#*sweats as he gathers them into his arm but more spill* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sturnioz · 8 months ago

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‘CRUSH’ — MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pairing. drummer!matthew sturniolo x reader genre. band au, smut, fluff

word count. 10.1k

❝let me take you backstage. just you and me, yeah?❞

content warnings. explicit content, alcohol usage, mentions of weed, unprotected sex, backstage sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praising, creampie,

authors note. fake bands are mentioned in this. if there is a band with the same name out there, im sorry lol

Despite his love for blending in with the crowd and remaining mysterious and unseen, Matt is anything but unnoticeable. The singular stripe of red dye in his black hair, the black eyeliner that smudges at the corners of his eyes, the tattoos that decorate his arms, and the oversized graphic clothing that drowns his frame… he stands out.

Matt—admittedly—sticks out like a sore thumb.

It isn’t exactly his fault. (It is, but he won’t admit it).

Matt loves tattooing his skin with crazy and memorable designs, wearing clothes far larger than his usual size, and stomping around in heavy boots. Matt also loves filling his waterline with black eyeliner and accessorising with silver jewellery.

Painting his nails is another favourite of his too, though he usually goes for a chipped, all-black look.

It also doesn’t help that Matt is in a band alongside his brothers and childhood best friend. While the band isn’t huge, they perform almost every weekend at a popular bar in their hometown, attracting a crowd over 100 people that try their best to cram themselves in just to see them whenever they manage to book a gig.

So, maybe it is his fault.

But he never expected the level of attention it would bring him—eyes ogling from every direction, hushed whispers whenever he enters a room, and a constant stream of compliments filling his DMs on social media as well as being said directly to his face.

Matt secretly loves the attention, but he has never been the one to make a move when girls throw themselves at him, hinting for a quick hook-up or even a relationship. He just wasn't interested enough—no one has ever truly captured his attention.

That is until he saw you at one of the band’s gigs.

You were sitting in a booth with a friend, sipping a Coke through a straw and taking in your seemingly unfamiliar surroundings. Matt was instantly captivated by your presence, wanting nothing more than to gather the courage to walk over and strike a conversation—to learn more about you.

“Starin’ makes you look creepy.”

Matt’s bandmate and childhood best friend, Nate, remarks, hardly even glancing Matt’s way. His attention is instead confused on his own reflection in the mirror backdrop behind the bar, standing on his tiptoes to see better over the rows of liquor bottles, trying to restyle his newly dyed hair, the sweat on his forehead causing his bangs to stick.

Nate continues, “Go talk to her. Work that so-called ‘Matt Magic’ I hear Chris yappin’ about.”

“Trust me, it’s real.” Chris declares, suddenly appearing and throwing himself down into the seat beside Matt.

He slams a tray of multicoloured shots onto the bar counter, spilling half the contents and leaving the bartender cursing under his breath as he wipes up the mess, glaring at Chris who just grins cheekily, avoiding confrontation.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes, alright?” Chris continues. “It works like magic—makes the ladies drop to their knees in an instant.”

Nate’s brow raises in amusement, “In the many years I’ve known Matt, I’ve never seen him hook-up or flirt with anyone…” Nate pauses, a teasing grin sliding onto his lips. “Got some problems goin’ on down there or what?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Matt grumbles, swatting away Nate’s hand as he tries to reach out and pat his cheek.

Nate cackles, shaking his head as he grabs one of the shots that Chris eagerly hands out to the group. He then calls out to Nick, who emerges from backstage, adjusting the leather jacket on his shoulders as he settles down beside Chris.

Chris hums as he tugs the collar of Nick’s shirt down, “Nice marks, kid. Who was it this time?”

“None of your fucking business.” Nick answers with a hiss, running his fingers through his blonde hair.

“You’re always in mine,” Chris shoots back, causing Nick to gape at him. “Don’t give me that look, kid. You’re always yappin’ in my ear about the sisters.”

“Oh, Thing 1 and Thing 2,” Nick grins at the mention of the twin sisters that Chris frequently hooks-up with. “Who was the one that was here last time?”

“Zoe,” Chris answers, but the blank look on Nick’s face causes Chris to sigh in annoyance before clarifying, “Thing 1.”

“I thought Thing 1 was Chloe?” Nate chimes in, pulling a confused face.

Chris is quick to jump to Zoe’s defence, arguing that she’s number one, but Matt tunes out the rest of the conversation, rolling his eyes as he picks up the shot glass and downs it quickly before bringing his beer bottle up to his lips.

He then turns his neck slightly to look over at you once again, spotting you this time smiling at your friend and clinking your simple glass of Coke to her colourful cocktail.

Matt can’t help but continue sneaking glances your way. He is, undoubtedly, interested in you. This is unfamiliar territory for him—he’s never felt this drawn to someone before.

He’s not scared or nervous, and he really would walk on over to you to begin a conversation if it wasn’t for the fact you weren’t alone. Your friend was glued to your side… and he hated it.

Matt inwardly curses, wishing he could just get rid of your friend and have you all to himself for the night, but you two seem inseparable. He takes another swig of his beer, his mind racing with ideas. There has to be a way to separate you from your friend, even if it was just for a moment.

He can’t let this opportunity slip away, he’s going to have to find a way to get you alone. Or he’s going to have to wait for the right moment.

“I think he’s staring at me,” Talia whispers across the booth to you. She straightens her posture and runs her fingers through her hair, fixing any stray strands as she takes a quick glance at her reflection in her phone screen. “How do I look? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“You look fine,” You reassure with a nod, sipping your Coke through the straw. Your eyebrows knit together in curiosity as you watch Talia fuss over her appearance, pulling the neckline of her dress lower to show more cleavage. “But who’s staring at you?”

“The tattooed guy with the red strand in his hair, sitting at the bar behind y—The fuck? Don’t turn around!” You ignore Talia’s feeble attempts to redirect your attention as you spin around, easily spotting the man sitting at the bar surrounded by other similar-looking people.

You snort at the sight, but can’t help but notice his attention doesn’t seem to be on your friend. Slowly turning back to face Talia, you see her shoulders sag in defeat.

“He was staring. He looked away as soon as you turned around.”

“I believe you,” You tell her, getting comfortable in your seat as you observe the way she takes quick glances behind you, holding her head high with confidence. “Who is he, anyways?”

“You’re kidding,” Talia baffles, her eyes going wide. She takes offence when you shake your head. “It’s Matt. The guy that’s on my Instagram feed. His band is playing tonight—he’s the reason why we’re here!”

You frown at that, “I thought you wanted to hang out?”

“I do!” Talia quickly says, but you’re less than impressed. She exhales deeply, “Listen… Matt is the drummer in the band that performed earlier, and I haven’t been able to have much free time to see them play. On top of that, we haven’t hung out in a while and this is the only weekend we seem to be available — so I’m basically hitting two birds with one stone here, can you really blame me?”

“Guess not.” You sigh, even though you’re still not impressed with what’s going on.

You felt a little bit used and lied to, especially when she burst through your dorm room earlier and rambled excitedly about how she’s looking forward to spending some time with you tonight.

Your mood turns sour when it dawns on you that you'll most likely be heading back to your dorm room alone tonight, knowing that she will probably blow you off to go blow off some other guy—literally.

You wish you were the type of person to be selfish — to tell her that you’re not happy with her possibly leaving you to go hook-up with some guy, and demand her to stay with you all night to catch up and go home together with a takeout bag full of junk food, and watch a shitty old movie on your small laptop screen.

But you’ve never been that way.

You have never been selfish.

“I need to go pee,” Talia announces, her face twisting in discomfort as she pushes her empty cocktail glass across the table and awkwardly shuffles out of the booth. She picks up her handbag and rummages through quickly, pulling out her purse and shoving it in your hands. “Go get us another drink, and no more Cokes for you either.”

You don’t even get the chance to say anything as Talia waddles away in a rush towards the bathrooms and you push yourself out of the booth with a huff, clutching her purse in your grasp as you weave through the crowd of people blocking your path to the bar, seemingly busy with their conversations to even make room.

The grip on Talia’s purse tightens as you finally reach the counter, watching the bartender lean in to chat up some customer with a flirtatious smile.

You debate on going back to the booth and waiting for Talia so she can work her charm to get you both more drinks. But you decide against it, instead hoisting yourself up onto a vacant barstool, so focussed on the bartender and his cheesy pickup lines that you’re completely unaware of who is sitting next to you.

Matt struggles to contain himself when he feels your shoulder brush against his as you sit down beside him at the bar. He steals a quick glance your way, his heart racing, but you’re focussed intently on the bartender, seemingly oblivious to Matt’s presence.

Matt knows Brent, the bartender, all too well—he’s notorious for getting distracted as he flirts with customers, leaving others waiting, so you won’t be getting served any time soon.

This could be Matt’s chance to finally talk to you, to have the conversation he’s been yearning for since he first laid eyes on you. But the words catch in his throat, and he finds himself unable to face you directly, especially with his bandmates mocking him from the corner of his eye.

Chris makes obnoxious kissing noises, causing Matt to snap his head in that direction, but Chris doesn’t back down from his teasing as he grins and nudges his shoulder.

“C’mon, kid. Show us that ‘Matt Magic’,” The wiggle of Chris’s eyebrows makes Matt want to fight, his knuckles turning white from the grip he has around his beer bottle. Chris quickly throws his hands up in defence. “Just want you to have some fun, man.”

“As much as it pains me to admit it—like it actually hurts me—Chris is right,” Nick chimes in, his eyes flitting between Matt and yourself, who is still wrapped up in your own head to hear the conversation that’s going on. It surprises him. “You’re surrounded by very beautiful women who clearly show interest in you, and you don’t give a fuck. At all.”

“Maybe Matt does have some problems goin’ on down there…” Nate drawls as his eyes dip down to Matt’s jeans, tilting his head to the side teasingly. Matt rolls his eyes at Nate’s comment and reaches out to kick him, but Nick intervenes by pushing Nate to the side while Chris grins, amused by the situation.

“Look,” Nick sighs. “As much as I would love for you to get out there, it’s all on your terms. Don’t let these fucks peer pressure you into doing shit.”

Matt doesn’t feel pressured, not one bit.

But all he wants right now is for his brothers and friend to give him some space so he can be alone with you. It would be the perfect opportunity, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the others making grand gestures behind his back or worse, interrupting the conversation.

As if reading his mind, Nick grips the back of Chris and Nate’s shirts, hauling them away from the bar, though they don’t stay too far—still within reach of their drinks and shots.

It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.

Matt takes a deep breath, gently tugging on the earring dangling from his ear as he finally turns in his seat to face you… just in time for the bartender to finish his flirting.

Fuck.

“Sorry about that,” The bartender apologises to you with a faint chuckle as he stands in front of you, running his fingers through his dark hair and adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before resting his hands on his hips.

It gives you a full view of his all black sleeveless shirt that’s tucked into a pair of dark jeans, and you can’t help but notice the white name tag that stands out against the outfit, identifying him as Brent.

Brent gives you a charming smile, “What can I get for you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to remember the name of the cocktail Talia had ordered earlier. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you scan the drinks menu above the bar, pointing to the cheapest options and you’re about to speak up until a voice suddenly interrupts you.

“Can I have a beer, a cosmopolitan, and a Coke?”

You whip your head to the side in annoyance, ready to give the rude customer a piece of your mind for cutting in. But the insults die on your lips as you realise who exactly it is.

It’s the tattooed arm and the flash of red in his hair that lets you know who it is—the guy that Talia has been non-stop talking about, and has been so fascinated with the past couple of months, and even the main topic of tonight's conversations.

Your eyebrows raise in slight shock. You’re beginning to see the appeal… Matt is really pretty.

With Matt seated so close—shoulder to shoulder—you have the opportunity to really take in every detail of his appearance. Though you’ve basically heard Talia rave about him, you’ve never seen him up close and personal before.

The smudged eyeliner and subtle black eyeshadow around his blue eyes give him a slightly intimidating look, but there’s a certain allure to it that makes you sink back into your seat, captivated.

You can’t help but notice the tattoos decorating his arm, the flash of vibrant red in his hair, and the small hole on the side of his nostril that makes you wonder if that’s where a nose piercing once was. The redness around the area suggests he or someone else may have attempted to pierce it recently — perhaps even today.

“That’s what you’re both drinkin’, yeah?” Matt’s question snaps you out of your captivated staring, and he shifts in his seat as he turns to face you fully, the chains on his all-black outfit jingling with his movements.

As he drums his fingernails against the bar as he waits for your answer, you notice the black chipped nail polish, some definitely more chipped than others, but the look suits his edgy appearance perfectly.

“Yes—yeah, I think so…” You answer quickly, realising you’ve been quiet for far too long. But then you pause, your face twisting in confusion as you glance between him and the drinks being made. “How did you know that?”

The corner of Matt’s lip curves upwards in amusement, and he shrugs his shoulders. “I guessed.”

“Here you go, gorgeous,” Brent interrupts as he slides the cocktail and Coke glass in your direction with precise aim, managing to not spill a drop. He then settles the beer bottle down in front of Matt next. “That will be—”

“Wait, can I get another one of those?” You cut him off as you point to the pink-coloured concoction in front of you, and Brent sends a wink your way as he turns on his heel to prepare the drink.

You give him a small smile as a thank you and you turn back to look at Matt who’s already looking at you with his eyebrow raised, and you suddenly feel the need to explain yourself.

“It’s for me.”

Matt nods slowly, “Had enough of the Cokes?”

“No, not exactly… She told me earlier not to get another one,” You say as you glance down at the full glass of Coke in front of you with pursed lips. “But I’ll still take this, you know, just in case I don’t like the cocktail.”

Matt smiles at that, and he reaches for the beer bottle with one hand while the other dips inside his pocket as soon as Brent returns with your newly made drink. He gives you the price and your eyes almost bulge out at the numbers, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you tell him you’ll pay by card.

You’re already mentally preparing yourself for Talia’s reaction when she finds out about the cost. It makes you grimace just thinking about the consequences as you dig through her purse to find her card, but the sound of a machine beeping brings you out of your search, and you lift your head to see Matt with his arm outstretched, his own bank card in hand and pressed down on the card reader.

Did he just…?

Your mouth repeatedly opens and closes in shock, unable to fully process what just happened even though it was the most simplest thing.

Brent’s giving Matt an amused look, his tongue prodding at his cheek to hide the obvious smirk on his face as he shoves the card reader back beneath the bar, and he flutters his fingers at you for a quick goodbye as he serves another customer — you briefly overhear him compliment their hair, but you pay him no attention as you’re meeting eyes with Matt who seems nonchalant about paying for all of your pricey drinks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You protest quietly. “I had the money, I—”

“I wanted to,” Matt cuts you off, bringing his beer to his lip and taking a sip all while keeping his eyes on you. “I haven’t seen you around this bar before, so think of it as a welcome gift… from me to you.”

“That’s… sweet. Thank you,” You show him your gratitude, warmth spreading in your chest at his unexpected gesture.

Matt nods his head and reaches over to gently clink his beer bottle against one of your cocktail glasses before taking a sip. You decide to follow suit, bringing the reddish-pink cocktail drunk to your lips.

But the second the liquid touches your tongue, your face twists in an unexpected reaction to the flavour, the taste catching you by surprise which causes the involuntary expression that flashes across your features.

Matt watches your reaction intently, an amused glint in his eye as he takes another sip of his beer while you place the cocktail back down on the bar to quickly grab your glass of Coke, washing down the taste with something you’re a lot more familiar with.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s different,” You admit with an awkward laugh. You feel slightly embarrassed at pulling the most unattractive face and not enjoying a drink that he bought out of his money. “But it’s still a gift, so I’ll drink it.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that,” Matt shakes his head, the amusement still sparkling in his eyes as he reaches for his card. “Let me buy you another—”

“No!” You immediately interject, not wanting him to spend any more of his money on the expensive drinks. Matt seems a little surprised at your sudden burst, and he reels his hand back to his lap. You cringe at your tone before adding. “I will drink it.”

“Yeah?” He hums, his eyes flitting down to the cocktail on the bar before meeting your gaze again. He tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you sure about that?”

Your heart thumps at the intensity of his stare, a look you’re unfamiliar with. You nod, doing your best to sound confident as you mutter, “Very.”

“Was there a queue at the bar or something? You took so long,” Talia frowns as soon as you arrive back at your shared booth with both cocktails in hand.

Your tongue pokes out in concentration, careful to not spill anything as you hand one over to Talia who takes it in her grasp.

“Thanks, babe. But did you not use my card? I didn’t get the notification on my phone that my card was being used—did you get us a cosmopolitan?! Do you realise how fucking expensive these are here?!”

“Relax, I didn’t buy these,” You tell her as you slide into the booth, sliding Talia her purse. She stares at you, confusion written across her face, so you clarify; “Courtesy of your favourite drummer boy.”

“Matt bought me a drink?” The look that plasters across Talia’s face is priceless, and you bite back the urge to add on how he bought your drink too. But you let her live in her moment as you nod your head, watching as she takes the information in with wide, excited eyes. “Holy shit. He totally likes me—I fucking knew it. Did he say anything?”

“About what?” You ask, your brows pulling together and Talia points at herself. “Oh, no, not really. He was just talking about alcohol, you know… considering we were both at the bar.”

Talia sighs dreamily, “My type of guy.”

“Yeah, he seems interesting.” You find yourself agreeing, pressing your lips firmly together as you glance over your shoulder in a somewhat hopeful manner that you’ll see Matt still at the bar, sipping his beer or maybe even watching you from afar. But when you don’t see him, you feel an unexpected pang of disappointment.

It’s strange — you’ve never spoken to Matt before today, and your interaction was brief. Yet there’s something about him that has piqued your curiosity, leaving you wanting to know more.

You struggle to explain this newfound fascination. It’s completely out of character for you to be so preoccupied with a near-stranger, especially one that is your best friend’s crush. Normally, you would shrug something like this off and focus on the evening with Talia.

But now, there’s a heaviness in your chest, a restless energy that has you craving another encounter with Matt.

Was it the intensity of his gaze that captivated you? The confident, almost flirtatious yet mysterious way he carried himself? Or was it simply the unexpected gesture of buying you a drink — a gesture that, for whatever reason, has left a lasting impression.

You’ve never been like this before.

So why now? Why all of a sudden?

“What are you thinking about?” Talia’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts and you turn your head back in her direction. You quickly shrug your shoulders and shake your head to silently tell her that it was nothing, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not thinking—”

“You were staring at the bar,” Talia points out before she decides to follow your gaze, her lips pursing in deep thought as she scans the surroundings. She suddenly smiles, “Are you staring at Brent? The bartender?”

“I said I’m—”

“You should go for it. I heard he gives really good head and honestly—no offence—you need it. He could definitely loosen you up and give you a good time.”

You deadpan, “Are you saying that because it’s the truth, or is it because you’ll feel bad that I’d have to walk home alone while you’re getting laid?”

“Both.” Talia sends you a sly wink, and she clinks her cocktail glass to yours before taking a sip.

You exhale softly with a roll of your eyes, reaching for your own cocktail until your hand stops halfway when you realise you’ve lost the Coke you had left at the bar — it’s likely been snatched up by another customer that got excited over a free drink.

You really don’t like the flavour of his cocktail, and you find yourself wishing you had something to wash it down with. It pains you.

You consider being a bit dramatic, holding your nose to avoid tasting it, or digging through your purse for some gum that you know is pooling at the bottom somewhere. But you decide to just suck it up and drink it without making a fuss.

After all, it was a gift.

Just as you’re about to bring the glass to your lips, another is suddenly placed in front of you — a fresh, bubbly Coke with ice and a red straw that faces towards you..

Talia’s the first to respond to this stranger, her hand flying to cover her mouth to stifle her reaction as she chokes on her drink, her eyes strained and watery. You check on her to make sure that she’s okay before you glance up, slightly taken aback when you see Matt.

“You forgot your drink at the bar,” He tells you in a low tone. His eyes flick down to the cocktail in your hands, and his eyebrow raises slightly. “Are you sure you’re goin' to drink it?”

“I was going to.” Your reply in a whisper. But before you can say anything else, Matt is taking the cocktail from your hands and replacing it with the fresh Coke he’s brought over.

He holds the stem of the cocktail glass between his fingers, eyeing the brightly coloured drink for a moment before sliding it over to Talia, who is still uncharacteristically speechless. She quickly regains her composure, grasping the drink and pulling it close to her chest, as if it’s the most meaningful thing anyone has ever done for her.

“Enjoy this one instead,” Matt murmurs to you, and just as he begins to turn away, you find yourself calling out his name.

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve done so — perhaps it’s a reluctance to let him go so quickly, a desire to indulge the growing fascination you’ve developed for him. Or maybe it’s because you can see the gears turning in Talia’s head as she tries to figure out how to start a conversation with him—to flirt with him.

You’re a good friend to Talia, you always have been.

You always put her first.

“Do you want to join us?” You offer with a friendly smile, and you gesture towards the empty seat opposite you—beside Talia. “You’re welcome to come sit with us and hang out, unless you have somewhere else to be?”

Matt is quiet for a moment, his eyes darting around the bar as if he’s searching for something, but then he nods and takes you up on your offer. Talia’s beaming ear to ear with excitement, shuffling to the side to make space for him on her side of the booth.

But to your surprise, Matt sits down beside you instead, his shoulder knocking heavily against yours as he settles into the small space. He apologises quickly, lifting a hand to gently rub the sore spot.

You find yourself glued to your seat, sandwiched between the wooden barrier on the right and Matt’s body pressed against your left. The heat radiating off him envelops you, but you try not to pay too much attention to it, especially when you see Talia eyeing the two of you with a slightly wrinkled nose and an upturned lip.

However, Talia’s expression soon shifts to a grin as she turns her attention to Matt, “Thank you for buying the drinks,” She gestures towards the cocktail in front of her. “I’ll get your next one.”

“I appreciate that,” Matt replies, dipping his head in gratitude.

He takes a quick sip of his beer, and you notice Talia watching him carefully, her eyebrows furrowing as she tilts her head, trying to read the label from her seat.

Matt seems to pick up on this, and he comically and slowly rotates the bottle in Talia’s direction. “It’s new — Brent got it delivered today.”

“Lost Boys? He got a drink named after one of your songs?” Talia teases playfully, and Matt simply nods in response. You fight the urge to snort at that fact, finding it a little amusing.

“You should try it,” Matt nudges you softly, offering you a taste of his beer. You are about to decline, to shake your head and say you’re fine with the Coke, but the smile that dances across his lips is enough to make you slowly change your mind. “I think you might like this better than the cocktail.”

You don’t question it further, and instead take the beer in your hands, taking a tentative sip. You’re a bit hesitant on the initial taste, rubbing your lips together firmly as Matt and Talia watch you, waiting for your honest opinion. you just take the beer in your hands for a sip and you’re hesitant on the taste that hits your tongue, rubbing your lips together firmly as the pair watch you, waiting for your honest opinion.

You swallow thickly, but are pleasantly surprised. “It’s actually really good.”

Matt hums, “Told you.”

“Let me try,” Talia chimes in, reaching out for the beer. You happily hand it over to her, but then you realise your mistake, turning to look at Matt with a slightly apologetic look on your face as it dawns on you that you’re sharing around his drink.

Matt’s already watching you when you look at him, and you go to apologise, but Talia’s already handing him back his beer with a satisfied expression.

“I like it too—it’s sweet.” She confirms.

“That can be the next round of drinks then, yeah?” Matt says, his eyes briefly darting down to Talia’s purse beside her.

Talia’s smile falters for a moment when she remembers that she was the one that offered to buy him his next drink. You can tell she’s thinking about the dent these drinks are going to put on her bank account, but she quickly musters up another smile and nods her head, excited at the thought of buying Matt something.

Before Talia can respond, you decide to come to her aid as your hand slips towards your own purse. “You don’t have to buy the next drink. We can go in halves—”

“Don’t offend me like that,” Talia cuts you off with a playful flip of her hair. “I have the money. I’ll get it.”

You wince at that, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Totally,” Talia smirks. She then turns to face Matt, who has been quietly sipping his beer. “Your set earlier was fucking amazing, by the way. The band is so—”

“DID SOMEBODY SAY SHOTS?!” An unfamiliar voice screeches at the top of their lungs as a tray of multicoloured shots is suddenly thrust onto the table in front of you all, causing some of the liquid to spill over. A quick hand reaches out to try and recover them despite half of the liquid pooling around the tray.

As your eyes trail up the arm of the person who brought over the shots, you’re surprised to see an identical-looking guy to Matt, but with a backwards cap on his curly head of brown hair. His cheeks are flushed—a clear sign that he’s had quite a bit to drink already.

Standing on one side of him is another identical-looking guy, but with blonde hair, and he’s cursing under his breath and scolding the backwards capped one for the mess he’s created.

The capped guy is trying (and failing) to scoop the spilled alcohol back into the cups using just his pinky finger. It’s a comical sight, with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in pure concentration.

“This is the second fuckin’ time this has happened,” Matt informs with a sigh, but the chuckle that escapes him shows he’s not as annoyed as he’s letting on. “Chris also spilled them earlier.”

The backwards capped guy, who you now discover is named Chris, snaps his head up in offence at Matt’s comment and stops his failed attempts at trying to scoop the alcohol back into the shot glasses.

“I tripped over your fuckin’ dumbass shoe actually,” Chris hisses through his teeth as he knocks his foot against Matt, who doesn’t seem fazed at the attack at all. “Anyway. Scoot up, let us in.”

“Are you joining us?” Talia’s eyes twinkle at the thought of her favourite band joining the booth, and you couldn’t help but feel happy for her, knowing that she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

However, you can’t help but feel a bit confused and slightly worried about where the others would fit, especially inside the cramped booth. It could fit four people at most, but you weren’t sure about the six. You’re already feeling a bit squished beside Matt and the wooden barrier.

“Of course we’re joining you, that’s the reason why we got shots.” The blonde-haired guy, who you found out is called Nick, scoffs as he makes a quick gesture to Talia to scoot up, creating just enough room for him and the other bandmate, Nate (who funnily enough has a name tag written across his chest), to squeeze in on her side of the booth.

“Excuse me, kid.” Chris grunts as he clamps a hand down on Matt’s shoulder to push himself up, placing his shoe on the smallest bit of booth space between Matt’s legs before climbing over you both, muttering how he doesn’t want to sit on the end.

Matt’s arm slides around your middle in an instant as he moves to the edge of the booth, pulling you along with him to let Chris sit at your other side, allowing Chris to be squashed between you and the wooden barrier instead. He weirdly seems okay with it, although he does wince when he feels your purse dig into his side, and you’re quick to move it with an apology, but he dismisses it with a wave and a kind smile.

Now you’re pressed right up against Matt, his arm bringing you even close to him. After a few moments, he lets you go, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your back as he gently pulls your shirt that had risen up back down, keeping you decent before his arm falls back into his own lap.

The brief touch sends goosebumps crawling up your skin, and you involuntarily shiver. You straighten your posture and tear your attention away from Matt’s wandering eyes, missing the small grin that tugs at the corners of his lips.

What you don’t miss is Talia staring at you, and as soon as you meet her gaze, her lips pull into a tight smile which you return back, grabbing your glass of Coke to distract yourself from what just happened.

“You. Nuh-uh—no way, kid. Put that down,” Nate points a finger at you and shakes his head with a tut. “We’re taking shots before we continue anythin’. You pick first.”

Reaching for one of the spilled shots that has the least amount of drink in it, you go for the easiest option. Nate’s mouth drops and his eyebrows knit together, as if you’ve just outwardly offended him, but he doesn’t say anything as he and the others quickly pick their own shots and clink their glasses together, eagerly downing the drinks.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the fruity taste that slides down your throat, but you can’t help but wince at the burn it leaves behind, similar to Nick, who starts to complain.

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick fake retches and rubs his throat, his other hand quickly reaching for his beer to wash down the taste. “What flavour was that—What did you fucking get?!”

“I dunno—a whole bunch of different shit,” Chris shrugs as he picks up Nick’s empty shot glass, taking a sniff. His eyebrows raise in surprise. “That’s passionfruit, kid. I had that too. We matched.”

“Oh, I hate it.” Nick gags again, bringing his beer bottle to his lips again to take a few hefty gulps, clearly trying to rid himself of the unpleasant taste.

“I think me and Matt had strawberry,” Talia announces, staring at the red stain on Matt’s chosen shot gloss. She grins, “We matched.”

Matt nods, then turns to you, “What did you have?”

“Raspberry,” Nate answers for you as he winks at you from across the booth, signifying you matched shots with him.

“Oh! So not only did I have a disgusting flavour, but I matched with Chris?” Nick scoffs, eyeballing every single one of you with irritancy. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“So, what brought you both here tonight?” Chris asks you and Talia after a few more drinks, courtesy of Talia who had promised to buy the next round.

Originally, the next drinks that were bought by Talia were supposed to be for just you, her and Matt. But with the others joining the table and their constant pleading, she ended up purchasing more than she had planned.

You feel bad, especially knowing how pricey this bar is, and make a mental note to pay for half of the drinks bought at the end of the night — even though Talia keeps giving you side glances, letting you know that everything is fine.

This is her favourite band after all, and she would do anything to spend a few more minutes with them… or even just Matt.

“Just to catch up over some drinks,” You tell him, glancing over at the stage where a few of their set pieces are still laid out. “We came to listen to your band too.”

“Yeah?” Chris grins, leaning back into his seat, his legs spreading wide beneath the table. “Are you a fan of our music?”

“I’m a huge fan,” Talia gushes, and you allow her to take the lead in the conversation. She leans forward, elbows on the table, causing her cleavage to almost spill out of the top of her dress in a deliberate gesture.

You admire Talia’s confidence, even though you want to tell her that she doesn’t need to try so hard to get their attention — she’s gorgeous as is.

Talia continues, “I’ve pretty much seen every single one of your shows here.”

“Have you been to any of our shows?” Matt asks, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s talking to you, as everyone at the table is now staring and waiting for your reply. The corner of Matt’s lip curls upwards slightly as he tilts his head. “This your first time?”

“She’s never been,” Talia answers for you. “She doesn’t listen to this type of music. I practically had to force her out of her—”

“Is there something wrong with our music?” Nick asks you with mock offence, pressing his hand against his chest like you actually wounded him. Chris tuts with a shake of his head, making a joke about how much of a fake you are while Nate stays silent with a grin, watching everything unfold.

“No, nothing is wrong with your music,” You laugh softly. “I just really like the band ‘Solarz’.”

“You like Solarz?” Nick gapes at you, the mock offence look dropping from his face as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You nod your head to confirm, and he breathes out, “I think you might seriously be my favourite person ever.”

Nate and Chris laugh at that while Matt remains quiet with a small grin on his face, keeping his eyes locked. You start to feel a little stuffy and nervous, especially with how his body is pressed against yours.

“Solarz is incredible,” Talia chimes in above the laughter, and you smile at her, grateful for the times she’s cleared her schedule to go to their concerts with you. You really do owe her. “Matt, do you like Solarz too?”

“I think they’re great,” Matt nods, his answer short and to the point. Talia smiles, but before she can speak again, Matt turns to you and asks, “Is this really your first time watchin’ us?”

“Yeah,” You nod, glancing over at Talia, who seems a little dejected. You don’t want to see her upset or left out, so you gesture towards her, hoping to bring Matt’s attention to her. “But, like Talia said, she’s a huge fan of y—”

“I think you should let me show you what’s backstage…” Matt cuts you off, leaning forward to whisper to you, even though his words are heard by everyone in the booth.

He stares at you through the strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes, waiting for your answer. You struggle to respond, feeling all eyes on you.

Talia is clearly not impressed by Matt’s sudden invitation to you. Her mouth is hung open in shock, and her eyebrows are pulled together in a clear expression of displeasure. You can’t blame her, given how she’s been trying to flirt with Matt this whole time, only for him to disregard her advances and ask you instead if you want to see what’s backstage.

The phrase itself seems to hold a deeper meaning, based on the reactions of the others. Matt’s brothers and Nate all look quite shocked, some more smug than others, subtly nudging each other under the table. Chris even wiggles his eyebrows as he mouths the words ‘Matt Magic’ to Nick and Nate, the former gasping in response.

You feel conflicted as Matt’s hand slips into the gap between the table and your own, his palm facing upwards as he laces his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand is a contrast to the cold metal of his rings, and you find yourself curling your fingers around his in a gentle grip.

“What do you say?” Matt asks, his gaze unwavering as he looks at you. “Let me take you backstage. Just me and you, yeah? Come with me.”

You are aware of how stupid you must look right now, not speaking a word while the others are staring at you. You’re unsure of what to say, especially when a big part of you wants to decline for Talia’s sake — she’s the dedicated fan, and deserves this more than you do.

But another part of you is tempted by Matt’s invitation, drawn to him. The part wants nothing man that for you to grip his hand tighter and allow him to drag you wherever backstage.

You’ve always been unlucky with situations like these, always the one that’s left behind during hangouts at a bar while others had fun with boys or getting drunk — which, to be fair, is all on you. You never were the one to go home with some complete stranger or let yourself indulge in alcohol until you were able to function, it was never your thing.

You nod your head just as Talia calls out your name, and your head immediately snaps in her direction, meeting her wide eyes with your own.

“Talia, I—” You start to say, but the words catch in your throat as Matt is already sliding out of the booth, his fingers tightening around yours and pulling you along with him.

You barely have time to react, hurriedly grabbing your purse as you’re whisked away from the group. You send an apologetic smile Talia’s way, wishing you could explain yourself to her, but the noises of Nate and Chris’s hollering and whooping drowns out any chance you have.

You tighten your hand around Matt’s as he pulls you through the crowded bar, and you duck your head low to avoid the stares of strangers who watch you with him — wishing that they were in your position. It gives you a slight confidence boost, knowing that people are jealous of you, and you dwell on that feeling for a moment.

Soon, Matt is leading you down a vacant hallway, heading towards a red door that reads ‘BACKSTAGE. STAFF AND BAND ACCESS ONLY’ in bold lettering.

“Here we go…” Matt mumbles under his breath as he pushes open the door, allowing you to walk in first.

The backstage area is a sight to behold. Fancy string lights hang from the ceiling, their bulbs flickering as Matt flips a switch to turn them on, bathing the room in a warm glow. The colour scheme is a combination of red and black — the walls are painted a blood red, adorned with various posters of bands, while a plush black carpet covers the floor, littered with instruments and clothing.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to a pair of light blue panties thrown across the arm of a leather sofa, and Matt seems to follow your gaze.

“One of Chris’s girls was in here before the show; Zoe,” The name doesn’t ring any bells, but you nod anyway, watching as he unzips a backpack with Chris’s name on it and shoves the panties inside as he mumbles under his breath, “At least Nick fuckin’ cleans up after himself.”

“Cleans up?” You can’t help but ask, and Matt responds with a grin, gently kicking the backpack to the side, out of your curious gaze.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the various items scattered about — a few zip lock bags on the glass coffee table, some filled with pre-rolled joints and others with just the marijuana.

“Chris and Nate,” Matt whispers in your ear, causing you to jump slightly at his sudden closeness. They like takin’ a hit before goin’ onstage, calms their nerves.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “What about you?”

“Sometimes, but not tonight” Matt moves to stand directly in front of you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek, his rings gliding gently over your skin as he meets your gaze. “You know the reason why I brought you here, right?”

“Apparently not just to see what’s backstage,” You respond with a lighthearted laugh, though you can’t deny the nervousness bubbling within you. You swallow thickly, your palms sweaty and clammy. “I don’t—I don’t do this type of thing.”

Matt hums, “Do what?”

You feel a surge of embarrassment as the heat rises up your neck, and you can’t bring yourself to look Matt in the eyes, instead focussing on the horse necklace hanging around his neck. You wish the ground would swallow you whole this moment.

Suddenly, Matt gently grasps your chin, using his fingers and thumb to tilt your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze once again.

“Hey, if you’re uncomfortable, I can take you back out to the back right now,” Matt tells you, his tone sincere and honest. “Just say the word and we’ll leave — I’ll take you back to your friend and even call a cab for you to go home if you don’t want to stay.”

“That’s the thing…” You pause, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you grapple with your inner turmoil. “I do want to stay. You’re… you’re interesting.”

“Me? I’m interesting?” Matt can’t help but chuckle, a grin spreading across his face. “Sweetheart, it’s actually you that interested me. You caught my attention the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve never seen you around before, and yet you make me feel like I’m goin’ crazy. I just—” He stops, voice huskier as he stares at you. “I want you so bad. I want to play with you.”

“Play?”

“Will you let me play with you?” Matt asks you sweetly despite the dark look in his eyes. “I can make you feel good… wanna make that pretty pussy of yours ready for me.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod your head, “Okay.”

You gasp as Matt instantly turns you around, your back now pressed to his chest with his lips grazing across your shoulder, his teeth nipping at the skin as his hands slowly slide down the strap of your purse, letting it drop to the floor with a thump.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his tentative touch, trying your best to steady your breathing as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, his knuckles brushing your sides as he lifts the shirt up, bringing it over your head and letting it pool to the floor.

Matt’s teeth snag at your earlobe and you crane your head to the side, allowing him to nip and suck at the area as much as he pleases, eliciting a satisfied hum from you. He pushes his hips forward, his bulge rutting against your lower back while his hands come down to rest at your hips.

You fight the urge to laugh when you feel his fingers drum a beat on your skin, a similar pattern to the one that was playing earlier when he was on stage performing, but the urge to laugh soon disappears when he bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, your knees almost buckling from shock if it wasn’t for the grip he tightened around you.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive,” Matt murmurs against your skin, his tongue flattening over the area he bit down on. “Are you sensitive in other places too?”

“Matt…” You whisper his name when you feel his blunt fingernails dig into your hips to turn you around, his nose brushing over your own before he leans in to push his lips to yours for the first time.

The kiss is soft at first—a few second lip lock that causes your body to tingle with nerves that soon slip away when you feel the intensity grow, and your hands slide around his shoulders while his come up to cup the sides of your neck, his head tilting to the side as his tongue parts your lips.

You grip the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him as close to you as possible, and Matt follows, his body flush against yours with his hands secure around your neck, taking control of the passionate and heated kiss.

It makes your head spin and lungs burn—desperate for air, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to part away from him so soon. His kiss is intoxicating.

Matt breaks away from the kiss as he pants, “Need you–need you to—” He cuts himself off only to reconnect your lips, unable to finish his sentence until he has to force himself back. “Fuck—I need you to lie down f’me.”

You immediately drop down to the carpet with no further questions, not daring to lay across the sofa after seeing the underwear one of Chris’s girls had left behind on the arm of it.

Matt drops down carefully to sit at your waist, his knees planted on either side of your hips. You watch as he takes off his oversized graphic shirt, messing up his hair even more than it already was as it’s tugged over his head.

You’re in complete awe at his body, your hands reaching out to trace the happy trail that leads down to his jeans, making your mouth water.

His horse chained necklace glides across your skin when he leans down to litter kisses across your body, paying extra attention to your breasts that he’s eager to rip free from your bra—he doesn’t even apologise once he tears the material.

Your head tips back with a gasp as his tongue rolls over your pebbled nipple before it’s sucked into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the sensitive bud which elicits a moan from you, unable to control the subtle twitches of your body.

“Pretty—fuckin’ pretty…” Matt praises, his tongue swirling around the opposite nipple as his fingers knead the plush skin of the other. “You’re so sensitive. So easy to play with.”

“Matt—”

“Shhh, sweetheart…” Matt shushes you as you moan a little too loudly, peering up at you through hooded lids as he pulls your jeans and panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere to the side as he pries open your thighs, his gaze flitting down to your glistening folds.

Your heart races as he stares at your pussy, feeling shy and too exposed. You debate on closing your legs so he couldn’t look anymore, or telling him to hurry up so you don’t feel hot under his gaze.

Matt moves down to lay between your legs, his mouth trailing kisses over the skin of your inner thighs. You almost lose yourself as his tongue presses between your folds, his nose rubbing against your throbbing clit that’s been begging for his attention.

“Matt…” You whisper out his name pathetically, your back arching off of the floor as his hands join, two fingers pushing through your entrance and curling, drawing out a long moan from you.

He’s sloppy with his tongue, licking you in all the right places that has your toes curling over his shoulders, and his fingers that fuck into you has you wailing. You’re loud now — too loud to the point Matt’s free hand moves up your body to press over your mouth, keeping your noises muffled by the palm of his hand.

Your cunt clenches around Matt’s fingers in desperation, and the vibrations of his satisfied hums sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss, unable to watch the mess of hair between your legs no more.

His fingers stroke your gummy walls, the cold metal of his rings (that he really should’ve taken off) sends shivers down your spine.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Matt compliments before his lips wrap around your clit, and you moan beneath his palm, your thighs shaking on either side of his head as he fingers you faster and harder — the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt making you want to curl up in embarrassment, but your orgasm is rapidly approaching and you want nothing more than to come undone around his fingers.

He repeatedly whispers praises and compliments as he continues his ministrations through your orgasm; his nose nudging your little bundle of nerves, leaving messy and sloppy kisses on your cunt, and his fingers curling to graze against the spot deep within which is enough to make you tear up, becoming far too sensitive.

You’re pushing him back with your foot, and Matt chuckles as he finally lets you go. He moves to kneel between your legs that have fallen from his shoulders, and he watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as you try to catch your breath.

“Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart.” Your heart warms at Matt’s praise, and you peel your eyes open just in time to see him bring his two fingers to his mouth, covered in your arousal. He keeps eye contact with you as he pushes the digits past his lips to suck them clear, and you find the sight unbelievably attractive.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop! before his hands drop down to the belt on his jeans, unbuckling with one hand and pulling it through the loops. He’s quick to get rid of the rest of his clothing, moving them out of the way with a hard shove so it wouldn’t cause any interruptions between you both.

Matt’s hand locks around your wrist to tug you upwards, forcing you to sit up, and your forehead almost knocks against his chest from the force.

His head dips low to kiss your lips softly before he orders you to turn around — to get on your hands and knees in front of him. You do as you’re told without question, flipping around onto your knees with your ass in the air and face resting against the plush carpet.

“Shiiit… wish you could see yourself from this angle.” Matt curses, his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass, giving the skin a few hefty slaps. He moves forward on his knees, and his fingers wrap around his cock to tap the head against your puffy folds, collecting your arousal with a low groan.

“Please, Matt… Please.” You manage to pathetically plead out, and Matt nods with a hum. His tongue licks across his bottom lip before tucking it between his teeth, watching as he pushes his thick tip into your cunt.

Your eyes widen at the stretch—the burn—fully understanding how big he is even without seeing it for yourself. He stops for a few seconds to let out a shaky exhale, his hands rubbing at your hips as he feels you tremble beneath him. It sounds like he’s mocking you, but you pay no attention as you wiggle your ass back onto him, begging for him to move.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Matt hisses through gritted teeth at the go ahead, and he moves his hand from your hips to your lower back, thrusting forward to push himself in deeper, bottoming out completely.

A choked gasp rips from the back of your throat, your nails scraping across the carpet in search of anything to grasp onto to keep yourself grounded as Matt’s hips press against your ass, his cock buried deep within the warm of your walls. He’s panting while you’re unable to make a noise, mouth stuck open wide as Matt pulls his hips back before rolling them forward, thrusting back into you.

His deep strokes have you struggling to speak, wanting to let him know how good it feels as he’s angling his hips, hitting a particular spot inside of you that has you squealing, almost sending you flying forwards if it wasn’t for his grip.

“Easy, girl. I got you,” Matt laughs between grunts, his hips slapping against your ass. “Am I makin’ you feel good?”

“S’good.” Your words slur, mind too blank to come up with a functioning sentence. He laughs again before finding a good rhythm to work with—a rhythm that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, moving too fast for you to register.

“I’m gonna cum in this tight cunt of yours—fill you up. Gonna fill you up with my cum, make a fuckin’ mess.” The way his tone sounds and how he rambles his words indicate how close he is to cumming, and you’re not far behind.

You wish you could move back against him. You wish you could do more than just bend over with your ass in the air and take what he gives you. You want to make him feel good too, but you struggle to find your strength and your mind is too clouded with lust and pleasure to even begin to move.

You’re stuck as a moaning mess for Matt to use — not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you can do is tighten your cunt around his cock in hopes it will do something to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel, and he gives you one big thrust before he stills, his cock pumping long spurts of cum deep within your pussy as he hits his climax.

The feeling alone sets you off into your last orgasm of the night, your body tingling at the warmth that spreads through you. He’s panting heavily behind you, slowly rolling his hips to ride it out, and he grins when he feels your body convulsing.

Matt takes his time pulling out of you, stroking your lower back tenderly. Once you’re free, your body flops down to the carpet, the air knocking out of your lungs from the harsh impact, leaving you gasping for air as you try to regulate your erratic breathing.

You grimace a little when you feel Matt’s cum drip out of your pussy, making a sticky mess between your thighs and the carpet below you, knowing you’ll definitely have to go home after this and shower.

Mustering up enough of your strength, you try to turn your head to peer over your shoulder to see if Matt is okay, but a gasp fleets past your lips and your body stills when you feel Matt’s hands run up the backs of your thighs and to your ass, kneading your asscheeks before pulling them apart.

He leans down, leaving a kiss on your leaking pussy from behind. “Thank you for lettin’ me play with you.”

#©sturnioz #☆ drummer!matt #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets smut

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nsharks · 1 month ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-eight —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

France feels just as haunted by ghosts, the kind that cling to silence.

The next morning, you follow the road south near the Belgium border under a punishing sun and suffocating humidity. Sweat pools under your clothes as you leave the coastline behind, passing overgrown rose bushes and grand estates crumbling to rotted beams. Without the raft or truck, supplies rest on everyone's backs, lighter now with all the food you’ve already gone through—a stark reminder that you’ll need more soon.

You were the last to wake, stirred from a deep sleep by the sounds of bags being packed. It shouldn’t be surprising—you’d slept well after two orgasms. It’s a miracle the night’s events didn’t spill into your dreams, but now, in the daylight, keeping them at bay is harder. Thankfully, Kyle and the two kids create a buffer as you all follow Price’s lead. Their presence helps keep your eyes from drifting to him. You force your gaze on the passing signs, making a mental game out of trying to pick up on some French. It's distracting enough. So far you've gathered that sortie means exit and allez means something like go.

The first break comes when your shoulders burn from the weight of the backpack, the straps biting into your skin. You slip it off with a groan, sinking to the ground, and nurse the canteen of water. Just enough to wet your throat and keep the dizziness at bay—rationing is a habit.

Price's plan echoes in your head: Méteren by nightfall. That’s ten hours of walking, minimum. Your toes throb at the thought, each step promising fresh blisters, but you force yourself to focus. The faster you reach Switzerland, the safer you’ll all be. If the place they heard of is actually waiting there.

"Hey. Do you want this?"

Blue lowers beside you, offering a near-empty jar of peanut butter she was snacking on.

"Not much left but it's really good," she shrugs.

"I'll finish it off, thanks."

The salty taste is not exactly refreshing, but you choke it down anyway, the boost of protein more of a necessity than a pleasure. Blue pulls at the grass beside you, her gaze drifting to Ari, who’s sharing food with Kyle. You try not to look, but your eyes flick to Ghost anyway.

The mask is still on, as always. Why is he obsessed with it, even after you just saw him naked? Despite its presence, you can still see the furrow between his brows as he pores over the map with Price. Sweat rings the collar of his black tee, and his biceps flex as he gestures down the road. You’re definitely checking him out when he catches your eye mid-conversation, adjusting his mask, and without missing a beat, you turn your attention back to Blue.

She is staring at you, her brow furrowed.

You instinctively touch your neck, your thoughts racing to the bruise hidden beneath your hair.

“Do you think he likes him?” she asks abruptly.

You blink. “What?”

“Ghost,” she whispers, leaning closer. “Do you think he likes Ari?”

Relief floods you. “Oh. I mean, sure. He's a good kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” she corrects with a huff. “He’s thirteen.”

“That’s still a kid, Blue.”

She rolls her eyes but hesitates before adding quietly, “He kissed me.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. And don’t tell Ghost.” She pinches your arm, her cheeks reddening.

“I won’t,” you assure her. “But… when? How?”

“The other night, when we kept watch. Just on my cheek, but still.” She pulls her knees to her chest. “He's cute. I think I like him, but… what if he doesn’t actually like me? What if he just sees me as a kid?”

Her uncertainty tugs at something deep in you. “Have you talked to him about it?”

She shakes her head, looking horrified. “No way. What if he doesn't feel the same? It could get weird.”

“Then kill him,” you deadpan. At her glare, your lips twitch. “Fine, I’ll kill him.”

She snorts despite herself. “Be serious.”

“Okay, how about this—just ask him, ‘Why did you kiss my cheek?’ Keep it simple.”

Blue considers this, her expression softening. “I could do that. But it has to be when Ghost isn’t around. Which is almost never.”

You're telling me. You pick at your nails, avoiding her trusting gaze as your chest tightens.

The sound of Price's boots back on the gravel ends the break.

Even after the brief rest, your limbs drag with exhaustion for the next few hours, but the extra calories push you forward. You make it to Méteren before nightfall. As the guys pitch tents, you rip off your socks to survey the damage. Open blisters stare back at you. With only so much gauze in your kit, you've been hesitant, but you cut a conservative strand and wrap up your heels.

Behind a bush, you change from your sweaty clothes and hope there is freshwater somewhere to wash them in the morning. You dab a rag with a bit of water from the canteen and scrub the biggest offenders; armpits, between your legs, the back of your neck. Changing into a clean shirt, the sound of them unpacking the sleeping bags beckons your heavy shoulders and sore legs. You head back to the tents, ready for sleep, when you overhear Ghost volunteer for first watch.

"Twix will help me."

You hope the surprise isn't visible on your face as you nearly drop your backpack, swinging your gaze at him.

"I will?"

"It's been a few days since you've taken watch."

Your lips roll together then flatten, shoving down the blush that crawls your neck at the thought of being alone with him. Kyle looks like he is ready to take your place, but you nod in resignation, clear your throat, and finish tugging on the zipper over your clothes. "Yeah, of course. I'll help."

The others disappear into the tents, and you turn to sit on a fallen log, bow in hand. But before you can settle, you feel his presence—a shift in the air just behind you, then the solid pressure of his hand curling around your forearm. Without a word, he guides you forward, pulling you with an ease that leaves no room for hesitation. Your body moves instinctively as he leads you out of earshot of the tents, behind an abandoned car. It is now you realize he's changed into a black hoodie and shedded the tactical vest. He leans his rifle against the side of the car and looks down at you, saying nothing for a few seconds.

"Did you take away my chance to sleep and pull me over here just to stare at me?" you whisper, arms crossing against the gentle breeze that has cooled with the fallen sun.

He exhales through his nose before responding. "About yesterday."

You blink at him, hoping you don't fail at hiding how even the mere mention sets your nerves alight. "What about it?"

The way his eyes move slowly over your face suggests he is searching for the words. Finally, he says flatly, "It was just fucking. A distraction."

"A distraction," you repeat slowly under your breath. The bluntness hits you harder than expected. You bite the corner of your cheek, a bit too hard, and you narrow your eyes. "You really think I don't already know that?"

His broad shoulders roll back in a shrug and his tone shifts far too casual for your liking. "I just didn't want you getting the wrong idea."

The wrong idea. You rip your gaze away, scraping your fingertips into your arm, before looking back at him with a forced shrug of your own. "I can handle fucking, Simon. Like I said, I'm a big girl."

There is an audible inhale, then a low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he leans in, his darkened eyes locking onto yours. He cages you in with his arms, the familiar heat radiating from his touch and already making your brain fuzzy. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you onto your toes as he tears off the mask and lays it on the hood of the car. The glimpse of his strong jaw and the flick of his tongue wetting his lips sends a shiver through you despite the lingering irritation at his words.

"Yes. You are," he murmurs, his voice rough and low, before capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that feels like the deep, soothing release of sinking into warm water after aching for relief.

You could kiss him for hours, you quickly realize, pleasantly fascinated by how hot and demanding his tongue feels against your mouth. He tastes like how he smells. Pine and salt. You submit to the pace of his lips, every graze of his teeth making your heart thicken. You move your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp, pulling him closer.

"There's something I need," he mumbles, voice etched with a tremble of impatience, and his fingers clench your shirt. With his other hand, he blindly reaches for the car door and forces the rusted thing open with a few tugs.

"What do you need?" you breathe out, secretly thrilled that he wants you, again, even when it's been only twenty-four hours since he last had you. The mutual desire erodes the fatigue in your limbs and awakens your arousal.

Without an answer, he spins your bodies, easing into the passenger seat, then pulls you in with him, closing the door with a soft click. The position is awkward at best—your head bumps into the roof, one knee wedged painfully into the center console from the lack of space. The car smells like stale leather and dust, but thankfully not like rot. It's far from enticing, but none of that matters when he forces the seat to recline, creating just enough room for you to lay on top of him.

You can feel him, hot and straining within his jeans, as you kiss him again and begin to move your hips instinctively. It is a thrilling notion, that you have made him hard so quickly, and you wonder if he ever touched himself like you did, stroking his cock with a callused hand that he imagined as you. The image of it, in combination with the friction on your pussy, has you greedily reaching to undo his belt buckle.

He breaks from your lips with a grunt and grabs your wrist. "Not that."

Huh?

You don't have the chance to question him before the notch in his throat bobs, and he begins unzipping your jeans, instead. "My face. Sit on it."

The blush on your cheeks is hidden in the car's small, dark space. His half-lidded gaze lifts to yours, and you nod absently before helping him push your pants and underwear to your ankles, shifting awkwardly to discard them to the floor. His hand immediately moves between your bodies, his fingers brushing against your wetness with a sharp inhale. It should make you embarrassed, but it doesn’t—not with the way he watches you, his other hand peeling off your shirt, the whites of his eyes flashing over your naked body with such unabashed hunger that you realize it must’ve been simmering in him for as long as it has in you.

Again, you're the only one undressed. His hands knead the plush of your ass, the massage to your sore glutes drawing a moan from you. He pushes you up his chest and you move your knees, until his face is level with your cunt, nose caressing your throbbing clit. You have to grip the headrest of the backseat to keep yourself steady, neck craned. His palms cup the backs of your thighs, keeping them apart.

He's already put his mouth on you, but for some reason, this time feels more vulnerable. You become unconsciously alert of the fact you are not the girl you used to be, the one who shaved every inch of her body before going on a date, and scrubbed her skin with perfumed body wash. You have been sweating all day in the French humidity, and not a single part of you is hairless. When he attempts to pull you to his mouth, you resist with a wiggle of your hips.

"You don't—we don't have to do this, you know. I mean, I haven't shaved in years and—"

He bites your thigh. "Stop talking."

"Ghost, I'm disgusting."

His brows furrow, confused, before he exhales a soft laugh, breath fanning your cunt. "I don't care."

You writhe. "No, seriously—"

"I'm a big boy, Twix," he throws back you.

His tone is final, and with that, he ignores your protests and tightens his hands on you, pulling you to sit on his jaw. His tongue licks a bold stripe from hole to clit, then back down to your hole, where he swirls it a few times before pushing in. Your mouth hangs open in a silent surrender. It is you at his mercy now. His mouth feels even hotter on your cunt for some reason, causing your head to lull forward because of the ceiling, hair dangling.

Your nails scrape into the leather. His tongue fucks you, nursing the sore flesh that his cock had stretched. He pushes you down with more force, and meets the juncture of your thighs with an arch of his neck, pressing his face deeper. There is a small worry that he might not be able to breathe, but it is erased when his tongue visits your clit with a heady groan, the vibrations of his vocal chords making your muscles flinch. He circles it with a light pressure. You reach down to grip his hair, silently demanding more. He listens, pressing his tongue harder.

"Fucking... yeah, like that."

One of his hands glides up your stomach and squeezes your breast. He keeps sucking, toiling with your puckered nipple at a similar pace. Despite the uncomfortable position, your hips buck and thrash. Your hand slaps against the window as he makes a sloppy mess out of you. The overgrown stubble on his jaw scrapes between your tightened thighs and the sting adds to the overwhelming sensations. You attempt to lift off, seeking a break, but he growls and strikes your ass, forcing you back down.

He licks at you expertly, as if having figured you out in just a few minutes. You screw your eyes shut, a small but swift orgasm rolling through you when you hear him slurp at your folds. He gathers it with a sweep of his tongue, humming. The aftermath leaves your trembling, breath jagged, as a larger one grows towards release.

"Been thinking about that all day," he whispers against you, continuing his ministrations. "Got another one for me?"

His tone feels mocking and desperate at once. Your nails press painfully into the condensation-painted glass. Your other hand fists back in his hair, curling and uncurling, but there is no point in trying to fight it, not when he parts your cunt with his fingers so he can lick more of it. You cum again, harder, almost convulsing as your head bangs upward. It feels never-ending, your moans uncontrollable. He laps you through it, even more relentless, drawing the pleasure for a near-minute, until your lungs can hardly function and you feel like you might collapse.

Your body is pliant and jelly-like when it finally fades. He takes hold of your waist to keep you upright, and pulls his mouth away with a dribble of leakage down his chin. Already, you know it will be impossible to forget that sight, his eyes dazed as if he is the one who just came twice.

His touch turns somewhat tender when he helps you back down to his lap. He doesn't bother wiping the obscenity from his mouth when he kisses the corner of your lips, firmly, then helps you slip back into your clothes since your brain doesn't seem to have full control over your limbs yet. It's when you place a hand on his thigh to shimmy on your jeans that you feel a distinguishable wet spot.

He finished, too.

The discovery makes your chest swell, and you nibble at your lip as you finish changing.

"Thanks," you whisper to him.

He doesn't say anything. He keeps the seat reclined and allows you to lay limp against him, feeling the uneven pace of his heart that matches your own. Clearly, he is a man of his word. This will not be a one time thing, even if it is just fucking. You sigh in sheer exhaustion from the day's activities, unable to ignore the weight in your eyelids as you inhale the residual musk in the air between your bodies. His chest feels firm and warm, a decent place to rest your head, and you think you feel a touch caress your hair.

You are supposed to be staying up to keep watch, but he doesn't seem ready to move you. Somewhere between wondering how long you can keep this hidden from Blue, and dreading how far you will have to walk again tomorrow, you drift to sleep.

When morning arrives, you are not curled up in a car, but tucked in a sleeping bag.

Ghost must've put you here, but you have no recollection of it, squinting your eyes against the harsh incoming of sunlight through the nylon walls. Nereida is in the bag beside you, not Blue, which offers a thread of relief. You carefully extricate yourself without waking her and join an awakened Price and Kyle for breakfast.

This morning feels slower than the last. Satisfied with the distance covered yesterday, Price is content with just making it to a town called Englos today. Then, you can focus on finding food and water during the evening.

Your energy is replenished with tomato soup and stale crackers. Blue sits with Ari to eat, and you casually glance at her, but she gives you a subtle shake of her head. No, she hasn't talked to him yet. You offer a small, forced smile and look away.

The day's journey begins after what you would guess is around 8 am. As you walk, you redo your braids, tucking the strands into place so they don't stick to your forehead. Kyle falls in step beside you in comfortable silence, while Ghost moves to the front of the group. He treats you exactly as before—offering only the rare glance of acknowledgment. As if you hadn't just sat on his face last night. As if he hadn't ate you out like you were a source of sustenance.

Though, you’re grateful for his distance. It makes it easier to stay discreet. If he were to look at you too long, you might give yourself away.

It's just fucking.

Nothing but small towns and sprawling fields surrounds you. You pick up a few more words of French and think back to how your parents took you here, but never to the countryside. It's beautiful. Picturesque, even, except for the occasional skeleton tucked between ambery stalks of wheat. You pass through a place called Bailleul, where the remaining buildings remind you of England, when you spot black graffiti inked on a small clock tower.

N'allez pas à Fleurbaix.

"Allez means go," you murmur, stepping over some broken glass. "So what does n'allez pas mean..."

"Picking up a new language?"

You swing your head at Kyle, blinking, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

"Yeah. I thought it might come in handy when chatting with the thriving local population."

He shakes his head in amusement. "Have you been here before?"

"When I was a kid. Once to Paris, and once to a ski resort."

"Ah. So you were one of those kids."

You frown. "What kids?"

"The kids who had money to go skiing."

You shrug, thinking back. "I mean, we weren't rich by any means. Just comfortable."

He nods, the companionable silence resuming as you replay the graffitied words in your head. N'allez pas must mean do not go. Do not go to Fleurbaix. You are about to ask Kyle if that is where you are headed when he speaks first.

"Are we good, Twix?"

His question throws you off guard. You make eye contact and he raises an expectant brow as if he is referring to something...

Right. He kissed you. It feels like forever ago since it happened, but it was only a week maybe. The memory almost makes you cringe, especially in comparison to what you've done with Ghost the past two days.

"Yeah," you dismiss breathily. "Yeah, of course. We're good."

He seems genuinely relieved by your answer, smiling with a sliver of teeth. "Good. I'm glad. I was an idiot and not in the right headspace. But still, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I've been trying to give you space."

"It's fine, honestly," you tell him. "We are all under a lot of stress."

He releases a breath, then brushes a shoulder against yours. "So we're friends, you and I? Or something like that."

You nod with a little laugh, shifting the backpack. "Something like that. By the way, do you know if we are going by a place called—"

"Gaz. Come here for a moment," Ghost calls.

His tone is abrupt, causing everyone to halt. Without question, Kyle jogs over, his boots scraping against the gravel as he moves toward Ghost, who is crouched on one knee, fingers brushing over the matted grass at the side of the road. You squint, trying to figure out what’s caught their attention, and step closer to get a better look.

"A lot of them," Kyle says quietly, his palm pressing gently into the flattened vegetation. Now, you can see it—clear signs of something recently passing through. The ground is torn up, the plants bent and trampled. "It can't have been long ago," he adds, frowning as he observes the damage.

Ghost doesn't look up as he responds. "A horde went through here. Maybe in the last day." He inhales the humid breeze, and shifts his gaze toward Price. "I can smell them from the east."

"We could run right into them if we keep following the D231," Price mutters, drumming his fingers on the rear of his gun. He glances at the nearest road signs, then unfolds the map. "We could shift west for a few kilometers, through Fleurbaix, then cut back toward Englos."

"I just saw something that warned against going to Fleurbaix," you speak up.

Ghost's brow rises. You ignore the nerves that prickle your cheeks beneath his stare.

"I mean, there are signs saying keep out of everywhere by now," Kyle reasons. "That's probably from the start of the infection."

"It's either Fleurbaix, or risk a run in with the horde," Ghost says.

You nod, more so to yourself, and murmur under your breath. "Fleurbaix it is, then."

Bailleul fades at your backs as you keep moving.

The scent of Greys lingers in the shifting air, but it is difficult to detect amid the strong aroma of flowers that pop up in every shade, replacing the fields of wheat. Roses, violets, and some yellow one you don't recognize ornate the rolling hills for as far as you can see. The buildings turn more upright, strong stone that has yet to falter from neglect. You keep reading the signs, even though you don't have the map to refer to, and your spine tightens when you read Fleurbaix: 1 km.

You unsling your bow without thinking, tapping your nails against the wood.

The road becomes a bit windier as it cuts through some small farms. You even spot a few cows roaming the overgrown pastures which Blue seems curious by. You notice more painted words on the sides of the homes: Nous devons expier nos péchés. It repeats a few times, but you fail to translate it. The only part that clicks is nous, which you think means we.

We something... something...

After crossing a small bridge over a dried creek bed, you excuse yourself to relieve your bladder.

"Keep going, I'll catch up."

You step over what looks like a metal dog chain left on the road and situate yourself between a tree and old BMW. Squatting burns your thighs, and reminds you of your dried cum on them that you've tried, yet failed, to completely wipe off. You clench your teeth as you pee, when there is a sudden sound behind you that makes you flinch, and you quickly zip back up before whirling around. A rat—your shoulders sink. It sits up on its hind legs and stares at you with beady eyes.

"I guess I'm just jumpy sometimes, little guy," you whisper, leaning in. "You would be, too, if you've had to deal with what I have." The rat doesn’t blink. "Right. Well, I’m sure Ghost would think this is incredibly sexy—me having a talk with a rodent."

You sigh, watching him scurry away, but then another rat darts over your boot. You jerk back, gaze following its direction to an old building—a schoolhouse or chapel, judging by the circular stained-glass window below the roof. Beautiful shrubs lines the sides, seemingly well-kept. The door hangs ajar, with more vermin pouring out in an endless line.

"Jesus. Quite a lot of friends you have, huh?"

You glance down the road. The others are still close but walking ahead. You should catch up. It's not safe alone. But against your better judgment, you step toward the door, pushing it open. Rats scatter underfoot as a thick, rancid smell hits you. Death—fresh and cloying, even more so than the flowers.

Blood streaks the stone floor inside, pooling where vermin feast. Splintered pews lead to an altar. You freeze. Lying there ceremoniously is what's left of a body, hardly recognizable—ribs torn through flesh, a dangling optic nerve, a mangled groin. A plethora of bite marks cleave through the remains. Bile rises in your throat as the sound of gnawing echoes through against the sun-lit walls.

But what truly grips you is the writing, in blood, draped over a small cross.

Nous devons expier nos péchés.

You whip around and run, the door closing heavily behind you.

"Simon!" His name claws up your throat.

#simon ghost riley x you #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #zombie apocolypse au

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raspberriesss · 23 days ago

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Thinking about Simon seeing you in his clothes pt.2 Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader First smut, hope y'all enjoy! ೃ⁀➷Part 1

Simon pushed you up against the counter, his hot breath on your neck as he mumbled in your ear, "Lemme touch you, baby, you look so gorgeous right now." You let out a shaky breath, nodding your head at his words. "Wanna hear you say it, can you tell me?" He said in the same hushed tone, his chapped lips moving down to press delicate kisses to your neck. "Yes--Simon, please," you choked out, feeling his hand move further underneath your panties, his rough hand cupping your mound.

"All I needed, pretty girl," he breathed out against your skin, his other hand moving to tug down your panties. The fabric fell by your ankles, and before you could step out of them Simon nudged you further against the counter. You could feel his erection pressing insistently against your ass, hearing him let out a groan against your neck at the pressure. His teeth nipped at your skin, tongue soothing over the soon-to-be-red mark. Thick fingers ran through your slick folds, a shaky sigh leaving your throat at the intimate feeling.

"S' wet for me, you wanted this, huh?" He said gruffly, bringing a hand up to rest on your back, gently bending you over the cold kitchen counter. You braced yourself up on your elbows, head leaning to the side as he continued to pepper kisses down your neck. His hand trailed between your folds, gathering your slick onto his fingers before pushing one into your tight hole. Instinctively, your thighs clenched together at the intrusion, a gasp leaving your throat.

His finger moved slowly, being gentle as he began to stretch you out. "This ok?" He asked quietly, gently kissing your cheek, nuzzling into you. "Yes," you stuttered out, giving him a reassuring nod. He pumped his finger in and out of you, your cheeks flushed, your heart beginning to beat quicker in your chest at the feeling. "Can you take another one, sweets?" He asked in the same quiet tone, the tip of another one of his fingers prodding at your leaking entrance. You nodded your head once more, feeling his other finger begin to slowly penetrate your hole.

Letting out a whimper at the feeling of being stretched, he halted his movements, letting you adjust. His now-soft lips pressed sweet kisses across your cheek, moving down your jaw. "Love to make you feel good," he murmured against your skin. His thick fingers scissored your tight walls, lips finding yours, swallowing your whimpers. "Please move," you breathed into his mouth, his thick fingers beginning to pump in and out of your sopping hole. Curling his digits inside of you, he hit deeply against the sweet, spongey spot along your velvet walls. Soft noises of pleasure began to spill from your lips as he continued, eyes squeezing shut. Your legs were practically like jelly as the rough pad of his thumb pressed against your swollen nub, his strong arm snaking around your middle to steady you. "Gotcha baby, s' ok," he said softly, speeding up the thrusting of his fingers.

"Simon," you moaned out at the feeling, your heart hammering in your chest as you felt the knot beginning to build up in the pit of your stomach. His fingers stopped their movements, his thumb rubbing tight, quick circles against your puffy bud, fingers grinding against your fluttering walls. "Please," you croaked out, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead as you got closer. His fingers began moving again, curling against the spot that had you seeing stars. "Let go, I got you," he reassured you softly, pressing kisses down your skin as you clenched around his fingers, crying out his name.

He slowed his movements, letting you ride out your high, before pulling his slick-coated fingers from your hole. "You, ok? Did so good," He said softly, his other arm wrapping around your middle, holding you gently against him. Your head nodded at his words, glossed-over eyes opening, letting out shaky breaths. His hand moved down, grasping around the backs of your knees, lifting you up against his chest, carrying you bridal-style down the hall to the bathroom. He gently sat you down on the toilet. Grabbing a washcloth, he wet it under warm water before returning to you. Kneeling in front of you he gently nudged your legs apart.

He wiped gently at your folds, cleaning you up, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his calloused hand cupping your cheek. "You should wear my stuff more, looks too damn good on you.”

Please feel free to leave requests! : ̗̀➛ 💌

#cod x reader #cod imagine #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #fanfic #imagine #no use of y/n #smut #simon riley smut #cod smut #ghost smut #lawd have mercy #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #fem reader

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hoshifighting · 4 months ago

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and like also i sooooo need riding jihoons abs while he's hard as hell and all tied up

a/n: what I love most about woozi's stans on this site is that they match my freak. shout out to @wooziorgans , you, @jihootea , @thepoopdokyeomtouched @wifeyoozi !!! LOVE YALL ❤️

jihoon tied up + abs riding

WARNINGS: smut, abs riding, arms tied up [look at picture 2 for education purposes 🤪], body fluids [cum, sweat], handjob, whiny jihoon.

jihoon had me hooked since the day he started hitting the gym. like, i always knew he was strong but holy shit, now it’s like he can’t even fit through a door with those biceps of his. but his abs? bro.

you were gone the second you saw them in full view. shredded, perfectly cut, like they were carved out of stone. you always joked about it to him, telling him you could probably ride them. he’d get all flustered, avoiding eye contact like, “why would you do that when i got something else you could ride?”

and irght now, he was sprawled out in front of you, wrists tied above his head with that same red string he usually used to tie you up. his abs were on full show, stretched out as he strained a bit against the restraint, and the way his chest was heaving, his eyes just begging you to touch him? you were living for it.

and the thing is, you weren’t even going easy on him today. you finally decided to act on that 'crazy' idea. sliding your slick right along the lines of his abs, feeling how they tensed under you. you could feel the heat radiating off him, how he was trembling with the need to touch you but couldn’t. his cock was hard, poking your ass, leaking so much it was making a damn mess on his own stomach, adding to the wetness you were already leaving behind. but he couldn’t do shit except flex those abs harder every time you grinded against him.

“fuck… y/n… what the hell…” jihoon was losing it, his voice all breathy, words punched out between heavy pants. he flexed again, his muscles rippling underneath you, and you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth at how fucking good it felt. his cock brushed against you when you ride backwards, making him whine desperately, head pressing back into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying so hard to hold back. “ride me properly or let me go—either way, i need you to fucking touch me.”

BUT you were too into the way his body was reacting, how frustrated he was getting. you reached down, rubbing your fingers over the tip of his cock, gathering up the precum that was practically spilling out of him. he bucked his hips at the feeling, a choked moan escaping his lips.

“this what you wanted, jihoon?” you teased, leaning down just enough for your lips to graze his ear. “all tied up and desperate like this? look at you, leaking all over yourself.”

he groaned, trying to pull at the restraints. “you’re fucking cruel,” he panted, voice shaking. “how am i supposed to—fuck—how am i supposed to last when you’re like this?” he flexed again, this time harder, making you moan loud as his abs rubbed against your clit.

“i’m not even touching you, jihoon, and you’re already cummin?” you teased, grinding down just a little faster, feeling the slickness between you grow. “imagine how you’re gonna be when i actually let you fuck me.”

he let out another whimper, this one louder, his hips jerking up as his cock rubbed against your skin. you reached back again, brushing your fingers over his red and swollen tip, caressing the slit lightly, teasing him with just enough pressure to push him further into desperation.

“please,” jihoon finally broke. “please, baby. untie me. let me fuck you. let me make you feel good.” his abs flexed again, making you whine. “i need to touch you. fuck, i need to—”

but you just smirked, enjoying every second of his unraveling. “but baby..,” you whispered, grinding down one last time, feeling the pressure on your clit hit just right. “i think you like this more than you’re letting on, hoon.”

your hand wrapped around his cock, feeling the weight of it pulsing in your palm, and you moved in sync with your hips, grinding down against his abs while stroking him slow. jihoon’s body tensed, his head turning to the side as he bit into his bicep to muffle the sound threatening to pour out of him. his whole body was trembling under you “oh, what’s wrong, hoon?” you cooed, but he knew your tone wasn't sweet at all.. “can’t handle it? poor baby..” you squeezed his cock just a little tighter, dragging your hand up his length, feeling how sticky his skin was from all the precum leaking out of him. “you gonna cum already? haven’t even properly touched you yet.”

he let out a muffled groan against his arm, his teeth sinking into the hard muscle, trying to keep from making too much noise, but it was fucking useless. his body was betraying him, hips jerking up to meet the slow rhythm of your hand, his cock twitching with every stroke. you watched as his cheeks, already flushed pink, deepened into a full-on red, sweat beading on his forehead, his lips parted as he gasped for air.

“s-stop teasing—hmpf!”

you grinned, your hips rolling faster, your hand speeding up to match, feeling his cock throb harder with each pump. “what’s that?” you teased, tilting your head to the side. “can’t hear you over all those pretty little moans, baby. speak up.”

jihoon turned his head back, eyes blown wide, pupils dilated, mouth hanging open as the desperate sounds started spilling out of him uncontrollably. “i c-can’t—fuck!” his voice cracked as his back arched off the bed, the muscles in his abs flexing under you as he tried to hold back, his body shaking with the effort. “y/n, please… please, fuck…”

you couldn’t help but giggle softly, leaning down, lips grazing over the side of his neck. licking a long stripe, tasting the salty skin.

he groaned, head turning to the side again, but this time his mouth fell open, and he wasn’t even trying to muffle it anymore. “f-fuck, y/n… you’re g-gonna—fuck, i’m gonna—”

“you gonna cum already, baby?” you whispered, your voice wicked. you squeezed his cock just a little tighter, twisting your wrist as you pumped him harder, feeling the way he was twitching in your hand. “go ahead, baby boy, cum for me. make a fucking mess.”

“oh, fuck—” his voice broke, his body jerking uncontrollably beneath you as he came hard, cum spilling over your hand and shooting your lowerback before pooling onto his stomach, mixing with the sweat and the mess you were already making. he let out a strangled moan, hips bucking up wildly as he lost all control.

you kept moving, your hand milking him through it, drawing out every last drop, your hips grinding down harder as his abs flexed one last time beneath you, making your clit throbb instantly. you moaned softly, the pressure on your clit finally pushing you to the edge, your body trembling as you followed him over, and you sure he felt you growing wetter right on his belly skin.

jihoon continued with his broken whimpers as he lay there, his face was flushed deep red now, his skin glistening with sweat, and his eyes were hazy, unfocused as he blinked up at the ceiling.

“fuck… i can feel you pulsing” he finally breathed out, chuckling a bit “you… you— i mean— im going to work out harder, so you can do it again baby..” he promised as you untied him.

“oh? again? did you liked it then?” you wringled your eyebrows at him.

“stop looking at me like that!” he sulked with his now, free hands, covering his face.

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yaniluvs · 17 days ago

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✿ : hazy mornings , lonely lips .

[ 승민‎ ] ✷ ‎ . . 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑏f!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑔n!reader g. domestic fluff , humour , uni!au , established relationship . I,2OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ L𝒾BRARY . 𓋜 . cw. suggestive , kisses , intimacy. ✦ requested drabble. ! ࿐

yani's note ! ✿ double post today >< thank you to anon for the request ! <3 also, this may be my first gender-neutral-reader fic :3 not too proud of this, but oh well, not my best work either !! requests are currently open, so are anon claims !! i lowkey cringed at myself while writing this... i'm so not good with suggestive fics, but i did what i could !! comments, likes, req/asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

the first thing you notice is warmth. not the kind that wakes you up in a sweat, but the kind that lulls you into staying—into sinking deeper under the covers where his scent lingers, where his presence is heavy and real.

your boyfriend is still beside you, half-buried in the blanket, one arm thrown lazily over your waist. his hair is a mess, tufts of brown sticking up in unruly directions, and his lips are parted slightly, a soft breath escaping with every rise and fall of his chest. he’s warm. solid. here.

you barely remember how last night ended—just flashes of laughter, his teasing remarks that made your stomach twist, the way he pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead before pulling you down beside him. the details blur, but this moment is sharp, etched into the quiet glow of morning.

soon enough, you heard a soft groan. looks like he was up early, too.

“good morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, rasping against the quiet like a melody only the morning gets to hear.

the golden light spilling through the window drapes across his face, tracing every sharp plane and soft curve as if the sun itself is enamored by him. shadows gather in the hollows of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the gentle dip above his cupid’s bow. his lips are slightly parted, still kiss-bitten from the night before, and his lashes—long, delicate—flutter lazily as he blinks against the glow of dawn.

his hair is a tousled mess, strands falling over his forehead in an artless way that makes him look even softer, like something meant to be admired in the quiet hours between dreaming and waking. the light catches in his dark eyes, turning them into liquid gold, flecks of amber igniting within the deep brown. sleep lingers in them, slow and heavy, but there’s warmth too—something tender, something just for you.

he looks like a painting, half-finished, caught between shadow and sunlight, between sleep and consciousness. and when he turns to you, lips quirking up just slightly, eyes lidded with drowsy affection, you think the morning has never been more beautiful.

“are you done staring, pretty?”

“your morning voice is so hot.”

it slips out before you can think twice, your voice still drowsy, thick with sleep. you’re staring at him, at the way the first rays of light filter through the window, casting golden lines across his bare shoulder. he blinks once, slowly, before turning his head toward you.

then he laughs. a deep, husky sound, slightly raspy, like the remnants of sleep still cling to his throat. “what?”

you hum, inching closer, pressing your palm against his chest where his heartbeat drums steadily beneath your fingertips. “i said… your morning voice is hot.”

his lips twitch—amusement flickering through the sleepiness in his gaze. “did you wake up just to thirst over me?”

you grin, fingers tracing idle shapes against his skin. “maybe.”

seungmin exhales a laugh, shaking his head, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, his grip on you tightens, his arm curling more securely around your waist, fingers pressing into your back like he needs to hold you there. his warmth seeps into you, and you find yourself slipping further into him, into this softness he rarely shows to anyone else.

“you’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, voice still gravelly, still unfairly attractive.

“and you love me,” you counter, tilting your chin up to look at him.

his gaze meets yours, dark eyes holding something quieter, something deeper. he doesn’t say it—not right now. but you feel it in the way he shifts, in the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, in the way his lips brush against your temple, slow and deliberate.

his touch lingers, fingers trailing down the side of your face, ghosting over your jaw before settling beneath your chin. he tilts your face up just enough for his lips to catch against yours, a soft, teasing press, barely there.

“you’re so clingy in the mornings,” he muses, voice lower now, warm against your mouth.

you scoff, but it comes out breathy when he kisses you again, firmer this time—less teasing, more intent. his lips part against yours, and you sigh into it, letting him deepen the kiss, letting yourself melt into the lazy pull of morning, the way his hands skim over your skin like he’s mapping you out all over again.

somewhere between the kisses, between the way he tugs you closer like he can’t stand even a sliver of distance, you murmur, “i should tell you your voice is hot more often, then.”

seungmin exhales another laugh against your lips, and it’s the best sound you’ve heard all morning.

“my lips feel lonely.” he spoke.

“yeah?” you murmur, lips quirking. “tragic. truly.”

seungmin hums, lazy amusement curling at the edges of his mouth. his fingers tighten around your waist, slipping beneath the fabric of your—his—shirt, tracing absentminded circles against your skin. his hands are warm, just a little rough, and the feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“you could fix it,”

you raise a brow, feigning contemplation. “hmm. i could.”

his thumb drags slowly over your hipbone, and your resolve weakens by the second. you swear he knows it, too, because that smirk is growing—sleepy, teasing, stupidly attractive.

“but should i?” you continue, tilting your head. “i mean, you were making fun of me just now. you don’t deserve my generosity.”

seungmin scoffs, lips brushing your temple again. “you just called my voice hot. i think you’ve lost all your rights to act indifferent.”

you narrow your eyes, pressing your palm flat against his chest. “i can get them back.”

“mm, sure. go ahead.” he exhales a quiet laugh, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like he has all the time in the world. his voice dips into something softer, something closer to a whisper. “but you won’t.”

and you won’t. because he’s right here, warm and solid, pressed against you like he belongs there.

you sigh, tilting your chin up just enough to brush your lips against his jaw. “you’re mean.”

“you love me.”

“yeah, yeah.”

“then help my lips.”

your breath catches when he tightens his hold, pulling you even closer until your noses are barely apart, until his lips graze yours in the laziest, most infuriating tease. his gaze flickers down to your mouth—slow, deliberate—before returning to your eyes, dark with something knowing.

“see?” he murmurs. “clingy.”

“shut up,” you mutter, before finally closing the gap.

it starts slow, like the morning, like the warmth lingering between the sheets. his lips are soft, warm, moving against yours in a way that makes your thoughts scatter. there’s no urgency, no rush—just the gentle push and pull of something familiar, something sweet.

and then seungmin tilts his head, deepens the kiss just slightly, and you melt.

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groans into your mouth—a sound that sends heat curling through you. his hand slides up your back, pressing you flush against him, like he needs to feel every inch of you.

when you part for air, your breath stutters. seungmin’s eyes are heavy-lidded, lips just barely swollen, and he’s looking at you like he’s already thinking about kissing you again.

“feel better?” you ask, voice breathless.

he studies you for a second, gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, before dragging his thumb over the curve of your mouth.

“not yet.”

and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, pulling you right back into him like the morning is endless.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance

!! please let me know under this post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

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dccomicsimagines · 6 months ago

Text

A Sight for Sore Eyes - Jason Todd x Reader

Warning - Gun Violence

Requested by Anon - Can I have Jason Todd run into his ex-wife? Maybe the heat is still between them????!!

Author's Note - I finally finished something! Also this is more like an estranged wife than ex. Hope that's okay!

***

"Stay here," you whispered to the maid who was nervously biting her nails. "I'll take the tea in."

"You sure? I hate that man." She looked around the kitchen as if the walls had ears. They did, but you doubt they were listening to you now. Not with the big meeting going on.

"I'll be fine." You flashed her a smile to hide the butterflies in your stomach.

She added the last cup. "Thank you." She went to go sit in the corner with her head in her hands. Her face pale.

You understood her fear, trying not to feel it yourself. Touching the necklace around your neck, you pressed it against your collarbone. It took you a moment to gather your courage, but eventually you picked up the tray and headed out of the kitchen doors.

The Falcone residence oozed old wealth and a posh lifestyle. Almost like it wasn't funded by blood money.

You paused by the door and reached up to adjust the red rose pin on your shirt. Something Mario Falcone, the current head of the family after the blood bath that was the Holiday murders twenty years ago, added to all the Falcone servants' uniforms.

As if you needed a mark to prove you worked for Mario. You were literally in his penthouse serving tea.

You tapped the pin three times, hearing the slight beep of the recorder.

A lump formed in your throat as you prayed for any help from some higher power. You took a deep breath and quietly entered the office.

"And you want us to help you how?" Mario said from behind his desk. You walked across the plush Persian rug and set the tray on the desk. He gestured for you to stay. You backed into the far corner and folded your shaking hands behind your back.

The man in the other chair squawked. "I need men." You dared a peek. The Penguin looked older than you last saw him. He had a black eye. You wondered who punched him.

Mario leaned back in his seat, holding his fingers together. "What do you have to offer? I know Batman is breathing down your neck." He pursed his lips. "I'd rather not get that kind of attention."

The Penguin wiped sweat from his brow. You frowned slightly.

Mario motioned for you to pour the tea. You did, keeping your eyes on the floor.

"You see..." The Penguin took the cup of tea before you finished pouring. You stopped the tea just in time to barely miss his hand. He took a loud sip. You eyed him before pouring for Mario.

Mario raised an eyebrow. You added sugar to his tea and started to step back.

"If you don't give me men, I can't stop what they will do to you." The Penguin looked up with such genuine fear. Your heart stopped. From the widening of his eyes, you knew Mario's stopped as well.

"Who's they?" Mario glanced at you. He frowned. You quickly moved back to your place by the far wall.

The Penguin shook his head and dropped his cup. "I've already said too much." You stepped forward and knelt down to pick up the cup. Taking the towel you kept in your pocket out, you dabbed the tea stain.

The Falcones spilled. They were hot headed bunch after Carmine passed.

Although from what you knew of the Penguin, he never spilled. Your gut told you something was very wrong.

"Well, I can't help you." You heard Mario stand up. "Not if all you can give me is veiled threats."

"You don't understand." The Penguin stood up, almost hitting you with his cane. "This is your only chance, boy. Don't be a idiot."

You winced as you heard Mario take a sharp breath.

Glass shattered. You saw tea dripping down the far wall. "What did you call me?!"

Not again. You crawled back and stayed near the wall out of Mario's range.

Mario threw as many objects as his sister, Sophia. Neither had regard for who they might hit with those said objects. You had a cut on your arm to prove it.

"You stupid brat. As dumb as your father!" The Penguin's face flushed. "You just dug your own grave and probably mine."

Suddenly, screams echoed from inside the penthouse. The Penguin's face went white as a sheet. He flopped face first onto Mario's desk, spilling the rest of the tea tray.

You winced as everything shattered. Mario grabbed a gun from his desk drawer.

"(Y/N)." Mario tossed it to you. You caught it. It was heavy in your hands, bringing back old memories. You pushed them away as you swore you heard a gurgle on the other side of the door.

Mario took out another gun, loading it. He moved toward his fireplace. You watched as he pressed three different stones on it. A secret door next to it popped open. "Stay here and defend," Mario ordered.

"What?!" You watched him enter the secret room and shut the door. A lock whirled as it resealed. "Bastard," you mumbled.

You tapped the rose pin. "Help."

No response. You hoped it meant they were on their way. The office door rattled. You ducked into the shadows in the corner of the room.

Another scream echoed through the penthouse. The maid. You swallowed hard. You'd have to get to her.

Suddenly, the office door opened and an animal-like monster fell through. It had long claws, crawling on all fours. It sniffed at the Penguin.

You held your breath. It turned your way. It had an owl-like black mask that reveal part of it's jaw. You could see the bone. Zombie?

It let out a terrible shriek. You flinched. It saw the movement and sprang toward you.

You fired, getting it in the face. It flew back against the wall.

Not wasting a moment, you ran out of the room. Another scream came from the kitchen. You ran toward it, bursting through the door to find two more of the zombies surrounding the terrified maid.

Without hesitation, you shot both. They flew against the kitchen cabinets. You ran for the maid, grabbing her hand and going into the pantry.

She seemed to wake up from her shock to slam the door shut.

"Block it." You pointed your gun at the door. The maid ran, tossing bags of rice against the door. When she ran out, she grabbed everything off the shelves to add to the pile with no logical thought in her mind.

You let yourself feel the nausea in your stomach, the adrenaline shaking your very bones.

"What are those?" The maid whispered, freezing as more gunshots and screams echoed from somewhere else in the penthouse.

"I don't know." You swallowed hard, keeping your gun aimed at the door. "Do you have your phone?"

She nodded. "Should I call the cops?"

You shook your head. "I doubt they'd be much help." You held out your free hand. "Let me call a number I know."

The maid eyed you, but scratches on the door made her toss the phone into your hand. She got behind you, shivering.

You sighed and typed a number you knew by heart. It rang, much to your relief.

Your finger twitched on the trigger. The door began to rattle just as Oracle's voice came through the speaker.

***

Jason punched the last Talon. It spun before collapsing in a heap on the rooftop of the Gotham News building. "All clear here," Jason said, holding back a yawn.

He hadn't slept well. If anyone asked, he claimed it was the new bed, but he knew it was because you were no longer sleeping beside him.

Six months since you left. You hadn't bothered to contact him since walking out the door.

Jason stewed. "Red Hood, meet Batman and Robin at Falcone's penthouse. Talons are overrunning the place," Barbara said through his comm.

"Good riddance." Jason turned to look out over the city. The lights shined on the wet pavement. He took a deep breath of the damp air.

Barbara clicked her tongue. "Jason, (Y/N) is there."

Jason's blood ran cold. Your disappointed face flashed before his eyes. His feet were moving before his mind.

"Keep calm, Jason. I was just on the phone with her." Barbara's voice was faint. Jason grappled off the closest building, flying through the air before grappling to the next.

He didn't realize how fast he was moving until he saw Falcone's building in the distance. His legs burned, arms aching.

Jason couldn't let that disappointment be the last thing he remembered of you.

***

Nothing surprised Bruce much anymore. Years of being Batman had led him to expect the unexpected.

However, today was different.

He and Damian crashed through the skylight of Mario Falcone's penthouse to find a blood bath and several feral Talons.

What caused the Court of Owls to make a direct attack against the Falcone family? Why so many Talons? Why were they taking out everyone?

Questions he had to worry about later. Hopefully, you could shine some light on the subject. If he could find you.

Bruce threw a Talon against the far wall before dodging the blade of another. "Robin, find (Y/N)."

"TT." Damian's huff reached his ears just as the Talon next to Bruce shrieked. Bruce threw an ice grenade at the Talon. It exploded upon impact, freezing the Talon in place.

Damian ran out of the room, cutting down two Talons as he went with his katana.

More Talons crawled out of the vents. Bruce grimaced, catching a knife thrown by one of the Talons.

He let out a slow breath, calculating the best strategy before the far window shattered and a flash of red barreled in. The red took out three Talons from their momentum alone. Gunshots rang out quickly, almost making it impossible to identify them as separate shots.

Bruce's eyes widened. All the Talons fell. "Where's (Y/N)?" The flash of red turned toward Bruce. He finally could make out Red Hood, Jason.

Bruce nodded to the Talons. "That was...helpful."

Jason grunted. "Where is she?!"

"(Y/N)'s camera pinged in what looks to be the kitchen," Oracle said. "I'll lead you there."

Jason charged out of the room. Bruce followed, taking out a Talon hiding in the shadows of the hallway.

He hoped they weren't too late as they passed several fallen Falcone guards.

***

A fraction of the door broke off. A clawed hand reached through. The maid screamed. Everything in you wanted to shoot, but you held yourself back. You had two shots left, had to make them count if Bruce didn't make it in time.

Fuck Bruce for taking so long.

Please don't let Jason fall apart if you died. You doubted he was doing well since you left him, you couldn't imagine what he'd do if you died on a mission for Bruce.

"Grab something to fight with," you told the maid as she clung to the back of your shirt. "Anything."

She didn't listen, muttering prayers under her breath.

More chunks broke off the door. You let out a slow breath.

The first zombie started to crawl through, bending to squeeze through the small hole. You waited until it was halfway through before shooting it in the head.

The maid screamed. She pulled at your shirt. You had to fight to not fall back on her. The zombie went limp.

It blocked the hole, but soon it's body was pulled out and another zombie started to crawl through.

You shot that one in the head. It blocked the hole again, but the whole door started to shake. Scratches on the wood.

The other body was pulled out and just as claws enclosed on the edge of the hole, a shout came from the other room. Your heart skipped a beat. You lifted your hand to prepare to throw the gun.

You heard the slice of a katana followed closely by a remark of how disgusting this whole situation was. A smile pulled at your lips. "I think we're saved," you told the maid. She looked up at you before turning to throw up.

Gross, but you couldn't blame her. You wrinkled your nose and patted her back. "I'm sorry," she coughed. "You're so calm. Are you used to this?"

You bit your lip, wanting to say you married into it. However, all you could do is shake your head. "I'm not used to zombies. Not these kind anyway."

She looked confused, but you focused back on the door. "(Y/N)!" Jason's voice echoed from behind the door as it started to shake even more than before.

You froze. How did Jason get here? Bruce promised he'd keep him out of your mission. "Red?" You asked, raising your gun to throw just in case.

"Open the damn door. It's safe," Jason demanded. A rush of anger filled you.

The maid looked at you with wide eyes. "I thought you said you didn't call the cops."

"I didn't." You didn't look at her, keeping your eyes on the door. "How do I know it's you, Red?"

The irritated sigh that followed confirmed it for you. He did that to you a lot. One of the problems in your marriage actually.

"(Y/N), the area is secure." Damian's snotty voice made your anger cool. "You may exit now."

The maid grabbed your hand as you moved to shove things out of the way. She didn't help you, just squeezed your hand until you thought your bones broke.

You opened the door to find Red Hood flying forward to crush you against him. All the breath left your lungs.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, but this time it was for other reasons. Reasons you weren't going to think about for now.

"I'm fine, Red," you whispered to him.

"You better be." Jason pulled away when the maid cleared her throat.

"Robin, guide her to safety," Bruce ordered, nodding to the maid. The maid squeaked at being addressed.

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Bruce silenced him. "Come along," Damian said, taking the maid's arm.

"(Y/N)?" The maid looked at you wide eyed.

"I'll be fine." You flashed her a smile. "Don't worry. Robin will keep you safe."

She bit her lip, but let Robin drag her out of the room.

You looked around the kitchen at the zombie bodies on the floor. The counters were cracked, cupboards pulled down, glass from the dishes covered every surface. Luckily, you were wearing thick shoes.

"Report," Bruce said. You pursed your lips and looked at him. He looked no worse for wear.

Jason tensed. "Wait a minute." He shook his head. You wished you could see his face, but the helmet hid it. "Is this where you were this whole time? You were undercover for him?!" He was glaring at you. You hated when he did that with his helmet on.

"You aren't the only one who can disappear for months," you snapped, narrowing your eyes.

He flinched. "That's low."

"Oh that's low. Isn't it low to not tell your wife that you're running away to space with your ex?" You crossed your arms.

"Enough." Bruce stepped between you and Jason. "Work this out later." He turned toward you, giving Jason his back. "Report."

Jason huffed. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling at the sound. "Mario had a meeting with the Penguin." You tapped your pin. "I recorded it."

"Where are they?" Bruce studied you. You felt touched your sort of father-in-law cared enough to check you for injuries.

"In Mario's office. Penguin fainted once the attack started. The zombies left him alone for the most part." You gestured for them to follow you toward Mario's office.

Jason bullied his way in front of Bruce and next to you. "Talons, not zombies."

You hummed. "So this is the Court of Owls?" You glanced back at Bruce.

"The court has decided to come out of retirement." Bruce frowned. You stepped over a few bodies of Mario's guards. You knew them, but you didn't let yourself feel anything yet.

Jason touched your hand. You allowed yourself to take his hand for a moment before pulling away at doorway to Mario's office.

Penguin was stirring from in front of Mario's desk. Batman went over to him and dragged him up onto the chair.

You went over to Mario's secret door. It was untouched. "Mario is still here," you said.

Jason followed you. "He in a secret room or something?"

"Safe room. Left me out here to defend him." You bit your lip when Jason's head snapped to you. "Stop it."

"Were you his bodyguard?" Jason's shoulder tensed. "Or more?"

You gagged. "No, god. Don't even suggest it." You slapped his arm.

The Penguin squawked awake, blubbering as Bruce interrogated him.

"What am I supposed to think, (Y/N)? You walked out, said you needed space, but then disappeared for six months," Jason growled.

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at him. "Now you know what I was thinking when you ran off with Starfire, huh?"

Jason flinched. It didn't feel as satisfying as you wished it did.

You knocked on the hidden door. "Mr. Falcone, it's (Y/N). It's safe to come out."

"Starfire isn't really my ex. We just slept together once," Jason grumbled. You rolled your eyes. He was making the same excuses he did six months ago. Nothing changed.

"Doesn't help your case." You punched his arm to shut him up.

Mario opened the door. He smiled when he saw you, but froze at the sight of Red Hood.

A unmanly shriek came out of Mario. He tried to close the door, but Jason grabbed the corner and ripped it open.

Mario backed into his safe room, eyes wide with terror. Jason followed him in. "(Y/N), did you call this thug? I'll have you burned alive." Mario spat, grabbing a gun and aiming it toward Jason. Jason kept walking toward him unbothered.

"I didn't call him specifically." You leaned against the doorway. The adrenaline was wearing off. Your hands trembled as everything sunk in. "By the way, I quit."

Mario shot Jason in the chest, but it bounced off his armor. You covered your ears. The gun shots echoed loudly in the small room.

Jason knocked the gun out of his hand and picked him up by the front of his shirt. He held him up until his feet were dangling off the ground.

You couldn't help feeling warm from seeing Jason was still as strong as ever.

"You don't threatened her." Jason's voice was colder than ice. "Forget her name, forget her face. She was never in your disgusting presence, do you understand?" Jason brought Mario's face close to his helmet. "Do you?"

"Yes." Mario shook like a leaf. You swore you saw the front of his pants darken.

A hand touched your shoulder. Bruce moved you out of the room. "Watch the Penguin. I want to have a word with Mr. Falcone."

You snorted, stepping out to find the Penguin unconscious on the floor. "What a rough day for you." You nudged his side with your toe as Mario screamed from his safe room. "A rough day for all of us."

You sat down in the chair and crossed your arms. Taking a shaky breath, you tried to keep your emotions locked up, but tears still filled your eyes anyway.

***

"Red Hood, wait outside," Bruce ordered. Jason dropped Mario. Mario crumbled to the floor, blubbering.

"Fine." Jason stomped out. He saw the Penguin unconsciousness on the floor. Worrying his lip, he saw the top of your head as you sat in an armchair facing away from him.

A sniffle came from you. Jason's stomach dropped.

He moved to your side and knelt beside the chair. You recoiled, quickly wiping your face with your hands.

His heart fell slightly. "You okay?"

"I'm tired." You sighed, "This was...a lot."

Jason nodded. He reached out and laid his hand on your knee. You relaxed under his touch. A little hope blossomed in his heart.

Even though he was madder than heck to know you were working for Bruce for six months. That Bruce didn't tell him and you didn't try to contact him at all. That you were with Falcone this whole time.

He still wanted you home. Still wanted you to be his wife, partner in life and beyond.

Bruce stomped out of the safe room. "We need to go. The police are on their way." You jumped up at the sound of his voice. Jason slowly stood, grabbing your hand. You let him.

"I should wait here for the cops," you said softly. Your hand trembled in his.

"Not necessary." Bruce pursed his lips. "I'll give a copy of your video recording to Gordon. It will be enough."

Jason squeezed your hand. "I'm taking her home." He stared at Bruce, daring him to say something.

You looked at him slightly surprised. "Our home?"

"Is there anywhere else, sweetheart?" Jason's voice cracked. He cursed his helmet for hiding what he hoped was the love in his face.

"No." Bruce laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. Jason tensed.

"What do you mean no?" Jason snarled. You squeezed his hand gently.

Bruce stepped closer. "It's best if (Y/N) is kept somewhere safe since she is a witness. You remember what the court does to witnesses." Jason pulled you into his side suddenly, his arm around your waist. You gasped, but relaxed into him.

"Our place is safe." Jason bit his lip. He tried not to think about you being pinned to a wall by Talons, bleeding to death as you screamed his name. A lump formed in his throat.

"It is, but you know the cave is safer." Bruce's lips pursed. "(Y/N) needs to be cleared for any trackers as well."

"He's right." Your voice shook. Jason studied you, noting your trembling lips, widening of your eyes, a sickly pallor overtaking your cheeks.

Jason swallowed hard. "Fine, but I'll take her."

Bruce nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Take the batmobile." He pressed the remote key to the batmobile into Jason's free hand. Jason looked at it before closing his fingers around it.

Jason started to lead you from the room, but you stopped. You pulled away from him. His arm felt empty without you. "Please make sure Mia is safe. She's the maid, she doesn't know anything,"

"She will be safe." Bruce rested his hand on your shoulder. You and Bruce shared a long look. Jason's stomach tightened at the sight. When had you and Bruce became so close? "Now go."

You nodded, quickly using your sleeve to wipe your face. Jason stepped toward you at the sight. You took a deep breath. "(Y/N)," Jason whispered, reaching out to you.

You flinched. "Not now." Brushing his arm away, you walk past him and out the door.

Jason watched you go with a sigh before quickly following you.

"Good luck," Bruce said so softly that Jason almost missed it. It was only the threat of leaving you alone that stopped him from going back in and unleashing his rage onto Bruce.

***

"Thank you, Alfred." You gave him a hug, even though you were only wearing a oversized robe. It did little to protect you from chill of the batcave, but you had to toss your clothes after going through several scans and a bug sweep.

"You're welcome, Miss (Y/N). It is good to have you home." Alfred patted your back before pulling away to look you in the eye. "Now head upstairs. I have clothes waiting in Master Jason's old room." You frowned slightly, but Alfred held up a hand. "And Master Jason knows not to enter unless you give him permission."

You smiled at the thought of Jason being locked out of his old room. "Thank you again." You turned and headed upstairs.

Bruce's study still looked the same. You paused at Bruce's desk as the grandfather clock door swung closed behind you.

The gold frame caught your eye. You traced it with one finger, smiling sadly. It was you and Jason on your wedding day. You were wearing a nice dress you got from Walmart, he in jeans and a button down.

That day had been magical. The beach was warm, sand soft under your feet. Jason had a boyish grin through the whole ceremony.

You shook your head. No point staying in the past now. You left Bruce's study and made your way upstairs.

The manor was quiet. You closed your eyes to enjoy the peace, the safety.

A lump formed in your throat as you remembered the blood, the bodies of people you gotten to know over six months.

Tears burned in your eyes. "Damn it." You covered your face and hurried to Jason's old room.

The room smelled of lemon and fresh laundry. You opened your eyes, taking in the familiar ACDC poster on the wall, the red comforter on the king sized bed. An old pair of pajamas was folded neatly on the bed.

You picked up the pjs and headed into the bathroom.

Turning the water as hot as it could go, you waited to let the steam fill the room before you let yourself grieve.

***

Jason carefully balanced the tray he prepared with one hand and knocked on door with the other. Steam rose from the mug of tea and bowl of soup he had made for you.

He hoped you would accept them. That you would let him in.

A long moment of silence followed his knock. "Come in," you said weakly. He heard the roughness of your voice. His heart ached at the thought you had been crying.

Jason turned the knob and slowly opened the door. You were sitting on the bed, towel draped over your head and his old pjs on. Warmth flooded his gut at the sight.

"I brought you something to eat and drink." He walked past you and set the tray on the side table. You pulled off the towel at his voice, staring at him with a calculated gaze. Your eyes were swollen and red.

"Thanks." Your gaze dropped to his body. Jason couldn't stop himself from blushing. "Did you lose weight?"

"Haven't been eating as much." Jason turned away. He went to stand by the window, looking out at the dark gardens below.

You hummed. He heard you sip from the mug of tea. The silence that fell was thick. Jason almost couldn't breathe.

"I see you are wearing your ring," you whispered.

"And you aren't wearing yours." Jason spun to face you. You cupped the mug in your hands, staring down into it.

"I was undercover, Jason. I couldn't have a wedding ring." You reached for your neck. Jason blinked when you pulled out a simple gold chain necklace with the ring attached. "But I had it on me."

Jason's voice caught in his throat. "Why did you go undercover and not tell me?"

You sighed. "It was only supposed to be for a few weeks. Mario Falcone was doing business in Italy. I came to Bruce and asked him if I could get away, he offered the job."

Jason sank onto the bed next to you, but left a decent distance between you and him. A distance that honestly hurt. "And it turned into six months?"

"I was working as a waitress at a cafe Mario was frequenting there. There was an attempt on his life. I saved him, he hired me on the spot." You sipped your tea. "I was still angry with you, so I took him up on it."

Jason leaned forward on his knees. "So you were being petty? Disappearing because I left you? At least I left you a fucking note."

"You left me a note saying you'll be gone for months in space with Kori." You narrowed your eyes. Jason scowled back at you. "On our anniversary."

"It wasn't our anniversary." Jason stood up and paced in front of you.

"Oh, right. It was the day before." Sarcasm slipped into your tone.

Something snapped inside Jason. "Nothing happened between me and Starfire! We slept together once a long time ago!"

"That's not even the point!" You set your mug back on the tray.

"Then what's the point, (Y/N)?!" Jason threw his arms in the air.

You grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at him. Jason caught it easily. "You idiot! Maybe the point was that you didn't tell me in person?! That you didn't even discuss it with me! I'm your wife and you ran off to space without even bothering to check with me!" Tears filled your eyes.

"Fine, it was a mistake not to talk to you about it!" Jason threw the pillow back onto the bed. "But you don't get to just disappear on me! What happens if you died while you were with that bastard Falcone?! You would do that to me?! Leave me to find out from Bruce that you died on his mission!"

"Like you couldn't have died in space and did the same to me! At least I was on earth!" You straightened your shoulders.

Jason towered over you. You glared back at him.

The red faded from his vision. He dropped his shoulders, taking a step away from you. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

You sighed and turned away from him. "We're just going in circles."

Jason studied your back. He closed his eyes and took a soothing slow breath.

Alfred told him once after he started dating you that relationships sometimes meant swallowing your pride. Letting go to move on.

He also said sometimes an apology can fix more than you think.

"I'm sorry." The words left Jason's lips freely. "I messed up. You were right. I should have talked to you about going to space. Even if it wasn't with Kori, I should have discussed it with you."

You peeked over your shoulder at him. "I'm sorry too. I should have gotten a message to you. Let you know where I was and that I was as safe as I could be."

"You shouldn't have left in the first place. How were we supposed to work it out if you weren't here?" Jason grumbled, smiling when you let out a little laugh.

"I guess we're both to blame." You bit your lip. A moment of silence passed between you.

Jason wanted to ask you to come home, be his wife again...but what if that wasn't what you wanted? Maybe you didn't want him anymore? He rocked on his ankles.

"What should we do now?" you asked softly, eyes on the floor.

Jason put his hands in his pockets. "I don't know."

You pursed your lips and sank down onto the edge of the bed. "I don't want to give up on us."

Jason dropped to his knees as if you stole the air out of him. "Sweetheart, I don't want that either." He shuffled until he was knelt in front of you. You took his hands. He frowned at how cold you were, trying to rub warmth into them. "I love you. Always have, always will."

You looked at him with a glimmer of a smile on your lips. "I love you too."

Jason leaned forward. You met him halfway. The kiss shattered any resentment or anger Jason had left inside him. He could only think that you were here, you loved him, you wanted him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. Jason picked you up, chuckling when you gasped in surprise. He kissed you again as he laid down on the bed with you.

***

You woke to the late afternoon sun shining through the window. Stretching, you felt Jason's callused hand on your bare hip. He squeezed gently before sliding his hand up around your waist to pull you back into him.

He was warm, a human furnace. You rolled over, opening your eyes to take him in.

Jason had dark circles under his eyes, his face thinner than it was before you left. However, he was still the same. You reached up to trace his lips with your thumb.

He mumbled in his sleep. You leaned forward to steal a quick kiss. Jason's eyes opened the moment your lips touched his. He rolled over, pulling you halfway onto his chest.

You laughed, grinning down at him. "Morning, handsome."

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Jason smirked back at you. His fingertips tickled your back slightly. "God, I missed you."

"I missed you too." You rested your chin on his chest, watching him. Jason's hand moved to the back of your neck. You blinked when you felt them touch the clasp of your necklace. "What are you doing?"

Jason undid the clasp and pulled your necklace off. Your wedding ring sparkled in the sunlight. "I want to put your ring back on your finger where it belongs."

Your heart melted. "Okay." You watched him slid the ring off the chain and take your hand. He slipped it on your finger. "I remember you missed my finger a few times during the ceremony."

"Because I was too busy looking at you." Jason sighed, holding up your hand to study your ring. "Beautiful."

Your face burned slightly. "Bruce has the photo on his desk."

Jason hummed. "How did he get a picture?"

"Must have made a copy of the one we gave Alfred." You closed your eyes, turning your head so your ear was pressed against his skin. His heartbeat soothing some of the worry in your belly.

Jason laid a hand in your hair. "Can we promise that if either one of us has to leave for a long mission, that we'll take the other with?"

You opened one eye to look at him. His jaw firm. "You're serious?"

"I am." He looked at you without wavering.

"Okay." You smiled, opening your other eye. "But I doubt I'll go undercover again. It sucked."

Jason hummed. "And space sucked. All the food was terrible and all the alien girls wanted to fuck me, but I told them I was married to the most beautiful woman in the universe who would kicked their asses if they laid a hand on me."

You snorted, kissing his chest. "Charmer." You sobered when you thought about last night. "What are we going to do about the Court of Owls?"

"Well..." Jason groaned, pulling you fully on top of him. You rolled your eyes when you felt how excited he was. "Right now, I think we should celebrate being together."

"You mean celebrate again?" You raised an eyebrow, sitting up as you straddled his hips.

"And maybe again afterward? If you're willing?" Jason smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then once we're completely done celebrating, we can see what intel they found last night."

You couldn't stop yourself from grinning back at him. "Fine." You leaned down to kiss his lips. "I love you."

"And I love you." Jason suddenly flipping you so he was on top. You laughed before you lost yourselves in each other.

#dc comics imagines #jason todd #jason todd x reader #dc reader insert #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #batman #batfamily #batfamily imagine #batman imagine

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demoniofleur10 · 7 months ago

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After a long and arduous mission, Sanemi made his way home, his thoughts consumed by the longing to rest with his lover in his arms. He needed to feel her warmth, a tangible reminder that he was still alive and whole. The sight of their home on the horizon filled him with anticipation and relief. His lover awaited him, a beacon of light and solace in the darkness that had surrounded him for so long.

As he stepped through the door, the familiar scent of home wrapped around him, but instead of being greeted by his lover, he was greeted by her giggles mixed with some more voices. His lips stretched upwards at the familiar sound of her giggle that drove half of his stress away.

Sanemi followed the sound, his curiosity piqued. He could hear the lively chatter of Tengen's wives and Mitsuri's excited squeaks. Now he wondered what had captured their attention so completely. Deciding to clean off the dirt and sweat from his latest mission, he headed to freshen up before seeing his beloved wife.The other girls had already noticed Sanemi's return, though Y/n remained unaware. They giggled mischievously as they helped Y/n button up a shirt that was far too tight. Her face was aflame with shyness, dressed in a skirt that clung to her thighs and a shirt that barely contained her breasts, which seemed on the verge of spilling out. It was reminiscent of Mitsuri’s outfit but even tighter.

When they heard the creaking floorboards outside, they knew the Wind Pillar had returned. Quickly gathering their things, they exchanged hurried goodbyes with Y/n before scurrying out the door. Y/n, confused by their sudden departure, felt her face grow even hotter when two strong hands encircled her waist, and warm breath fanned her neck.

"Is this a surprise for me?" Sanemi's voice was husky with a mix of lust and affection. Despite her embarrassment, Y/n's heart soared with joy at his return, oblivious to the intense reaction her new appearance had elicited from him.

As Sanemi's hands roamed over her, he marveled at how the outfit accentuated every curve. "You look stunning," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck. Y/n's breath hitched at the contact, her nervousness mingling with excitement. She turned slightly in his arms, meeting his gaze with a shy smile.

"I didn't know you were home," she admitted softly. Sanemi's eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in closer, their lips mere inches apart.

"I couldn't stay away," he whispered before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Y/n melted into his embrace, her hands gripping his shoulders as she responded eagerly. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their intimate bubble.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Sanemi rested his forehead against hers, his voice a low rumble. "I've missed you so much, Y/n."

"I've missed you too," she replied, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "I'm so glad you're back.

"Sanemi's grin was full of promise as he tightened his hold on her. "And I'm not letting you out of my sight again."

❀ ❁ ✾

"S-Sanemi!" Y/n moaned as Sanemi thrust into her with an almost primal intensity. Her vision blurred, stars dancing before her eyes with each powerful stroke. His relentless pace left her gasping, every nerve in her body aflame with pleasure.

Sanemi's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he drove deeper. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the room, a symphony of breathless moans and skin slapping against skin.

"Love," he groaned, his voice thick with desire and barely restrained passion. "You feel so good." He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

This was all because of the new appearance of his wife.

He had her positioned in a perfect mating press, her skirt the only piece of clothing left on her otherwise bare form. The sight of her in such a state, combined with the fabric draping elegantly over her hips, was utterly intoxicating.

She looked like a goddess, divine and ethereal, her thighs quivering under the pressure of his strong, calloused hands. Her skin, flushed and warm, contrasted sharply with the roughness of his grip. Each touch sent shivers through her body, heightening the intensity of their connection. Her eyes, half-closed in bliss, revealed the depth of her pleasure. The way she responded to him, her body arching and her breath hitching, drove him to the brink of ecstasy.

"Sanemi! It's too much!" Her words stumbled from her lips, breathless and tinged with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Despite her protests, she couldn't deny the exhilaration coursing through her body, her stomach tightening with each relentless thrust. His pace, primal and unyielding, drove her to the edge of ecstasy.

Y/n's nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake as she struggled to keep up with his demanding rhythm. "I... I can't..." she panted, her words trailing off into a whimper as another wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Sanemi slowed his pace slightly, just enough to allow her a moment to catch her breath before he picked up speed again, driving her towards the edge. "I've got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple in a rare moment of tenderness amidst the wild passion.

#anime x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader smut #sanemi x you #kny x reader #sanemi x reader #sanemi x y/n #anime smut #kny smut

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secret-sturniolo · 25 days ago

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video games - chris sturniolo

where chris gets a little carried away while cockwarming :)

a/n - watch for an updated theme and masterlist hopefully soon

Nick and Matt had left earlier in the day to go hang out with friends, but Chris decided he wasn't feeling it. So that left my boyfriend and I home alone for the rest of the day. We were just chilling, watching shows and cuddling. I noticed that Chris was more clingy than he normally is, but I didn't think much of it. Eventually we decided to play mario kart together on the nintendo switch. We played a few rounds, with Chris growing increasingly restless. Finally he spoke up, calling me over.

"Ma, come cockwarm me while we play?" He said, half asking and half telling me.

My cheeks went red. "Uhm, Chris, I don't know..." I said, unsure of it. We had never done that before, so I wasn't sure where this was coming from.

"Please babe? I just wanna be close to you." He pleaded.

I thought for a moment before giving in.

"Fine, but nothing crazy, okay?"

He nodded, patting his lap for me to come over. When I reached him, I could already see the bulge in his pants.

"Chris, you're already hard?" I laughed.

"C'mon, it's hard not to be around you."

"Shut up!" I said, playfully hitting him.

My hands found their way to his waistband, gently pulling down his sweats and boxers just enough for his cock to spring out. He let out a soft groan as the tension from his pants were released. I could see how red his tip was, already leaking precum. Not wanting to get too carried away, I turn around and position him at my entrance.

"Ready?" I ask him.

"Please."

I lower myself onto him, sighing at the feeling of him stretching me out, a feeling that I still haven't gotten used to. My back was now against his chest as I relaxed, and he wrapped his arms around me loosely as we started another round.

"Fuck, I love you so much y/n." He says, leaving a kiss on my neck.

"I love you too, Chris."

The round started, with Chris's chin resting on my shoulder as we played. We played mostly in silence, with Chris yelling out every once in a while if he got hit by a shell or fell behind. Chris ever so slightly moved his hips, causing his dick to twitch inside me. He gave me a genuine apologetic look.

"Shit, sorry y/n."

It wasn't long before he began slightly bucking up. I knew him well enough to understand what he was doing. As much as I tried to deny it to myself, I was actually getting turned on.

"Chris, I told you nothing more than cockwarming! What are you trying to do?"

"I know baby, but I can't help it! Can I please fuck you?" He begged.

At this point my pussy was practically throbbing, and Chris knew it.

"C'mon, I know you want it..." He trailed off.

I stood up, both of us gasping at the loss of sensation.

"I guess we better take this to your room then, yeah?" I said, teasingly.

Within a second he was grabbing my hands and walking us to his room downstairs. He shut the door, locking it behind us. He wasted no time pulling me to the bed, kissing me hungrily. My hands went up his shirt, scraping my nails down his back and stomach, knowing it drives him crazy. He groaned into my mouth before grabbing my wrist and guiding it down to his crotch, making me feel how hard he was. I wrapped my hand around his clothed shaft, slowly jerking him through his pants.

"Suck my dick?" he said, more telling than asking.

I hummed in agreement. I hooked my fingers into his waistband, swiftly pulling them down and letting his cock spring out. I wasted no time taking him in my mouth after licking a stripe up the shaft. Soft groans spilled out of his mouth, finally getting the relief that he needed. He gathered my hair into a makeshift ponytail and held my head, encouraging me to take more of him. I paid special attention to his tip, kitten licking it just to tease him. His hips bucked involuntarily before pulling out of my mouth.

"Sorry, but I don't wanna cum yet baby." he said, pulling his shirt over his head leaving him naked. I did the same, quickly removing my clothes while he watched my every movement. Once we were both bare, I crawled back onto the bed, attempting to straddle him.

"Nope. I love you, but I'm on top tonight." he said, flipping us over so he was now hovering over me.

His hand reached down, running through my folds.

"Damn, so wet for me already y/n."

"Mmm, Chris please just fuck me!"

He kissed me as he began teasing his tip at my entrance. My hips moved with his, yearning for friction. Finally, he pushed in slowly, giving me a few moments to warm up to his size. That didn't last long, as he quickly sped up his movements, hooking one of my legs around his waist for a better angle. A string of curses left my mouth as I was overwhelmed with pleasure. My hands roamed his body, lightly scratching down his back and shoulders.

"Choke me." I surprised even myself by saying this, but I was dying to feel his hands around my neck.

He did as I asked, making sure to not hurt me, but applying just the right amount of pressure. He smirked down at me, loving the effect he had on me. He knew he was driving me crazy.

His thrusts gradually got faster and harder, until I felt myself getting close. I couldn't hold on much longer.

"Chris, I'm close!" I whined.

"I know baby, just a little longer. Hold on."

I was sent over the edge when his thumb came down, rubbing circles on my clit. I came forcefully as he felt me clench around him. His thrusts became erratic and I could tell he was close. With a loud grunt, he pulled out of me, aiming his hips toward my tits. I watched his stomach muscles contract as he jerked himself, his warm cum shooting out onto my chest. We were both a moaning mess, trying to catch our breath and still feeling the effects of our orgasms.

"Damn, we should play mario kart more often if this is how its going to turn out!" he joked

I giggled. "Yes, yes we should."

#sturniolo triplets #secret sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets imagine

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peachsukii · 7 months ago

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— one last dance

✮ content. college au. fluff. you & bakugo dance at one of mina’s parties and leave everyone cheering for more! happy belated softie sunday! I think we all need a little soft bakugo this week. 🧡

College parties are the last place Bakugo wants to be, especially one of Ashido and Kirishima’s house parties. He could be sound asleep after a successful night of studying, but here he is, sitting on the couch and nursing a beer for the last thirty minutes. He’s checked his phone ten times since he sat down, anxiously awaiting your arrival since the party started. Ashido guaranteed that you’d be here - the only reason he showed up in the first place. Why else would he subject himself to such an environment? The majority of the people at this party annoyed the ever loving hell out of him, too loud and obnoxious for his liking.

A sudden rush of air followed by someone hopping over the back of the couch startles Bakugo, juggling his phone in one hand and raising his beer with the other to avoid spilling it everywhere.

“Th’ fuck is your prob—” he snaps, stopping himself as your bright smile blinds him and catches him off guard.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long!” You chirp cheerfully, leaning your full weight against him as you sink into the cushions. “Lame party, huh?”

He slips his phone back into his pocket with a grumble and switches the beer into his right hand. His left arm stretches across the back of the couch to make room for you to nestle into his side.

“S’not so bad,” Bakugo mutters, barely audible over the bass of the music flowing through the house. When the song changes to one you recognize, your eyes light up with excitement, jumping to your feet and extending your hand to him.

“I know you don’t dance, and I’ve asked dozens of times before, but I’m going keep trying to get your ass off this couch at every damn party. Dance with me, please?”

How the hell can he say no to that? He’s resisted your temptations long enough, maybe indulging once wouldn’t hurt. Bakugo puts his beer on the nearest table and stands to take your hand. “Fine, one song.”

He hopes you can’t feel the sweat beginning to coat his palm, or the trembling of his fingers wrapped around yours. You pull him into the middle of the living room alongside the others, but to him, you’re the only two in the room. The song is a mixture of slow and fast, some pop punk cover of a recent radio hit. You don’t rush Bakugo, taking your time to take both of his hands before twirling around in front of him, hips effortlessly swaying to the tempo of the song while his arms are crossed in front of you. He can feel his body radiating heat, all of his concentration centered on keeping his shit together while you glide your body around him like a feather in the wind. When the beat slows, he forcibly spins you to face him before he can chicken out, pulling you close until your chests are touching, one hand slipping to the small of your back to keep you close.

The two of you don’t realize you have an audience - friends silently gathering in the doorway to the living room to join the others in watching the two of you unintentionally take over the dance floor. Ashido, Kirishima, Kaminari, Midoriya, Yaoyorozu, Todoroki and Jiro all staring with stars in their eyes, a joint “oh my god are they finally gonna do it?” murmur amongst them.

Bakugo’s other hand rests on your collarbone, relishing in the bare skin contact for a moment before moving to your waist, shifting you to spin in tandem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, flying blind and doing what feels right in the moment. The song is winding down, the final echo of the chorus ringing in his ears when he makes a split second choice - his free hand runs down the back of your thigh while he dips you back, watching as you instinctively stretch back to accentuate the movement. Right as the song ends, Bakugo’s got you cradled against him when someone cuts the music entirely, and suddenly…everyone is staring at you two.

“Kiss her!” Ashido yells, inciting a chant amongst the crowd. Kirishima and the others begin yelling “Kiss!” repeatedly with everyone else.

This is not how Bakugo envisioned kissing you for the first time, but he’s pined after you for so long, he can’t take a chance on missing this shot to go from friends to…something more. Shakily, his one hand stays at the small of your back while the other lays against your neck. He can feel your pulse thrumming against his thumb - maybe you wanted this as much as he did after all.

Bakugo leans in close, and the rest of the world falls silent as he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

No one has ever asked to kiss you, they usually steal what they want and leave you for their next catch of the week. But this? This is what you’ve been waiting for, and he’s been here the whole goddamn time.

You want to say something witty, some smart remark to make this moment light hearted, but you can’t. The words won’t come out, so you settle on a cheesy smile and excited nod. With your permission, his hand moves to the back of your head and under your ponytail to pull you into his orbit. You wrap your arms around his neck as cheers begin to erupt from everyone around you. And when your lips gently touch, you can’t help the giggle that surfaces, and shockingly enough, you feel Bakugo chuckle in response. When he backs away from your lips, you tug him back in for a second, not wanting the moment to pass just yet.

“Yeah!!! Finally!” Jiro shouts, fist bumping with Kirishima and Kaminari with glee.

The crowd begins to mingle back into the swing of the party as the music resumes, leaving the two of you breathless in the middle of it all.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Wanna ditch this party and get dinner?” You ask with a grin.

Bakugo laughs while tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Ya don’t have to ask me twice, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

softies; @slayfics @maddietries @starieqq @liluvtojineteyam

@jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @queenpiranhadon @kirishimaeijiromyman

『 #reis softie sundays 』

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #soft bakugou #soft Bakugo #my hero academia fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou fluff #reis softie sundays #☆.rei writes

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ventismacchiato · 2 years ago

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40.5 behind the lens — fuck me like i’m famous !

BONUS CHAPTER 🔞 NSFW

content warnings — semi public sex, hickeys, biting, blowjobs, untouched cumming, degrading, leashes, grinding, oral sex, top scara

word count: ~2.4k

notes; my attempt at gender neutral smut, when he’s fucking you it can be…ykw either 🐱 or 🍑…wtv u want! 🤞

no plot just porn so feel free to skip this chapter

That Friday would have been a normal stream like any other week. Your camera was on, the game loaded and ready to go as you talked to your chat. It was going great as usual.

Well, apart from Scaramouche eating you out from underneath your desk.

“Thank you for the donation,” you smiled, albeit strained. Your sweats had been tugged off, bare thighs against the cushion of your gaming seat as Scara’s head was buried in your sex. His tongue working around it caused obscene sounds, which forced you to raise your voice to try and drown him out. Everytime his tongue slid across your soaking sex it caused your legs to tremble ever so slightly.

You let one hand wander under your desk, your nails digging into his scalp to reward him as he moves his lips off your sex and towards your inner thigh. At this point you were biting your lips as you tried to focus on your stream, a heat pooling in your stomach as Scara quickly lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders.

You had to hide your gasp as your knees almost hit the bottom of your desk, his warm tongue working its way back onto your sex. His cheeks, which were usually so pale, were now flushed red as he looked up at you. A bit of spit had spilled out from the corner of his lips as he sucked on your sex, wet sounds almost failing to be concealed by your nervous laughs.

Impatience grew between the both of you as you could feel yourself getting closer. The ring hanging on Scara’s lips felt cold against your sex as he tilted his head, gathering more access to you.

“I think I’ll have to end the stream early today,” you swallow, “I’m not feeling too good.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as a wave of responses came in, your fans wishing you well as you bid farewell. After a few minutes you shut the camera off and looked down at the sight before you.

“Can I have you now?” Scara asked, a lazy grin adorning his face as he removed your legs from his shoulders and came out from underneath the desk. He unceremoniously discarded his pants and belt as he did so, wiping your pre-cum from his lips.

Your expression was nothing short of captivated as Scaramouche slid into your lap, knees on either side of your thighs. It’s a tight fit on the leather chair, but it’s hard to care when his hands grab your waist to steady himself and god , they’re so slender and firm as he slides them underneath your shirt.

A moan easily slipped out of your lips, proving your sensitivity to his touch as Scara smirked at your reaction.

“Be quiet baby, don’t want anyone to hear this, yeah?” he murmured, tapping on your chest.

“Shut up,” you huffed, hands slipping around his waist to steady Scara.

“Watch,” he instructs, taking your hands off his waist as he makes his way to unbutton the top of his shirt.

You lean back obediently, moving to keep your hands on the arm rests but you couldn’t control your fingers from twitching as Scara slides the button-up off his shoulders, collarbone on display for you.

Your stomach churns as the sight of Scara teasing the hem of his top, his hand sneaking underneath all while maintaining eye contact with you before finally letting it fall off.

You breathe out audibly through your nose. Scara sitting atop your bare legs was almost enough for you to cum right then and there.

“Scara,” you whine, “This is unfair.”

“Watch.”

So you did.

Scaramouche was always snarky and playful when you both grew overly competitive while playing video games, but now he moved diligently, not letting you get a single touch.

He moves his head down and brings your hand to his lips. You both make brief eye contact before his lips meet your palm, trailing kisses alongside it before bringing your index and middle finger into his mouth.

Your gaze hardened as he swirled his tongue around them and pulled his lips back, a trail of saliva in his wake.

You’d had enough of just watching by then, moving your hand from his grasp to grab the back of Scara’s neck before you tug him close. Your eyes meet for a second before your lips do. His kisses weren’t gentle but they weren’t rough, it was possessive to an extent and it had you tugging on his dark locks rather harshly.

The position was awkward on the small chair with your bodies angled towards one another, but that didn’t matter since all you could focus on was the pair of lips moving against your own.

He pulls back, sucking on your bottom lip as he did so.

“How bad do you want this?” he mused, his voice a shadow of his usual condescending tone.

“Please,” you breathe, a heat pooling in your stomach as Scaramouche pulls off your shirt with expertise. It had you a bit envious to see him do it so quickly but that feeling dispersed when you felt Scara’s warm hand palm your chest as he took his cock out, now sitting ready against his stomach.

Without warning he shoves his fingers roughly into your mouth, the tips of his fingers just reaching the back of your throat.

“Spit,” he ordered, his dick still sitting straight up.

It was odd being given orders for once but you didn’t push it away as you did what you were told. Once again, a string of saliva left your lips as he pulled his fingers away. Instead of bringing it to your hole immediately, he brought it to his lips, his tongue licking around his own fingers and the remnants of your saliva while maintaining eye contact.

Within a blink, his fingers were inside you and your body surged with pain as two fingers went in and out of you. Your hands gripped the seat’s armrests as Scaramouche didn’t show you mercy and quickened his pace, his head coming down to suck the skin on your neck.

You bucked your hips up as Scara’s fingers went in and out, matching your rhythm. Your right hand found Scaramouche’s back as you steadied himself, dragging your nails across it as you did so.

Your neck was littered with his marks as he lifted his head once more, inserting a third finger with a gleam in his eyes.

Your sweats and underwear were pooled by your feet and you felt on display as your camera was only a few feet away, but you didn’t care at all as the pain seamlessly transformed to pleasure.

You reached down to use your free hand to pump his cock, body jerking this way and that as Scara had to keep himself steady which only made you go faster.

“I didn’t say you could do that,” Scaramouche teased, lifting his lips from your neck and removing your hands from his cock. He removed his fingers from your hole, much to your dismay, and dragged them along your cheek, your own juices staining your face.

“Stay still like the good whore you are,” Scara hummed, inserting his fingers once more, you could only buck your hips up in desperation for any friction. You could feel your hole tighten around Scaramouche’s fingers and a feeling rise from your lower region.

“I’m gonna cum, Scara,” you groaned, the material of the leather chair digging into your skin. Your eyes fell shut as you felt Scara slow down his pace.

“I can't have you do that so quickly,” your boyfriend murmured, removing his fingers slick with your insides and moving away.

Scara removed himself from your lap and got down on his knees once again to spread your legs open.

“Have to prepare your tight hole,” he murmured, voice muffled as his head was in between your legs. You felt his tongue slide up your thigh, leaving a trail of kisses until Scara reached your hole. His tongue swirled the edge, slowly and knowingly, as you let out a cry of pleasure. The feeling only increased when Scara traced a wet circle around the rim just before he dipped his tongue in.

Before you could release right then and there he removed his mouth from your hole and sat back up, crawling atop you and lining his cock with your hole.

“Fuck,” Scara groaned as he slid in, his cock inside you. The tip of his hard cock made contact with your entrance, unprotected.

Scara let himself simply sit inside you as you grew used to the feeling, not thrusting just to edge you even more.

“Are you gonna be good for me and be loud?” Scara asked, taking his belt from the floor of your room and snaking it around your neck. “Hm?”

“Yes,” you whimpered as Scara clasped the belt around your neck. He grabbed the loose end and used it as a leash to tug on it and bring your head closer to him.

“Good,” he praised, one hand on the belt and the other on your waist, “Nice and loud.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before Scara was pulling out only to slam right back in again. He rocks back and forth as he does so, his nails digging into your bare waist. It was difficult to control yourself when Scara was buried so deeply inside of you.

You moaned in arpeggios as Scaramouche lifted himself out of you once again, his tip trailing the inside of your thigh only to thrust back into you again. It was rough and harsh, just like you both preferred it to be.

“I’m gonna fill you up at this rate,” Scara muttered, causing you to buck up your hips to meet Scara’s with every thrust, “You’re ruining me.”

Your head was tugged from the belt Scara held in his hands, your faces a mere inch away from each other when Scara locked your lips together. You felt the taste of metal as Scara’s tongue explored your mouth, the knowledge of the male above you having a new piercing only fueled your desire.

You could feel your orgasm nearing, your hole was tightening around Scara’s dick. You were just a hole at that moment and would let him do whatever he wanted to you at that point. The sounds of skin on skin filled the room as he kept slamming into you.

You pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your guys’ lips as Scara’s head tilted back.

“I’m gonna fill you up to the brim,” was the last thing you heard as Scaramouche rode out his orgasm. Your hole clenched as you felt warmth ooze inside of you, causing your eyes to fall shut and legs to tremble.

Scara slowly pulled his cock out of your entrance, cum spilling out as he wrapped his palm around his cock to get the excess cum off. Once Scara’s fingers were covered in white he reached up to shove his fingers into your swollen lips.

You were in a daze as you tasted Scara upon your tongue, swallowing every last bit as your lover tucked his cock back into his pants before looking down at your lower region.

“I can’t allow your filthy cum to get on your nice seat,” Scara slurred as he leaned towards you while inserting two of his fingers once again into your hole, “It cost far too much, how would I explain that to the cleaners?”

Scaramouche snickered as he pushed in the cum threatening to spill out of you with his fingers, “Would I tell them my little slut creamed all over it?”

You cried out at the overstimulation instead of responding, not like you would be able to since your mind was clouded. Scara’s words only sent trembles up your spine and down to your sex which was even wetter if possible.

“Excited…again? Already?” Scara asked, looming over you, “Didn’t know the Stardust was so easy?”

“Please,” you whined, wanting to finish yourself off, the stimulation was too much, even for you.

“You didn’t get to cum yet, think of this as your reward,” Scara said, removing his fingers and grinding against your sex.

Scara’s hips moved fast and it didn’t take much for you to release right into Scara’s lap. You were ashamed at how quickly it had taken you but your boyfriend just had that effect on you.

“A little pathetic at how quickly you came,” Scara scoffed, dragging his palms sullied with your cum across your bare chest, “Are you that much of a whore?”

You could only nod as the sticky substance dripped along his skin, your sex drained as Scara cleaned off his fingers, each one leaving a resounding pop. He dragged his fingers across your chest and swirled them around your nipples, moistening them before pulling back.

“I think you should sit in your mess until your next stream,” Scara teased, reaching down to grab his boxers and pants that were pooled on the ground and hoisting them back on.

You swallowed as Scara pulled your sweats up your legs and tied them for you. You could feel your wet sex against the fabric of your underwear. You were still full of Scaramouche’s cum and it felt warm as you squirmed around in your seat.

Unlike the sex they just had, Scaramouche was gentle with the way he undid the belt adorning your neck and rubbed at the red ring now encircling your neck from it. It had left red marks along with the love bites littering your skin. It felt sore but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Sorry,” Scara apologized as he did so, trailing his fingers against your neck then proceeding to grab your top from the ground, “Looks like it’ll take a while to heal.”

“Don’t be, I quite liked it,” you assured as you pulled the shirt over yourself as Scara pulled you off your chair. Your legs felt weak as he did so but Scara caught you and left a short kiss on your lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Scara drawled as he pulled you close, his lips now by your ear.

“Shower?” he murmured, and you could hear the smirk on his face.

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing him off of you,

“But now it's my turn to do what I want.”

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

author’s notes — i didnt know how to end it 🤞 hope u enjoyed it sorry it’s kinda freaky and i beta read it myself so ignore any mistakes if any. also stop asking for updates! writing is my hobby! go touch some grass! also probably 1-2 chapters left depending on how i feel xx

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilacponds @uma-umie @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @courtneydefender @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos @cartierfiles [1/3]

#behind the lens smau #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche smut

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gliphyartfan · 5 months ago

Text

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

So thank you love @lovanmari for dragging me away from my humble ditch to finish this wip that I have not looked at for over a year (maybe more I don’t even remember.)

Plus my recent rewrite for Hyrule really made me wanna write more about him and his interactions with his Fae Fam~

Yandy! You may recall the start of this wip!

Anywho, enjoy folks!

At first, it seemed like she was merely under the weather.

There was nothing to suggest it was anything more serious. She brushed off any concerns, always giving them a reassuring smile that never quite reached her eyes.

Days passed, and her condition worsened. Her skin grew clammy, and she started to withdraw more often.

She tried to push through, to hide her growing discomfort.

Her fever spiked suddenly one evening while she was helping Wind gather wood. She stumbled, her breath coming in shallow gasps, before collapsing against a tree with a pained whimper. She curled into herself, tears spilling down her cheeks as her body shook from the fever's relentless assault.

It was Twilight who reached her first, gathering her up in his arms and holding her close as the others rushed to make camp.

His heart pounded with fear as she trembled in his arms, her body so limp it was terrifying. Warriors and Time raced into the nearby town for medicine, while Four and Wind stayed behind with Twilight, trying to bring her some relief.

Hyrule had been the first to try and heal her, pouring every ounce of magic he had into her weakened body. But the illness that plagued her was stubborn, festering in a way his magic couldn’t entirely purge.

His hands soon trembled with exhaustion as he continued to try, his magic flickering like a dying flame. When he finally collapsed, drained and pale, Warriors and Time forced him to sleep, both men looking shaken by how serious things had gotten.

The camp was quiet now, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the occasional murmur of wind through the trees. Four sat beside her, watching the sweat bead across her brow, his own fear tightening around his chest. Her skin burned to the touch, and her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

His fingers carded through her damp hair in an attempt to soothe her when she suddenly stirred, blinking up at him with glassy, fever-bright eyes.

“You... guys… always do everything... for nothing,” she muttered weakly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Shh,” Four hushed her gently, adjusting her so she could sit up and drink some water. He raised the bottle to her lips, helping her take a few slow sips. “Don’t talk. You need to rest.”

“No...” she slurred, her words thick with exhaustion and fever, her gaze unfocused. “You... you do so much. Get hurt. Fight... And no one ever thanks you.”

Four swallowed hard, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. “That’s not true. We’ve been thanked plenty of times.”

“No...” She shook her head, her movements sluggish. “No one sees you... they see the hero... just the hero.” Her breath hitched as more tears spilled down her cheeks. “You get hurt for people... and they don’t see how much it costs.”

Four’s brow furrowed, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He tried to brush it off, to deflect with his usual gentle humor, but the raw pain in her voice made it impossible. She wasn’t thinking straight, delirium clouded her mind, but there was truth buried in her fevered rambling. He stayed silent, not sure what to say.

“It’s not fair...” she whispered, her voice cracking as her tears began to fall faster. “It’s not fair what you’ve been through. It’s not right...”

“(Y/n)...” Four’s voice was soft, barely audible over her quiet sobs. He rested his hand on her arm, trying to ground her.

“I don’t want you to do this if it’s just because you have to,” she whimpered, her fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his tunic. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Four’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, her words hitting him harder than any enemy ever could. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a trembling sob.

“I hate it... I hate that no one ever told you... it’s unfair. What happened to you... to all of you. It’s not right.”

Her grip on his tunic tightened, her fevered mind pushing her emotions to the surface. She was breaking down in front of him, unraveling at the seams, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t cry...” Four whispered, his voice cracking. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry...” she whimpered, her voice barely more than a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry you gave up so much... for a world that only wants you to fight their battles for them.”

Her words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and Four felt something inside him shift, like the walls he kept around his heart were starting to crack.

Suddenly, her hand reached out, and she brought his fingers to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The small gesture nearly shattered him.

“I can’t... fix this...” she whispered, her voice so faint he barely heard it.

"It’s alright, please understand that," Four said softly, his voice trembling, his control over his emotions slipping.

Vio’s presence immediately took over as the rest of the colors allowed him full control, he gently laid her back down.

She weakly protested, trying to stay awake, but Vio’s gentle assertiveness soothed her into submission.

He tucked her under the blankets, his eyes watching her every move, noting the way her body still shivered from the fever.

"It’s not fair..." she mumbled one last time before finally slipping into a fitful sleep.

Vio stood, expression unreadable as he watched over her. "No," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "It’s not fair."

——

They had all promised her it would pass soon, and she believed them, trying to put on a brave face and push through. But as the days stretched on, her strength slipped away bit by bit.

Despite their reassurances, she grew weaker. Then, she needed help just to stand up after resting, and eventually, even sipping water became impossible without assistance.

They would guide the cup to her lips, murmuring words of encouragement, but her hands shook too much to hold it herself. She could barely swallow without wincing, each small action taking all of her energy. The cold bite of the world touching her skin was nothing compared to the fire in her veins.

And still, they kept their promises. They told her she would get better, that they’d find a way.

But no matter how brave a face they put on when she was awake, when her eyes closed, their masks slipped. Desperation took hold.

And she could sense it, the fraying edges of their composure, the way their voices wavered when they thought she wasn’t listening. When they thought she was fully asleep.

Hyrule was the worst of them. He was burning through his magic faster than anyone could stop him, draining potions to the last drop to restore his strength.

He would kneel at her side, whispering incantations, hands glowing as he tried to heal her. Every time, the warmth of his magic brought a brief flicker of relief.

The pain would ebb just for a moment, and she could breathe easier, but the reprieve never lasted. As soon as the magic faded, the agony crashed back into her, harsher than before.

She didn’t blame him. How could she? She could see the way his eyes dimmed with every failed attempt, the way his hands shook as he poured every last ounce of himself into trying to save her.

Even when she weakly begged him to stop to not drain himself so harshly, Warriors pulling him back to rest and Time stepping in with stern words, Hyrule fought to stay awake, refusing to give up.

He looked at her with such sorrow, as if he were the one hurting her.

But it wasn’t his fault. She wanted to tell him, to tell all of them, that none of this was their fault.

Even if they were blaming themselves for her suffering, she didn’t hold any of it against them. How could she, when they were trying so hard? When every one of them was wearing themselves thin just to keep her alive?

They didn’t sleep. Not really. Twilight kept watch over her when she drifted off, his eyes never leaving her face.

Wild hovered nearby, fingers itching to fix something, anything, even though there was nothing for him to do. Time and Warriors were constant pillars of the group, keeping the busy so they didn’t stew in their anxiety, but she could feel the weight of their worry pressing down like a storm cloud about to burst.

The only time they ever showed how close they were to breaking was when they thought she couldn’t see, when they thought she was lost in the haze of fever or unconscious from exhaustion.

But she saw it. She saw the way Four clenched his fists, the way Wind paced, muttering curses under his breath.

Even Legend, normally so composed, had moments where he faltered.

And Hyrule... Hyrule’s guilt was eating him alive.

He would sit by her side, barely holding back his frustration, his despair. His magic, the one thing that had always brought hope, couldn’t heal her, and he couldn’t bear it.

But even in her haze, even as the pain throbbed in every corner of her body, she didn’t blame them. Not for a second.

They had done everything they could.

——

The days stretched into a blur of desperation, punctuated by moments of gut-wrenching fear and fleeting hope. It had been nearly a week since her illness took a turn for the worse. A week since they’d been scrambling to keep her alive. Despite their best efforts, (y/n) was slipping further from them each day.

The nearby village’s only doctor was useless, simply stating that it was like nothing he had ever seen, and that chances of recovery were most certainly slim to none.

Her condition deteriorated quickly. What started as extreme exhaustion had now left her bedridden, her body trembling fiercely and her skin becoming pale as wax.

Every breath seemed like a struggle, every movement too much for her body to bear. The fever raged, unrelenting, burning her from the inside. And as her strength faded, so did the light in their eyes.

Hyrule had become a shadow of himself. He hadn’t slept in days unless it was from passing out, his magic reserves draining back to empty the moment he woke up and crawled back to her.

Each time he used his healing magic, it took more out of him, the toll becoming increasingly visible. His skin was drawn, dark circles etched under his eyes, and his hands trembled as he worked tirelessly over her. His breathing was shallow, his body aching from the strain, but still, he refused to stop.

They all knew he was pushing himself too far, but no one could bring themselves to intervene. Not when the fear that they would lose her loomed over them all like a dark cloud.

Twilight, Wind, Four and Legend had taken on the task of gathering supplies, disappearing to the nearby town almost every day.

They were the fastest, the ones who could sneak in and out with ease. At first, they had relied on buying potions and medicine, but as time wore on, the merchant began to see their desperation, raising his prices to absurd levels.

It didn’t take long for the group to abandon any notion of paying fairly.

Twilight would distract the merchant with a pleasant smile, while Four split up to keep watch as Wind and Legend slipped behind the stalls, taking what they needed without hesitation. It wasn’t theft, not really. Not when the merchant had already tried to scam them.

It was necessary. They couldn’t afford to waste time arguing over prices when every second mattered.

But despite their efforts, the potions barely made a difference. At best, they gave (y/n) temporary relief, literal moments where her breathing eased and the pain receded, but it returned worse than before. The illness had taken a vicious hold, tightening its grip with every passing day.

Warriors and Time kept watch over Hyrule, though neither could hide their growing frustration.

They’d tried to reason with him, tried to force him to rest, if only so he had the strength to continue later, but Hyrule wouldn’t listen.

His stubbornness had reached a new height, fueled by the guilt eating away at him. He couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t.

“She’ll get better,” he insisted through chapped lips, his voice hoarse and trembling with exhaustion. “I just need... I need more time. Please, just... give me more time.”

But even as he said it, they could see the cracks forming. He was running on empty, his body barely holding up under the strain. And still, (y/n)’s condition worsened.

She couldn’t even open her eyes anymore, her body too weak to respond to their voices. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her fevered mind lost in a haze of pain.

When she was awake, she tried to smile at them, tried to offer some kind of comfort despite her suffering. But they could see the truth, she was fading. Her brightness was slipping away, and no matter how hard they fought, it felt like they were losing her.

At night, when they thought she was too far gone to notice, they let their masks drop completely.

Twilight paced restlessly by the fire, his fists clenched as he stared into the flames, guilt gnawing at him for not being able to protect her.

Wind and Four sat beside her, their usually carefree demeanor replaced with silent, tear-filled eyes as they held her hand and brushed her hair back, whispering to her with voices so soft it barely reached the others.

Warriors stood guard, his jaw set, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep as he stared out into the night, waiting for the moment when everything would crumble.

And Time... Time sat at her side, his calloused hand holding hers, as if he could anchor her to the world with his presence alone. He was silent, his expression unreadable, but the tightness in his grip betrayed his fear.

Legend wasn’t any better. He sat farther away from the rest but still close to her, his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes never left her. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure. He couldn’t lose her. None of them could.

But with each passing day, that fear became more real. More suffocating.

One evening, when the others had gone to town again, Hyrule collapsed beside her, his magic finally failing him.

He was unconscious before they could reach him, his body giving out from the constant use of his power. Warriors was the one to scoop him up and lay him beside her, his expression grim.

“We can’t keep this up,” he muttered, his voice tight with emotion. “We’re losing her and with the rate the Traveler is going, we’ll lose both of them.”

Twilight, who had been silent for hours, finally spoke. His voice was rough, filled with raw, unfiltered fear.

“Then we find another way. I won’t let her die.”

No one argued, but the despair was written on all their faces.

They had to find another way. But what? How long could they keep running to town, stealing potions, praying for a miracle that never seemed to come?

How long could they keep up the façade that everything would be okay when every moment felt like she was slipping further away from them?

——

The atmosphere around the camp had become oppressive, a heavy, choking tension that none of them could shake.

The sound of their own thoughts was deafening, and yet, no one dared to speak much. Not anymore. Not when every word felt like a countdown to the inevitable.

(y/n) was still hanging on, barely, her shallow breaths echoing through the campsite. But the fear that she could slip away at any moment had taken its toll on all of them.

Their once seamless movements now seemed jagged and unnatural.

Twilight’s steps, once so sure and steady, had grown erratic, his pacing more frantic as the days passed. He muttered under his breath, words lost to the wind as his gaze flitted between the dying fire and (y/n)’s prone form.

The others weren’t much better. Four’s usual sharp, observant eyes had grown wild, darting to every shadow as if waiting for something, anything, to happen. He often caught himself muttering to himself, strange fragmented thoughts that would normally never see the light of day.

Warriors sat apart from the rest, fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach for his sword at every sound. His jaw clenched and unclenched, a subtle but constant reminder of his fraying patience.

Legend, normally quick with his sarcasm or a biting comment, was eerily silent, his hands wringing the edge of his tunic over and over again. His eyes were dark, haunted, as if he were seeing something none of the others could.

Even Time, ever the rock of the group, had begun to slip. His movements were mechanical, too precise to be natural, his expression cold and distant.

But it was his eyes that gave him away, those sharp, calculating eyes now flickered with something wild, something desperate.

And then there was Hyrule.

Hyrule, who had been the most drained, the most exhausted, suddenly seemed to be... different.

He was still pale, his face hollowed from the constant exertion of his magic, but something about him had changed. He was oddly focused, his gaze distant but intensely sharp, as if picking up on something the others couldn’t see.

He sat by (y/n)’s side more often now, his eyes narrowing as he stared out into the distance, as though something was calling to him. The others noticed it too. the way he seemed unsettled, the way his fingers twitched as if itching to reach for something just out of his grasp. Sometimes, he would mutter to himself, low enough that only those closest could hear.

“This place... I swear there’s something familiar here,” he whispered one night, his voice barely above a breath. “Something I’ve seen before... felt before... but I don’t know why.”

The others exchanged glances, but were too focused on (y/n) to dwell on it.

Still, there was something about the way Hyrule had begun to withdraw, something in his eyes that made them uneasy.

He was debating something in his mind, that much was clear. But no one dared to ask.

Then, one night, (y/n)’s breathing had faltered. Just for a moment. Just long enough to send them all into a spiral of panic.

Hyrule had rushed to her side, using what little magic he had recovered to try and stabilize her. She’d slipped back into unconsciousness, her body colder than before.

The scare left them shaken to their core, but it was Hyrule who seemed the most affected.

That night, he hadn’t spoken. He’d sat silently by the fire, staring into the flames, his expression tight, his eyes distant. The others tried to talk to him, to see if he was alright, but he gave nothing away. No one pressed further.

The next morning, he was gone.

It was Twilight who noticed first, his eyes scanning the camp as he called out for Hyrule, his voice laced with frustration. But there was no answer. He wasn’t there. His bag, his supplies, everything was gone, as if he had vanished into thin air.

It didn’t take long for the others to realize what had happened, and soon the camp was filled with the sounds of heated whispers, their voices low but tense.

“Where the hell did he go?” Legend hissed, his hands shaking as he raked them through his hair. “He wouldn’t just leave, not without saying something.”

“He was acting weird,” Wind muttered, pacing again, his movements jerky. “He was muttering about something being familiar. Maybe he went to find it.”

“Find what?” Warriors snapped, his voice sharp. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, the village is useless cause it’s so small it doesn’t even have a doctor, and (y/n) could die any second. He knows that!”

“I don’t know!” Wild shot back, his voice strained. “But something’s not right. He’s been pushing himself too hard.”

“We all have,” Time said quietly, his voice calm, though his knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping his sword. “But abandoning us? Abandoning her? There’s no excuse.”

Twilight growled under his breath, his hands clenched into fists. “We need him. We can’t—"

“Maybe he found something,” Sky interrupted, his voice quieter but no less tense. “Something he didn’t want to say in front of us.”

“Or maybe he’s finally lost it,” Warriors muttered darkly. “We all know how much he’s been using his magic. It could’ve driven him over the edge.”

The argument continued, their voices rising and falling as they debated what to do. But underneath it all, the fact was clear.

Hyrule was gone by his own free will.

And if they couldn’t find him, or if he didn’t come back soon, (y/n) might be gone too.

——

Without Hyrule, (y/n)‘s moments of respite were non-existent.

The group fell deeper into despair. Every breath (y/n) took sounded weaker, raspier, her skin pale and cold to the touch. They tried to stay strong, but the strain showed.

Time and Warriors rarely spoke now, their grim expressions enough to convey the gravity of the situation.

Twilight remained as Wolfie, using his heightened senses in an attempt to monitor (y/m)’s withering condition.

Four kept snapping at anyone who hesitated too long to do something for her, and Legend, normally so composed, spent hours quietly sitting by (y/n)'s side, holding her hand as if sheer will alone could keep her with them.

One evening, as the group huddled in the camp’s dim light, Wild finally whispered what they all dreaded to hear.

"I can’t give her any more potions or elixirs," he murmured, his voice thick with frustration. "They aren’t working anymore."

His words hung in the air like a death sentence. No one wanted to acknowledge it, but they all knew. The potions weren’t helping. Nothing was helping. Yet even so, they whispered to her in the dark, their voices shaky and tearful.

"Just a little longer, okay?" Twilight would plead softly. "You’re strong. You can fight this."

Legend would gently press his forehead against (y/n)’s, his voice breaking. "Don’t leave us. Please. We need you."

But deep down, they all feared it was too late.

——

Hyrule returned.

He stumbled into the camp just as the group braced themselves for the possibility of that (y/n) wouldn’t survive that night.

His sudden appearance should have brought relief, but instead, it ignited anger. The others turned on him, their eyes wild with rage and fear.

"Where were you?" Legend hissed, storming up to him, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic, his voice shaking with rage and betrayal.

"How could you abandoned her!" Four cried out, fists balled up tightly.

"How could you leave?" Warriors snarled. "We needed you, SHE needed you!"

Hyrule, however, was too exhausted to flinch from their words. He stood before them, pale and bloodied, his eyes heavy with sleeplessness. But despite his worn appearance, his gaze was resolute.

"I didn’t want to leave," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "But… I’m glad I did."

Before anyone could respond viciously to that, Hyrule raised his hands, and with a pulse of his magic, rejuvenated and contrary to his physical condition, the air around them filled with soft, melodic chimes.

Time, Legend, and Warrior’s eyes widened, immediately recognizing the sound for what it was.

A moment later, the area around them lit up, as the sly was filled with a swarm of fairies, their wings shimmering like tiny stars as they descended upon (y/n), surrounding her with gentle light.

The fairies whispered soothing words, their voices like the rustle of leaves in a breeze, comforting both the group and (y/n), even though she remained unconscious.

The warmth of their magic radiated outward, the oppressive weight of the situation lifting as they began to work.

"It was a curse disguising itself as an illness," Hyrule explained, his voice faint from exhaustion. " and I could feel something off since we arrived here. Something... familiar. I didn’t understand it at first. But it clicked eventually.“

He looked up at the sky for a moment, “This place... it’s MY Hyrule, but so far into the future that I didn’t recognize it. But the pulse of magic... that, I knew."

He swayed slightly, catching himself before he fell. "I gambled. Left to investigate, and I was right. I found the Great Fairy Fountain in the same place it’s always been."

His lips curved into a small, weary smile. "To this land, it had been so long. But to her, I was only gone for a short while, despite the centuries that have passed between our time jumps. She agreed to help me... to help her." He glanced at (y/n), whose skin now glowed faintly beneath the soft light of the fairies. "Her daughters came with me, but the Great Mother has requested we bring (y/n) to the fountain so she can personally aid in her recovery."

The group stared in stunned silence, their emotions torn between anger, relief, and disbelief. The sight of the fairies working on (y/n), their gentle magic already combating the curse, was a miracle they had barely dared to hope for.

"I’m sorry," Hyrule said desperately as Legend’s hand let go of his tunic, his voice breaking from the tears he was holding back, barely above a whisper. "I did what I had to do... but I…I just couldn’t keep add it without searching for an actual solution. To actually make sure she pulls through."

As the fairies continued to work, a glimmer of hope returned to the now silent group.

——

Twilight and Warriors had barely exchanged words as they approached the merchant's stall. The merchant, initially wary but hopeful for a profitable exchange, quickly realized his mistake when Twilight’s eyes narrowed and Warriors' grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"We’re borrowing your cart," Warriors had stated coldly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. Twilight’s hand hovered threateningly near his own blade, the intent clear. There would be no payment, no bargaining. They would be taking the cart, and the merchant wouldn’t stop them.

The merchant, pale and trembling, simply nodded, backing away as the two heroes secured the cart to Epona, ignoring the man's feeble protests.

When they returned to the camp, Twilight, with Hyrule’s careful guidance, gently placed (y/n) inside the cart. Her fragile body was carefully cushioned by blankets, and even then, she barely stirred.

The fairies flitted around her constantly, their magic a steady hum as they continued to combat the curse.

With everyone in place, Epona began to pull them toward the Great Fairy’s fountain.

Twilight, walking beside his loyal steed, murmured soothing words to the horse as they made their way through the winding paths, Hyrule sitting in the cart with (y/n), his focus entirely on her, the weight of his exhaustion finally showing but his resolve never faltering.

At the Great Fairy’s fountain, the air shimmered with an otherworldly light. As they arrived, the Great Fairy emerged from the glimmering waters, her presence overwhelming yet comforting.

Without a word, she extended her arms toward (y/n), and with a soft pulse of magic, (y/n)’s body floated from the cart, suspended in a gentle glow. She was carefully placed in the pool of water and magic, her limp form cradled by the shimmering light as the curse continued to be fought off.

Days passed. The Chain set up camp near the fountain, watching anxiously as the fairies and the Great Fairy worked tirelessly to heal (y/n).

Slowly, ever so slowly, the signs of improvement became visible. Her once pale complexion began to warm, her breathing grew steadier, and the oppressive weight of the curse lessened.

But exhaustion took its toll on the group. One by one, the others succumbed to sleep, their bodies and minds drained from days of fear and desperation.

Only Hyrule remained awake, too restless, too vigilant to allow himself the luxury of sleep. He sat near the water’s edge, watching over (y/n) as she floated peacefully in the glowing pool.

Then, in the stillness of the night, (y/n) stirred.

Hyrule’s eyes widened as he saw her eyelids flutter weakly.

For a brief, fleeting moment, her eyes opened, just a sliver, as if she was struggling to take in her surroundings. Hyrule’s breath caught in his throat as he knelt closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Shhhhh…” He gently hushed, as if trying to calm whatever unease she may currently feel, his voice barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. "You’re safe now. Everything is going to be alright."

Her eyes, though heavy with fatigue, seemed to register his words. A faint glimmer of recognition passed through them before they fluttered shut again, her body relaxing as though she had accepted his promise.

Hyrule let out a shaky breath, a wave of relief washing over him. She was still with them. She was fighting, and now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, it seemed like she might win.

——

The Great Fairy watched (y/n) in her pool of magic and water, her ethereal face softening with a sense of quiet awe. "I must say, her will is extraordinary," she murmured, her voice like the chime of delicate bells. "The curse was designed to break the will of its victim, to erode their strength of spirit until nothing remained. But this one... she fought it. Every moment. Impressive."

Hyrule, still weary and bloodied from his desperate journey, glanced down at (y/n) with a tender smile. "That’s just who she is," he replied quietly. "She’s always surprising us. Always pushing through the impossible." His voice softened, a note of fondness threading through it. "It’s one of the things I love about her."

The Great Fairy tilted her head, her knowing eyes gleaming with amusement, but she said nothing, turning instead to watch her daughters as they continued to flutter around (y/n), their magic mingling with her own. Though the power they offered was unnecessary now, their presence was comforting, both to (y/n) and the Chain. The fairies worked with gentle grace, their whispered words soft like a lullaby.

Hyrule glanced at the others, still slumbering deeply by the fountain, drained from days of anxiety and fear. He didn’t tell them about (y/n)’s brief moment of consciousness earlier. He knew it would only upset them that they hadn’t been there to witness it, to share in the small flicker of hope.

And so, he kept it to himself, watching over her as she grew stronger with each passing day. The curse slowly unraveled, her body regaining warmth and color, her breathing steadying until, one day, her eyes opened again.

It was brief, just a few minutes, but enough to soothe the raw edges of their hearts. She was weak, her voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in her eyes as she looked at each of them melted the tension that had kept them on edge.

"I'm okay," she whispered, her words fragile but filled with reassurance. "I’m alright now." Her hand trembled as she reached out, and Wild was the first to take it, tears threatening to spill over as he squeezed her hand tightly.

"We were so scared..." Warriors muttered, voice rough with emotion as he knelt beside her, his mask of stoic composure cracked. "You had us worried, Dear Heart."

She offered them a faint, tired smile. "I’m sorry... but it’s alright now, right? You’re all safe. I’m safe."

They all gathered around her, voices gentle but urgent as they reassured her it was alright now, that she was safe, and they would never let something like this happen again.

As days passed, her strength gradually returned, and the nights became less suffocating as she was slowly tugged away from death’s door.

One evening, while the others slept, (y/n) remained awake, her body finally strong enough to allow her more moments of clarity. Hyrule was keeping watch, sitting quietly by the edge of the campfire, when her soft voice broke the stillness.

"Hyrule..." she murmured, her eyes half-lidded but focused on him.

He quickly moved to her side, concern flashing across his face. "What is it? Are you alright?"

She smiled, small but genuine, and it reached her eyes, softening the tired lines etched into her face. "I just... I wanted to thank you. Even when I didn’t know where I was, when it felt like everything was trying to pull me away, I always had this sense of…you. Of you right by my side."

….what..?

Hyrule’s breath caught in his throat, his heart clenching at her words.

She…had felt him?

“I didn’t know how I knew it was you. But I knew. You have no idea how much that helped.”

She had known he had been there? That he had fought the curse every step of the way?

She chuckled weakly, though it was more of a breathy laugh than anything, but there was joy in it. "Now I know how Twilight felt when he was bedridden. It’s not fun being the one to almost die."

Hyrule couldn’t help but smile back, a quiet chuckle escaping him despite the weight of the past days. He gently took her hand, holding it between his own as he replied, "You were never alone. Not for a second. Never."

She squeezed his hand, her strength fragile but there.

As (y/n)’s eyes grew heavier, she gave Hyrule a weak but sincere smile. “Thank you... for never giving up on me...” she whispered, her voice barely audible, each word a fragile breath. “Not once…”

Hyrule’s heart clenched as the words hit him, the gratitude and warmth in her tone making his chest tighten painfully. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. The emotion swelling within him was too strong, and he could only manage a soft, shaky breath.

“Rest,” he whispered instead, his voice tender, barely holding back his tears. “I’ll watch over you. You’re safe now.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her stamina finally spent, and her breathing evened out into the quiet rhythm of sleep. Hyrule stayed there, staring at her for a long moment, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall.

After a few moments, he slowly lifted his head, his gaze shifting to the Great Fairy who had been watching the exchange with a gentle, knowing smile. Her eyes glimmered with warmth, and the soft chime of her magic hummed in the air, as comforting as a lullaby.

“She... she thanked me,” Hyrule whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he sniffled. “I... I did a good job. I helped...”

His voice was fragile, raw with relief and exhaustion, and as he spoke, he let the weight of everything he had been holding in finally settle. He had helped. He had made a difference.

The Great Fairy’s soft, melodic chime filled the air, and with it, a pulse of magic swept gently over him, a warm wave of love and affection that radiated through his entire being.

The sensation was so soothing, so full of comfort, that even the other sleeping heroes unconsciously relaxed, their bodies softening in their sleep as if the magic had touched them too.

Hyrule sniffled again, wiping at his eyes as he gave the Great Fairy a grateful, tearful smile. He had helped. He had done his part to save her, and now, she was going to be alright.

Everything was going to be okay.

#finally finished this Wip!#linked universe #lu #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #yandere lu #lu time #lu hyrule #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu four #lu wind #lu wild #lu legend #lu sky #great fairy

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delusionalwritingsofagay · 6 months ago

Note

Can I get a trans male reader x lip gallagher from shameless? Where he’s introducing reader to the family? Then maybe after when they leave to go to readers apartment, some smut?

Family Ties

Pairing : Lip Gallagher x FTM Reader Tags: Word count : 963 Y/n: Your name L/n: your last name

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Gallagher household. Y/N stood nervously outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart. Lip squeezed his shoulder gently, offering a reassuring smile.

“Hey, Don’t sweat it,” he said,“You okay?”

Y/N looked at him, a soft smile creeping across His lips. “Yeah, just a bit nervous. Your family is a lot.”

Lip chuckled, a teasing glint in his eye. “You have no idea. They’re the best… and worst. You’ll fit right in.”

Y/N chuckled nervously, but the warmth of his touch helped ease his anxiety. It was his first time meeting his family, and the pressure to make a good impression weighed heavily on him .

Lip opened the door, and the familiar cacophony that was the Gallagher household spilled out. The sound of laughter, shouts, and the clattering of dishes filled the air. The moment they stepped inside, the sound of chaos envelopedThem. The sounds of laughter, shouting, and the clinking of glasses filled the air. Lip led him into the living room, where the family was gathered. He wrapped an arm around his boyfriend's waist, a reassuring gesture that made Y/N feel a little more at ease.

“Hey, everyone! Look who I brought!” Lip announced, his voice cutting through the noise. The room turned, eyes landing on Y/N . He felt his heart drop into his stomach, but Lip held held his waist

“Hey!” Ian waved from the couch

“Who’s this? A new fling?” Fiona, Lip's older sister, teased with a playful grin. but Lip smirked, clearly undeterred.

“This is Y/N. My boyfriend,” he stated simply, the words sending a thrill through Him . Y/N glanced at him, His heart swelling, and he returned Y/N gaze with a wink.

“Nice to meet you!” Fiona exclaimed, moving in for a quick hug that caught Y/N off guard. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

One by one, his siblings introduced themselves; Ian gave him an encouraging nod, while Debbie gave him a genuine smile. And Carl barely looked over to him

As the evening wore on, They got lost in stories shared over messy plates of food, laughter punctuating the air. There were moments when the family’s banter turned a bit heated, but Lip stayed at his side, always ready to pull him back into the warmth of the moment.

“See? Totally worth it,” he said, leaning against the wall with that easy smile that made his boyfriend's heart race. “You’re officially part of the family now.”

Y/N laughed softly, feeling a wave of relief wash over Him “Thanks for making it so easy.”

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind Y/N ear. “They like you, and trust me, that’s not easy. Thank fuck Frank wasn’t here”

As if on cue, the door swung open behind them , and Fiona poked her head out. “You two lovebirds coming back in? Or are we interrupting something?”

“Just a moment!” Lip called back, and once the door closed, he turned his full attention back to Y/N The air crackled with unspoken words, the tension between the two of them palpable.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice lower, laced with a sense of urgency. Before Y/N could fully respond, he captured Y/N’s lips with his, and that kiss was all the answer needed.

The night air brushed against his skin as they walked hand-in-hand back to Y/N apartment. Lip’s playful banter filled the street, but the anticipation of being alone together danced in the back of their minds.

Once inside Y/N’s apartment, the door barely clicked shut before Lip was upon him again, his lips crashing onto Y/N passionately. He melted against Lip, His hands instinctively finding the hem of his boyfriends shirt, wanting to pull him closer.

“Lip,” He breathed, pulling back slightly. His eyes were dark with desire, and lip searched Y/N face as if asking for permission. There was no hesitation in Y/N answer as he nodded, a smile creeping onto his lips.

He lifted Y/N off the ground, the other boy's legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed Y/N back against the wall. The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic, driven by need. The world outside faded away until it was just the two of them, a whirlwind of craving and affection.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” Lip murmured against his lips, moving his hands to explore, fingers trailing down Y/N side, igniting sparks wherever he touched the other boy.

Y/N heart raced with exhilaration, both from the thrill and the sheer intimacy of the moment. “Me too,” He admitted, breathless. It felt liberating to be desired so wholly, to feel seen for who he was.

He laid Y/N down gently on the bed, his fingers caressing his skin like he was memorising every contour. The heat between them both intensified, the chemistry undeniable.Y/N did his best to match his fervour, his hands roaming over him, feeling the muscles beneath his clothes.

As the night unfolded,They lost themselves in each other. Every touch and kiss told a story of affection and acceptance, a culmination of everything they had built together. The boundaries of the chaos outside melted away, leaving only the two of them in their own universe where love and desire intertwined seamlessly.

Afterwards, as they lay tangled together beneath the sheets, the world felt a little bit brighter. Y/N glanced at Lip, who watched Him intently, a contented smile on his face.

“ You’re stuck with me now,” he said , pulling him closer.

#x male reader #x male!reader #shameless #shameless x male reader #shameless us #lip gallagher x male reader #lip gallagher #lgbtq #x male y/n #lgbtqia

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frannyzooey · 2 years ago

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 5

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (some desperate stuff right here people)

A/N: An endless and forever thank you to @mourningbirds1 for being exactly who she is and for being so patient with me. ❤

Summer comes, and you ache for the man across the hall.

It’s been almost a month since he kissed you — a month — and you’re starting to wonder if it was real, save for the way you can feel it vividly when you seek relief with your own fingers. Waiting until he’s hunting or during the dead of night, you slip them south and swirl with practiced, efficient pressure, muffling the sounds you make so he can’t hear you with your door open the way he insists.

You bite back the cry that gathers in your throat when you come knowing he would do it so much better than you. You know, because you’ve become obsessed with his hands.

He won’t touch you — not like he did at the lake, or on the couch — and you can’t stop yourself from watching his hands touch everything else: handling his gun as he cleans it, the ease of his knife as he prepares dinner, mending the clothes line outside when it becomes warm enough to start drying items out there.

He fixed up a rain barrel for the garden, helped you measure and stake lines into the ground for the plants to climb and all the while, you watched his thick, competent fingers. Calloused and rough, his hands are so broad you can still remember the way your fingers barely spread enough to fit between his and when you close your eyes during the peak of your pleasure, you imagine his hand replacing yours.

He told you he worked in construction, and it makes more sense now, the way he knows the build of things. He also told you about where he came from (Austin, Texas), what he did there (contractor), let it slip that he had a brother (Tommy). You didn’t ask him about why he called for his brother in his sleep once you knew who he was calling for, or what he wanted Tommy to help him with though. Those were topics you knew instinctively to avoid, and given the way he acted the last time you asked him if he wanted to talk about it, you didn’t dare bring it up.

Nights in the QZ spent smuggling under the cover of darkness replaced by nights spent keeping watch when you were traveling, he now spends them reading. Another trek over to the other cabin with you to collect things he missed before, you had carried home a sack full of paperbacks and he’s amassed a library of sorts on his bedside table, something that makes you smile every time you see it.

He tells you about those too: westerns mostly, a couple of thrillers, one family saga that he didn’t get through; his words spilling out into the peaceful forest and into your ears, like he couldn’t stop once he started.

You’ve learned a lot about him in the last few weeks, but you want to learn so much more.

A live wire every time you’re in his presence, your palms itch with the want to map the planes of his body, your lips longing for his. You study the lines of his body out of the corner of your eye every chance you get until you have his image burned into your memory for recall at night: the swirls of his dark hair peppered with gray, the fit of his t-shirts around his shoulders, the crinkles that surround his eyes when he smiles. You caught him grooming one day in the mirror, and for some reason, that’s one of the images that you think about the most: the meticulous way he trimmed his mustache; the careful, focused look on his face, the bunched, taut muscles in his arms as his hand held the scissors.

It’s the worst though when he works in the garden.

Always ending up in a simple white cotton shirt, the material is form fitting and thin, molding to the dip of his collarbones and dampening with sweat down the middle of his back. Your mouth waters every time you see him strip his top layer off, unveiling the undershirt he prefers to work in.

His hands still have something to do with it – those hands, working open a button at a time until he peels away the flannel to throw it carelessly in the grass, the short hem of his sleeves only serving to highlight his biceps even more.

It’s almost indecent, the image, but it’s definitely indecent the way you think about it later.

The same white cotton that has been seared into the back of your eyes is soft in your hands, when you take the laundry to the river. Hidden under a blend of your clothes in the basket, you take it out and steal a glance over your shoulder towards the cabin.

He’s not there, and looking around for a moment to make sure he’s not in your sightline either, you press the cotton to your face and inhale, closing your eyes. It smells so strongly of him, his sweat and skin and scent pressed into the fabric and it brings you back to the couch, when his face was next to yours.

Your thighs buckle slightly (his mouth moving against yours), arousal blossoming bright as it floods between them (his hold on your cheek, the low hum of satisfaction he let out). Kneeling along the embankment, cold water seeps through the knees of your jeans and brings you back to the shore.

Fighting the urge to bring it back to your room for safekeeping under your pillow, you pull it away from your face and submerge it into the water, watching it slowly sink.

—

It’s near suffocating, his want for you.

He should just give in, but with every day that passes, the possibility of it moves further away.

Your softness, the curving slopes of your body, your voice. Every scattered item of your belongings left around the cabin a reminder of you, it haunts him all.

You’re there during the day, the water of the creek molding the front of your wet shirt to your body while you do laundry. During the afternoon, a peek of your tailbone leading to the curve of your ass as you kneel on all fours in the garden. During the evening, your features softened by lantern light and your skin luminous and inviting, like velvet.

During the night, arching beneath him in his dreams.

He finds relief when he goes hunting, his bow discarded on the grass as his hand braces on a tree, his other stroking in rapid, firm pumps. The arousal in his gut is ever present, his cock half hard all the time and he grips the rough bark with a white knuckled hold when he comes, seed spilling onto the leaves below.

Every day. Every day he does this, unable to focus on anything else until he does - and even then, it’s hard.

He’s been tempted to do it while in bed at night, but he can’t quite bring himself to. The need to be quiet reminds him too much of adolescent anxiety and besides, he can’t shake the feeling that you would be able to hear him should he do it.

He thinks you might, because he can hear you after all, in the other room.

He hears your sheets rustle in the darkness, the springs of your mattress when you shift in bed. He can’t help the twitch he feels underneath his pajama pants at the sound and it shouldn’t be lewd, but somehow knowing you’re in there makes it so. His eyes staring up at his ceiling, he thinks about your twin bed tucked into the corner, the way he’d have to press close to fit in with you, the sounds the bed would make after that.

And so he’s begun reading, to distract himself.

At first, he tried doing it with you in the room, but he couldn’t stop the words from blurring, his mind focused instead on your presence. There was a tangible weight between the two of you, one he couldn’t ignore and when he found himself glancing above the top of the book at your face more than he was actually turning the pages, he started reading elsewhere.

On the stoop outside, down by the water, in his bed propped against the headboard.

He spends more time doing it now than he ever has, now that he’s got the time. Never really did before with a new baby and then a kid to raise on his own and then…everything else. Never really wanted to after that, choosing instead to work himself to exhaustion in order to sleep or having no choice in the matter just to survive.

He does like it, but besides that, he knows what he would do if he allowed himself to put the book down.

He tries to distract himself in other ways too: checking the traps every day, keeping up with hunting, helping you repair anything that needs it around the cabin with the materials he has. He stays busy because this is more peace than he’s known in a long time, and he also can’t stop worrying about when the peace will break. All good things must come to an end, especially in this life where the good things almost never get a chance to take root in the first place.

With every day that you make this place a home for the two of you, he already mourns the day that it will come to pass and so in the meantime, he takes what he can, when he can convince himself to take it.

Everything he can, except you.

—

Clouds darken and gather in the distance, the damp smell of impending rain permeating the air and you stand on the porch, your teeth worrying at your bottom lip. Not for the first time since this all began, you wish you had a reliable way to tell the weather. Sometimes it’s nice, never knowing what the day will bring, a certain sort of peace that comes with being forced to take each day as it is without worrying about how to prepare for it – but mostly, it’s a nuisance.

“It start yet?” he asks, and the question makes you glance over your shoulder at him as he comes out to join you.

“No, not yet.”

His eyes scan the yard, an unconscious action that you don’t think he’ll ever be able to stop and when they land on your face, he frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Your lip tells me it’s somethin’.”

He nods at the way you’re biting it, his eyes lingering there and you let it go.

“I know it seems dumb, but I’m worried about them.”

“About who?”

You gesture at the garden, and his eyebrows raise as he lets out a chuckle. “The plants?”

They are more than just seeds now – delicate, tender alive things that burst from the soil in neat rows, climbing the threads he’s hung. Their vines wind around the stakes in their search for light, their creeping leaves fanning out as they face up towards the sun. You created those, and you’re protective of them: check on them every morning, afternoon and night. They need to work, in order for this to work, and so you bite your lip again, pulling it into your mouth.

“Stop,” he soothes. His hand comes to rest reassuringly on your shoulder, the familiar weight of it making your heart pick up. “It’s rained before, honey. It’ll be fine.”

Honey — that was new, the nickname. Started calling you that after you decided you couldn’t learn to hunt because you didn’t want to see the animal suffer.

“You’re too sweet. Sweet as honey.”

You thought he would mind after the way he originally insisted on you learning, but were surprised when he didn’t push it. He just accepted it, and the action had made you come to a conclusion in the middle of the night after thinking about it for a couple of days: Joel liked having someone to take care of.

It seemed to be his driving force, his purpose and shed new color on every thing he’s done for you since you met him. You liked the idea of belonging to him enough that he felt he needed to care for you, but with every day that passed since the kiss, you had begun to wonder if that was why he wasn’t touching you: this sense of responsibility where you were concerned.

Somehow that made you want him more, if more was even possible.

Honey. His southern accent gave way to nicknames, that’s what you told yourself. It didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t stop you from inwardly preening every time he said it, like the sun itself was shining on your leaves.

“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be fine. Rain’ll be good for ‘em.”

You nod, knowing he’s right but when the distant rumble of thunder echoes through the trees, you look up at the sky, your eyes searching. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your profile, his eyes slowly sliding down.

The flutter of his curls is in the corner of your vision; your hand gripping the warped, dry railing. Never wanting anything more in your life than to feel the solid, warm wall of his chest and to breathe him in, your lips tingle with the imagined brush of his whiskers when you picture fitting your face into his neck. You’d kiss him there, along the pebbled, tan skin and the sound of satisfaction he would make floods into your mind.

The electricity in the air heightens what you feel, the weight of it wrapping around your lungs, making your inhales thin in the charged space. It pulses between your bodies, his eyes studying you as he pretends he’s looking at something else and you silently will him to just touch you.

Say something.

Do anything.

Jumpy with anticipation, you give him a moment before looking up at him and the intensity of his direct gaze is felt only for a fraction of a second before he breaks it, looking away.

His jaw ticks under his beard, his fist knocking restlessly against the top of his thigh as he avoids looking at you with a straight backed stance and then he's turning towards the cabin, leaving you to it.

“I’m gonna go read.”

—

A crack of lightning startles you awake, the sound coming from just outside your window and you're immediately thrown back into the base fear of childhood. Branches scrape and drag along the roof, your eyes open wide as they search the dark corners of the room and twigs snap and roll down the slope above you with an unfamiliar sound, rain pelting the window next to your bed in a torrential beat.

Another flash of lightning brightens your room for a split second before plunging it back into darkness and thunder immediately follows, rumbling directly above. The sound shakes the windows in their frames, the wind outside howling and you focus on that sound for a moment before it starts to blend with another one.

A low moan; a staggered strobe of light followed by another ground shaking roll.

You hear it again – a plea barely heard over the rain, but when it slips from a single drawn out sound to a more distinct muttering, you recognize Joel’s sleep blurred voice.

“Tommy,” he groans, the syllables long and slow. “Tommy, help me.”

Getting up from your bed, lightning illuminates the space again as you cross the hall and when you step foot in his room, a shake of thunder accompanies your first step over the threshold. Rain pours down his window, the wavy, lit reflection sliding over his bed and you kneel beside him on the mattress, reaching to wake him up.

“Joel,” you whisper, saying it again a bit louder over the storm. “Joel.”

A deep frown etched between his brows, he stays asleep, his body shifting on the mattress away from you. “No. No. Come on, baby. Come on.”

Pain laced through his voice, you turn desperate to soothe him. “Joel, wake up.”

The dream keeping him within its grasp, you grab his shoulder to give it a hard shake and the motion finally wakes him. Up in an instant, furious and wide eyed, his hands reach out to grab you in their hold and wrapping tightly around the top of your arms, a small sound of surprise escapes from your mouth when he flips you faster than you can react onto the mattress underneath him, pinning you down with his weight.

The dream clouding his vision, he’s still half gone above you and you lay still beneath him, not daring to move. Your heart thunders in your chest to match the rumble outside, and the longer he stays between your legs, you start to feel a dampness collect along your seam. The heat of his body leeches through his sweatpants, his solid weight pressing into the inside of your thighs to spread them wide.

“Hey,” you whisper, tentatively moving your hand. You bring it up, fitting the curve of his whiskered cheek into your palm. “It’s just me.”

The second he slips fully into consciousness, you can see it. His gaze regains its clarity, muted streaks of light flashing across his profile and the sound of the storm dies behind the sound of his labored breathing, warm gusts of it ghosting over your mouth. He frowns slightly in confusion, his eyes searching yours and when you offer no resistance and look right back, he bends to press his mouth to yours just as you rise to meet him.

Coming alive underneath him immediately, your fingers slide up to thread through his mussed hair and he tilts his mouth to fit yours, your head lifting to meet his urgency. He groans, a ragged sound of relief that tears from his chest and pours into you as his mouth devours. His hips seek the cradle of your thighs as he relaxes on top of you with a firm grind and you feel the stiff heft of his hardening cock against the curve of your ass, your legs already finding their way around his waist.

Holding on for dear life should he suddenly decide to pull away from you, you don’t have to worry this time. He’s so much more intent than he was on the couch, so much more focused and yet his urgency makes his movements almost frantic. Shaky and desperate, his hands hold you a little too tight, his mouth kisses a little too rough, and the grind of his hips is a little too harsh, but you absorb it all, shuddering as the heat from his body infuses into yours.

His kiss moves from your mouth to your jaw and then down your neck, his teeth dragging along the tender skin and when you moan, the sound is eclipsed by a distant roll of thunder. Your hands slide over his back, smoothing down the planes of firm muscle that you’ve been dreaming about and his hand comes up to wrap around the underside of your jaw, pushing it up so he can taste the hollow of your throat.

His fingers tug your neckline down before changing his mind to shove it up, giving you just enough space within the cage of his arms to untangle your limbs when he helps tear it off and when he wraps the heat of his mouth around your nipple with a reverential suck, you cry out loud enough for him to hear it this time. His tongue swirls a wet circle around it, the tip dragging over the peaked bud and his hand cradles the bottom of your breast, pushing more of it into his mouth. He moves onto the other one, tasting it just as thoroughly when he gives it an open mouthed kiss and then he’s coming back up.

Kissing him again, you’re already lifting your hips up into his, squirming under his weight and the both of you reach down at the same time, working the other’s bottoms off. It’s a hasty scramble, the material kicked off into the nest of his bedding and when he settles back between your thighs, you feel the pressure of him already lining up. The thick tip of his cock fitting at your entrance, he doesn’t stop for a moment before pressing into you and it’s a tight fit even for how wet you already are.

“Joel,” you moan, whining when he bottoms out and he groans into the crook of your neck, his hold coming to wrap around your nape to keep you in place underneath him.

“Fuck,” he grits out with a heavy exhale. “Fuck. You feel so goddamn good. Just like I knew you would. I knew it, honey.”

His words are punctuated with a heavy gust of breath for every stroke of his hips forward, his back rounding with each one as the the filling stretch of his cock overwhelms you. There is a slight pain to it, being used for the first time in years, but it’s quickly replaced with a delicious spark of pleasure, your slick cunt clenching around him to pull him deeper.

“Yes. Yes.”

His strokes get harder, harsher, the old bed beginning to squeak slightly in a rhythmic beat and while you can still distantly hear the storm still going strong around you, it’s muffled now by your mingled sounds: small whines to match his grunts, soft moans to match his deeper ones. His desperation is felt in every stroke, adding to your own ache in your core. Just knowing that he has been wanting this just as much, you wrap your arms around him to keep him close. Moving above you like his body craves relief, his grip digs into the meat of your hips while his other hand tightens on your neck and you absorb the frantic need rolling off his hot skin, your ankles crossing over his tailbone.

You need to come. You want to come so bad you’ll do anything, and you close your eyes and hope that he lasts long enough for you to do it, because you’re so close you can taste it in the back of your throat if you focus on it. Your body hums with it, your hips rolling frantically to match his every pound down and your thighs tighten around his waist in a squeeze of warning, your pleading getting higher in pitch.

“Please, Joel. Please. Please.”

“I got you, honey. I got it.” He shifts the weight of his hips, grinding his pubic bone into your clit as he pushes in deep and it’s only a couple strokes just like that before you’re coming harder than you have in years, the want you’ve been trying to foolishly relieve by yourself bursting inside you.

Ten times better than any release you’ve ever given yourself, he fucks you right through it, his hold getting tighter on your hip.

“Oh goddamn, honey,” he groans, the sound pleasure soaked and low. “Fuckin’ yes. Yes.”

His praise is panted into you right before he kisses you and it’s sloppy and hungry, his mouth resting just over yours. He shoves himself in as deep as he can get, a couple of rough strokes slipping into your snug, soaked heat and then he groans loudly, jerking his hips back just in time to spurt hot across the inside of your thigh. It splashes along the crease of your leg, painting milky white as it slips down over the curve of your ass and his eyes are clenched tight above you, his torso giving shivering little shudders as he finishes and starts to come down.

He’s breathing heavily, your heart pounding right underneath his own and then he opens his eyes, his gaze finding yours.

You don’t know what to say. Afraid to shatter this moment with speaking lest he suddenly realize what he just did and pull away, but also afraid that staying quiet will be taken as a sign of regret, you open your mouth and at that very moment, another flash of lightning bursts outside the window, a loud crack of thunder following immediately after.

It startles you, your body jumping slightly under his but he’s already flattening his body instinctively on top of yours, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head. He’s covering you, the reaction to gunfire embedded into the very bones of his body and then he stiffens, realizing what he just did.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to shift off of you but your arms wind tight around his torso, keeping him in place.

“Don’t go.”

He stops moving, his expression softening and his tone slips into a reassuring murmur; the storm still raging outside.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, honey. I’m right here.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 7 months ago

Text

The Silver Dragon (10)

The Decisions of Father

On their way back from the beach, Aemond and Arianwyn are confronted by their four furious cousins.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: description of injuries and medieval medical procedures

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Aria collapsed.

Through his pain and increasingly blurred vision, her motionless body was all Aemond could see. Had Luke struck her, too? Did she bleed into the sand as he did? Was she even still alive? As the horrible thoughts raced through his mind, he began to scream again. Wordless, agonized, soul-rending screams.

He was vaguely aware of voices around him. Some of them seemed familiar – Ser Westerling, maybe? Or Cole? Armored hands lifted him, sending pain shooting through his veins. But he did not care.

All he cared about was Aria.

Hands bearing the shining gauntlets of the Kingsguard lifted her from the sand, and relief washed over Aemond like a great wave when he saw her chest rise and fall. She still bore the scratches she received from her half-sisters, and a bruise was already forming around her neck, but she was no longer bleeding, and her breathing was steady.

She would be all right.

It was only after the realization settled that he felt his own pain. The dull aches across his body were insignificant compared to the searing, excruciating pain he felt in his face.

He felt as though a venom-tipped fang of a Dornish viper was scraping across his brow.

He felt as though the skin of his cheek was being peeled off layer by layer.

He felt as though a dragon had dropped the heart of its burning fire in his eye, boiling and roasting every bit of flesh it touched.

Just an hour ago, he experienced a joy grander than anything he had ever felt.

Now, all he could ever remember feeling was pain.

As Aemond’s screams began anew, Arianwyn woke. The sounds of his anguish awakened something deep within her, calling her to go to him, to be by his side. If only her body could obey, but her feet were not touching the ground.

Blearily, she recognized that she was being held by someone wearing armor – its clanking filled her ears as they ran. It was not until they emerged into the brighter torchlight of the castle proper that she finally recognized the face.

Ser Criston’s warm brown skin had gone pallid, sweat beading at his furrowed brow as he rushed to keep up with Ser Westerling, who held Aemond in his arms.

A trail of blood followed them.

The salt in her tears stung the cuts crossing her face as she gathered her remaining strength to speak.

“Is he dead?” Her words seemed to break Cole from a trance. As he looked down at her, she realized the full depth of his concern. Tears were threatening to spill from his dark eyes.

He and Aemond had always been close, even beyond the training yard, where Cole gave him better instruction, more advice, and closer attention. Aemond had once confided in her that he wished the Kingsguard was his father rather than the king. Seeing the prince wounded like this, he must have felt as though he had failed. He needed to know how well Aemond had fought, how brave he’d been.

With a deep breath, Ser Criston replied, “He is alive, my lady. We sent one of the house guards ahead to fetch the maesters. They will meet us in the throne room.”

“What about the queen?” she whispered. “Aemond will need his mother if…”

Cole shushed her before she could finish. His expression and voice softened, “It will not come to that, Aria. He is lucky – he is near to a maester. Besides, I have seen many men recover from injuries far worse than this.”

Arianwyn buried herself closer to his chest. “He was trying to save me.”

She did not see the kingsguard's eyes widen in fear and confusion as he pondered the meaning of her words, nor how a small, proud smile bloomed on his lips as he looked towards the injured prince he cared for so dearly.

Orwyle and the maester serving House Velaryon, as well as several of Arianwyn’s Runestone guards, were already in the throne room when the Kingsguard arrived. Where the other children had been taken, she didn’t know. Aemond and Arianwyn were placed by the roaring fire – Aemond in a plush chair lined with what looked like any spare fabric they could find to soak up his blood, Arianwyn on a small stool by his side – and were immediately set upon by the maesters.

Aemond was tended to by the Velaryon maester. She watched him through the gaps between Orwyle’s arms as he tended to her injuries. Cole had set her on Aemond’s right side so she could not fully see his wound. For that, she was grateful.

She flinched as Orwyle pressed a cloth soaked with boiled wine to her cuts, and he followed her gaze. She watched intently as the Velaryon maester unstopped a large vial of thick, pale liquid, holding it up to the prince’s lips and commanding him to drink.

“It is milk of the poppy, Arianwyn,” Orwyle whispered, gently cleaning the girl’s wounds. “It will dull his pain for what is to come.”

She, at last, turned her gaze to her familiar maester – her teacher, her friend. “What is he going to do to him?” Her eyes were filled with fear, though her tears were dry at last.

Orwyle kept his voice low. “Maester Kelvyn will clean his wounds, as I am doing,” he squeezed the cloth for emphasis, sending droplets of liquor running down Arianwyn’s chin.

“If the initial cut was not clean, he may have to… remove some of the damaged flesh. A clean wound will heal better and leave less of a scar. And the eye…” Orwyle trailed off, his hand stilling over Arianwyn’s cheek.

“Is it still there?”

He frowned. “I believe so, but it is severely damaged, Arianwyn. It may have to be removed.” Arianwyn did not respond; she only continued to gaze at her dear companion as Kelvyn continued his work.

Though he had been given a massive amount of the milk of the poppy, Aemond still winced when Kelvyn began to clean the wound. Arianwyn reached across the gap between them, lacing her fingers through his. She squeezed once. Though his hand trembled, he squeezed back.

“Aria?” he asked weakly.

“I’m here, Aemond.”

“Are you hurt very badly?”

That he would concern himself with ensuring that she was well while he must be in so much pain warmed her heart. She wanted to climb into the chair with him and hug him but did not want to hurt him any further. “I am hardly hurt at all.”

Any reassurance she was trying to give Aemond was smashed when Orwyle unexpectedly pressed another soaked cloth to her face, causing her to whine with pain.

“Stop it!” Aemond shouted. He attempted to rise from the chair but was restrained by both Maester Kelvyn and Ser Criston. “Don’t hurt her!”

Never before had she heard him raise his voice at Orwyle or look at him with such fury. “I’m fine, Aemond,” she insisted. “It just stings a little. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Aria,” his uninjured eye filled with tears, and his lips trembled. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. What could he possibly be sorry for? He had saved her from her sister’s wrath and had been injured for it. If anything, she should be apologizing to him. But before she could, he again screamed in pain, clutching at his ruined eye.

Orwyle turned to him, pushing Kelvyn aside. “My prince, my prince, please.” When he got no response, he seized the boy by the chin to force him to meet his gaze. “Aemond! You must not cry. Not now. No matter what you feel or how much it hurts, you must not cry.”

Arianwyn gasped as she realized why. The salt in her tears had stung fiercely at her scratches. What Aemond felt when he cried must have been torture from the Seven Hells, especially since—gods have mercy—his tears were not coming only from his uninjured eye.

From the corner of his ruined eye, salty tears mixed with blood as they trailed down his cheek, both cleaning and staining him. Aemond hiccuped as he tried to stifle his tears, but they kept flowing.

“Prince Aemond,” Orwyle begged again. “I know it is hard, but you must be brave now. Please.”

“I can’t – ”

Ser Criston interrupted him, bracing his hand on Aemond’s shoulder. “You can. My prince, you are already brave. You defended Lady Arianwyn despite being outnumbered and unarmed. You are a prince, but you are also a warrior.”

“And a dragonrider.”

All eyes turned to Arianwyn.

“He rides Vhagar now,” she explained with a wavering smile. “He claimed her, and it was the bravest thing I have ever known.”

Cole murmured something, and the maesters whispered between themselves. But she did not care, for Aemond had stopped crying. He reached toward her to again take her hand.

“I am a dragonrider,” he declared. “I can be – will be brave.”

The maesters had begun to prepare their instruments when the queen swept into the room, and the sight of her distraught and weeping nearly made Aemond’s bravery falter. “Mother – ”

“Oh, my dearest boy,” she croaked as she fell to her knees before him – on his left, where she could see the full extent of the wound. Her face paled. “Who has done this to you?”

The bastards, he wanted to say. But not here, not when there were Velaryon servants present to hear and report his words back to Lord Corlys. Still, they would pay for what they had done to him and Aria. “Lucerys.”

“Jace was there, too.” Alicent startled when she heard Aria. Upon seeing the scratches on her face and the reddening bruise on her neck, the queen reached a hand to cup her niece’s chin. “And… Baela and Rhaena.”

The look on her face as she named her sisters – the sisters she had dreamed about meeting for years – was devastating. Whenever Aria spoke of them, and the bond she was sure would form the moment they laid eyes on her, he humored her. But he never told her what he really thought, that the girls were raised by Daemon, who, at best, did not care for Aria or, at worst, hated her. It was likely her sisters felt the same.

It was the closest he ever came to lying to her.

Now, he wished he had told her, if only for the chance that he could have prevented the sadness that now clouded her eyes.

The queen shook her head as she looked between them. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“Because – ”

Maester Kelvyn cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my queen. But it is best we begin the procedure as quickly as possible.”

“Procedure?” she asked, her hand flying to the base of her throat, where her pendant of the seven-pointed star usually lay.

It was Orwyle, holding a small, empty tray, who answered. “The prince’s eye is damaged beyond saving, your grace. It must be removed.”

The queen and Aria both sobbed, but Aemond said nothing. He knew it was inevitable. He had felt how deep Lucerys’ blade had cut. Still, he was afraid.

Would he still be able to wield a blade?

Would reading become harder? Writing? Could he still help Aria with her runes?

Would he be able to ride Vhagar with only one eye?

The sounds of armor entered the room, and Aemond turned to see Ser Westerling, followed by Jacaerys, Baela, Rhaena, and Lucerys. When they looked at him and Aria, there was no regret in their eyes. No pity. Nothing at all to suggest that they were sorry for what they did. In fact, each of them, save Rhaena, looked almost proud.

That was all he needed to strengthen his resolve. He would overcome this. He would not allow them to break him.

Aemond braced himself, gripping the arms of the chair as tightly as he could. He did not look at his mother or Aria. “I am not afraid.”

The maesters had nearly finished stitching Aemond’s skin back together when the king hobbled into the room, a score of other lords and ladies that had been woken by the sound of screaming behind them. Leaning heavily on his cane, it took him many long moments to come to his son’s side. When he finally laid eyes on the ugly wound, he looked like he might be sick.

Arianwyn stared up at him, waiting for him to say something. To ask his son how he felt or the maesters if he would heal. To order the bystanders gawking and gossiping away to spare Aemond from their judgemental gazes. To learn who it was who maimed the prince.

But he said nothing. He hardly even looked at Aemond for more than a heartbeat.

The king slowly made his way to the Driftwood Throne. He shook his head, anger seeming to grant him strength. “How could you allow such a thing to happen?” he asked. When, after a moment, none of the guards – Kingsguard, Runestone guards, or otherwise – spoke, he raised his voice. “I will have answers!”

It was Ser Westerling who finally replied. “The princes were supposed to be abed, my king.”

Viserys closed his eyes for a long moment, clearly unimpressed by the answer. “Who had the watch?”

This time, Ser Criston answered. “The young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.” When Arianwyn looked at him, he was still pale, not yet recovered from the sight of Aemond’s wounds.

The King rose from the throne with a sudden burst of rage. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” he roared.

Arianwyn had never seen the king so angry. It was enough to make her shy away. She slid from the ottoman, kneeling on the stone floor with her chin on the arm of Aemond’s chair, her lips pressed to their joined hands.

“I am very sorry, your grace,” Westerling said, fully accepting the king’s anger with the grace of a dutiful servant.

Ser Criston was less obedient. “The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, your grace.”

“That is no answer!” Viserys shouted before the knight had finished speaking.

Arianwyn flinched again, at last noticing that Aegon and Helaena had arrived, standing by their mother’s side. Aegon looked at his brother’s wound with a furrowed brow and a frown, his wine-glazed eyes clearing with each passing moment. Helaena stood with her back turned, gazing into the fire, completely detached from what was happening around her.

Alicent looked to Orwyle and Kelvyn, “It will heal, will it not?” The entire room turned to hear the answer.

“The flesh will heal,” Kelvyn said, punctuating his words with a final stitch to Aemond’s cheek. “But the eye is lost, your grace.”

Arianwyn felt the declaration like a blow to the chest. Never again would she gaze eye to eye with Aemond, with his beautiful violet eyes. True, most of her family bore similar eyes, but Aemond’s were her favorite. His was a delicate purple, closer to blue than most – perhaps better-called periwinkle rather than a true violet. And now one of those lovely eyes was lost forever.

The queen stood from Aemond’s side, descending on Aegon with a fury. “Where were you?”

“Me?” Aegon balked. But that was not the answer Alicent wanted; she told him as much with a hard slap. “What was that for?”

“That was nothing,” Alicent spat, “compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” It was not an indictment of his behavior that night but of the years before, when he had encouraged his cousins to join him in mocking Aemond – the very behavior that had eventually culminated in their fight that evening.

The large doors above the throne creaked open, and Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys descended the winding stair from their bedchambers.

“What is the meaning of this?” Corlys demanded as his wife called for their granddaughters. She held their faces to assess their wounds – though they were far fewer than Arianwyn or Aemond’s.

Not a moment later, Princess Rhaenyra burst through the doors at the far end of the room, shouting for her sons as she ran across the hall. None but Arianwyn seemed to notice Daemon behind her, striding slowly as if he did not want to be seen. Anger twisted the Princess’ face when she saw the bruise forming around Luke’s crooked nose. “Who did this?” she demanded.

Arianwyn’s anger began to rise again, chilling her every breath. “They attacked Aemond!” she yelled back as she stood, still holding Aemond’s hand. “He did naught but defend himself. And me!”

The last of her words were drowned out by the overlapping shouts of her cousins and sisters.

“He attacked Baela!” Luke screamed.

“He broke Luke’s nose!” Jace cried.

“He stole Vhagar!” Rhaena barked, apparently unconvinced by Arianwyn’s earlier words.

“He disrespected my mother!” Baela bellowed.

The shouts began to overlap, and Arianwyn and Alicent joined the clamor, refuting the children’s outrageously false claims and defending Aemond, but there was too much noise – none could hear their words.

Though his heart felt full to bursting watching Aria defend him so fiercely, Aemond tugged on her hand, glancing with his one remaining eye at the king, who was weakly trying to quiet their words. He was well aware that in a conflict between him and his half-sister’s bastards, he was at a severe disadvantage in the eyes of the king. After all, he was born to the wrong queen.

Viserys had some affection for Aria, at least. It was likely only because she was Daemon’s daughter, but it may still earn her some protection from his anger. But he still would not take any risks. Not when it came to her.

When she finally looked down at him, there was a question in her silver eyes. “What?”

He raised himself as far as he could without straining his aching body. Close enough that, within the din that had settled within the room, he could speak without being heard by anyone else. “Be quiet. Don’t make him angry.”

Aria nodded, stepping closer to him and pursing her lips as she always did when biting back her words. It made him smile.

“Silence!” the king bellowed. All fell silent as he climbed down the steps of the throne toward the chair where his wounded son sat. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened – now.”

Aemond looked sheepishly away from his father and toward Arianwyn, uncertain. She knelt back down, nodding, and kissed his hand. He understood her as clearly as if she’d said the words. No matter what was said against him, they both knew the truth, and he would have her unending support.

But before he could respond to his father, his mother stepped forward. “What else is there to hear?” she pleaded, though her husband was turned away from her. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.” The queen glared across the room toward Rhaenyra, who now stood with her arms around her sons.

“It was a regrettable accident,” the Princess said, refusing to look either her father or the queen in the eye.

“Accident?” the Queen nearly laughed at the word. “The prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son!”

Rhaenyra stepped forward. “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves,” she growled.

“Liar!”

Arianwyn understood why her cousins and sisters had lied – they wanted to protect themselves from the punishment they rightly deserved. But for Rhaenyra, whom Viserys wished to be queen one day, to lie? When she had only just arrived, with no idea what happened in the tunnel?

That, Arianwyn could not stand.

“You’re a liar!” she yelled again, ignoring the sounds of shock that reverberated around the room. It did not matter that Rhaenyra outranked her; she had lied so blatantly to the whole court for years, but she could not be allowed to lie about this. “You were not there; you did not see what happened. I saw it all.”

The king turned his eyes to her, assessing. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, not allowing him to see the fear that had her tightening her grip on Aemond’s hand. After a long moment, Viserys nodded, leaning on his cane with both hands.

“Very well, Arianwyn.” Something cracked in her chest when he did not call her ‘Aria’ as he usually did. As her family always did. He was not her kind, if distant, uncle in that moment. He was The King. “Tell us what happened – but speak only the truth.”

“Aemond and I were returning to the castle,” she said, confident despite the many inquisitorial eyes upon her. She spoke the truth. Surely they must believe her. “We… we had snuck out earlier.”

Her tale was interrupted by the voice she was least eager to hear – her father’s.

“And where had you gone?” Daemon leaned calmly against the door where he had entered and gestured to his daughters by Laena. “It seems to me that detail may be crucial to this story.”

Arianwyn did her best to swallow her rage as Aemond nearly growled behind her. “We went to the beach south of the castle,” she said, “where Aemond laid claim to Vhagar.”

The silence in the room was palpable. Some seemed impressed by her claim. Others – mostly Velaryon – were enraged.

The Queen looked towards Aemond. “Is this true?” she asked. A wave of joyful relief swept over her face as her hand flew to the Seven-Pointed Star medallion around her neck, and she murmured a prayer of thanks.

Even the King seemed to forget his anger for a moment as he looked at Aemond with something close to pride.

“He stole her!” Rhaena’s voice shattered the fragile peace of the moment.

Arianwyn’s blood blazed cold with anger. “A dragon cannot be stolen! Vhagar claimed Aemond as much as he claimed her!”

She turned back to the King. “The four of them were in the tunnel when we got back. It was Rhaena who started the fight – she attacked Aemond. He defended himself, and in return, Baela hit him. We both fell and when he saw that I had been hurt, he returned the blow – but he was only trying to defend me.”

Hot, stinging tears welled in her eyes. “They all attacked him, and they would not stop. He was on the ground – he could not fight back – but they just kept hitting him and hitting him.” She began to sob in earnest as she looked at her sisters.

“I just wanted to get them to stop, so I pushed Rhaena off of him. She scratched me, and Baela pulled me away. She had her arm around my throat,” she gestured to the beginnings of bruises on her neck, “I was struggling to breathe – I had been since I fell. Aemond got away from Jace, and he found a rock somewhere in the sand. He hit Jace with it once, but only after Jace drew the knife.

“Baela wouldn’t release me, so Aemond threatened to hit him again if she didn’t let me go.” She blinked furiously, looking down at Aemond as she finished her story. “But Jace threw sand in his eyes, and Luke used the distraction to – to cut him. And then… nothing else happened until Ser Westerling arrived, I swear.”

Viserys looked between her and Aemond, weighing what he had heard. Arianwyn was so focused on him and what he might say that she did not notice that at the door, Daemon’s eyes had darkened. He examined the scratches crossing her skin, pride rising in his chest for Rhaena’s ferocity. Arianwyn’s assault on her, no matter her motivation, would not go unpunished.

Before the king could pass judgment, Rhaenyra spoke again. “I think you are forgetting, Lady Arianwyn, that amidst the fray, Aemond levied vile insults against my sons.”

It was true; Arianwyn had forgotten. The words had been least amongst the vileness she had witnessed that night – what were mere words against blood spilled? “Aemond’s words were mild compared to what your sons have said to him for years and certainly not deserving of this.”

“What insults?” the king asked, holding up a finger to silence her. Arianwyn balked. Was he really considering words – a single, true word – against the irreparable damage that had been done to his son?

Rhaenyra lifted her chin, confident in her hold over her father. “The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

Viserys tilted his head, “What?”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys answered.

As silence once more fell over the room, Aemond released Aria’s hand. She looked down at him, her face lined with worry, but he just smiled at her. In the firelight, her silver eyes had turned golden.

He knew he had just lost his father’s sympathy – and whatever small pieces of affection, if any, he held for Aemond – and would likely face further punishment for his words. Men had been maimed and sent to the Wall for voicing that plain truth. Though Aemond was his child, the king had always favored Rhaenyra and her brood. Even his second son would not likely be forgiven.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, You Grace,” Rhaenyra said, striding toward her father with confidence. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Aria let out a cry like a wounded hawk. “You want to torture him?”

“Over an insult?” the queen asked in utter disbelief. “My son has lost an eye.”

Rhaenyra did not respond. She merely watched as Viserys looked down once more on his son. All pride and concern had gone from his face. Instead, he looked at Aemond with the rage of a king.

“You tell me, boy,” he hissed. “Where did you hear this lie?”

Aria was speechless, but Alicent was not. “The insult was training yard bluster. The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. “Aemond. I asked you a question.”

Aemond merely stared at his father.

‘Father.’ How he hated the word.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder?” The queen asked, desperate to steer her husband’s ire away from their son. “The boys’ father. Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

The distraction worked. “Yes, where is Ser Laenor?” The King asked. When he turned away, Aria again fell to her knees, gripping Aemond’s hand with all her might.

“It will be okay,” she whispered, though Aemond knew she did not believe it to be true. “I’m here – I will not leave you.”

Aemond stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I know.”

Daemon watched them closely, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind.

Rhaenyra’s confidence seemed to slip at the queen’s question. “I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.” Aemond suppressed the urge to point out that no one asked her where she had gone. As she entered the hall with Daemon on her heels, that detail may be quite ‘crucial.’

Alicent quirked her head at the answer. “Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

But the distraction was done. Viserys turned back to his son. “Aemond, look at me,” he said, slightly lightening his tone. The prince took a heavy breath and looked up at his father. “Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

Aemond glanced at his mother for guidance or perhaps a new distraction. But the king followed his gaze. Not wanting his mother to become the object of the King’s wrath, he said the first name that came to mind. “It was Aegon.”

“Me?” Aegon asked for the second time that evening. But it was too late to object. The king needed a scapegoat, and Aegon was well-suited for the role.

The fear on Aegon’s face as his father’s wrath turned on him was almost enough to make Aemond regret naming him. Almost.

Viserys limped over to his eldest son. “And you, boy?” he asked. “Where did you hear such calumnies?”

Silence.

His patience at an end, Viserys screamed. “Aegon! Tell me the truth about it!”

But Aegon was unfazed, still drunk enough to let his tongue loose – to let the truth loose. “We know, Father,” he sighed. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Not even Rhaenyra protested the words. Since the moment Jacaerys emerged from his mother’s womb with hair as dark as night, the truth was clear. Only the King and Rhaenyra herself still denied it.

Though on this night, it seemed that even the king had not the energy to uphold the lie. Rather than assert the legitimacy of the boys, Viserys addressed the entire room.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” he shouted, pounding his cane on the floor. “All of you! We are a family! Now, make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your King demands it!” Then, with a look to Aemond that was almost apologetic, he began to walk away.

Arianwyn’s pulse quickened, a now familiar icy creeping through her veins. That was it? Aemond deserved more. Retribution. Justice. Something. “Uncle – ”

“That is insufficient,” Alicent called to her departing husband, entirely exasperated. She gave Arianwyn a single look that demanded her silence. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my king. ‘Good will’ cannot make him whole.”

The King sighed. “I know Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken.”

“What would you have me do?” the King asked, exhaustion plain on his face.

But Alicent held firm. “There is a debt to be paid,” she declared, turning to face Rhaenyra. “I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

A murmur passed through the crowd, shock setting in at the price the queen demanded. Even the King seemed surprised.

Arianwyn looked up at Aemond and did not know what to make of his small smile.

“My dear wife,” Viserys began.

Alicent’s voice broke as she tried to move her husband. “He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”

The king stalked back to her, “Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment.” Thinking his words were final, he turned away.

“If the king will not seek justice, the queen will,” she said, resolute in her defense of Aemond. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

‘An eye for an eye,’ Arianywn thought. Perhaps an extreme punishment, but certainly fair, wasn’t it?

Luke cried for his mother, and the king pleaded with his wife, but she stood firm. “He can choose which eye to keep,” she ordered, though the knight did not move, “a privilege he did not grant my son.”

Rhaenyra placed a protective hand on her son’s chest. “You will do no such thing,” the warning she issued Cole burned like fire in her eyes.

“Stay your hand,” the king warned, though Alicent immediately objected.

“No,” she ordered, her voice growing frantic, “you are sworn to me!”

Ser Criston looked over all those commanding him and bowed to the orders of the king. “As your protector,” he muttered, though he seemed displeased by the words.

With a sigh, the king faced his wife. “Alicent, this matter… is finished. Do you understand?” He took her silence as affirmation and turned away.

Rhaenyra smiled, the expression as smug as her voice, “Thank you, Father.”

Arianwyn could hardly follow what happened next. One moment, she was watching Alicent stalk toward the King. She heard the ringing of a blade being drawn, then shouting, and the clanging of armor rung out from across the room.

Aemond pulled her towards him with such force that she collided with him as he stood and stepped in front of her, shielding her with his arms and taking a defensive stance. She could not understand how he could stand with his body weakened by pain and his mind clouded by milk of the poppy.

But he stood resolute, her sworn protector, even if no oath had been taken.

They watched together in horror as Alicent collided with Rhaenyra, holding the king’s Valyrian Steel dagger above the princess’ head, poised to strike. Not even the Kingsguard dared approach the women as Rhaenyra struggled to hold the queen at bay.

“You have gone too far,” the Princess hissed.

“I?” Alicent asked, verging on hysterics. “What have I done, but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout it all to do as you please.”

“Alicent, let her go!” the King shouted – but she did not listen.

“Where is duty?” she demanded. “Where is sacrifice? It is trampled under your pretty foot again.”

The Hand stepped out from behind the Driftwood Throne to calm his daughter. “Release the blade, Alicent.”

Still, she pressed on. “And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!”

Aemond clenched his jaw, trying to step forward. Arianwyn held him back with only a hand on his shoulder. Had he not been in such a state, she doubted she would be able to stop him.

Rhaenyra whispered something too soft for them to hear.

Suddenly, the queen shouted, breaking free from Rhaenyra’s grasp and slashing with her stolen blade. Aemond surged forward, out of Arianwyn’s grasp, leaving her reaching for the empty space where he once stood.

Rhaenyra fell back into Lord Corlys’ arms, the queen to her husband’s. Even the roar of the fire seemed to quiet as a stream of blood began to pour from the Princess’ arm. The king’s blade clattered to the floor.

Fear overtook Aemond’s entire being. If Viserys would allow Lucerys to take his eye for a mere insult, what would he do to his mother for drawing Rhaenyra’s blood?

It was his fault. He had been the one to seek out Vhagar, knowing that Rhaena had aims for the dragon.

He stepped from the crowd, his feet unsteady as he fought through the fog in his mind and the agony in his body. “Do not mourn me, Mother,” he said, trying to summon the joy he felt while riding Vhagar back into his heart. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye – but I gained a dragon.”

Lucerys was not forgiven. No, this debt would be repaid. But to protect his mother in this moment, Aemond would say anything.

Fortunately, the king took him at his word. “This proceeding is at an end,” he declared.

But not all were finished. Not yet.

Daemon stalked out of the crowd, his eyes dark as he glared at Aria. He made his way to Rhaenyra, cradling her wounded arm in his hands, and turned to his brother and the queen.

“I think,” he remarked, not breaking his gaze from his daughter’s, “that it is long past time for Arianwyn to come and live with her father – and her sisters. When you leave for King’s Landing in the morning, brother, she will remain here. With me.”

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