus.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re home.” 

You pull apart as a car turns onto the street. That’ll be Remus. Another for your troupe of worry. 

“What do you think, is he mad at me too?” you ask. 

“Remus?” Sirius gives you another half hug. “‘Course not.” 

And true to form, Remus climbs out of the car with a fond smile. “Hey, where have you been?” His hair ruffles in the wind, scars turned palest purple in the cold. “You need to learn how to tell time.” 

You let him hug you. “Sorry.” 

“That’s alright, let’s go inside though. Have some tea. Did you eat much today?” 

You ignore the question. “Tea,” you say. 

“Yeah.” 

Remus ushers you down the path to the house, Sirius on your other side like bodyguards. 

“Thanks for, uh, looking for me.” 

Remus takes you by the forearm. “We’ll always look for you. But next time, wake me up first.” 

You nod gratefully. “Uh, okay. Thank you.” 

“Stop saying thanks. It’s alright, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

That’s what you’ve all said, but it doesn’t make it true. 

—

James goes home, though he doesn’t want to. “I can stay,” he says over the rim of his mug, half-pleading, wanting you to ask him to. “We can have a sleepover.” 

You insist that you’re really fine, he has work tomorrow, it’s late. When he doesn’t move, you say, “I feel bad enough that you were out looking for me in the cold.” 

Your voice is pathetic and scratchy and he can tell you’re going to cry, they all can, so he doesn’t push it anymore than that. He goes home, and you go to bed, and Remus follows you up a little bit later with a glass of juice and some thick, buttered slices of teacake. 

“You okay?” he asks, climbing into bed next to you where you’re laying down. 

“Fine.” 

“Didn’t eat much today?” 

“No.” 

“Have the juice, at least.” 

You take the glass. 

Between your sorry sips, Remus picks at one of the slices of cake, steals looks at you, though he doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. 

“Sorry about today. Didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“You can stop saying sorry.” Remus lets his head tip from one side to another. “I can hear it in your voice that you don’t want to say it. Not that I don’t believe that you’re really, actually sorry. But you keep repeating it because you’re worried I want you to do that, and I don’t.” 

“It’s what I should say.” 

“Well, you’ve said it.” Remus turns to you, all bookish and rakish at once, lovely but tired, and he must be giving you a similar appraisal. “I wanted to be your friend the second I first talked to you. It wasn’t guilt.” He shakes his head. Wasn’t ’cos they’d played that prank on you with the shoe-eating goo, spied on you crying in a school hallway, overwhelmed. “I just liked you, and that was without any sort of knowledge of what you’re like. Now that I know you, I couldn’t be rid of you. Truly. I love you, you know that?” He smiles gently. “Even when you need time and you disappear. Please… don’t really go anywhere though, will you?” 

“I won’t.” You decided a long time ago that ending your life wasn’t in the cards. There are terrifying moments, numb ones, blink-and-it’s over ones, where you feel like it’s the only option you have. But it ends eventually, or it sinks into a background to be forgotten until the next time it aches. 

“Are you eating properly?” he asks. 

“Remus–” You shake your head as he brings a hand to your forehead, like he might stroke your hair. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“You don’t like answering, that’s all.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“I’ve made you talk much more than you would’ve liked to, tonight.”

“I like talking to you. To all of you.” You rest your head on his thigh. “You really are my favourite people in the world, Remus. I wouldn’t… wouldn't give you up.” 

“Good,” he says, stroking your forehead just a few times. “‘Cos we can’t be without you.” 

Sirius finds you collapsing in on one another a little later and rounds the bed to lay on your other side. He doesn’t bother sitting as Remus did, pulling the blankets up and slipping in beside you without worrying about what parts of you are touching parts of him, nor the slip of your back where your shirt’s riding up, nor how warm it is under the quilt. He grabs the end of your t-shirt and pulls it flat over your stomach, before his hand spreads out there, and you realise half-heartedly that he’s hugging you from behind. The room is barely seeable. Remus is nearly sleeping. Your tea cake went uneaten, left stodgy and dark on the nightstand. 

“This okay?” Sirius asks. 

“Yeah.” 

He burrows nearer, rubbing his nose against the back of your neck, then taking a long breath of you. 

“Are you mad?” you ask. 

“Not anymore.” 

You can’t believe that any of them could love you so much as to look for you. That James would want to stay the night, and that he’d let you turn him away. If you had any energy left in you tonight you would’ve done the same to Remus, and then Sirius. James won’t be happy when he finds out they’d slept in the bed with you and left him out, but he’ll forgive it eventually. None of them should care so much about you, what’s special about you? What’s even really good? What’s worth it? 

Sirius breathes behind you. He doesn’t seem scared to touch you, not worried to lay as close to you as your bodies will allow. His heat sinks into you. 

“Know any poems?” he asks, letting you shift into his back as he pushes an arm beneath you, curling, really holding you to him, a spoon of a hug. 

“What kind did you want to hear?” 

Sirius doesn’t answer. You hold still as his hand begins looping over your stomach. 

“I can’t remember anything right.” 

“Can you guess at one for me?” he asks. 

You stare at Remus’ falling chest. You’re lucky to have good friends. 

“I read one a few days ago, a couple of times, it was only a few lines.” You wait. Sirius doesn’t say anything, so you start to relay the poem slowly, stringing the words together as they come. “The world was a… nautilus shell... And the world was a grain of sand.” Your voice is odd, but the lines come to you regardless. “The world was a honeycomb… And the world was a strip of tender bark.” 

Sirius lets his lips warm your neck, asking softly, more touch than sound, “That was the whole poem?” 

You take his hand where it’s against you. “That’s it.” 

He nods. 

The world was a nautilus shell. And the world was a grain of sand. The world was a honeycomb. And the world was a strip of tender bark. You run through the poem again, three times, tripping over strip and tender and bark as Sirius’ breath warms your nape. 

“Please don’t do that again,” he says. 

“I didn’t mean to–” You force yourself to stay still. “I would never do something like that to scare you.” 

“Nobody in this room or out of it believes that you went on your walk tonight to scare them.” His nose tips down your neck. His hand spreads wider over your stomach. It feels so weird, so warm and rigid. It’s the best touch you’ve ever been given, and it doesn’t matter because you’re so ashamed of yourself —you went on your stupid little walk with at least some bad intent, and your friends noticed because they love you when they shouldn’t bother. This is a stain now, something you’ll remember. “But I can’t take it. Do you get that? I can’t take it. James found you two hours ago and I still feel like I don’t know where you are.” 

“Didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, love.” He actually does kiss your neck then, quiet smack of a real kiss. “I know. I know.” His forehead presses to your shoulder as he settles in. “You’re okay. I’m not mad.” 

“Me neither,” Remus croaks. 

You let yourself relax enough to feel tired. Warmth from either side of you threatens to bowl you over. 

“How are you feeling now?” Sirius asks. 

“Fine.” Always fine. They deserve better honesty. “I didn’t want to hurt myself. Jus’… I needed to move, like, go, and I hate this part. I don’t think it should matter that I’m not– that I don’t feel well.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Sirius says quietly. 

“I’m not.” You sound tight. “When I want to be somewhere, it doesn’t make sense that it matters. In the moment, I don’t remember that you…” 

“Love you?” Sirius asks. 

“I know why you were worried, I promise. I don’t live in a bubble. I know I’m selfish.” 

“Not selfish.” 

“It was, though.” 

“You’re thinking about it like we have a problem with what you did, and it’s my fault because I got so mad, but it’s not really that you did it.” His hand curls shy of your breastbone. “I was mad, but– darling,” —you squeeze your eyes shut— “you’re not on trial. You don’t have to prove your way out of this, all we need to know is if you’re alright now.” 

“Not really.” 

Remus gives a half-sleeping mumble. 

Sirius sits up in bed to look at both of you. “We love you. We,” —he gestures between you and Remus emphatically— “aren’t going to stop. No matter how many walks you go on, how many scares you give me.” He frowns at you sympathetically. “We’re not getting any further, are we?” 

“Sorry.” 

“I’m sorry.” He grimaces, dark around the eyes. “I’m a right prick and I’ve made a right mess of everything.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, chancing a touch, terrified you’ll be reprimanded for it but knowing, as you know he loves you, that you’re allowed. The tips of your fingers touch his collarbone. Sharp thing. 

He pulls a jib, lips all up and thinned like a smirk gone wrong. “Love you.” 

You must’ve petrified him. He’s never so open with his feelings, even when it’s half-joking like this. 

“I love you, too.” 

He makes another face. Good enough, it says. 

“Make me hot chocolate?” you whisper. 

“Mm, come on.” He pulls you from the bed by your wrists. “Don’t complain when it’s gritty. I’m not skilled as Remus.” 

“Quite right,” Remus mumbles. 

You hug him quickly before you leave. 

[malesuite]

I took photography in college. Our professor did work even for national Geographic so he knew his stuff. I still lived at home at the time. We lived in a household that was pretty plain, puritan even I guess you could say. I hated the class ultimately. I did't have enough time in lab, the dark room I thought. I'm kind of a hands on person but some how I just am slower at getting the mechanics of it down. I never really developed a great portfolio. I got through the class okay. I had some good pieces. I met some great artists I mean the real photographer type. Mine were okay.

\We had an exchange. We would print up some extras of our best work and then we would offer them up one for one at the exchange after the final.

I did still life. Every person had their own thing. One guy did life photography another did city scapes. A guy I got on with did naked people pictures. He had asked me to pose for him and I did. I didn't do naked dick stuff but others posed for him. Well he had some great sensual photographs in his batch of work. I managed to have something to exchange so I got this black and white male nude beauty thinking that when I had my own place I'd hang it. I did some compositions of fruits and vegetables that he liked so I got one of his male nude pictures. It wasn't framed or anything but it was a nice composition. I definitely was going to hang that one in the bedroom.

When I got home I put my exchanges aside. They were just sandwiched in a card folio behind my dresser. A year later I was moving out to have my own place. My parents had sold the house and moving and in kind of a hurry. My mom was going through the house throwing stuff away and packing. She found my folio of prints. She had gotten out the folio thinking it was all my work. She was so upset that she couldn't work on anything for the rest of the day, so she called the pastor. She sat me down when I got home, all flustered obviously upset. When she finally had enough nerve she told me I had to call the pastor to make an appointment. He had the next day at 3 available but she wanted to know how I could model for such filth.

"Ma it isn't me. All those photos are trades. All of the work is great work."

"What's wrong with you? Some of those aren't Christian."

"It's art Ma. You didn't damage any of them?"

"I wanted to. The fellow that you say isn't you shows your penis."

"For god sake ma."

"I'm concerned for you. The pastor will see you."

"Ma that guy in the picture isn't me. He has a foreskin. You had mine chopped off."

At that she cooled down pausing, her hand at her mouth but not quite relieved. She turned to leave the room.

"Why do you have possession of such filth?"

"Ma." I pleaded. She turned to leave again.

"You are gay." She said shocked but not shocked.

"There you have it." I said in finality. Watching her. She turned and left the room.

I could hear Ma and Dad later when he came home. I couldn't hear every detail. My parents went quiet as I carried he last box to my car but dad followed me out.

"Your mother and I aren't paying for any more of your college." he blurted out when he caught up to me. "We won't have a queer. All these years...." He turned and walked back to the house.

At Thanksgiving I got an invitation from my sister. I had to ask her for the address. I hadn't talked to them I had no address or telephone number.

My sister didn't mention anything about what had happened. Mom and dad hadn't said anything to any of the family about me being gay. Dad was stoic and didn't talk directly to me. Mom avoided me. I left early. It was a hard hours drive home.

Nude, Portland, Oregon – by Minor White

(Reposted from the glorious collection at www.metmuseum.org)

[tiger333k]

there are a lot of people complaining about Arcane season 2, and yes, I get it, it is a bit rushed at times and it would do well if they did a little extra explaining on some parts but honestly it feels like people are just nitpicking sometimes

example: just saw a video about someone complaining about ep7 about Powder and Ekko getting together, and just, wtf??? yes, I know it's because of Ekko's tip that vi died and I know the characters should've it weird when Ekko woke up and just started pointing about things in the past that they really don't want to be reminded of... but if you found this a problem you really didn't watch the show. the main theme about this alternate universe is forgiveness, powder forgave Ekko (though tbh, it was really Vi's plan to go rob someone the whole time), vander and silco forgave each other etc etc. alt Ekko was slaving away at this project when Ekko (firelight) got thrust into his body. powder said it herself, genius and insanity go hand in hand, Ekko saying random things like this probably wasn't even a surprise. also saw a thumbnail where Ekko and powder were kissing and they put 'cheating' beside the image. hopefully I won't have to explain how stupid this is.

Ekko didnt just kiss powder and go 'I can fix jinx'. he doesn't want to change jinx into powder, he even admits that jinx has something good that powder doesn't, jinx's ideas can change the world. what Ekko learned from the alt universe and powder is forgiveness, to look at the past and move forward, leaving a few things behind, leaving behind hate, anger, for the present, for the future. he learned to forgive jinx, so they could build something new.

also adding the fact that it wasn't vi's death that changed everything, it was the act of a child, the fact that someone had been killed that points out how dangerous hextech is, and that's why it was never developed.

personal opinion here, I don't think it was just the death and the letter that changed everything, I think it was little details leading up to the moment silco forgave vander, the moment everything went right. it wasn't one spontaneous event that changed it. we don't know what happened in the alt universe, we don't know if the fight went differently, or if slico had done anything different... maybe he never developed shimmer, maybe he wasn't so set on revenge. we don't know, so maybe don't jump to conclusions so quickly?

another point: jinx didn't just magically lose her trauma because of Isha, dunno what you guys were thinking.

jinx in season one had obvious mental issues, and we always see her drowning out the noise with blaring music. the reason why she was like that was because of her internal conflict, of powder and jinx clashing. jinx was trying to forget the past, and powder was the one that kept remembering it. powder was the one that kept trying to insist it wasn't her fault. powder was the one that held on to everything, and jinx hated powder. and in S1E9 we see her let powder die.

she accepts that she is a jinx to people she loves. the voices stop calling her a jinx, because she already knows this. she accepts this. jinx ruin everything. jinx is a curse. it isn't a case where some kid comes in and changes everything, jinx isn't healed in season 2, she just accepts that she is a catastrophe.

the only thing Isha changes is that jinx learns to love powder through Isha, and maybe even lets a bit of powder come back through. and that's why, when Isha is thrown into Stillwater, the voices come back before jinx takes control again.

three: Caitlyn was done dirty, her entire character was ooc

no it was not. you just saw it through a different lens and decided you didn't like it.

like it or not, Cait has always been privileged. she goes where she wants, does what she likes because she has the kirramman family name to protect her. Marcus says it himself in S1, we just chose to ignore it because that's when cait was doing what we thought was right, investigating and helping Vi, although she was not an enforcer, had no right to be there, we liked it because, well, because we hate Marcus, and she was actually doing something right back then

till season 2, where she gasses Zaun, goes all hitler, and... acts exactly how she acted in S1. she does what she wants, goes where she likes, to achieve one thing: get revenge on jinx.

cait has never lost a parent, she has never learned to cope with such a loss, so she reacts in a wrong way, reacts so drastically that we feel is out of character, its not. we merely see her previous traits painted in a different light and y'all decided you hate it.

I could go on forever honestly, but these three points got on my nerves the most, so I decided to say something about it. there.

this is way too long, my god.

[peterm4rker]

(❆⋆.˚) christmas miracle !

🕸🕷✮⋆ [jaemin x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 2.3k w. cursing, slight angst, lmk if you find any! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

august 22nd, 2019

“jaem?” you called out, your voice barely a whisper as your head laid on his chest, listening to his heartbeat among the comfortable silence. he hummed in response, his hand continuing its caresses in your hair. “i don’t think i can do this anymore,” you mumbled, voice on the verge of breaking.

you felt his chest rise and fall with a sigh “i know” your boyfriend answered, his tone matching yours.

“i love you” you said, unconsciously cuddling closer to him as if you were scared of letting go. you were, because you knew that if you did it would be the last time you would be this close to him in a very long time.

“i know” he repeated as he held you closer “i love you too, and i’m sorry”

“i know” you mimicked, rising from your previous position while still sitting close to him “i don’t doubt that you love me, jaem, it's just… i can’t go on with a relationship where you disappear for a week and then call me like nothing happened.” your hand found his, your fingers intertwining. “i love you, but you’re not opening up to me and i can’t understand why you do the things that you do.”

jaemin listened attentively, his heart breaking further with each of your words. he knew it was true, all of it, but he wasn’t capable of talking about what was going on when he couldn’t even understand it himself. he felt embarrassed to tell you that there were days where he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed to eat, much less to grab his phone to call you. when two days had gone back with zero contact and he felt a little better, he was way too ashamed to reach out and just waited long enough that he could pretend he hadn’t spent days crying on his bed for no reason.

he loved you more than anything in the world, more than he loved himself, even. he also knew you would never shame him for feeling the way he did, but you would worry. you would put aside your life to help him get his back, and he could never ask you to do that, he loved you too much.

“you deserve so much better,” he spoke after a few seconds of silence, his free hand moving to cup your cheek. “i’m sorry i couldn’t be what i promised you to be”

“you were everything and more” you smiled sadly, feeling your eyes burning with tears “i need you to promise me something”

“what is it, love?” he mumbled as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

“if you still want me when the time is right, promise you will call me. i don’t care if it’s ten years from now and we haven’t spoken since, promise me you will reach out” the tone of your words was so serious that it left no doubt on him that you meant every one of them.

“i promise i will” he gave you a weak smile, moving his hand to place it in front of you and extending his pinky finger towards you.

you interlaced your fingers with his, bringing your hand up to kiss it and seal the promise. “i should go home now,” you said weakly, tearing your hands apart from each other to wipe away the tears on your cheeks.

jaemin wanted to beg you to stay, at least until the morning so he could hold you through one more night. but he couldn’t, he knew too well that one more night would make you back away from your decision and he couldn’t hurt you any further.

“want me to drive you?” he asked, his hand feeling cold without your warmth.

“i’ll get an uber, don’t worry” you gave him a sad smile as you grabbed your bag from the floor before walking towards him and cupping his cheek, crouching slightly to place your forehead against his. “i love you”

“i love you more” he answered, a single tear escaping his eyes as he looked at you one last time before you walked out of his room for the last time.

…

december 18th, 2024

jaemin couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face as he walked out of his friends’ apartment. it had been an afternoon full of laughter and happiness, one of the many that had slowly healed his heart over the years. he waved goodbye to jeno, who was getting into his car to drive home. he had offered him a ride, but jaemin felt the need to walk in the cold weather, it wasn’t that long of a walk to his apartment.

even when he had been as happy as he had, he couldn’t deny that watching his friends be coupley and cute had struck a nerve he didn’t even know he had. he didn’t know he wanted all of that, someone to tease, to kiss and to have stupid ugly sweater competitions with, but he did, and that could only mean one thing. he was ready, and the time was finally right.

that’s how he found himself standing at the edge of the river, overlooking the scenery as his thumb hovered over the call button. he stared at his phone screen as he chewed at the inside of his lip, he never deleted the picture he had for your contact; a picture of 19 year old you with your cheeks being squished by his large hand.

he smiled at the sight, feeling his heart squeeze with a mixture of nostalgia and guilt. would you still want him to contact you even though it had been five years since you broke things off?

“ i don’t care if it’s ten years from now and we haven’t spoken since, promise me you will reach out”

your voice resonated in his head and his hand moved on its own to press the button that had been haunting him for the past five minutes. he took the phone up to his ear, trying his hardest to breathe properly and maintain his calm as the tone ringed. 

what if you had changed your phone number? what if you had a partner? what if you simply didn’t want to hear from him after this long? what if he had changed way too much for you? what if-

“hello?” his thoughts were cut off by a voice on the other line. your voice. “hi?” you asked again, and he had to snap off of his thoughts.

“yn” he blurted out, his voice sounding completely breathless. he didn’t expect you to know who it was, but he didn’t seem to be able to say anything else. there was silence for a couple of seconds, and he thought he heard your breath hitch.

“jaemin?” you spoke, sounding as if you had just gotten a call from a ghost. 

“yeah, it's me” he breathed out, cautious with his words. he couldn’t say he wasn’t completely scared shitless in that moment.

“hi” you answered, and he could hear the smile on your astonished voice. 

“hi” shit, he really had to start talking more. “you didn’t change your phone number” no shit.

“i didn’t” you spoke “you did”

“i changed a lot of things” the boy spoke, a breathless chuckle escaping your lips. 

“you kept my contact” you remarked, and he couldn’t understand how he could be so happy even when his heart was about to fall out of his ass.

“i promised i would call you” if i still wanted you. “so here i am, i hope it's not too late”

“it’s not” you assured, feeling speechless at how he had actually called you.

“good. uhm, i was wondering if you’d like to come get coffee with me sometime” he asked, his hand going to scratch the nape of his nape as it did when he was nervous. 

“i would love that, just tell me when” a smile took over his face immediately, feeling incredibly grateful to whatever saint had made you the nicest, most beautiful soul that could’ve ever stepped foot on earth.

“is tomorrow too soon?” he asked softly, knowing that his request was a little greedy, but he had spent five years without hearing your voice and he didn’t think he could stop now.

jaemin heard you chuckle from the other line “no, it’s no” he almost cheered at the sound of your voice “wanna meet at sunrise café at like 11?” 

“of course, that’s perfect” he nodded, even though you couldn’t see him “do you need me to pick you up?” 

“nah, i work just around the corner” you answered, being followed by silence. the boy didn’t know what else to say, he didn’t trust himself to say anything else without going overboard. “i'll see you there then?”

“yeah, i’ll see you there” he said, being sure that you could hear his smile in his voice. “bye, yn”

“bye, jaem” you said before hanging up. fuck, he had missed the way his name sounded when you said it.

…

jaemin found himself sitting in a booth inside the café you had agreed to meet in. nostalgia was flooding his body, remembering all the times you had sat on that same seat when you were together. as the minutes passed, he began to feel uneasy. had you planned on standing him up as revenge for all the times he did all those years ago? no, you weren’t like that at all. maybe you had forgotten?

“hi” his attention was called back into reality by your voice again. he lifted his eyes to meet yours, and he could have screamed right then and there. he had always thought you couldn’t get prettier than you were, but he had no idea what he was talking about. the woman that stood in front of him was a work of art, an angel that was blessing him with the ability to look at her.

“yn, hi” he muttered breathlessly as he stood up. he was too stunned to know what to do now that he had you in front of him. you smiled at him and he felt his heart stop, you were fucking unreal. “here, go ahead” he muttered as he politely moved a chair back for you to sit, causing you to thank him.

“it’s nice to see you after so long” you said once you were sitting in front of each other.

“it is” he smiled, still trying to calm his racing heart “five years is a really long time, i’m sorry i didn’t contact you sooner” his smile turned apologetic “i was in a really rough spot, but i’m better now”

“there’s nothing to apologize for” you reassured “you needed time, i understood that” jaemin felt like he could start crying on the spot. you had always been so understanding and warm, even when he didn’t deserve it at all. “now tell me, what have you been up to?”

“well, i’m a photographer now” he said, marking the beginning to a long, overdue conversation about life through the last five years.

hours passed with both of you sitting in the coffee shop, long enough for you to feel bad about being there for so long and deciding to go on a walk along the river bank, seemingly not getting enough of each other’s company.

“so yeah, that didn’t really work out” you shrugged as you concluded your story about your last boyfriend, who jaemin had asked about very casually. 

“he sounds like an asshole” he chimed in, eliciting a laugh to escape your lips.

“he kind of was, yeah” you had to agree, nodding softly. “i’m glad that’s over, to be honest”

“i’m glad it’s over, too,” jaemin blurted out, his eyes widening slightly at the realisation of the implication of his words.

you raised your eyebrows with an amused smile “i’m sure you are”

…

it had been a little under a week since you and jaemin had reconnected, and he could say that he had never felt so happy in his life. he knew you felt the same, he could see it in your smile and your shiny eyes.

“so yeah, i was going to go visit family but i got snowed in in seoul” you shrugged your shoulders as you recounted your failed christmas plans. “same thing happened to my cousin, it’s like a curse.”

jaemin listened intently as he looked at your pretty face, an idea popping into his head “you could come spend christmas with my friends and i” his voice was nervous, unsure of if he was moving too fast.

“are you still friends with jeno and them?” you asked, and he nodded, causing you to smile. you took a few seconds to weigh out your options, coming into a conclusion rather quickly. “then i would love to”

jaemin smiled brightly as he continued walking, his hand slowly reaching for yours as he interlaced your fingers wordlessly.

…

“this is crazy, i would never have thought i would see you together again” jeno spoke as he watched you and jaemin sitting next to each other on heachan’s couch, a little too close for it to be casual.

“some things change and others stay the same” you shrugged, smiling sweetly as you turned your head to look at jaemin, who was already staring at you.

“this is sickeningly sweet, i'm gonna go help in the kitchen” the taller boy grimaced, standing up to walk away, leaving you and jaemin alone in the living room.

“i don’t think we stayed the same, you know” he commented, looking at you with lovesick eyes. “i would never do the things i did back then without giving you an explanation”

“promise?” you asked, a smile on your perfect lips as you extended your pinky towards him.

“promise” he answered, intertwining your fingers and leaving a kiss to seal the promise.

you mimicked his action and wordlessly stared into his eyes, marvelled at the way the christmas lights reflected in his eyes, looking just like stars.

it was surreal to be there with him after so long, but it was the perfect christmas miracle.

★ blue's corner ;; another part of of my christmas special with my first ever nct dream bias... i hope you like it ! this is part of the love actually series that i'm doing with both of my blogs ! ★ taglist ;; @neozon3nha @winwintea @spacejip @dudekiss3r @yizhrt @lyvhie @morkiee @astrasng ★ back to the masterlist. ★ please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!! ★ divider by @fairytopea

© peterm4rker, 2024

[wellofdean]

So, I read the response above which is so interesting, and I want to keep thinking about it, and then after that had these interesting tags in my feed from @bloodyentrails...

#i think that sam being compassionate towards certain people is kinda normal we tend to relate on a personal level#and him being queer-coded etc doesn't mean you have to care about him#just that that is a thing?#idk what kind of discourse i'm wandering into a lot of the time but relating to characters#and understanding they have been written in a certain way isn't the same thing#which is to say that i would love it if the writing had tackled that inconsistency#but i find that the show on the whole is inconsistent#and i think it's hard to maintain consistency over so many years with so many people working on it#i do think both of them are *trying* to be good people and they sometimes fail and also what constitutes a good person is kinda open#anyway#bear in mind i'm still only halfway through so#maybe i'll change my mind on all this#spn

It's a point worth considering that in the world of the show, Sam's sympathy for monsters seems principled and some how defies gravity, but that in the real world it wouldn't translate to anything real; that's likely true, and an interesting point. Having said that, I think Sam is pretty clearly not particularly"real world" compassionate, and I don't need monsters to make the argument that Sam is not the compassionate one because he shows a general lack of empathy towards PEOPLE, including but by no means limited to Dean, throughout the show. And, ok, he sometimes argues for a compassionate response to monsters and Dean doesn't always respond favourably, but that's because Sam fears he is one, and he needs to believe monsters are not all bad, which is not borne out of compassion, it's a rationalization that serves his psychological needs.

Basically, I think Sam is all surface. Sam is the urbane one, the smart one, the compassionate one, the one who talks nice to people, the broadly queer-coded one, the feminist, etc., but with Sam, all that is skin deep. He APPEARS as such! He's good at pretending, but he's nearly as savage as John is, Dean is much more sensitive to other people's needs, Dean is every bit as clever as he is, and intuitive to boot, Sam can ACT compassionate, but in fact he isn't really very empathetic to anyone, and he is able to just move on from all the things Dean just can't, Sam's not in fact queer, but Dean is queered to his fucking bones, and Sam's the one whose unconsciously replicated misogyny allows him to think any woman that would be into Dean is obviously a whore, and to keep his girlfriend in the dark about the truth of his life, while Dean is just talking a big game of cartoon misogyny TO SAM while treating the women he interacts with pretty fucking respectfully, actually.

Honestly, it's the same as the way Sam is supposedly the 'main character'. He's introduced as the one we should care about and identify with, but within, like, two episodes, he's really just a foil for Dean. Sam has BIG PLOTS, but it's Dean's feelings, reactions and relationships we really care about.

And, the fact is, Sam was pretty well-realized in the earlier eps. JarPad was giving it some effort, and he was charming then with his boyishness -- the way he seemed like he hadn't fully lived into his physical real estate -- but the thing is, he never could really hold a candle to Dean who was just magnetic. All the interesting character development was given to Dean and Jensen killed it by always making it seem like Dean had so much going on under the surface, and like, to the extent I care about Sam, it's because Dean loves him.

I kind of wonder what happened. Was Dean always meant to be the dark horse hero? Or was Dean just...played by a better, more compelling actor, and they started writing for him instead? There are so many much more interesting things they could have done with Sam, and they just...DIDN'T.

I dunno, I suppose it could just be me, but I feel like the way Sam just SEEMS, Dean IS.

maybe this is me being a dumb overly literal autist stemlord who simply does not understand literary theory or some shit equivalent but why should i care about someone being coded as [X] when i can just. care about someone who is [X]. why should i care more about the conventionally attractive white woman with a job and mortgage because she's metaphorically othered due to being a supernatural creature when i could care about the actually othered addicts that she used as a source of food. help me out here.

[lunaandco]

get it off your chest

pairing: pedri x ofc

summary: pedri comes home tired and stressed from his last match. celia offers a way to help him

warnings: smut, oral sex (m recieving), deep throat, face fucking, dom!pedri

author's note: saw the game against atleti and blacked out. i did not proof read 😬

masterlist // I do not take requests

The door unlocking set Celia's nerves on fire. She had had a late shift at work she couldn't wiggle her way out, which meant she could not attend the game at Montjuic. She had arrived home by the 13th minute mark, and watched in horror how Barça lost a game they should have won easily.

Pedri was wonderful. Whenever he picked the ball dome magic happened, but passing the ball to the forwards was like shooting against the wall. Everything happened but a goal.

And so, Atlético de Madrid pulled a last minute remontada.

Celia had watched how her boyfriend got awarded man of the match, and for what? He looked so heartbroken they might as well killed a puppy in front of him.

Celia slipped to the hall, where Pedri was dropping his bag and his keys. His hair was still wet from the shower, his cheeks still pink from the exertion. His dark eyes were casted down.

"Baby," she muttered, rushing to hug him. Pedri squeezed her waist between his arms, face buried on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

His breathing was heavy, and Celia could feel some wetness on her shirt. She didn't mention it.

Celia locked their fingers, dragging a barely responsive Pedri back to their bedroom.

"Have you eaten?" He nodded slowly. "Water?" Another nod.

It was jarring, seeing a boy as passionate as Pedri totally drained like this. It made her want to put on a jersey and score the goals herself.

Celia helped Pedri get off his clothes and to slip on the bed, offering her chest for him to lay his head. She cradled his face, tangled her fingers on his hair, as he sniffled a little. She let him cry for a while, until he passed out.

💙❤️

An hour into his nap, Pedri woke up. The fog he had been in was gone, and Celia could see how angry he was. The fire was back, as he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry," he said, lifting his head. "Earlier I was—"

"It's okay, I saw. You... you were majestic today."

"It wasn't enough."

"It can't be when you played without forwards." She caressed his cheek. "If there's anything I can do to help... I can't make the team better, but maybe I can make you feel good? I could cook anything or..."

She blushed. She should not be thinking about that when her boyfriend was down.

"I... I think that would help," he said shyly.

Their relationship ship was quite recent. Pedri had given Celia keys to her home so she could meet him after games in situations like this, but they were nkt as familiar with each other as they would like. Specially in that regard.

Celia pushed the hair out of his forehead.

"How do you want me?"

She was not going to judge. She was eager to be there for him, in any way she could, in any way that he needed.

"Can I have your mouth?" It was rare dor Pedri to ask for something like that. He was a gentleman through and thorough, always focusing on her pleasure and trying to be a sweet and soft as he could. Celia had noticed he enjoyed it when things got a little bit rougher, when he got her lips around him, even if her tired to hide it.

She suspected he would not be able to pretend so well tonight.

They moved, Pedri sitting by the edge of the bed, and Celia kneeling between his thighs. She pulled down the elastic band of his shorts and his underwear, getting rid of all the layers between them. There was no point in soft foreplay and shy tentatives.

Celia looked up at him, hand snaking to grab at his cock stroking him into full hardness. Pedri's gaze was dark and contained, his fists resting at the sides of his body.

"If you want me to stop—" she offered.

"No! Please. I need... I need this."

Celia nodded, beginning to give small kitten licks to the underside of his dick. It was pink and just as pretty as the rest of him. Pedri pulled off his t-shirt, the room suddenly boiling him alive.

Celia put the tip inside her mouth, suckling gently as she stroked what she didn't put inside, watching as the muscles on Pedri's torso tensed and relaxed.

"Joder, baby," he groaned. "Pleae, baby, give me some more." Pedri's hand tangled on her blonde curls, and pushed her gently against himself, before stopping abruptly. "I'm sorry—"

Celia pulled out and shook her head, green eyes glinting with an idea. She pulled her hair in a ponytail, and led Pedri's hand to hold it.

"Use me as you need, baby," she instructed him. "Use my mouth to get it off your chest, okay?"

The invitation to fuck her face was there, but Pedri still hesitated a couple of moments. Celia stuck her tongue out and winked, waiting for him to take the offer.

Pedri pushed himself inside her mouth slowly, tentatively testing her resistance and the depth of her promise, before realising Celia was not backing out.

"Fuck—"

Her mouth was warm and wet, lips wrapping around him. She struggled a bit to take him deep inside, choking when he hit the back of her throat, but she did not pull away. She was decided to be his fucktoy for the night and she would be.

"Oh, my God."

Pedri was moving her head up and down, setting a faster pace. Celia was delighted, as he sped up, his patience finally breaking.

Celia started choking, the gagging noise coming form her throat driving Pedri to pulling her off, ropes of spit connecting her mouth to his cock as she regained her breath.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked, voice husky, completely gone. "To be used as a fleshlight, huh? Did you want me to fuck that pretty skull of yours?"

"Ye—Yes," confirmed Celia. Pedri tapped his dick against her tongue, demanding entry again.

He was not kind, he was not soft. Pedri did as promised his grip on Celia's hair forcing her to lend her mouth to be fucked, not that she wanted it any other way. His hips started twitching forward, meeting her halfway.

"I'm gonna cum soon," he warned. "Swallow it like a good girl, okay, baby?"

It took him a few thrusts to finally still deep inside her mouth, cum flooding her throat as she swallowed greedily.

"Thank you," he exhaled, finally freeing her from his grip. Celia smiled dazzedly.

"Thank you," she told him. She had never seen this demanding and rough side of Pedri, but was decided to explore it in a nicer day.

"I really needed that," Pedri admitted, as if the post orgasm clarity was taking away his filter. "Thank you so much, baby."

"Always, Pedri." Celia rested her head on his thigh, licking at her lips. "I'm here for you, okay?"

[elvensorceress]

sunday snippet

I meant to have this fic done ages ago but it's now somehow three times as long as it was, I've rewritten it five times, and I'm still working on it 🫠 oh well. have a snippet from snickerdoodles.

@tizniz @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @kejfeblintz @smilingbuckley @sofa-king-lame @chaosandwolves @smilingbuckley @belasmalhotra @bekkachaos @blutterlie @sazanahashi @livinginsunnyhell @epicbuddieficrecs @sparklespiff @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @dangerpronebuddie continued from Wednesday

Eddie tries again, but still sounds rough and hollowed out. “I don’t want to drag you down. Okay? You should move on and forget me and— and it’ll be better.”

Not so much for Eddie. He’s never let go of anything in his life. It’s all there hiding under the surface, stuffed in cages. But Buck should move on. Buck should survive him. 

Is this their only future? It feels like losing everything. Eddie is losing everything. He’s kidding himself if he thinks he hasn’t already lost Chris. What if Eddie doesn’t survive this time? What will happen to everyone he loves? Everyone who loves him?

Does anyone love him? Does he mean anything to anyone? Has he ever meant anything?

“Forget— I should forget you?” Buck snaps, his anger un-contained fire now, not just a hint of smoldering kindling. Vicious, spitting, sparking, living flames that will turn everything to ashes. 

Maybe they should actually fight and say awful things and then it would be easier to walk away. 

Eddie’s not sure he could even manage that right now. There’s nothing left in him. No fight, no fire. It’s all shattered, scattered pieces. But he would try. If Buck needs that. 

He might need that. He snaps again, “Like you’re a pair of socks that disappeared in the laundry? Or something I meant to pick up at the store and spaced? Like it’s easy? Like you’re nothing? Like this? Us? You and me? Means nothing?”

Okay, when he puts it that way… it sounds dumb. But how else can Eddie stop hurting him? “No,” Eddie says. Not fiery, not loud, not anything. “No. Just. Something that doesn’t—”

“You're my best friend. You— you’re— I’ll let you go. Okay. Whatever. I’ll do that because I know you and I know you need Chris and I get it. I wouldn’t want you to do anything but love him exactly the way you do. But I won’t, will not and can not pretend that you aren’t my best friend and my partner and the person I love more than anything. All right? I’m not going to do that. I’ve spend years—literal— almost a whole decade of years loving you more than anything. I’m not going to just forget that or forget you. I’m not throwing that way. I’m not ever going to lie and say otherwise. This is not a ‘move on and grow out of it’ scenario. I love you more than anything in the world. Okay? You told me I wasn’t expendable and I had to deal with that so you have to deal with this. You mean everything to me and I love you, and that isn’t going to change even when you leave.”

“—hurt you,” Eddie finishes. It doesn’t really sound finished now. He says it because he was already saying it. 

But that the fuck does he say now? 

Eddie doesn’t usually think of himself as small, quiet, or fragile. But he feels like that now. His feeble words sound like it even in his own ears. Small. Inconsequential. Torn apart.

Buck steps back toward him. Not enough that they’re touching, but enough that they’re closer. “Hurt me. Drag me down. I don’t care.”

Eddie recoils. No. No, he hates that idea. He is not doing that. Not intentionally. Not. What the fuck. 

He knows he said the words. He said them because his mother said them and they stuck and haven’t left his head or his heart and it’s all he does. Ruin people he loves. 

Buck shakes his head. “Be in the way. Burden me. Share whatever weight you’re carrying. Be something that stays even if you’re not here. Be part of my life even if it hurts. I don’t care if it hurts, I need you to be something to me. Having nothing of you would be a hundred, thousand, million times worse. I am in this with you. I always have been. Don’t shut me out just to spare me. If you’re facing the fire, I want to be right there with you. Please don’t make me lose everything of you. Please don’t— please. Don’t pretend this is nothing. I can take you leaving, I can’t take this,” he motions between them, “meaning nothing.”

Eddie stares and doesn’t move. And stares harder like it will help him understand. 

He knows he’s breathing still because there’s air. 

Maybe he’s not breathing. But something is making air flow in and out of his body. Like rescue breaths? Supplemental oxygen? It’s not Eddie doing it, he’s not taking in air, but it happens anyway. 

He doesn’t understand. Maybe he never has. Maybe his brain stopped processing information when he stopped breathing because the brain can’t function without oxygen. Something like that. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t. 

Buck wants something of him even after everything? After all the people who have walked out on him and treated him like he doesn’t matter? Even with how Eddie fails and hurts people who care about him? He means something to Buck? Even though he’s hurting him and abandoning him and losing him? Eddie’s just another person who leaves him. He can’t hurt Buck. He can’t keep doing it. Buck doesn’t deserve this. And Eddie deserves no loyalty, no forgiveness. 

He doesn’t deserve anyone’s love. Not in any form. He shouldn’t have it. He’s never had it. 

“I don’t—” Eddie tries to say. He has to say. He has to make the words come out. “I don’t want to hurt you the way Abby hurt you. I don’t want to do that.” 

Buck shakes his head again and starts to say something.

Eddie beats him to it. “I know it’s not the same. I know I’m not— I know you don’t— It’s different. Still. I know how she hurt you, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t know how to not do that. I’m leaving you here. In my house. Just like she did when she left you. And I have to—” Do the same fucking thing? Give him up? Walk away? Destroy everything they made together? And maybe the only way to survive is to do what Eddie does best and ruin everything? 

He looks back at Buck and doesn’t mean to say it. He wasn’t going to say anything. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. He should be mean and nasty and he should tell Buck he means nothing, this means nothing, and then Buck can just be justifiably angry and hate Eddie properly. 

And it would spare him. Whatever pain and tragedy that is associated with being near Eddie. It would spare Buck. 

That’s what he should do. 

That would be mercy and kindness. Pick up the weapon and blow this all to hell. 

Eddie can’t breathe. He can’t do this. Any of it. 

He can’t let go. He can’t lose Buck. 

And then he’s suddenly confessing, “I don’t want to do this."

It’s too late. It’s always too late. And what he actually wants has never mattered. He doesn’t matter. He never has. He twists his hands together and has nothing else to hold onto. It’s too late, so none of this matters. Eddie doesn’t matter. But he meets Buck’s lost gaze, stares into his eyes for three seconds, and he can’t keep it in.

“I want to be with Chris. I miss him so much. Every minute of every day. But I don't want to leave here. I don't want this. But it doesn't matter what I want. It never has. The one time I said, 'What about me? Why didn't you think of me?' Chris left. He left because I hurt him. And my dad says, ‘don’t wait thirty years to listen to your son.’ So I listen. I don’t know what the hell else to do. I listen, and I do what all of them ask. Even when it’s the last thing I want and I’ve already said, no, please stop, I need more time, please hear me. They don’t listen to me. I’m still nothing to every single one of them. And I just keep thinking why don’t I ever count? Why don’t I matter even a little bit?

"You think you aren't everything to me, too? Do you think that I don't love you just as much as you love me? But I don’t get to pick you. I don’t get to have anything of you. I hurt everyone I try to love including you and Chris. I’m not enough for anyone, in any way. I can’t love anyone the way they need or the way I’m supposed to. You say you’re defective parts, well I’m fucking broken.

"That’s why you should forget me. I don’t matter. You shouldn’t care. I should mean nothing because I am nothing. I’m not worth this. If I were a better, stronger person, I’d make you hate me. But I can’t even do that. I don’t want to hurt you more. I have to lose you and I don’t know how to lose you. I love you more than anything and it’s not enough. I don’t know what else to do but say, you should move on and forget me.”

Eddie turns away and covers his face, tries to hold his head because it’s aching. It’s too much. That was too much. He’s not supposed to be falling apart. Everything is supposed to be getting better. 

Shards of ice crack and fracture and break underneath him. Everything in the cage around his ribs snaps and he’s crying into his hands, trying to keep it together. Trying and failing. Always failing. His face is already wet. He was already broken. A long time ago. So many times. 

Buck is suddenly behind him. Not distant. Close behind him. He touches Eddie’s back gently and then steps around until he’s standing in front of him. He reaches between them and rests his hand on Eddie’s chest. As if he can stop the never-ending bleeding that’s somehow always pouring from Eddie’s heart. “You are enough, Eddie. You’re more than enough."

[darsynia]

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while. 

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have  brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view. 

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek. 

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you). 

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.” 

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly. 

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[monster-disaster]

https://www.tumblr.com/monster-disaster/760344475674542080/i-need-a-part-2-of-your-dragon-fic-where-he-fucks?source=share

He's a dragon, I'm sure he can find some kind of potion or spell to shrink down his size for even just a few hours (I need him)

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: smut

Previous request: [dragon] Diman

-

You sit on the cold, unforgiving ground, your legs crossed awkwardly beneath you as you stare intently at the small jar before you. The liquid inside shimmers faintly in the dim light, and you can’t help but scowl as you blink at it, convinced it looks suspiciously like water.

“Are you sure it’s not just water?” you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the stillness. You don’t even bother to glance at the large dragon a few meters away behind you. You know he is there. His presence fills the cave even when he says and does nothing.

The male huffs in response. “Do you really think someone would dare to scam me?” His voice rumbles like distant thunder.

You shrug, feeling a mixture of uncertainty and defiance. “Well, everyone can be stupid at least once,” you reason.

“Sure they can,” Diman scoffs again.

A moment of silence stretches between you before you break it again. “And what if something goes wrong?” you ask. “I don’t want you to get hurt just because-”

When your sentence trails off and you glance at him over your shoulder, Diman’s large mouth splits into a wolfish grin. His sharp teeth gleam under the candlelight's orange glow. “Just because you want my cock?” The teasing lilt in his voice sends a rush of warmth through you.

You’ve lived with Diman for almost a year now, and in that time, he’s pushed you to the brink of ecstasy more times than you can count. Some days, it’s almost a competition to him to see just how many times you can reach your climax, yet, despite the familiarity of his teasing, you still feel your cheeks heat up at his words.

“Come now,” he purrs. His voice is smooth as silk and dripping with playful seduction. “You can’t tell me that you don’t want it.”

You can’t deny the truth in his words. The longing that has built inside you each day has become maddening. No matter how close you feel to Diman, there’s an unmistakable barrier created by the vast difference in size between you.

“Of course I want it,” you reply steadily despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I want you, but not at all costs.”

You hear him rising to his feet, the powerful thud of his clawed paws against the ground reverberating through the silence. He moves gracefully, as if the weight of his massive body is a mere afterthought, and settles down beside you with a gentle thump that stirs the earth beneath you. His head lowers, resting next to your body, and you can’t help but admire the contrast between his imposing form and your own.

Diman’s large eyes soften as he gazes at you, a flicker of understanding shining in the depths of his golden irises. He leans into your offered hand, rubbing his nose against your palm, the warmth of his breath sending shivers up your arm. “It’s safe,” he assures you, his voice deep and reassuring. “The worst that can happen is nothing.” There’s a calm certainty in his words that soothes your worries, but still, a part of you hesitates.

“And what if you stay that size? What then?”

His expression shifts to teasing in an instant, that signature glint returning to his eyes. “What? You won’t love me anymore?” He laughs.

You elbow him playfully, though you can’t shake the feeling that he feels it less than you do. “I don’t want you to change. Would you really be happy if you stayed my size?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.

Diman’s large mouth opens, and for a moment, it seems he’s ready to respond, but then his voice falters, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

“See?” you point out, a small smile playing on your lips. “You would hate it. You like being this scary dragon who can burn down anything.” The words come out more playful than accusatory.

He locks his gaze with you, a knowing look passing between you. “You love that too,” he counters. “And my offer still stands.”

“You won’t burn down my ex-village,” you tell him firmly, your brow furrowing slightly. The thought of it doesn’t stir any deep feelings within you; the village holds no charm or attachment. They had cast you aside, throwing you into the dragon's arms as if your life were a mere game, an expendable pawn in their fears. Even though Diman is the best thing that ever happened to you, the villagers didn’t know that. They had always seen him as a monstrous threat, and now, they likely think you already died at his claws. You are sure they had already forgotten you even existed.

He huffs in mock disappointment, but you can see the spark of mischief in his eyes as he glances back at the small vial still sitting on the ground. The shimmering liquid inside catches the light, glinting like a treasure waiting to be uncovered.

“So?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Do you want me to drink it?”

“You won’t leave me alone until I say yes anyway,” you reply, attempting to suppress the flicker of worry that still lingers in the back of your mind.

“You’re right,” he nods, his golden eyes alight with mischief. Stubborn as ever, and not even trying to hide it.

You sigh, relenting. “Then drink it.”

Diman gives a satisfied rumble, rising to his feet and approaching the small vial on the ground with a careful slowness. He lowers his massive snout until it hovers just above the tiny glass container, his eyes narrowing with annoyance.

Then, after a long pause, he glances up. “Could you… open it?”

The request sounds so awkward, so endearingly out of place, that you can’t help yourself, you lean back, bursting into laughter. “Oh, you beast!” Your voice echoes off the mountain walls.

“Har-har-har,” he grunts, rolling his eyes but staying completely still, clearly waiting for you to help.

Shaking your head with a grin, you finally stand and walk over to the vial. Reaching out, you pop it open. The glass feels cool and smooth beneath your fingers as you twist the tiny cap, releasing a faint, fragrant aroma that drifts up to your nose. It doesn't smell familiar, and it only makes you more worried.

Diman’s eyes remain locked on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering, as you hold out the open vial. For a brief moment, time seems to stand still, the air thick with anticipation, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he parts his jaws, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that glint in the dim light. You carefully reach over the intimidating barrier of fangs, and tilt the vial.

The moment the liquid touches his tongue, the two of you hold your breath, eyes locked on one another as you pull back, watching him intently. You wait, bracing for some shift, some sign of transformation, but the seconds drag on, stretching into a long, tense silence. Diman’s form remains unchanged.

“Do you feel anything?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Nothing,” he replies.

You raise an eyebrow. “How did it taste?”

Diman gives a small shake of his head, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t feel that either,” he mutters, glancing down at the vial with an annoyed huff.

“So… you think they really scammed you?” you ask cautiously, watching his expression closely. Though a part of you feels relieved that nothing bad happened, you can sense Diman’s disappointment like a wave radiating off him. The excitement in his eyes has faded, replaced with a quiet frustration that’s hard to ignore.

“Not necessarily,” he says, shaking his large head slowly, his gaze lingering on the empty vial. “These things… Magic isn’t something you can predict.” His voice is low and thoughtful, as though he’s trying to reason through his own expectations.

More seconds pass, each one dragging with anticipation. Finally, Diman lets out a deep, frustrated huff, the sound echoing off the rough mountain walls. “I’ll still be asking for my gold back,” he mutters, tinged with irritation as he turns, flicking his tail dismissively.

You can’t help it. Your jaw clenches, stifling a laugh as you watch him stalk toward the nest you’ve built together. The sight of a massive dragon sulking over a failed potion is so absurdly endearing that a warm amusement bubbles up in your chest. You know you should feel some disappointment, at least to some extent, but the truth is, your fears had outweighed your hopes all along. A part of you braced for the worst, imagining scenarios where the magic might have gone wrong, and relief floods you. Diman, however, had believed in this wholeheartedly, his hopes stretching far beyond your cautious expectations. As he lies there, huffing quietly to himself, you can feel the lingering frustration radiating from him. For him, the vial had promised something grand, a spark of magic that could have changed everything. Something that could have brought you closer together. And now, that possibility sits hollow between you.

With a sigh, you settle into the nest beside him, pressing yourself close to his hard, scaly skin, feeling the familiar warmth seep through. Blankets and layers of fabric cocoon you, but it’s his presence that truly wraps you in comfort. Reaching out, you let your fingers trail slowly over his scales, each ridge grounding you with its solid, reassuring warmth.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work,” you murmur, resting your hand on his muzzle, feeling his steady breaths rise and fall. “I know how much you wanted it.”

Diman lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting shut, the weight of his disappointment evident in the subtle slump of his shoulders. “I suppose… magic can’t fix everything,” he says, a note of reluctant acceptance in his voice.

You scowl, the words prickling at something within you. “We didn’t need fixing,” you correct him firmly, your voice resolute. “We just needed a little help, that’s all.”

His eyes flick open, absorbing the certainty in your tone. “Careful,” he teases, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. “If you get any angrier, you just might breathe fire.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “Please. Like that wouldn’t turn you on.”

A rumbling laugh escapes him, deep and rich, reverberating through his chest and into you, filling the entire nest with his amusement. “Without question.”

Soon, a comfortable silence settles between you, wrapping around you as gently as Diman’s scales. The dim light casts soft shadows across the nest, and the warmth of his body radiates through the blankets, lulling you into a calm, drowsy state until you both fall asleep.

The morning feels like it comes too soon as you awaken to the sensation of something, or someone, touching you. A large hand grips your hips roughly, and something warm and demanding grinds against your backside from behind, and your instinct kicks in almost immediately. You jolt up, adrenaline flooding your system, a mix of fear and anger igniting within you.

“Who-” you start to threaten, ready to defend yourself, but your words falter as your gaze settles on Diman. The dragon, though still large and dominating, is much smaller than last night.

He looks at you, an excited grin spreading across his muzzle, and those familiar golden eyes sparkle with mischief. “Good morning,” he rumbles. The low growl of his voice reverberates through the air, sending a thrill through you despite the surprise.

You blink in confusion. “What happened to you?” you ask, your heart racing as you process the changes. The potion actually worked.

Diman shifts slightly, his movements graceful even in this smaller form, and he chuckles softly. “Seems like the potion had a bit of an effect after all,” he replies with a playful gleam in his eye. “I suppose it decided to play a trick on me.”

"You are smaller!" you exclaim, still shocked.

Diman huffs with a playful mockery in his tone. “Yeah, every male loves to hear that.”

You can’t help but laugh, nearly throwing yourself at him as you eagerly scan his new form over and over again. “No, really! Look! I can cup your face!” With that, you do just that, cradling his still-large head in your palms, marveling at how you can finally reach him so easily. Though he’s undeniably still big and powerful, the change is strikingly evident.

The dragon lets out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Yes, you can.” His fingers curl gently around your wrists, holding you steady as you settle over his torso, your heart racing with the thrill of exploration. “And you know what else you can?”

“What?” you ask, curiosity piqued by the teasing lilt in his voice.

“You can kiss me too.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you process his words, a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness unfurling in your stomach. Though you’ve shared many intimate moments, the size difference has always kept you from kissing. Now, with Diman smaller and more accessible, it feels like a significant milestone. A first kiss with the male you love. You stare into his warm, golden eyes, seeing a playful invitation and a deep sincerity in his gaze. The moment stretches between you, heavy with anticipation. Everything you feel for him swells, memories of your shared experiences flooding your mind, and you realize how much you’ve longed for this simple, yet profound act.

Bracing yourself on his broad chest, you lean in, closing the distance with a racing heart and burning anticipation. The moment your lips meet his, his arms curl around you, holding you tight as he captures you in a searing kiss that feels both exhilarating and surreal.

It is a little awkward, his snout makes things difficult, creating a strange angle, but you don’t care about anything. As his tongue slips into your mouth, a thrill runs through you, sending shivers down your spine. You respond instinctively, matching his intensity. Your own tongue shyly dances with his as the world around you fades into a blissful haze. Every worry and every lingering doubt dissipates in the wake of this kiss. You grip his scales, feeling the power beneath your fingertips, and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, exhilaration bubbling up inside you. Diman’s hold tightens, his powerful form radiating safety and warmth, and you revel in the delicious contrast between his strength and the tenderness he holds.

Soon, your kiss turns even more heated. The world outside is completely forgotten as you lose yourselves in each other. Diman’s hands move with a surprising gentleness, yet there’s a firm intent behind them as they find your hips, guiding you across the length of his cock that juts out from the sheath of his scales.

You gasp against his mouth, the sensation sending a rush of heat through your body, amplifying the electric tension that fills the air between you. His touch is both exhilarating and overwhelming, the sheer size of him a reminder of the powerful creature he is, even in this smaller form.

The friction between your bodies ignites a primal instinct within you, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long. As he guides you, the reality of the moment washes over you, filling you with a mix of excitement and need.

“Fuck me,” you hum against his mouth, the words spilling out in a breathy whisper. “Fuck me, please,” you plead, desperation creeping into your voice as the heat of the moment grows inside you.

“As you wish,” he replies, his tone low and filled with a teasing promise.

With quick, deliberate movements, he tugs your nightgown off your body, the fabric sliding away to leave you bare and vulnerable atop him. The cool air kisses your skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his body beneath you.

Diman’s eyes darken with desire as he takes in your exposed form. His hands roam across your skin, exploring the curves of your body as he takes his time, savoring the moment. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, igniting every nerve ending as you arch against him, hungry for more. Your hips grind down on him in a restless motion, each movement filled with desire, and your lips part with a silent whine when one of his hands cups your breast, the hard pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple with just the right amount of pressure.

“Perfect,” the dragon groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he pulls you closer, just enough so he can take your breast into his mouth. His warm breath sends another wave of tingling pleasure through you, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him as he swipes his tongue over the hard bud again and again, sending sparks of electricity shooting through your core. Diman’s mouth is a warm haven, his skilled tongue teasing and exploring in ways that leave you breathless. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the need for him growing with each passing moment.

He responds to your silent plea, his other hand sliding down your body, fingers trailing along your waist before finding their way between your legs. You shiver as he brushes against your most sensitive area. “You’re so responsive,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. “I could stay here forever.”

You feel your body respond eagerly to his touch. Diman’s fingers find your most sensitive spot, teasing you with a gentle caress that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. The heat pooling in your belly intensifies as he continues to explore, each movement deliberate and intoxicating.

“Please,” you gasp, the word slipping from your lips as you lose yourself in the sensations. You can’t get enough of him, of the way he touches you, the way he makes you feel utterly desired. Your hips rock against his hand, chasing the pleasure he offers, and you can feel your body tightening, coiling with need.

Diman’s gaze is locked on you, filled with a mixture of hunger and adoration as he watches your reactions. “You’re beautiful like this,” he growls, the timbre of his voice sending another rush of warmth across your heated skin. “So responsive, so ready.”

His fingers begin to work in earnest, sliding through your slickness, exploring your heat with a confidence that sends you spiraling further into bliss. You arch your back, gasping as he finds the perfect rhythm, his touch sending you closer to the edge with every passing second.

“Diman, I-” you start, but the words fade into a soft moan as he applies just the right pressure, his thumb circling your sensitive nub while his fingers plunge deeper into your pussy. You can feel the tension building, a delicious wave of pleasure that threatens to wash over you.

“Let go,” he urges, his voice low and sultry as he leans in to capture your lips again. The taste of him, of warmth and desire, fills your senses, pushing you closer to the precipice.

With every thrust of his fingers and every flick of his tongue, you feel the world around you dissolve, leaving only the two of you caught in this moment.

“Diman, I’m so close,” you breathe against his mouth, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. His eyes gleam with anticipation, and you know he wants to see you come undone for him.

“Then let it happen,” he whispers with a raw need that matches your own. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

With his encouragement, you surrender to the pleasure, letting it wash over you in powerful waves. You cry out, the sound escaping your lips as you feel the release crash over you, your body shaking with the force of it. Diman holds you close, his hands steadying you as you ride the waves of ecstasy, feeling utterly consumed in his protective arms.

The day passes by in a hazy heat, the cave echoing with your moans and the wet sounds of your bodies meeting over and over again. Each moment feels intoxicating, a blur of pleasure that leaves you half-delirious. You lose track of time, lost in the warmth of Diman’s body and the fierce kisses you share.

But soon, a low growl emanates from your stomach. Diman’s keen ears perk up at the noise, and he pauses, his gaze shifting from the heat of the moment to your flushed face. “You need to eat,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you can protest, he rises from beneath you, his large frame casting a shadow over your body as he retrieves a sizable plate piled high with fruits and leftover meat from yesterday. The sight is mouthwatering, but your legs feel so shaky from your recent orgasms that you can’t even attempt to stand.

Diman sets the plate down beside you, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “You need your strength, little one,” he murmurs, concern threading through his voice.

As you nibble on the fruit, you feel a mix of satisfaction and frustration. The sweetness of the berries bursts in your mouth, refreshing and filling, but it’s difficult to focus on anything other than the ache of longing still lingering inside you. Even this brief pause to eat seems too long without him inside you, all over you.

There’s a playful glint in his gaze as the dragon watches you, one that makes your heart race in anticipation. “Do I need to remind you how to eat properly?” he teases, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh. “I think I remember how to eat, thank you very much,” you reply, your voice teasing back. But as you finish the last of the fruit, the lingering heat from earlier starts to settle back in, pooling low in your belly once more.

“Good. Now, what do you want next?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sends a thrill through you.

You meet his gaze, the air thick with unspoken desire. “I want you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I want you again.”

His smirk widens, revealing sharp teeth that glint in the dim light of the cave. “Then I suppose we should get back to it, shouldn’t we?” he replies, his tone dripping with mischief.

Your heart leaps at the promise in his words, and you eagerly nod, ready to lose yourself once more in the heat of his embrace.

Even though your body has adjusted to his large size, you can still feel every inch of him penetrating your drenched heat as Diman pounds into you restlessly. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure rippling through you, igniting the fire that smolders in your core. Your fingers grip the soft fabrics of the nest beneath you, desperately trying to anchor yourself as you keep your shaking legs spread wide open, moving against him with each powerful thrust.

His grip is bruisingly tight on your hips, holding you firmly in place as he drives into you with a primal intensity that leaves you gasping for breath. The sounds of your bodies meeting, skin against skin, and the wet squelch of your pleasure, echo in the cave, mingling with your moans and his deep growls of satisfaction. It’s a wild symphony of desire that fills the air around you.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the raw power of his body as he claims you over and over again. The slickness between your legs becomes a glistening mess, a testament of the last several hours. Your juices mix with his cum, dripping down your thighs and smearing across your skin.

With each thrust, the pressure builds within you, a delicious tension that teeters on the edge of release. “Diman,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “I’m so close… Please.”

He responds with a low, rumbling growl that vibrates through your body as he quickens his pace. “Then let go, little one,” he urges. His voice is a sultry whisper against your ear. “I want to feel you come around me.”

The way he says it, filled with longing and authority, sends you spiraling closer to that edge. You can feel your body tightening, the pleasure pooling and building until it feels almost unbearable. You arch your back, pushing against him, urging him deeper, craving the sweet release that hovers just out of reach.

With one final, powerful thrust, Diman hits that perfect spot deep inside you, sending you over the edge. Your body quakes with the force of your climax, a wave of ecstasy crashing through you as you cry out his name. It echoes in the cave.

The dragon growls, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrusts into you a few more times, riding out your release with you. You can feel him swell inside you, the heat of his body overwhelming as he spills into you, filling you completely. It’s a sensation that makes your heart race and your body sing, leaving you breathless and utterly consumed in the afterglow.

The dragon settles down beside you, both of you weak and breathless, the air heavy with the lingering scent of your shared passion. “There are not enough positions for how much I want you,” he says, low and raspy.

You can’t help but laugh, a light sound that echoes softly in the cave. Turning around to face him, you meet with the warmth of his gaze. The golden hue of his eyes is still filled with need and affection. Your muscles shake slightly from the exertion, and you can feel the delicious sensitivity radiating from your core. Even the lightest rub of your thighs together sends tremors through your body, making you keenly aware of just how much he’s awakened every nerve.

“Careful,” you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “I might take that as an invitation for round-” Your words halt, caught in the air as you lock eyes with him.

Diman shakes his head, amusement sparkling in his golden gaze. “I lost count,” he replies, the corners of his mouth curling up in a sly grin. “But I know I’m not done yet.”

The playful banter hangs between you, thick with a tension that electrifies the space. You can feel your heart racing, anticipation bubbling up inside you. His confidence is intoxicating, and the warmth of his body against yours only heightens your own, never-easing hunger.

“Maybe we should start again from the beginning,” you suggest, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as you lean in closer. “Explore every position until we can’t move anymore.”

A low growl rumbles in Diman’s chest at your words, sending a thrill of excitement across your spine. “Oh, I like the sound of that,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “But you might need to hold on tight. I have a feeling this will be one wild ride.”

You grin, the challenge igniting a spark of mischief in your eyes. “Bring it on,” you reply boldly, pushing against him playfully.

With a quick movement, Diman rolls you onto your back, his weight settling over you, strong and powerful yet careful not to crush you. The playful glint in his eyes mirrors your own excitement, and you can’t help but laugh as he leans down, his snout hovering inches from your face.

“Let’s see just how many ways I can make you feel good again,” he says, thick with promise.

Without saying a word, you arch your back against him, craving his touch once more, and Diman, with a wicked smile, lowers his head. His warm breath fans across your skin as he presses soft kisses along your collarbone. Each gentle caress of his lips sends tingling shivers cascading down your spine, awakening every nerve ending in your body. “I hope you’re ready."

Your heart races in anticipation, and you nod, breathless and eager. “I am.” Your reply is barely louder than a whisper. “I want you, Diman.”

His eyes flare with heat at your words, and he responds with a deep, possessive growl that vibrates through your chest. With newfound urgency, he captures your lips with his. You melt into him, your body arching against his as he explores your mouth with a hungry fervor.

With each kiss, Diman’s hands wander, tracing the curves of your body and igniting flames of desire with every gentle touch. His fingers find your waist, gripping you tightly as he pulls you closer, their strength both grounding and exhilarating. You can feel the heat radiating from him, overwhelming yet comforting, as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a sultry dance that leaves you breathless.

As he pulls away slightly, his gaze locks onto yours, intense and full of promise. “Tell me what you want,” he urges.

You can’t help but let out a soft moan, feeling the delicious heat pooling in your core. “I want to feel you inside me,” you confess, trembling slightly with excitement.

A predatory smile spreads across Diman’s face, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “As you wish.”

With that, he positions himself above you, his powerful frame eclipsing the dim light of the cave. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air as he slowly begins to guide himself to your entrance. Your breath hitches at the sensation, the fullness of him hovering just at the brink, teasing you with every passing second.

“Please,” you urge, the need in your tone is undeniable.

Diman’s gaze darkens with lust as he pushes into you, filling you completely in one smooth motion. You both gasp at the sensation, the exquisite pressure and warmth engulfing you as he stretches you to your limits. It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, and utterly perfect.

“Just like that,” you encourage, your hips instinctively rolling against him, urging him to move deeper. “Don’t hold back.”

He grins with a wicked glint in his eyes as he responds to your plea. With powerful, deliberate thrusts, he begins to move inside you. Each stroke of his cock in your drenched pussy causes a mix of pleasure and pain to throb through your body. You are oversensitive and tired, but the burning knot in your stomach doesn't let you rest. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with your gasps and moans.

Diman’s powerful frame shifts and molds against yours, finding that perfect rhythm that leaves you breathless. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, consumed by the fire of your lust for each other.

“You feel so good,” the dragon growls, his breath hot against your skin as he leans down to capture your lips once more. The kiss is fervent, filled with raw passion and impatience.

“Don’t stop,” you plead. Your voice trembles with desperation as you cling to him, your nails digging into his scales as you move with him, wanting more, craving everything he has to give.

Diman responds with a primal roar, his movements becoming more frantic and more intense as he drives deeper into you. The air between you becomes electric, each thrust bringing you closer to that delicious peak of your orgasm.

“Let go with me,” he commands.

And then, just as you reach another climax, the world explodes around you in a blinding rush of pleasure. You cry out his name, the sound echoing through the cave as waves of ecstasy crash over you, pulling you down into the depths of bliss as Diman follows you, his body shuddering against yours, filling you completely with the heat of his release.

The morning comes, and you aren't sure how. You’re convinced you simply lost your consciousness at some point, overwhelmed by the intensity of the night. As you turn around, the warmth of your shared body heat lingers in the air, but you are met with the familiar sight of Diman in his original form.

He’s large and imposing, his scales shimmering in the soft light filtering through the cave. His tail curls around you possessively, an instinctive gesture that makes your heart flutter. Diman opens his eyes slowly, blinking at you sleepily, a low rumble of contentment emanating from his chest.

“Good morning,” he rumbles, his voice still thick with sleep yet filled with an undertone of affection that sends warmth spreading through you. You can’t help but smile at the sight of him, a mix of fierce power and undeniable gentleness.

"You are back in your form," you tell him quietly, reaching out to caress his snout, your fingers gliding over the smooth, cool scales.

"I am back," he replies, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans into your touch, savoring your closeness.

Though yesterday was amazing and mind-blowing, and you can still feel the lingering sensation of him between your sore thighs and the warmth of his body enveloping you, you’re just as happy to see him back in his original form as you were to experience his smaller size. “I’m happy to see you,” you confess, your voice filled with sincerity.

Diman’s eyes soften at your words, and he lifts his massive head slightly. “I’m glad you are,” he murmurs, and you can sense the warmth of his emotions radiating from him.

For a while, you both lay in your nest, snuggled close, the world outside forgotten in the comfort of each other’s presence. The rhythm of his breath lulls you into a peaceful state until Diman breaks the silence. "Now, how about burning down your village?"

You blink, taken aback by his sudden shift in tone. "Would you really have the power to leave the mountain?" you ask, curiosity piqued despite the absurdity of the idea.

He hums in amusement, the sound deep and rumbling. "Not even the nest," he admits with a playful smirk curling his lips. "But I can go and get more of that potion if you want."

You shake your head, curling yourself against his massive, warm head, already half-asleep. "No," you sigh, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the comfort of his presence. "Let’s sleep for a whole week."

[tenthousandyearsx]

...suddenly a breaking news ticker appeared. [Seseong Guild Leader Sung Hyunjae, Wedding Scheduled for January 1st.] …Huh? I blinked. What? What? Gyeol and I both gaped. It was time, I guess. He was planning to get married before he turned forty. Since next year would be the last year of his thirties, I could understand. No matter how you look at it, thirties and forties feel different, right? Yeah, better do it before it’s too late. It’s sudden, but I can understand. Wait a minute, though—he didn’t get married before the regression, did he? And who is he marrying? Wasn't he dating no one? The first of January wasn’t far off, so why rush into a wedding as if frying beans in a flash of lightning? Is he showing his skill attributes by getting married suddenly? – Ah, ah. Gyeol, who was about to call out to me, closed his mouth again. As expected, Sanchez, who had been staring at the TV in shock, spoke to us. [...] At Sanchez's words, Gyeol tugged on my shoulder and shouted. – Dad, is that real?! “Well, I don’t know. I never saw any signs of dating. Did they fall for each other during a party or something?” Could that be it? But with who? No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t think of anyone who might have been in a relationship with Sung Hyunjae. After all, that guy wasn’t the type to take an interest in anyone... It wouldn’t be Chief Song, would it? Surely not. But then again, who else could it be but Chief Song? What is this? Could this only happen in America? Both are Korean, so they’d have to follow Korean law. Could they have gotten U.S. citizenship in just five days? For an S-class hunter, dual citizenship would be easy to obtain. ...So where should I send my congratulatory gift? Sung Hyunjae is rich, so should I send it to Chief Song? No, wait, there’s no way those two are getting married! I don’t know about Sung Hyunjae, but there’s no way Chief Song would go along with that! – Dad, dad, are you okay? “Uh, yeah. But seriously, who’s bold enough to... Did they fall for his face? You shouldn’t marry someone just for their looks. Though, he is quite wealthy.” Marriage, huh? I wonder if Sung Hyunjae’s wedding will have a buffet. Who will sit at the family seats? I’ve never heard anything about the Seseong Guild Leader’s parents. But since we’re somewhat close, should I offer to MC the wedding? Usually, it’s a friend of the groom who does it. But I can’t have Chief Song do it. [It has not yet been confirmed, but they are said to be an S-class awakened.] The announcer's voice echoed from the TV. What? S-class? No way, it can’t really be Chief Song, can it?! [The individual was spotted to be a woman in her twenties, but nothing is confirmed–] “Do you have no conscience?!” Even if she’s in her late twenties, that’s a ten-year age gap! No way, I can’t MC this wedding. If by any chance it turns out to be a young woman in her early twenties, I’ll ruin this wedding myself for the sake of business honor. After that, the TV didn’t offer any more useful information. S-class hunters even make breaking news with things like this, huh? Well, if they marry a foreigner and move to another country, it would become a national issue. I looked at Sanchez with desperate eyes. “Aren’t you curious about what’s going on? I happen to have the direct number of the Seseong Guild Leader, so just one call–let me make one call!” [...] However, Sanchez shook his head firmly and told me to wait here before stepping outside again. [...]

“Sung Hyunjae-ssi, if this marriage that was announced today is something you wanted, please strike me with lightning right now.” Three seconds. 3, 2, 1. No lightning. Guess I can go ahead and stop this. [...]

“What the hell is Sung Hyunjae up to? Is he really too busy to send a single message?” I opened the messaging app. [America’s Hero^^] I saw my last message to Sung Hyunjae, where I had cursed at him. It was nonsense after he had complimented my outfit, saying it looked good on me. “…I guess we’ve sort of become friends, huh.” So I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know. [If you don’t send a wedding invitation by today, I’m coming for you.] [...] Come to think of it, how many times has this happened now? His birthday party invite, he ghosted me without replying, then I barged in and blew up his house. The cruise was wrecked, and the hotel wasn’t spared either. So Sung Hyunjae must have intentionally not sent the invitation, knowing I'd ruin the wedding venue. Was that the signal he was sending, that he wanted me to destroy it? [...] “Yerim-ie, I guess we’ll have to attend the wedding too.”

– The S Classes that I Raised – Chapter 603: Wedding Season

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 6 - Bonus

Summary: poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o AU. WC: 850

CW: mentions of heat, mentions of sex.

TVD masterlist - next bonus

Enjoy <3

“So how many hours do you think we’ll have to kill?” Johnny asks as he spots Kyle.

“Depends on how out of practice he is.” Kyle chuckles.

“I reckon he’s got more stamina then he claims. Just likes to watch us do all the work.” Johnny says winking at him.

“Pff, you’re a menace you know that.” Kyle says, putting the weights down.

“What do you think LT?” Johnny calls over at Simon, who’s sat on the next machine reading a file.

“None of my business Soap.” He says without looking up. Kyle looks up at Johnny moving off the machine.

“Christ what’s up your arse today?” Johnny scoffs taking Kyle’s place on the bench press.

“What do you think it’s going to be like when she’s in heat?” Kyle asks.

“Don’t know. Dr. Montgomery knows what she’s doing.” Johnny says picking up the weights. “Besides we’re not the ones who have to worry, right Si?”

Simon sighs trying not to let his irritation come through.

“She’s definitely pretty.” Johnny says. Simon looks up at him as she brings the weights down.

“What you thinking about?” Kyle asks.

“Nothin’ just mentioning ‘s all.” He grunts pushing the weights back up. Simon sighs again going back to the file.

“You’re sayin’ you wouldn’t if you had the opportunity?” Johnny asks the room sitting up. Kyle scoffs.

“Well, it seems so complicated.” Kyle says shrugging.

“Pff, it’s just sex.” Johnny chuckles. Simon stands up. Kyle and Johnny watch as he heads to the door.

“Where you off too?” Johnny calls.

“To find some peace and quiet.” He calls back.

“Jesus. Do you know how quiet you are?” Piper says jumping at the hulking figure who seemingly just appeared next to her. Simon smiles under his mask.

“What are you working on?” He asks. She sighs pulling a paper towards her.

“Hale made the formula to resist almost all known pathogen’s. I’m trying to find if there are any he missed.” She says as he comes round to sit next to her. “You okay? I would have thought you’d be in bed by now.”

“Fine.” He replies. There’s a silence in the air, Piper doesn’t push him scrolling through something on her computer.

“Why did she choose him over me?” Simon doesn’t move, his gaze fixated on the piece of paper in front of him. Piper looks over at him, he fidgets with the paper.

“I don’t think she did.” She says. She’s not quite sure what to say. She has to be careful with her words.

“Simon, it’s normal to have the same urges as John. But it’s not her fault how things have happened.”

“I know that.” He scoffs, there's hostility in his voice. “Never mind.”

Piper goes back to the computer. The data she’s looking at suddenly seems like the most tedious job in the world.

“You told me you thinks she hates you.” She says, testing the waters. He just hums pushing the piece of paper away. “Do you still think that?”

“No.” He sighs. “I think she’s scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you. She’s not used to having people around her she can trust. Especially alpha’s.” She says looking over at him. “You already come across as an intimidating person.” He turns to look at her and she smiles. She can’t read his expression under the mask as easy as she wants to. He looks back down at the table.

“You could try going for a walk with her. She likes the outdoors.” She suggests. He hums.

“Do you really think there could be a double claiming?”

“I don’t know. But if you would have asked me a few weeks ago if a pack could survive with 2 alphas I would have laughed in your face. It seems to be working out well.” She says.

“Maybe we’re special.” He says, she can hear the bitterness in his voice.

“Yeah, I think you are.” She says ignoring it. “You don’t need do anything fancy, or have sex with her. Just be there, talk to her. She’ll open up to you.”

“You have to open up too though. Don’t get something for nothing.” She says nudging him. He takes a big breath in.

“Now that I don’t believe,” he says, Piper smiles turning back to her laptop.

“It’ll work out Simon, whatever happens you’ll face it as a pack. That’s a strength a lot of people will never have.” He looks over at her the laptop lighting up her face as she works. He presses his lips together looking back at the piece of paper he’s been fiddling with.

At least when they have a cure he won’t need to worry about this anymore. Life can go back to normal. There's a photo of you pinned in the corner of the paper. It makes him smile.

"Need a hand?" He asks pushing the paper away.

"Always." She chuckles.

Chapter 6 - next bonus

Dividers by plum98

[sbcdh]

You know where the word cocaine comes from? Its Quechua. Just the name of the damn plant. I think it was 1971, maybe 72. I dunno- 

Could you start at the beginning?

Huh? Yeah, sure. Course. Uhh. Lets see…

Take your time. 

Woof. Lets see…I started in uhhh, 72. Some tiny little bottle-rocket firm sweatin for talent, head broker was this big red fatass named Ron Spade, hell of a guy, but the place got bought out by Bear Stearns in 73 when the shit really hit the fan. It was a rough time to be on a trade floor. IRS just put out the whole hypnoeconomics thing. Half the big firms were runnin’ around with their hair on fire, the other half felt invincible. Every day was a party. Party party party. 

Was that your first interaction with hypnostimulants? 

I guess. Its funny. First guy to give me quori was a cop. 

You mean an agent of the FDA? 

No no, like an old fashioned NYPD beat cop. Met him in the bathroom at Pink during a bender. Moron was so faded he thought I was his informant. Just gave me a phial. 

And you tried it?

Not right away no. To be honest I thought it was kinda faggy. Sorry. Its just what I thought at the time. The shit was sparkly, you know? What kinda drug comes in phials? Shoulda known something was up. 

Would you say hypnostimulants were popular at the time? 

At the time? Depends what you mean by popular. People didn’t know about that shit yet. You heard stories, dudes shooting up in the woods upstate, gettin found with their eyeballs exploded. It was early days, ya know? But like, that didn’t happen. That was urban legends. You know who was actually fucking around with the early stuff? Accountants. 

Accountants?

Yeah, you know, the bookkeepers. See,  I’m really just a plumber. I move money from one pipe to another pipe. But instead of wrenches and sprockets or whatever, I use charm. Its pretty easy if you ask me. Imagine if you could just tell water where it already wanted to go. You’re water’s best pal. Nah. It was those nerds in the basement, the spreadsheet guys that figured out how to expense shit so the IRS couldn’t get ya. Those were the fuckers who really dove in. 

What got you using regularly? 

Same shit as everyone else. Makes the job easier. 

How so?

You can feel the money in their pocket. Its like, I dunno how to describe it. Its like…Its like, a turd sitting in a hammock. You can feel how the money bends everything around it. You can see it, smell it. You can hear it over the phone. You can’t ignore it. Shit is nuts. You take enough, and its like you can’t see anything else. Or. No. Its like…You see that you don’t need to see anything else. Money is everything. You’re money. I’m money. Its all just rivers of money flowing through everything. 

By 1973 you were a regular user yes?

Regular makes it sound normal. But yeah I know what you mean. “Regular user.”  76 was the sweet spot. The drugs were good, but the regulators hadn’t stepped up yet. You and some buddies could set up in a club bathroom with nothing but a blindfold and a pile. You ever seen a stock floor with a headfull of that fancy government shit? 

Would you like to discuss the raid? 

No. Not really. 

I understand you were the only one in a sub-emmanation state when Hypnoregulators arrived on the scene. 

I don't want to talk about it. 

Very well then, my associate will be happy to take you to prison as per the agreement you signed. 

Alright alright, Christ. 

Please. In your own words. 

From what I understand, you pulled spade outta bed. Got a confession and everything that morning. 9 fuckin AM, and 200 IRS agents come busting in the doors. I was in the bathroom seeing shit. It's marble lined, lots gold filigree. All that jazz. Special made. Listen. I'm serious about the stock floor shit. Whatever you guys have, it's different than what we had back then. I mean, the shit was still cut with cocaine. A stock floor wasn't a stock floor, it was like…

The raid, please. 

I'm getting to it! You gotta know this shit okay? I need you to understand what you goons fuckin wrecked. It was perfect okay? A garden of Eden . Ripe fruit. Everything just works. You don't have to worry about shit. You're a hunter, a killer, the great fuckin god pan, and the floor is your field of delights. It's like being a beating heart, like being struck by lightning. You can feel the sun in your pocket, and how it's all flowing through everything. And then you fucks showed up. 

It was cold. I felt it first. Like I just threw the biggest party, and mom and dad were coming home early. But you know what I saw? You know those Chinese dragon dancers? Or, lions, or whatever they are? You know how there's two guys in the costume? I saw a dragon, a beast with eyes like the sun, teeth dripping gold, a bunch of IRS suits holding its pelt on their shoulders like you carry your baby home. 

Your statement alluded to some additional information. 

Yeah…there was something else… I dunno how to describe it. The fuckin…eyes, like the sun. Thats how you feel when you're on this shit. You're seein’ gold. I looked into the dragons eyes, and it's like, it's like I saw me. Like I was the dragon, and I was looking at me. Or…no. I was the sun. I was looking at myself. It was like, in that moment I knew something. I learned something. 

What exactly is that?

I dunno. It doesn't fit into words. But like. You aren't regulating shit. 

I'm sorry? 

Yeah. All this shit. The dragon. The field. The dancers. It's all just the sun.

[paulyenvol6]

Bound by Flame (Chapter 15)

Contains: smut, fingering (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dubcon, possessiveness, edging, overstimulating, biting, bruising, gagging, dirty talk, degrading, mentions of words like slut and whore, jealousy, dom!Daemon, incest

Wordcount: ~4.24k

Masterlist of this story

Lord Jakor led Maera on the dance floor and just like she had done before with Daemon she let him put his hand on her waist.

Of course she preferred to feel her husband's hand but she didn't mind Jakor. He was a kind man and his eyes didn't have this maliciousness inside of them that she had seen in Cylvin's. And as Maera now found out, Lord Jakor was a fantastic dancer. He twirled her around so quickly that she let out a gasp but broke out in laughter shortly after.

"Too fast for you, princess?" he smiled but she shook her head.

"No no, my lord. I just wasn't expecting it."

The two of them moved to the music for another two songs until Maera wiped the sweat off her forehead and greedily inhaled for air.

"I think I need a break, my lord."

"Of course, princess. As you wish."

With these words he bowed deeply but her attention was suddenly drawn somewhere else. It was Daemon who just made his way through the crowd and he didn't look amused. Maera straightened up and breathed in a couple of times. He wouldn't be angry, she would just explain to him what happened. The girl knew very well about her husband's jealousy that even faded into possessiveness at times but this was a different case.

She looked at him as sweetly and adoringly as she could and reached out for his hand once he stood in front of her.

"How was it, my love?" she asked and he raised his eyebrows.

"Good."

She sensed that he was a little sulky so Maera thought it was best to distract her husband from his anger and instead continued to ask him about his friend.

"What did you talk about?"

"His life. My life."

She toyed with his fingers and lovingly ran her thumb over the back of his hand.

"Well, it seems like there wasn't a lot to talk about," she smiled but Daemon's face tensed.

"You're honestly surprised that I'm not in the mood to tell you about our conversation? After I've come back to find you dancing with another man? After I've told you not to do anything stupid."

She sighed and rested her hand on the side of his face.

"Daemon, we were only dancing. I love you and you only. I'm not interested in being close to anyone who's not you."

"Then why did you dance with him?" he hissed but then leaned down to kiss her forehead. This gesture made his niece smile because it hinted at the fact that he wasn't as angry with her as she had feared.

"He asked me and I didn't want to refuse after he saved me from Ser Cylvin Lannister. He was bothering me and I wanted to flee from the conversation with him which Lord Jakor noticed and so he stepped in."

"Cylvin Lannister?" Daemon spitted.

"Yes. He wouldn't leave me alone."

The rogue prince blared his teeth and threatingly looked around in the room.

"Where is he?"

But Maera, who most definitely didn't wish for any escalation tonight quickly grabbed his arm.

"It's fine, uncle. Really. Perhaps he has even left the feast already."

Daemon mumbled something she couldn't understand but seemed to let it go because his eyes wandered to Maera again. He chewed on his lips as if he intended to say something but changed his mind and just searchingly watched her.

"Should we go back to the table?" Maera asked after a while but Daemon didn't even twitch.

"Please, Daemon. You really are dramatising this."

Faster than she had been able to foresee it, his hand grabbed the side of her neck and he threatingly stroke her thin skin.

"Careful. You're forgetting yourself."

He lightly squeezed her throat but not so much that she was unable to speak.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and looked up to him under her lashes.

Daemon was satisfied with her answer and his hand wandered up to her cheek to soothingly caress her.

"Come," he then said shortly and started to make his way back to the table while pulling Maera with him.

Once Viserys spotted the couple she could see a crease between his eyes but she didn't have any time to think about it because she was already gently pushed to her chair which she took her seat on.

Daemon sat down as well and immediately poured some wine in his cup. And then after he had taken a sip he rested his hand on Maera's thigh; a possessive and owning gesture. He wanted to let everyone know that his niece wasn't their's to look at. She had always been his and just the thought of some lord lusting after his girl during the years of his exile when he hadn't been in king's landing to look after her made the blood in his veins boil. He would get her with child again, Daemon thought. So everyone would see that she was his alone and that they weren't to even think about her.

His hand on her thigh tightened and he knew that his nails digging in her flesh must hurt her but she didn't let anything show. Then his other hand took hold of her chin and he softly but firmly turned her head towards him.

"Look at me," he whispered and the image of Maera's big eyes made his cock swell. "You're mine."

She nodded, just a very slight and yet conscious movement.

"Yes. I'm yours."

In this moment he wished for nothing more than to be buried inside of her warm and inviting cunt and to pound into her until she was a whimpering mess underneath him. Make her eyes roll back, leave bite marks on her neck and feel her soft breasts in his hands. Toy with her nipples until they were hard.

Daemon dropped his hand from her cheek and the hand on her thigh left her body as well. Maera couldn't hide her displeasure and disappointingly waited for an explanation from her husband. But he just stared at the feast below with narrowed eyes while crossing his arms in front of him.

"What is it, uncle?" she asked but he fully ignored her which was why Maera sank back in her chair sulking for he didn't give her any further attention.

Viserys had only caught half of what was going on between his brother and daughter but now observed them with a furrowed brow. Neither Daemon nor Maera noticed him though so both just kept their eyes to the scene before their eyes until the rogue prince tilted his head to glare at his niece.

"We'll go back to our chambers now."

Maera wasn't thrilled and frowned at him.

"Can't we stay a little longer? I wanted to talk to my brother again."

"I said now," Daemon said quietly.

She exhaled loudly but obeyed and stood up abruptly. Swiftly the girl approached her father and kissed his cheek.

"Goodnight, father."

Viserys clearly was overwhelmed with all of the things happening around him but he had no choice but to nod and dismiss her. Then Daemon got off his chair as well and bowed his head.

"Goodnight, your grace."

3 minutes later the couple entered their chambers. They had only exchanged a few words during their short walk but now that they had their privacy again Daemon sighed deeply and took off his coat.

"Draining," he just spoke while Maera took out her earrings.

"What is?"

Her uncle scoffed and then sank down on a chair as if he had never been more exhausted.

"All of it. These false courtesies and everyone being nice to each other although they secretly hate each other."

Maera didn't answer him and instead concentrated on undoing her hairstyle. But then Daemon's voice cut through the air and she stopped in her motion.

"Come here."

She turned around and saw her husband with a challenging look on his face. Maera followed his order and walked towards him, not sure what he wanted of her.

"On my lap," he gave further instructions and she pulled up her dress and then let herself down the wrong way around on his thighs.

Daemon immediately pulled her closer by gripping her arse and shoving her until she was above his cock. She gasped out and grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

"Someone's being a little jumpy, mhm?" he chuckled and then pushed the hem of her dress up until he had access to what he had been looking for. Her smallcloth still covered his absolute favourite part of her body but the picture of her parted thighs alone made him sigh in satisfaction and he felt his cock twitch.

Maera apprehensively watched her uncle who took his time in observing her but then his hand wandered between her legs and light as a feather he brushed over her slit with his pointer finger. He was so teasingly and slow that Maera could already sense in what direction this was heading so she closed her eyes and surpressed a moan.

"Please… No teasing," she pleaded and Daemon sarcastically lifted his eyebrows.

"Oh so you think you deserve to just come immediately? You think you don't deserve a bit of suffering?"

"I do," she whined because he had started to rub her pearl very lightly. It was torture because while she loved the attention on her throbbing bundle of nerves it only increased her desire and Daemon wasn't eager to fulfill her wish yet.

"But please just… Please don't tease me."

His finger flicked her pearl and Maera whimpered quietly. She needed him to properly stimulate her nub, seven hells. This was tormenting, she thought and wished she could close her legs just to get rid of some of the tension in her lower belly. But then just as she was about to complain again his thumb pressed into her pearl and he started to circle it with so much intensity that she choked on her breathing.

"Fuck," Maera pressed and her head dropped to her uncle's shoulder.

But Daemon let out a disapproving sigh and yanked her head back by grabbing a fistful of her hair.

"You will look at me, little one. You will look into my eyes when you come. Well… if you'll come."

He was evil, she declared in her head. But she loved it at the same time. His fingers were so skilled that she already after merely a couple of minutes felt like she wouldn't be able to even stand on her own. Let alone bring out a coherent sentence. He now used two of his fingers to rub her pearl and now and then enclosed it to gently squeeze it. To be able to smoothly caress her he collected her wetness that leaked from her hole and spread it all over her cunt.

His focus was her pearl for now because that was the quickest way to bring her close to her release and that was what he aimed for right now. Daemon knew her body so well; every twitch and shiver and moan was familiar and he knew exactly what to do, where to intensify the pressure and what patterns she preferred when he rubbed her nub. Soon Maera felt the tension in her thighs contradict but just when she expected the pleasure to roll over her and she was already relieved that he would let her finish Daemon stopped and his niece cried out.

"No, please. Please let me come."

She had grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled at it in order to bend him to her will. Little did she know that her uncle was evil-minded tonight.

"Oh sweet girl," he purred wrongly and caressed her cheek. "You will come when I allow it. And I'm not yet sure if I will allow it."

With these words he suddenly picked her up and carried her to the bed as if she weighed nothing. Daemon carefully threw her onto the bed well aware that she was already too weak to properly catch herself. She was sprawled out on the bed for him, her dress pulled up and her eyes fluttering. Daemon inspected her smugly and then climbed on the bed to hover over her.

"Open your eyes. I want you to look at me."

His gaze was so heated and full of lust, he was like a predator looking at his prey. Once she had obeyed him Daemon's hand parted her thighs and he continued his torture. He circled and rubbed, flicked and pulled at her pearl, sometimes quick, sometimes slow, at times with so much pressure that she jumped and other times so lightly and carefully that she wasn't even sure if it was his hand or a blow of the wind.

The tension was heavily hanging in the air and Maera had the indescripable urge to stretch her limbs. The only sound was her loud and hectic panting as well as the sound of the slickness between her legs.

Daemon's left hand that wasn't occupied with her cunt had pulled down her dress a little so he could see more of her skin. Her left breast was slightly exposed so his hand had started to trail patterns on the swell of her breast that felt like fire to Maera. It didn't take him long until he sensed that she was close again. It was the way her eyelids fluttered, her whines became more frequent and her back arched. He just stopped his touch before she could release and his niece cried out again, close to tears now.

"Please, Daemon, please… Please I just want to…"

He was utterly cold to her begging and wrongly cooed her when he noticed the wetness in her eyes.

"Oh babygirl… There's no need to cry. Am I not taking such good care of your little cunt? She likes it so much, doesn't she?"

She was shaking but managed to nod.

"Y-Yes… but please…"

Her uncle cut her off by leaning down and kissing her trembling lips. In the meantime his hand came back to her pearl once more and he continued his evil play. Her moans and whimpers were smothered by his mouth but her hands clutched tightly at his muscular arms.

Daemon had obviously grown more eager and desireful as well so he finally managed to undress her so that her breasts and nipples were bare on display for him and he trailed his finger over her small chest. Additionally to the stimulation between her legs Daemon now also toyed with her nipples and Maera felt like exploding every second. He couldn't do it again, he couldn't deny her again. Despite feeling so powerless a voice in her head foresaw what might happen now and forced her to open her mouth.

"P-Please uncle…," she breathed quietly.

Daemon kissed her neck which left red marks while slowing his movement down until he eventually stopped and Maera was yet another orgasm denied. Now there were actually tears spilling from the corner of her eyes and she uncontrollably sobbed beneath him. He acted all pitiful but she knew better than to misinterpret it as that. He was the one making her feel that way after all and when Daemon leaned down to steal another kiss she tilted her head so that his lips landed on her cheek. Additionally a complaining sound escaped her mouth but then he forcefully turned her head to his liking by gripping her chin. He eventually got what he liked and savoured the taste of her pink lips while touching her all over her chest and collarbone.

Meanwhile Maera continued to pull at his shirt and pushed at his arms which Daemon ignored at first but then he growled dangerously and took both her wrists in one of his big hands and pinned them down above her head. She squirmed and shifted and lifted her hips to get closer to him and perhaps release herself of the tightness in her core but Daemon just firmly pressed her down.

"Mhmm," she mumbled against his mouth, clearly an attempt to ask him for more. That made him stop and he broke away from her lips. Instead he now traced her swollen lips with his thumb and watched her smugly.

"Aren't you such a little whore between the sheets? You know that this is not the kind of behaviour fit for a noblewoman. You're supposed to take what I give you, look pretty and keep your little mouth shut. Instead here you are whining and begging and asking me for more."

He shoved two of his fingers inside of her mouth and Maera moaned in surprise.

"You're a slut. A dirty pathetic slut who's so fucking eager to get her holes stuffed. It's embarrassing."

He pushed his fingers deeper until he hit the back of her throat and his niece choked.

"Yes, that's right. Do you wanna cry for me? Feel free to." He fucked her mouth with his fingers and made sure to keep her on the edge by brushing over her pearl every now and then. All of her senses were so overstimulated that she soon actually started to cry again but Daemon just kissed her tears away.

"You look so fucking pretty for me like this," he groaned in her ear while Maera struggled to take his fingers that continuously pushed deep inside of her mouth making her gag.

After a few more minutes he removed them again and she hiccuped a few times which made him smirk. Her face was red and sweat covered her forehead and the crying had made her eyes swollen. Now his finger left her nub as well and Maera looked up to him with submissive eyes. She couldn't even bring herself to beg him again because what good would it do? He wanted to make her suffer and no pleas of words out of her mouth would change his mind.

She almost didn't realized what he was doing at first but then she saw how Daemon removed his pants and breeches and his cock stood hard against his stomach. There was precum leaking from its tip which he collected with his hand and brought it to Maera's mouth. Obediently she licked his hand clean and Daemon contendly grinned. But then his hand suddenly reached out to the back of her head and he yanked her back so her neck was exposed.

"You want your cunt to get fucked?" he hissed and with the space he granted her, she nodded. "Want me to spread you open, mhm?"

Maera let out a yearning whine and then he actually brought his tip to her cunt. He pressed it against her throbbing and pulsating pearl which almost made her cry out but then he was fast to circle her entrance and then entered her.

These first few seconds were perhaps his favourite moment when he was fucking his wife, apart from releasing inside of her of course. When he felt the tightness of her cunt and the way her walls pulsated around him; when he stretched her open and Maera's eyes were big as coins. He panted heavily and then without giving her a second to adjust he started to pound into her. She would be able to take it, Daemon was certain. He didn't want to hurt her too much but it would be good for her to feel a little bit of uncomfortability. He cupped her breast with his right hand while his left held the side of her face.

"Taking me so well, babygirl… S'that want you want, mhm? Getting your slutty hole fucked like a common whore?"

She whined and threw her head to the side but Daemon wanted to hear her voice so he tilted her head. "Say it."

"Y-Yes… I want it, oh fuck…," Maera cried.

"Oh yeah I see how you enjoy it. Just like you enjoyed Lord Jakor's attention, didn't you, wife?"

She couldn't bring herself to answer him despite figuring that his anger about the situation at the feast would only reduce her chances of finishing.

"Did you enjoy his attention? Do you like it when men look at you like that? Is my admiration alone not enough for you, little niece?"

Maera bit her lip and wrapped her arms around his back bringing him closer to her.

"I-It is enough, D-Daemon… I-I only want your attention…," she managed to tell him eventually.

"Is that so?" he growled against her cheek and then his mouth wandered south to press kisses to her chin and neck. Well, at first they had only been kisses but soon he sucked on the soft and delicate skin of her neck in order to bruise and mark her. At times he used his teeth as well and bit her softly. Firm enough so she would have bite marks but not so much that she was in real pain.

"I'm gonna let them see," he growled while delivering sharp thrusts into her core.

"Gonna let them see that you're mine. If it's not enough I'm gonna fill you again with my see and make you all swollen with my child. Maybe that way the whole court, all those lords who lust after you will see who owns you, whose baby you're carrying and who fucks your pretty little cunt every night. I'm gonna show them that you're mine. My niece, my wife and mother of my children. And my little fuck toy to dump my seed into."

Maera felt her eyes rolling back at his words and gasped when his teeth dug into her flesh once more. The sting brought tears to her eyes but it was the good kind of pain, the kind that made her long for more. She was still craving a release though and just wished that her uncle would finally set an end to her suffering but he was busy fucking into her and marking her neck.

"Please, uncle," Maera pressed and her shivering hands gripped the sheets next to her.

"You wanna come?" he whispered and she was almost too scared that he would deny her her release again to answer him.

But then suddenly she felt his finger on her pearl again and the feeling was so intense that she thought she was going to come right on the spot. His deep and forceful thrusts in combination with the pleasure her bundle of nerves was receiving drove her closer and closer to the edge and Maera clung to the sheets as though her life was depending on it.

Soon Daemon noticed how close his niece was but this time to her suprise he didn't stop and the waves of pleasure washed over her. It was even more powerful because she hadn't expected it. Maera had assumed that he would stop once more and tease and edge her until she would pass out and so when the tension in her belly exploded she let out a surprised cry and arched her back. Her whole body was shaking and Maera helplessly searched for Daemon's body to hold on to him.

He didn't stop his thrusts into her cunt and neither did his hand leave her pearl. That was why once she had come down from her high her body twitched under his movement and it felt uncomfortable. She was overstimulated and now she squirmed to get away from him rather than seeking for more. Daemon noticed her attempts and laughed about it.

"Someone's getting a little overwhelmed, isn't that right?"

She looked at him with big eyes that started to fill with tears again.

"Does it hurt?"

She nodded and sniffed but Daemon didn't stop. He just continued what he was doing until eventually her cunt seemed to have recovered slightly and she found his touch welcoming again. That was only until he made her come a second time, this time by flicking and enclosing her pearl with his fingers. Maera moaned loudly and when he still kept up his assault on her center she threw her head to the side and pushed against his chest.

"Please stop… Please it hurts so badly, Daemon."

He pursed his lips and stroke her hair.

"Shhh babygirl… You can take it. I know you can."

She desperately shifted her hips and tried to close her legs around his hand. No, she couldn't. She couldn't take it, it was too much. Her body was on fire only that this time it was in a negative way. His fingers made her uncontrollably tremble and her core was so swollen and overstimulated that she already knew she wouldn't be able to walk after this. His thrusts were simply too forceful and rough.

"Stop, uncle. Please… It's too much, I can't…," she pleaded and Daemon bit her neck painfully before bringing his face to her level again and grabbing her chin.

"Shut your mouth. You will take it because I want you to. Here you were begging me to let you come the past 30 minutes and now I let you and you're still not satisfied. Don't give me those tears now. I won't stop until I'm content and I'm not sure how long that will be. And if you don't want to lose your voice you better shut your mouth and be glad that I haven't stuffed your dirty mouth with my cock."

~~~~~~~~~~

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[erinwantstowrite]

Wait did Loki already know about Dick and Jason and all that because he did research /before/ Peter got sent there on not just he was there without telling Peter? And that's why he ended up in that universe specifically cuz he had family there? Or I did I misread something?

oh no Loki is fully lying out of his ass right now. but really he's not lying, it's more like he's not telling the full truth ? idk how much I can really tell you guys cuz I don't want to spoil it... alright, so i can't tell y'all what he was doing specifically but i can tell y'all his general plan and some character insight

i'm feeling in a slightly spoilery mood so!!! if you don't want to know anything about what Loki is up to, don't continue reading! but be aware that at this point in time, there are some things that we just won't know about Loki in the fic itself that i'll talk about here!

before all of this he had absolutely no intentions of teaming up with Peter, he was just exploiting a weakness and trying to get Peter out of the way (this is the same as to what he did with Thor). he knows that Tony would be distracted, and in their efforts to find Peter they would probably be stressed out and their forces would thin because finding usually involves splitting up. they would also have to deal with Mysterio and Ohnn (....and a secret third character 👀). it would give him plenty of opportunity to go in and try and pick them off one by one. except it's not working on the Avengers side. we'll get more to this later 😁

after his first meeting with Peter, Loki figured that Peter would probably be a good place to get some intel if he needed it, because Peter trusted him and was not aware about Loki and his past with the Avengers (or at least not fully aware). the more that he learned about the Bats and Peter's relation to them, as well as learning about Peter, the more he figured it wouldn't hurt to have Peter on his side. he thought that he could twist Peter into believing the Avengers weren't coming. his plans have been shifting around, meeting his needs since the beginning. he's been standing off to the side and pushing the characters around trying to figure out what they will and won't do, like he's observing a game and they have no idea he's moving pieces around when they weren't looking.

however this plan was going to take a lot more time... and Klarion summoning Thor ruined it completely. he had to speed up the process and make his offer quite literally months before he thought he would. so in a way, we can thank Klarion for derailing Loki's plot

Loki had no idea what would happen when he directed Ohnn and Mysterio towards Peter. he knew that Ohnn had been traveling between worlds for a couple of months, but he had no idea if Peter would even survive going to this other universe. he also had no idea about Peter's relation to the Bats until he started digging around for his new plan (Plan: Exploit Peter's Love for his Parents). the thing is, is that his plan would have failed no matter what, because Loki failed to see that Peter's adopted family cares deeply about him, and this bond means just as much as any blood ties he could have. his own insecurities about his standing within his own family got to him. when he was digging around in Peter's life he saw that Peter's foster experience had failed. and he might, maybe, just a little bit... feel bad that the family that was going to adopt Peter were killed because of what happened in the Battle of New York.

so: while he has been very intentionally manipulating Peter... he was thinking of Peter's best interest after a certain point. instead of him not caring what happened to him as long as he was out of the way, Loki did start preparing to make sure that Peter could stay in this world and that he would be taken care of. because i don't believe Loki is an evil person, and even now he's just a little silly. he might have been a little bit crazy with Thor, but to be fair, every other time Loki had a plan and he wasn't crazy enough, Thor came out of it. I feel like they have different standards than what we would as humans. because if you have a sibling then I feel like you'll understand me here... me and my brother used to fight a lot and while we never actually chased each other with knives, we did chase each other with other weapons (whatever wouldn't actually kill but was within our reach) and I think this is their version of that. like me and my brother are super close now but when we were kids we tried to kill each other a lot lmfao. so Thor will probably forgive Loki because that's his brother. (and I'm pretty sure that Loki was under some form of manipulation by Thanos during the Battle of Manhattan/New York??? correct me if I'm wrong, but if that's the case Peter would eventually see that Loki isn't an evil person.) Loki is very chaotic neutral in my eyes, leaning towards evil or good depending on the day. so he's gonna get his ass kicked for trying to take over the world, but like, that's just his enrichment... you gotta let him try every few months/once a year or you're not doing enough to entertain and care for your sneaky God Alien Guy